My Abbreviated Top Films of 2011

Some time in the distant future, I will release an actual list of my favorite films of 2011. And there will be much rejoicing. Until then, enjoy this pithy placeholder. I made it as a sort of topical counter-point to the Oscars, hoping to stir up some discussion (and pass the time during a slow work night). But don’t be confused. The real list with real writeups is still on its way. I’ve just decided to wait until I’ve seen absolutely everything, which might sound extreme but any list that excludes films from Wim Wenders, Werner Herzog, Pedro Almodovar, and David Cronenberg, not to mention three of the most discussed films of the year (A Separation, Margaret, and We Need to Talk About Kevin) probably should wait to develop a little bit more. I swear it’s not my fault. I just happen to live in Iowa, where arthouse films are illegal.

But for the time being, I have seen 8 of the 9 Best Picture nominees (and from what I’m told, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close doesn’t even count) so by the Academy’s standard I’m more than qualified to enter the discussion. Anyway, enjoy.

WHAT I’VE SEEN

50/50

The Adventures of Tintin: Secret of the Unicorn

The Arbor

The Artist

Attack the Block

Beginners

Bridesmaids

Bellflower

Captain America: The First Avenger

Cars 2

Cave of Forgotten Dreams

Cedar Rapids

Certified Copy

Contagion

Courageous

The Descendants

Detective Dee and the Mystery of the Phantom Flame

Drive

Fast Five

Film Socialisme

Gnomeo and Juliet

The Guard

Hanna

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part II

The Help

Hesher

Horrible Bosses

Hugo

The Ides of March

Incendies

The Interrupters

Kung Fu Panda 2

Larry Crowne

Le Havre

Le Quattro Volte

Margin Call

Martha Marcy May Marlene

Meek’s Cutoff

Melancholia

Midnight in Paris

Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol

Moneyball

The Muppets

Myth of the American Sleepover

Nostalgia for the Light

Of Gods and Men

Paul

Poetry

Project Nim

Rango

Rise of the Planet of the Apes

Senna

Shame

Sherlock Holmes: Game of Shadows

The Smurfs

Source Code

Submarine

Super 8

Tabloid

Take Shelter

Terri

Thor

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy

Transformers: Dark of the Moon

Tree of Life

The Trip

Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives

Warhorse

Warrior

Water for Elephants

Winnie the Pooh

Win Win

X-Men: First Class

Young Adult

20. Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy – Tomas Alfredson

Yes, it’s every bit as dense as you’ve been led to believe, but in a good way! At first glance Alfredson’s structural mazes bear little resemblance to the moral mirk of his vampire drama Let the Right One In, but the spirit behind them is quite similar. He’s a filmmaker who really knows how to capture the feeling of being lost in an honest and compelling way.

19. Melancholia – Lars VonTrier

Very, very dark, but on the other hand, very, very pretty. Plus no scissors hanging around where they don’t belong. Lars Von Trier’s melodrama is one of the most accurate depictions of depression I’ve ever seen, anchored by a career-best performance from Kirsten Dunst. It’s a film where Melancholia literally destroys the world, which isn’t quite a spoiler because it happens right at the beginning.

18. Submarine – Richard Ayoade

Forget this film’s many dramatic virtues, it’s on this list because I flat out laughed at it more than any other movie this year — which makes sense, because it’s directed by a standup comedian. Alright, there’s a lot more to the film than lolz. Ayoade uses eccentric style, much maligned in the days of Wes Anderson backlash, as a powerful tool for contrasting dissonant elements of teenage life: the vicious politics of school and the awkward intimacy of home, the illusion of self-awareness and the impossibility of control. It feels really honest, BUT it’s still all really funny.

17. Le Quattro Volte – Michaelangleo Frammartino

If you’re not into the whole “visual poem” thing, then this might not be your list, because I include several. This one takes a location — a nearly unchanged medieval town inhabited in the modern day — and milks it for everything it’s worth. For less patient viewers, this will be the movie that had a tree as its protagonist for 20 minutes. For the those more attuned to cinema’s simple pleasures, it’s an offbeat, ironic, occasionally hilarious exploration of what it means to be alive.

