Having seen all of Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings films, I wasn't expecting anything from his version of The Hobbit. In some sense, I was expecting much less, simply because the story has less immediate depth and could therefore be easily twisted into something far different from its original form. What I witnessed in the film exceeded my expectations, as in, "This is far worse than I was even expecting it to be."
I feel embarrassed offering a spoiler alert, but here it is: I'm going to ruin the movie for anyone who hasn't seen it by explaining the last couple minutes and why they're awful.
In Tolkien's novel, Bilbo Baggins and Thorin Oakenshield have a strained relationship, due mostly to Thorin's regal bearing. He doubts Bilbo's ability to burgle, and Bilbo in turn is a bit put off by Thorin's majesterial presence. One of the most beautiful moments in the book comes at the end, when, after having endured all manner of adventures and terror together, Thorin repents of having mistreated Bilbo and even confers on him the honor of companionship.
Peter Jackson has obviously never had a meaningful relationship in his life, and obviously knows nothing of the nature of repentence, and is obviously just as uncultured and morally suspect as all Australians accuse all Kiwis of being.
At the end of the first installment of The Hobbit (the fact that a 300-page book is going to take up nine hours of screentime is an abomination in itself), the eagles have just dropped off Thorin's group atop the edge of the Misty Mountains. Bilbo hasn't been able to prove himself much at all yet, and one of his exploits in the book (orchestrating the rescue of the dwarves from the trolls) has even largely been stripped from him in the movie. So, there's little if any reason for Thorin to have had his mind changed as to Bilbo's worth.
And yet, he says something grumpy to Bilbo, followed by a big grin, and a "you're okay, kid" kind of speech, and topped off with a bear-hug. First of all, the nature of dwarves: not only are dwarves not teddy bears, but Thorin least of all would be bear-hugging anybody. He's a loner, and he's a king, and he's a grumpy old man.
Far more importantly, the grandeur and pathos of Thorin's deathbed repentence is completely obliterated by this premature and shallow reconciliation. It doesn't even make sense by the rules of good filmmaking: if you're going to stretch a story out through three long movies, you want to leave as much unresolved as possible in order to keep folks interested. Sadly, most people seem to be convinced The Hobbit movies are great before they've even seen them.
I wasn't expecting a good movie, but what I actually got was nearly unwatchable (and this from the guy who embarked on a ten-year quest for the worst movie ever made). If you have any love for Tolkien's work, at least watch this film with a critical eye. And don't tell me you were able to "just watch it as a movie, and not as the book," because Peter Jackson must be held to the standard of the book because his movie has the same title as the book, and because he's making money not on his own name but on the name of a great writer whom he's slandered and misrepresented.
Thursday, January 3, 2013
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
I am boycotting all Regal Cinemas.
When my friend and I went to see Django Unchained in the theater last Monday, we had some idea the kind of movie we were paying to watch. We knew it would be typical Tarantino—violent and probably profanity-laden. But watching that film was our choice, and neither of us intended to watch it uncritically or thoughtlessly.
We did NOT pay to see NC-17 smut before the film even started. At the Salem Lancaster Mall Regal Cinema, the normal previews were followed by another with a mock warning that the preview was inappropriate for children but "perfect for you and your sick friends." What followed was a pornographic trailer for some "comedy" film that included "jokes" about rape, bestiality, etc. I stopped watching after the first few seconds, but I could hear everything.
I was so shaken up I couldn't concentrate on the film I'd come to see, so fifteen minutes into Django Unchained I found a manager and explained I wanted a refund for the two tickets, but still wanted to finish the movie I'd come to watch. After some haggling he obliged, but not before saying, "Well, you did come to see an R-rated movie."
To which I replied, "Yes, but I paid to see this R-rated movie, not some other one I don't know anything about, and certainly not an NC-17 one."
I'm no prude, and I've seen plenty of movies, many that would be considered edgy or even offensive, so it wasn't lack of exposure that made me hate this preview. It was obscene, callous, and perverted, but there was something worse: the "warning" before the trailer bore the Regal Cinemas logo and name. Not only were they wilfully showing filth, they were purposefully mocking and deriding anyone who would be offended by the content.