16. Warrior – Gavin O’Connor

Equal parts Black Swan, Raging Bull, and Rocky 4, it’s amazing to think a sports movie this entertaining could tank in an era when We Are Marshall is box office gold. A lot of that was probably the trailer. It highlighted all the ways this is a generic sports drama (typically a winning strategy), but if that really was the case, nobody told Tom Hardy, Joel Edgerton, and Nick Nolte. Each turned in an Oscar-worthy performance as a family of fighters torn apart by betrayal and abuse. Also it’s not generic. There are familiar elements, sure, but they’re part of an unpredictable fever dream built out of sports movie complexes that ultimately celebrates fighting as an art form. Plus there’s classical music, references to Greek mythology, literary parallels, and a song from The National. So it’s also, like, classy.

15. Drive – Nicholas Winding Refn

Thanks to innovative filmmakers like Jean-Pierre Melville (whose Le Samourai is a major inspiration for Drive) it takes a lot for a standard neo-noir to distinguish itself these days. Nicholas Winding Refn responds to the challenge by stripping back the veneer of realism from this gritty tale until he finds its emotional, even mythical core. One moment it’s a sugary romance painted against city lights and wistful 80’s pop. The next it’s a shockingly violent, occasionally terrifying meditation of self-betrayal and the elusive search for redemption. Wrought with symbolism and inhabited by an indie dream cast of Ryan Gosling, Carey Mulligan, Albert Brooks, and Brian Cranston, it’s one of the most evocatively stylish crime movies ever made.

14. Terri – Azazel Jacobs

Terri is like a comedy version of Precious made for white people. The young protagonist is grossly overweight, mercilessly bullied at school, and not altogether sympathetic to even the audience. But that’s what grants the movie its power. Jacobs realizes most of his audience doesn’t hate people like Terri, but they simply have no idea how to deal with them in real life. Enter Principal Fitzgerald (John C. Reilly), a shining example and one of my favorite characters in any movie this year. Fitzgerald wears himself down trying to help every kid he sees getting lost in the shuffle. He’s cheesy, and his health and marriage seem to be crumbling as he spreads himself too thin, but he keeps fighting because he sees the battle for kids like Terry as nothing less than a matter life and death. Likewise, the movie doesn’t sugarcoat Terri to make him likable. It does, however, insist that its audience relate to him in every aspect of his life — even sexually. The result is a surprisingly observed, humane film which should be getting more recognition.

13. Meek’s Cutoff – Kelly Reichardt

Many critics have been quick to point out big political and religious metaphors that underscore Meek’s Cutoff, but what first won me over to this low budget pioneer western was its atmosphere. Kelly Reichardt makes a lot of unconventional decisions, like a 3:4 aspect ratio, sound that emphasizes the environment over the dialog, and naturalistic lighting that renders night shots almost pitch black. They’re gambles, but they all pay off. The combined effect immerses the viewer in the world of these lost pioneers, where every day gone by is another day off of the trail and away from food and water. It’s a slow burn, but when it explodes you realize just how powerful it really is.

12. The Interrupters – Steve James

This sprawling epic of a documentary from the director of Hoop Dreams (which I haven’t seen yet. I KNOW!) reminded me what a noble enterprise documentary filmmaking can be. It explores the idea that violence should be treated like a disease, by following the exploits of the Violence Interrupters. That group is comprised of former gang members from downtown Chicago who try to mediate potentially violent situations without the use of the police. On the one hand, the results are surprisingly successful. On the other, the process is still frustratingly slow. James’ best quality is the way he observes his characters. He gathered footage for over 14 months, and every shot feels like incisive evidence for his theory. Ultimately there aren’t easy answers for crime and poverty; just people, and The Interrupters captures those people and shows that they can change, and then they can make a difference to help others and stop the disease.

11. The Trip – Michael Winterbottom

A touch of melancholy underscores every chuckle in this road trip comedy from Michael Winterbottom. British comedians Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon each play exaggerated versions of themselves on a five day journey reviewing restaurants in Northern Britain. Brydon’s half of the odd couple is a lighthearted, affable married chap who has settled into his age and speaks almost exclusively in the voices of celebrities he’s impersonated over the years. Coogan plays the uptight, self-obsessed career man who laments losing his big leading roles to Michael Sheen and whose most recent relationship is heading south fast. By steering clear of the overtly bromantic undertones most similar films take for granted, The Trip becomes a whimsical, occasionally sobering look at men in their forties. But even that definition fails to fully realize the film’s accomplishment. By refusing the declare itself, the understated docu-comedy sort of attaches to whatever is nearby, taking long, indulgent gazes at the English countryside, the preparation of food, the fascinating back and forth between two comedy legends, roads, historical landmarks, poetry, and oddest of all, human interaction. Ultimately The Trip is about how all those things add up to life, and it raises questions of what it all means and what its all worth; an existential masterpiece that is so amicable and funny its audience will hardly notice.

10. The Arbor – Clio Barnard

The Arbor is one of the most fascinating documentaries I’ve ever seen. It challenges the very definition of what a documentary can be by combining elements of live theater and television with its interviews and b-roll. The subjects, playwright Andrea Dunbar, her children, and the low-rent neighborhood in England where she grew up, are explored from every possible angle. Actors lip synch over the interview dialog, her plays are performed live in a vacant lot across the street from her old house, other writers and directors discuss Dunbar’s work, and slowly the movie reveals that it’s not merely a self-contained entity — it’s the next chapter in an ongoing artistic tradition. The Arbor draws parallels between the evolution of Dunbar’s art form and the evolution of her family, as well as the evolution of an entire community and the way cyclical cycles of abuse subtly embed themselves. I’ve never seen a movie break down poverty in a more tangible way.

9. Film Socialisme – Jean-Luc Godard

Intentionally frustrating, thick as quicksand, and more than a touch mean-spirited, Film Socialisme is everything one would expect from a polarizing filmmaker like Godard. This is intellectual cinema at its coldest and most opaque. But true to its filmmaker’s legacy, it grows in memory and its seemingly impenetrable veneer gives way to something that resembles legitimate revelation. Possibly the least enjoyable movie I ever loved. Actually, I won’t say I loved it, because what is love really? But if I didn’t hate it so much it would probably be #1.

8. Attack the Block – Joe Cornish

Joe Cornish takes a big first step with his debut feature. Big enough, perhaps, to escape the shadow of his friend and colleague, cinematic wunderkind Edgar Wright. Like Wright, Cornish’s aesthetic is all about genre blending. He combines violent horror, science fiction mystery, urban gang drama, and especially 80’s Spielberg. But also like Wright, he uses his story tricks as a window into character. The gang in Attack the Block isn’t all that different from the gang in Super 8 or the kids in ET. They’re just poorer and have a slightly different skin tone, and when ET lands they beat him to death with a baseball bat. The point is partially that the Amblin spirit can be found in everyone, but let’s not get carried away. This is primarily a midnight B movie, and will primarily be loved as a freakishly exciting adventure that will be a cult classic for years to come.

7. Poetry – Chang-dong Lee

Speaking of genre blends, here’s a quirky human comedy mixed up with a dark film noir. Chang-dong Lee tells his story in mostly muted tones, but like his forefathers Akira Kurosawa and Yasujiro Ozu, his interests run much deeper than would appear on the surface. At first Poetry feels like a basic defense of, well, poetry. But then it moves further to explore art at its core, which is empathy, and how a society without empathy can bring on all kinds of unspeakable evil. I’m halfway convinced I’m underselling this film and will one day refer to it as an all time classic. It’s a piece of Japanese cinema as beautiful as if it were from Ozu and Kurosawa.

6. Hugo – Martin Scorsese

Martin Scorsese wasn’t the only director who wrote a love letter to cinema last year, but he was the most eloquent. He frames this film like a collage made from bits and pieces of the films of his childhood — like Powell and Pressburger’s The Red Shoes and Renoir’s La Bete Humaine. The specific references will of course be lost on kids who, in theory, are the target audience. But I imagine the children who enjoy it most will be the ones, like Hugo, Francois Truffaut (whose story figures into the drama quite a bit), and a younger Scorsese himself, who haven’t become too desensitized to relish the dream. For adults, the joy of seeing a brilliant visual poet let loose in such a sprawling and confectionary way should go without saying. But I also suspect this movie will be revered even more when audiences have time to reflect on it.