If it was just a trailer for a filthy movie, I'd have complained to my friend and left it at that. But the theater was making a calculated move to not only purvey smut, but to rub it in the faces of viewers while telling them they're idiots and morons if they find the content too twisted. If I choose to go to an R-rated film, I fully expect to see previews for R-rated movies, but I don't expect to see those movies themselves. And while I'll pay to watch No Country for Old Men or movies of its ilk, I wouldn't watch a filthy comedy whether I had to pay or not.
So, I'm never going to a Regal Cinema again. I don't usually boycott places, because I know that there is corruption and wickedness at all levels of every business, but this went too far and was enough to make me stand on principle. I won't try to convince anyone else to join me in this protest, but I have composed a letter to the Regal management, and if you intend to watch a movie at this or another Regal location, know what may be awaiting you and don't say I didn't warn you.
We did NOT pay to see NC-17 smut before the film even started. At the Salem Lancaster Mall Regal Cinema, the normal previews were followed by another with a mock warning that the preview was inappropriate for children but "perfect for you and your sick friends." What followed was a pornographic trailer for some "comedy" film that included "jokes" about rape, bestiality, etc. I stopped watching after the first few seconds, but I could hear everything.
I was so shaken up I couldn't concentrate on the film I'd come to see, so fifteen minutes into Django Unchained I found a manager and explained I wanted a refund for the two tickets, but still wanted to finish the movie I'd come to watch. After some haggling he obliged, but not before saying, "Well, you did come to see an R-rated movie."
To which I replied, "Yes, but I paid to see this R-rated movie, not some other one I don't know anything about, and certainly not an NC-17 one."
I'm no prude, and I've seen plenty of movies, many that would be considered edgy or even offensive, so it wasn't lack of exposure that made me hate this preview. It was obscene, callous, and perverted, but there was something worse: the "warning" before the trailer bore the Regal Cinemas logo and name. Not only were they wilfully showing filth, they were purposefully mocking and deriding anyone who would be offended by the content.
If it was just a trailer for a filthy movie, I'd have complained to my friend and left it at that. But the theater was making a calculated move to not only purvey smut, but to rub it in the faces of viewers while telling them they're idiots and morons if they find the content too twisted. If I choose to go to an R-rated film, I fully expect to see previews for R-rated movies, but I don't expect to see those movies themselves. And while I'll pay to watch No Country for Old Men or movies of its ilk, I wouldn't watch a filthy comedy whether I had to pay or not.
So, I'm never going to a Regal Cinema again. I don't usually boycott places, because I know that there is corruption and wickedness at all levels of every business, but this went too far and was enough to make me stand on principle. I won't try to convince anyone else to join me in this protest, but I have composed a letter to the Regal management, and if you intend to watch a movie at this or another Regal location, know what may be awaiting you and don't say I didn't warn you.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Django Unchained
Quentin Tarantino has perfected the dubious art of crafting artistic and engrossing films that are still no more than schlock Z-movies. Pulp Fiction is undoubtedly his best work: it redefined the grammar of cinema in a way that most average movie-goers could still enjoy. Inglourious Basterds was also inriguing, mostly due to the fantastic performances of Til Schweiger, Brad Pitt, and the formerly brilliant Christoph Waltz. But none of these films are good in a moral or philosophical sense.
The world all these films inhabit is a dark parody of our own, nihilistic and cold. If good ever prevails it's an accident, and the only good that ever prevails can only be called good because it's slightly less bad (though never any less violent) than the evil over which it triumphs. Lately, Tarantino has been rewriting a parallel history to our own, recasting crucial moments into savage caricatures that turn sober events like World War II, the Civil War, and Southern racial slavery into excuses for graphic depictions of mindless violence.
Django Unchained is by far the worst of the lot so far. The plot is simple enough: a German bounty hunter (Christoph Waltz) teams up with the titular ex-slave (Jamie Foxx) to kill people for money; when they have enough money, they go on a wild, brutal revenge spree accompanied by gangsta rap tunes and glory shots. The blood comes in buckets, and there are unimaginably savage scenes which aren't meant to be indictments so much as catalysts for the audience's lust for "justice."