5. Midnight in Paris – Woody Allen

Sweet, sugary, frothy, bubbly, magical, delightful — shutter — these are words you will rarely here me use to describe a film I enjoyed. And yet I was completely enchanted by this romance from Woody Allen, which incoporates just about all of them. It registered with those same indulgent neurons that usually trigger my nausea, but it also appealed to my adult sensibilities with its wit and intelligence. I’ve been calling it a trip to intellectual Disney World, and to avoid spoilers I won’t carry that metaphor further. But you really need to check it out. It’s one of the most enjoyable, sweet, sugary, frothy (you get the picture) films Allen has ever made.

4. Of Gods and Men – Xavier Beauvois

In 1996, twelve French monks serving in Algeria refused to leave their monastery when terrorists threatened the region. Xavier Beauvois’ film captures their plight with meditative subtlety. On the surface it’s an ambitious discussion on contemporary religion and violence, and one that handles the discussion with uncommon intelligence. But beneath that surface lies a deceptively touching story of fear and brotherhood. Seeing these characters face death together is more touching than any overarching themes.

3. Moneyball – Bennet Miller

Aaron Sorkin’s had a long love affair with the 70’s. His films and TV shows are littered with references to M*A*S*H, All the President’s Men, Annie Hall, and Network, right down to his fascinatingly quixotic love letter to Paddy Chayefesky called Studio 60. But even more substantively, his thematic interests seem to ignore the questions of his day for the problems of an edgier, more intellectually-minded age — his modern characters operating a few degrees outside their society, at conflict with a less sophisticated, post-intellectual conservative America. With 2010‘s The Social Network and now Moneyball, the world’s most famous screenwriter has broken through the wall of homage into his own stratosphere, not just yearning for a more enlightened era of screenwriting but actually defining one. Also, this movie feels like a very accurate representation of its time and place. Retrofitted from a book released in 2003, Moneyball became the story of disappointment and pessimism, and the kind of change that can maybe restore hope in the future.

2. Project Nim – James Marsh

I’m not as familiar with documentary filmmaking as I am with its narrative cousin, but I was absolutely blown away by this chimpanzee documentary. It’s story runs parallel to King Kong, Frankenstein, and other cautionary tales about the dangers of man messing with nature and science. Yet I’m even more inclined to compare it to Citizen Kane. After all, Nim was torn from his mother at a young age and moved from family to family in an attempt to teach him sign language (or become THE MOST INTELLIGENT CHIMP EVER!). The scientific implications of a chimp learning human communication are astounding. But nobody gave any consideration to the human implications, and so we heartbreakingly endure tragedy after tragedy as characters adopt Nim and then discard him when they realize that a chimpanzee in a human world is more trouble than they bargained for. I half expected someone to burn his old toy sled at the end. But the movie isn’t all familiar, and the surprises along the way are vital to its success. Yes, the world is awfully cold to young Nim, but Nim’s response to his trials (and their human, and not so human implications) are really what grant the film its power.

1. Tree of Life – Terrence Malick

Tree of Life is meant to be appreciated in the same way as the classical pieces of music that accompany its images. Like Smetana’s Ma Vlast, Malick strives to capture the spirit and feeling of his homeland, be that the entire universe, the Earth, or one house from his early childhood. It’s ambitious, that’s for sure. The enigmatic filmmaker might not completely nail down the meaning of life, but he definitely proves he’s got as good a grasp on the feel of it as anyone working today. True, natural beauty is such a tough thing to capture in this cynical age. Malick does it with the same devotion and craft that guided his artistic forefathers, not just film directors but great artists from all of history.

ADDITIONAL AWARDS

Best Actor
1. Tom Hardy – Warrior
2. Michael Shannon – Take Shelter
3. Michael Fassbender – Shame
4. Andy Serkis – Rise of the Planet of the Apes
5. Brendan Gleeson – The GuardBest Supporting Actor
1. John C. Reilly – Terri
2. Christopher Plummer – Beginners
3. John Hawkes – Martha Marcy May Marlene
4. Nick Nolte – Warrior
5. Joel Edgerton – Warrior

Best Actress
1. Vera Farmiga – Higher Ground
2. Elizabeth Olsen – Martha Marcy May Marlene
3. Kirsten Dunst – Melancholia
4. Viola Davis – The Help
5. Kristen Wiig – Bridesmaids