A couple of scenes in particular: a slave used for to-the-death bare knuckle fighting is eaten to death by dogs; one such fight is graphically depicted, complete with the winner finishing off his opponent with a hammer. Are these supposed to be exposes of the Old South? I'm about as far as you can get from being a Southern sympathizer, and I believe racial slavery to be one of the great evils of history, but these speactacles don't ring true. Instead, they incite the viewer against the perpetrators, keying them up for cheers and applause when the "hero" goes crazy and murders dozens of people.
This is wicked filmmaking. If anyone did half the things Django does on-screen in real life he'd be jailed, probably executed, and judged a sociopath. Why is it okay, then, to enjoy his antics through the medium of film? Why is it okay to glory in violence perpetrated in a fantasy reality, but not okay to be violent in real life? Simply put, it isn't, and the only justification to be made for such a film is that it feeds the darker appetites of humanity.
But don't we want to starve those appetites? As Christians who worship the Prince of Peace, we ought to eschew violence in all its forms, not hypocritically embrace fictional violence while decrying school shootings and rape. We ought to and we must as the citizens of Christ's kingdom and of the New Jerusalem.
The world all these films inhabit is a dark parody of our own, nihilistic and cold. If good ever prevails it's an accident, and the only good that ever prevails can only be called good because it's slightly less bad (though never any less violent) than the evil over which it triumphs. Lately, Tarantino has been rewriting a parallel history to our own, recasting crucial moments into savage caricatures that turn sober events like World War II, the Civil War, and Southern racial slavery into excuses for graphic depictions of mindless violence.
Django Unchained is by far the worst of the lot so far. The plot is simple enough: a German bounty hunter (Christoph Waltz) teams up with the titular ex-slave (Jamie Foxx) to kill people for money; when they have enough money, they go on a wild, brutal revenge spree accompanied by gangsta rap tunes and glory shots. The blood comes in buckets, and there are unimaginably savage scenes which aren't meant to be indictments so much as catalysts for the audience's lust for "justice."
A couple of scenes in particular: a slave used for to-the-death bare knuckle fighting is eaten to death by dogs; one such fight is graphically depicted, complete with the winner finishing off his opponent with a hammer. Are these supposed to be exposes of the Old South? I'm about as far as you can get from being a Southern sympathizer, and I believe racial slavery to be one of the great evils of history, but these speactacles don't ring true. Instead, they incite the viewer against the perpetrators, keying them up for cheers and applause when the "hero" goes crazy and murders dozens of people.
This is wicked filmmaking. If anyone did half the things Django does on-screen in real life he'd be jailed, probably executed, and judged a sociopath. Why is it okay, then, to enjoy his antics through the medium of film? Why is it okay to glory in violence perpetrated in a fantasy reality, but not okay to be violent in real life? Simply put, it isn't, and the only justification to be made for such a film is that it feeds the darker appetites of humanity.
But don't we want to starve those appetites? As Christians who worship the Prince of Peace, we ought to eschew violence in all its forms, not hypocritically embrace fictional violence while decrying school shootings and rape. We ought to and we must as the citizens of Christ's kingdom and of the New Jerusalem.
Monday, December 17, 2012
Whom we ought to love.
My wife and I saw one of my favorite bands in concert last night—The Mountain Goats. John Darnielle is even better in person than on record. Two things struck me about the show.
First, common grace. God has preserved some good in the world, and it doesn't take a Christian to produce something beautiful or pleasing. Darnielle's spirituality is far from orthodox (in any sense), but his brilliant lyrics and music are worthy of admiration and enjoyment. Clearly, he gets some kind of pleasure in performance, and the audience shared it.
Second, the raggedy crowd. It struck me that the hipsters and freaks and weirdos were among those Christ came to save, but which His church so often has a special aversion toward. These are not mostly pretty people, people you'd feel safe around, or people you could talk small with. Yet they were all together in one place, united by a mote of common grace swirling in the dark.
What if they could all be united to us through Christ? What if we could grasp that grace common among us all and show them the particular grace of faith in Our Lord and eternal salvation? Why don't we? If we're willing to stand among them to watch a good show, why not stand before them with the Gospel? Why do we act as though common grace was any more than a taste of goodness in the midst of a crooked and depraved generation starving for the Bread of Life?