Best Supporting Actress
1. Carey Mulligan – Shame
2. Jessica Chastain – The Help
3. Jessica Chastain – Take Shelter
4. Jessica Chastain – Tree of Life
5. Sally Hawkins – Submarine

Best Original Screenplay
1. Midnight in Paris – Woody Allen
2. Terri – Patrick DeWitt, Azazel Jacobs
3. Attack the Block – Joe Cornish
4. Of Gods and Men – Xavier Beauvois
5. Poetry – Chang-dong Lee

Best Adapted Screenplay
1. Moneyball – Aaron Sorkin
2. Submarine – Richard Ayoade
3. Higher Ground – Carolyn S. Briggs, Tim Metcalfe
4. Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy – Bridget O’Connor, Peter Straugen
5. The Descendants – Alexander Payne, Nat Faxon, Jim Rash

Best Director
1. Terrence Malick – Tree of Life
2. Martin Scorsese – Hugo
3. Nicholas Winding Refn – Drive
4. Woody Allen – Midnight in Paris
5. TIE: Kelly Reichardt – Meek’s Cutoff / Lars VonTrier – Melancholia

What YOUR Best Picture Choice Says About YOU

To quote Homer Simpson, “Who is to say what is right these days, what with all our modern ideas… and products?” As I consider the status of the Oscars in the age of internet, this sentiment seems doubly true — perhaps even triply or quadruply! Now that practically every opinion of everyone who ever lived is posted online for the world to see, like the world’s biggest art project that conclusively proves post-modernism (or nihilism, however you look at it), awards that use terms like “Best” or “Worst” feel at best unnecessary. At worst, as obsolete as film critics.

Take Best Picture favorite The Arist: one person’s buoyant tribute to silent cinema is another’s one-dimensional turd on the corpse of Charlie Chaplin. Palmes D’or winner Tree of Life is both the most beloved and most hated movie of the year, a grandiose vision that cements a master’s legacy and an indulgent, ponderous death knoll for his waning career.  Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy is a taut psychological thriller, or would be if anyone had any idea what was going on ever; and Shame is a raw expose on sex addiction that hearkens to a more daring era of cinema, but wasn’t nominated for any awards because watching it is like masturbating with a cheese grater. And DO NOT get anyone started on Margaret!

Even if a movie sits at 100% on Rotten Tomatoes with  an average review of God/10, I guarantee I could find a critic – not just a Youtube troll, but a real, respectable critic – who absolutely loathes it.

“But you gave it an A in your review!”
“I reserved the right to completely change my mind about what happened. It’s practice for when I run for president.”

Sorry, that was an easy joke.

“But you gave it an A in your review!”
“I reserved the right to completely change my mind about what happened. It’s practice for when I coach Penn State football.”

Is that too late? Or maybe too soon?

“But you gave it an A in your review!”
“I reserved the right to completely change my mind about what happened. It’s practice for when my personal beliefs are challenged by science.”

There, that one’s timeless and carefully worded to be relatable yet unoffensive. You can’t fault it.

So what’s the problem? Why can’t the dissenters just agree to disagree and even turn those differences into an exciting discussion that expands universal awareness? Well let’s take it one step further. Why don’t I just admit The Artist people are right and sit idly by while my favorite movies get trashed again and again by the ignorant masses!? Huh!? I bet you’d like that! It’s a slippery slope my friends. Somebody has to budge, and it’s not going to be me.

Fortunately, there’s another alternative; one I’ve taken from the internet. Let’s just personalize the system. Instead of arguing over what multiple people think the best movie of the year is, why not ask, “What does YOUR favorite movie say about YOU?” YOU get to pick the movie, and then YOU get to read about YOURSELF. This way everyone gets to win equally and nobody gets their feelings hurt.

The following list is a prototype based on the Best Picture nominees. I’ve taken the liberty of writing the analyses myself, from careful study and observations of critical feedback and audience responses. Please choose your favorite film (or the closest available answer) and read the corresponding description to discover who you really are. See, no subjectivity at all.

The Nominees

The Artist – You are ignorant — but blissfully so! The world is a wonderful place for you, so why bother expanding your awareness to anything that might challenge that? You probably called this “the best silent movie ever,” despite never having seen another silent movie. Don’t think about it too hard. It’s fine. You already called Life is Beautiful “the best foreign film ever” and you’d never seen another one of those either. (in your defense, that opinion held even after Slumdog Millionaire) And even though you’ve never seen Citizen Kane, you feel comfortable vehemently defending The Shawshank Redemption as “the best movie of all time!” Or as comfortable as anyone can be when there’s also Forrest Gump, Braveheart, and Titanic to consider. Man, I envy you.

The Descendants – You are rich. Heck, you’re probably a movie producer. You probably produced this movie. It’s about rich people: a subject you can relate to. You’ve been getting a lot of bad press these days, from 42 unemployable drains on society who have nothing better to do than complain you inherited every penny you have. But they don’t know what you really go through. They should watch this film and see how people like you have to deal with death, family, and responsibility just like they do; even moreso, because you have considerably more money and therefore considerably more to lose.

The Help – You are secretly racist. You might not even be aware of it, although you can’t shake the feeling that something’s amiss as you keep checking your locks whenever an African American male crosses the intersection in front of your car; or when you survey your friend group and realize every one of you is white, blonde haired, blue eyed, and hates rap. But you tell yourself there’s really no problem. After all, if you were a racist would you go see movies like this, or Remember the Titans, or The Blindside? Would you post Facebook statuses about how “moving” and ”important” they are, the minute you leave the theater? Even before you get back to your gated community! Those REAL racists, you tell yourself, were terrible people. You’re going to be far more understanding if the opportunity should ever present itself.

Tree of Life – You fancy yourself an intellectual. Everyone else you’ve talked to had no idea what was going on in this film and walked out before the dinosaurs showed up; but you remained long after the credits (not unlike those brave critics who first defended Rules of the Game and 2001: A Space Odyssey). Every moment that flew over the common man’s head seemed directed right at you. How could they not understand the beauty of the poetry, the depth of symbolism, the profound feeling behind Malick’s vision? But the joke is actually on you, because there is an even higher class of intellectual who not only “got” the film — they were completely underwhelmed by it. Maybe if your IQ was just ten or twenty points higher you’d know that Malick’s worldview is overly simple and his tactics are superficial cliches ripped off of greater, far more intelligent films. Do Au Hasard Balthasar, Andrei Rublev, or L’Enfance Nue ring a bell? Yeah, that’s what I thought.

Warhorse – You’re a Spielberg fanboy. Don’t worry, you’re in good company. I’ll admit I bawled my eyes out every time Samwise Gamgee delivered a dripping romantic monologue about his horse. But seriously, you actually think this was the best movie of the year? Come on! Really? Have you seen The Artist yet?

Moneyball – You are sensible. While extremists flail about in the wind, you remain firmly entrenched at the center on practically every issue. You watch sports, read books, and listen to music, but not in excess — and not the crazy stuff. You don’t own many movies but what you have are proven classics like The Great Escape, The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, and The Godfather. Your generic brand MP3 player contains mostly soft 70′s love songs and everything by Bruce Springsteen and Billy Joel. Grantland is your homepage, or maybe CNN, or the website for the local newspaper if it’s edited well and doesn’t have too much of a noticeable slant… YAWN Sorry, I’m getting bored just talking about you.

Hugo – You are weird. You probably sit in a dark room at night and cry about movies you haven’t seen in two years. You wish you lived in a different time: maybe with the cashiers du cinema or the film brats or really anywhere that’s not right here and right now. You probably drug your kids to this movie and actually expected them to like it. They probably did after enduring 2001: A Space Odyssey (the novel) every night before bed and mandatory Godard and Bunuel marathons on the weekends with a questionaire afterwards. Wait, who am I kidding? You don’t have a family.

Midnight in Paris – You are cynical. Oh, you put on a good show this year, dragging all your friends and relatives to this movie to show them you can laugh and have a good time like anyone else. They might even have bought it (it’s a really likable movie). But you’re not fooling me, and you’re not fooling yourself. You weren’t moved by the frothy mood and life affirming message. You, you were responding to depressed, narcissistic authors talking about themselves; and the broad, hateful stereotypes projected on normal everyday people; and the undertones of fatalism that pestered Owen Wilson’s self-absorbed author Gil Pender. Maybe you did feel a little better during the screening, like you were taking a trip to intellectual Disneyland, but at this point is anything really going to scrape your teflon self-hate? Tomorrow everyone is going to misunderstand you again. You’ll still have a crappy childhood, and all your hopes and dreams will still be unfulfilled. But at least you’ll always have Paris, whatever that’s worth.