First, common grace. God has preserved some good in the world, and it doesn't take a Christian to produce something beautiful or pleasing. Darnielle's spirituality is far from orthodox (in any sense), but his brilliant lyrics and music are worthy of admiration and enjoyment. Clearly, he gets some kind of pleasure in performance, and the audience shared it.
Second, the raggedy crowd. It struck me that the hipsters and freaks and weirdos were among those Christ came to save, but which His church so often has a special aversion toward. These are not mostly pretty people, people you'd feel safe around, or people you could talk small with. Yet they were all together in one place, united by a mote of common grace swirling in the dark.
What if they could all be united to us through Christ? What if we could grasp that grace common among us all and show them the particular grace of faith in Our Lord and eternal salvation? Why don't we? If we're willing to stand among them to watch a good show, why not stand before them with the Gospel? Why do we act as though common grace was any more than a taste of goodness in the midst of a crooked and depraved generation starving for the Bread of Life?
Monday, December 3, 2012
After long silence....
My wife is pregnant (just in her third trimester), I've been working 50+ hours per week for over a month now, there's always pleny of yard/housework to be done, and I've been teaching Sunday school every week at church. This isn't braggadocio, just an explanation of why there haven't been any posts for so long. Oh, my sister got married, I was in a dear friend's wedding, my car's been in and out of the mechanic's, and other stuff. So, I'm going to start writing shorter posts, but I'm going to commit to posting five days a week. Whether you've missed me or not, I'm back.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
God is love.
There are infinite ways in which God is love. One of the most basic of these is that God is the only being of whom it can be said, His perfection not only justifies but demands His own self-love. If we long to approach His perfection through sanctification, the only path is to love God ourselves and submit to His will.
It doesn't bear simple intellectual acknowledgement: the idea that God's perfection necessitates His self-love requires sweet but arduous reflection. We finite human creatures are so far from perfection that our self-love is always tainted by impure motives, so much so that we are commanded in Scripture to not love ourselves. We are so imperfect that we are forbidden from loving ourselves, and yet God is so perfect that He must love Himself.
That He would also deign to save any of us is literally incomprehensible. We cannot take this seriously enough, yet in our arrogance and unpardonable silliness, we frequently (perhaps always, in one way or another) make light of God's love for us. We could try to excuse ourselves with an appeal to our imperfection, but that imperfection makes us no less culpable before the Sovereign of heaven, and yet He still shows us mercy and grace.
God is love. It sounds almost trite now, after millennia of misusing the phrase and shoving it into shapes in which it doesn't belong, after millennia of trying to make it trite. But it is the least trite statement with which we will ever be confronted. God is love means for His children that He pardons and forgives us, and for His enemies that He is quick to punish and mete justice.
How are these both true? Because of His self-love. If God loves Himself, then any people He has made His own He will also love, and any that have rejected Him without repentance He will force from His presence. Either of these are weighty enough concepts to incubate reflection throughout eternity, but it is the former that is most worthy of contemplation.
These three remain: faith, hope, and love, but the greatest of these is love. God is not some local deity or nebulous life essence to be greedy and mean (on the one hand) or silly and powerless (on the other). Love is great because God is love; and, likewise, God's love makes Him great. A king that is known only for his cruelty and oppression is soon forgotten or relegated to the big black book of history; but a King known for His magnanimity is never forgotten, though His enemies rightly fear the jealousy with which He guards His subjects.
It won't do to think improperly of God's love, but it also won't do to replace His love with intellectual propositions and hard sayings. The only path to enlightenment on this score is the Scripture and its revelations of God's character and nature. These bear constant reflection, not for the sake of mere knowledge, but in order to hear, feel, sense, experience and understand Yahweh, the God who is Love and who simply and absolutely and completely Is.
It doesn't bear simple intellectual acknowledgement: the idea that God's perfection necessitates His self-love requires sweet but arduous reflection. We finite human creatures are so far from perfection that our self-love is always tainted by impure motives, so much so that we are commanded in Scripture to not love ourselves. We are so imperfect that we are forbidden from loving ourselves, and yet God is so perfect that He must love Himself.
That He would also deign to save any of us is literally incomprehensible. We cannot take this seriously enough, yet in our arrogance and unpardonable silliness, we frequently (perhaps always, in one way or another) make light of God's love for us. We could try to excuse ourselves with an appeal to our imperfection, but that imperfection makes us no less culpable before the Sovereign of heaven, and yet He still shows us mercy and grace.