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close – You… might want to keep this one to yourself.

Review: The Muppets

I’m torn right now. I want to toss my unreserved support behind the latest Muppets, because not only is it consistently entertaining, disarmingly sweet, and certainly up to the standard established by most entries in the franchise, but it is also an important movie for a young generation; and it is aware of that fact. Just before getting his head slammed in a door by Donald Glover, Kermit the Frog preps a speech about how kids are smarter than than their cynical culture gives them credit for being. A world where children’s entertainment has become more and more about cruel slapstick and lifeless hip hop references desperately needs The Muppets; where many of Kermit and Piggy’s contemporaries like The Smurfs, Alvin and the Chipmunks, and Transformers are being juiced for every last ounce of nostalgia by soulless adaptations that couldn’t care less about their initial charm, needs something genuinely optimistic. And The Muppets not only delivers on all of that promise and then some; it does so in a movie that is boldly about that problem. We chart the journey of the Muppets that is fascinatingly close to the actual journey the film took to the screen, with the world at first rejecting their special brand of entertainment as obsolete before being won over by its sheer enchantment. From what I’ve heard about audience reactions so far, this is a rare film that could actually change the way studio’s handle mainstream children’s entertainment, and that it’s done as part of the Muppet’s legacy is nothing short of outstanding.

So why the conflict? Why can’t I just embrace a wonderful movie, that – especially when packaged with the award-worthy Toy Story short before it – will probably make for the most fun experience at the movies this holiday season? Well – I’m just gonna have to come out and say it – I don’t think writer/star Jason Segel and his team, no matter how well-intentioned and passionate they are, are fully capable of recreating Henson’s fascinating universe. Now I understand that’s a lot to deal with in a single sentence, so I’ll unpack it a bit. Any old franchise can claim to be some grand representation of youthful innocence. Toy Story 3 used its characters as foils for the audience’s lost childhood last year, and while that adaptation was also successful, there are way more bad ones. You want to know which Disney movie this last decade runs closest, plot-wise, to The Muppets? Run a Rotten Tomatoes search of The Country Bears and see what happens.  And remember those pungent 80’s franchise adaptations I mentioned in the last paragraph? Nostalgia, a surefire draw for weary adults whose futures seem dimmer and dimmer, has become an enormous selling point for movies these days. Every studio wants to say that they’re making a movie, “for the child in all of us,” and even moreso, “for the child we used to be.”

The Muppets, like the Toy Story franchise, succeeds because of the legacy the characters had already earned. The new Muppet movie doesn’t need to be exploited as a symbol of youth because the series has always been about inner youth. In spite of all the hilarious inside jokes and pop-culture savvy these characters have exhibited, the heart of it was always the frog singing about dreams. When Kermit plays The Rainbow Connection on his banjo in The Muppet Movie, I am genuinely convinced of some lost insight that makes peace and love possible and the world a gorgeous place to be. Call it naivety, call it innocence, call it flower power, but Henson sold it. Any time I am watching anything with the Henson’s Muppets, even (or especially) their manic variety show, my outlook on the world seems just a bit more buoyant. I think Segel and company are fully aware of that spirit, and they might even have made their movie about it, but they’re not totally able to recreate it. My personal observance is that years of working in a very cynical industry have, ever-so-subtly, eroded their ability to connect on certain defining levels with these characters.

If that sounds harsh, it’s not my intention. I don’t think anyone who has taken on the series since Henson’s death has totally succeeded, and yet on some level I’ve enjoyed everything the Muppets have ever been a part of. I credit these guys for even trying, especially in our 24 hour news cycle, politically polarized, technologically overwrought, narcissistic and cynical world. Today everything is just a lot more complex, even moreso than it was in 1979 (which was not a simple year, ask anyone who was there). But I just couldn’t help myself from feeling a little uneasy as I watched the hyperbolically sunny small town dance number the movie opened with, or the hilariously sexless relationship Segel had with Amy Adams (the reference to their ten years of dating got a good laugh in my theater), or the way 80% of the film’s dilemmas were overcome with a speech about hope. It just always occurred to me that the people making this movie weren’t buyin what they were sellin; at least not wholesale.