God is love. It sounds almost trite now, after millennia of misusing the phrase and shoving it into shapes in which it doesn't belong, after millennia of trying to make it trite. But it is the least trite statement with which we will ever be confronted. God is love means for His children that He pardons and forgives us, and for His enemies that He is quick to punish and mete justice.
How are these both true? Because of His self-love. If God loves Himself, then any people He has made His own He will also love, and any that have rejected Him without repentance He will force from His presence. Either of these are weighty enough concepts to incubate reflection throughout eternity, but it is the former that is most worthy of contemplation.
These three remain: faith, hope, and love, but the greatest of these is love. God is not some local deity or nebulous life essence to be greedy and mean (on the one hand) or silly and powerless (on the other). Love is great because God is love; and, likewise, God's love makes Him great. A king that is known only for his cruelty and oppression is soon forgotten or relegated to the big black book of history; but a King known for His magnanimity is never forgotten, though His enemies rightly fear the jealousy with which He guards His subjects.
It won't do to think improperly of God's love, but it also won't do to replace His love with intellectual propositions and hard sayings. The only path to enlightenment on this score is the Scripture and its revelations of God's character and nature. These bear constant reflection, not for the sake of mere knowledge, but in order to hear, feel, sense, experience and understand Yahweh, the God who is Love and who simply and absolutely and completely Is.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
NOT american literature you should read.
The King James Version of the Bible (for obvious reasons)
Paradise Lost, by John Milton (my favorite piece of literature)
The Pardoner's Tale, by Geoffrey Chaucer (my second favorite piece of literature)
The Seven Pillars of Wisdom, by T.E. Lawrence (maybe the finest example of an autobiography)
The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman, by Laurence Sterne (as Steve Coogan said, the first postmodern novel. one of the funniest books you'll ever read, and one of the best novels)
Essays, by George Orwell (the man was a genius and a prophet)
The Road to Serfdom, by Friedrich von Hayek (also a genius and prophet, and the spokesman for true conservatives in the traditional sense)
Pilgrim's Progress, by John Bunyan (you simply have to read this one)
A History of Philosophy Volumes 1-9, by Frederick Copleston S.J. (the best of its kind, and more entertaining than you might think)
Titus Andronicus, by William Shakespeare (Aaron the Moor)
The Lord of the Rings, by J.R.R. Tolkien (best fantasy, best Christian novel, best modern epic)
Njal's Saga, by anonymous (if you've never read an Icelandic saga, this is the best place to start; you won't find more violence or snappy one-liners in even the best Schwarzenegger movie)
The Scarlet and the Black, by Stendahl (my uncle thought this was the best novel ever written; I wouldn't go that far, but it's up there)
Fear and Trembling, by Soren Kierkegaard (the greatest Christian philosopher writes on the things that matter most)
Twilight of the Idols & The Anti-Christ, by Friedrich Nietzsche (the greatest Pagan philosopher writes on the things that matter most)
The Institutes of the Christian Religion, by John Calvin (theology as it was always meant to be--apprehendable yet deep, intellectual yet applicable and spiritual)
The First Blast of the Trumpet Against the Monstrous Regiment of Women, by John Knox (first of all, the man knew how to title a book; second, the monstrous regiment was comprised of Elizabeth I, and his arguments are compelling)
If on a winter's night a traveler...., by Italo Calvino (so brilliant it's hard to understand why anyone since him has tried writing fiction, or whatever you call it)
The Master of the Day of Judgement, by Leo Perutz (a supernatural mystery story that actually makes sense and is actually scary)
Barnaby Rudge, by Charles Dickens (underrated and largely unread, this is a masterpiece in every sense)
Our Mutual Friend, by Charles Dickens (if Dickens had written nothing else, he'd still be the greatest novelist of all time)
The Death of Death in the Death of Christ, by John Owen (the Puritans are my heroes; this book is pure devotion to Jesus Christ)
The 13 1/2 Lives of Captain Bluebear, by Walter Moers (who knew Germans had such a sense of humor??)
Hunger, by Knut Hamsun (never has deprivation been so carefully rendered)
A Universal History of Infamy, by Jorge Luis Borges (why isn't this required reading everywhere?)
The Gormenghast Trilogy, by Mervyn Peake (post-World War II Europe in a fantasy setting; this novel will blow your mind and remind you that fiction can indeed be great and worthwhile)
The Tain, by anonymous (an Irish cattle raid in the roughest poetic language you'll ever encounter)
The Kalevala, by Elias Lonnrot (when Vainamoinen sings the world into existence, if you don't lose your breath you're heartless and inhuman)
Mr. Standfast, by John Buchan (spies who use codenames from Pilgrim's Progress AND a veteran of the Boer War who ends up in a fighter plane)
The City of God, by St. Augustine (duh)
and finally
The Complete Sherlock Holmes, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (because really, he accomplished something great there)
Paradise Lost, by John Milton (my favorite piece of literature)
The Pardoner's Tale, by Geoffrey Chaucer (my second favorite piece of literature)
The Seven Pillars of Wisdom, by T.E. Lawrence (maybe the finest example of an autobiography)
The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman, by Laurence Sterne (as Steve Coogan said, the first postmodern novel. one of the funniest books you'll ever read, and one of the best novels)
Essays, by George Orwell (the man was a genius and a prophet)
The Road to Serfdom, by Friedrich von Hayek (also a genius and prophet, and the spokesman for true conservatives in the traditional sense)
Pilgrim's Progress, by John Bunyan (you simply have to read this one)
A History of Philosophy Volumes 1-9, by Frederick Copleston S.J. (the best of its kind, and more entertaining than you might think)
Titus Andronicus, by William Shakespeare (Aaron the Moor)
The Lord of the Rings, by J.R.R. Tolkien (best fantasy, best Christian novel, best modern epic)
Njal's Saga, by anonymous (if you've never read an Icelandic saga, this is the best place to start; you won't find more violence or snappy one-liners in even the best Schwarzenegger movie)
The Scarlet and the Black, by Stendahl (my uncle thought this was the best novel ever written; I wouldn't go that far, but it's up there)
Fear and Trembling, by Soren Kierkegaard (the greatest Christian philosopher writes on the things that matter most)
Twilight of the Idols & The Anti-Christ, by Friedrich Nietzsche (the greatest Pagan philosopher writes on the things that matter most)
The Institutes of the Christian Religion, by John Calvin (theology as it was always meant to be--apprehendable yet deep, intellectual yet applicable and spiritual)
The First Blast of the Trumpet Against the Monstrous Regiment of Women, by John Knox (first of all, the man knew how to title a book; second, the monstrous regiment was comprised of Elizabeth I, and his arguments are compelling)
If on a winter's night a traveler...., by Italo Calvino (so brilliant it's hard to understand why anyone since him has tried writing fiction, or whatever you call it)
The Master of the Day of Judgement, by Leo Perutz (a supernatural mystery story that actually makes sense and is actually scary)
Barnaby Rudge, by Charles Dickens (underrated and largely unread, this is a masterpiece in every sense)
Our Mutual Friend, by Charles Dickens (if Dickens had written nothing else, he'd still be the greatest novelist of all time)
The Death of Death in the Death of Christ, by John Owen (the Puritans are my heroes; this book is pure devotion to Jesus Christ)
The 13 1/2 Lives of Captain Bluebear, by Walter Moers (who knew Germans had such a sense of humor??)
Hunger, by Knut Hamsun (never has deprivation been so carefully rendered)
A Universal History of Infamy, by Jorge Luis Borges (why isn't this required reading everywhere?)
The Gormenghast Trilogy, by Mervyn Peake (post-World War II Europe in a fantasy setting; this novel will blow your mind and remind you that fiction can indeed be great and worthwhile)
The Tain, by anonymous (an Irish cattle raid in the roughest poetic language you'll ever encounter)
The Kalevala, by Elias Lonnrot (when Vainamoinen sings the world into existence, if you don't lose your breath you're heartless and inhuman)
Mr. Standfast, by John Buchan (spies who use codenames from Pilgrim's Progress AND a veteran of the Boer War who ends up in a fighter plane)
The City of God, by St. Augustine (duh)
and finally
The Complete Sherlock Holmes, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (because really, he accomplished something great there)
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