Sure, they probably believe that kids deserve a better fairy-tale to dream about at night, and sure, they all probably grew up loving the Muppets and are pouring their hearts into this adaptation; and no, I’m not discounting the importance of growing up nor deriding its emphasis in the film. But sometimes I just got the feeling that I was watching the party animal uncle Segel, who just got back from the kegger/orgy over at Apatow’s, talk down to his little nephews about two years beneath their age. And isn’t the whole point that there’s already too much irony in the world; that it’s good sometimes to walk into the theater and see something that makes you want to try again, makes you remember that good things happen every day and great things are possible, and makes you want to find peace and love and laugh and cry? Isn’t that why everyone loves the Muppets, and isn’t that why the movie says we need them so badly right now?

So why, I ask, was so much effort put into emphasizing how hokey the premise really is? I’m not saying it’s not hokey, or that anything involving the Muppets isn’t a little hokey, but Henson never fought so hard to make me aware of that. It’s one thing to be self-aware (something the Muppets have always been) but this movie came dangerously close to being, well, disingenuous. In fact, it came only handful of winks, nods, and vacant smiles away from being pessimistic in spite of itself, and had that happened I think it could have wrecked the good thing they had going. And don’t tell me they were drawing a contrast between the simplicity of small town America and the harsh reality of the world, because even in the big world every character was overpoweringly simple.

I understand that it’s the trend in television right now to play with extremes and always operate outside a certain ironic distance; and you better believe this movie was influenced by modern television. Probably 80% of the “stars” are most famous for one TV show or another, and most of the jokes are more easily traced back to How I Met Your Mother and 30 Rock than The Muppet Show or any of the films. That’s not my problem. These guys are taking the franchise and they’re making it their own, and they’re connecting what they know with what they know worked for the franchise way back when.

And it’s all working and the movie is a hit with audiences and critics and, gosh darn it, me too. But they were headed down a slippery slope for a while there. Had the final moments not been so rewarding, or had any less time been given to the actual Muppet characters, or had I not been so in love with the way they melded real life drama with the film’s central conflict, or had Chris Cooper been any less delightful in spite of his role, then what we might have been left with was a funny but ultimately vapid exercise in celebrity self-indulgence. And the Muppets deserve better than that. Thankfully I don’t believe that happened, and this movie will join an impressive legacy of children’s entertainment that adults like me can embrace too. But as the next films come around, watch out. As we’ve seen with other reboots this last decade, the vices of the first film often become the defining traits of the sequel.

Top Albums of 2011

In the spirit of full disclosure, I should probably begin by admitting I am not a music critic nor a musician. In fact, prior to this list I had never intentionally listened to 10 full albums from a single year. So what madness drove me to listen to nearly 30 albums over and over again for almost a month in order to publish my non-authoritative consensus? Well, discounting the reward that comes from the writing process, the expansion of my artistic horizons, and my desire to be part of the great artistic discussion, I just think my music taste is better than other people’s.

That’s right.

Though I’ve got no objective criteria nor adequate perspective to back up this claim, I am convinced that I like better music than you do. And with that as my premise,  I feel it is my sacred duty to profess my impeccable taste to the lowest common denominator masses that perhaps a few lost souls might be saved from the land of top 40 dreck.

If that admission sounds arrogant or perhaps counter-productive to my goal of getting you to read to the next paragraph, then consider the above claim as a challenge. I want you to prove me wrong. Tell me what I wrongfully skipped, what I didn’t adequately consider, or where I missed the boat entirely.

But seriously, I’m writing this list because there are some bands with some incredible music that I am crazy about, and I think everyone should listen to them. And since my lists usually get a decent audience (as opposed to Facebook statuses, tweets, or shouting outside my house) I’m going to use the small podium I have.

Below is a list of all the albums I’ve listened to from the last year, chosen by a number of criteria like critical consensus, my enjoyment of the band in the past, and recommendations from Mac Wilson who is a DJ at 89.3 The Current in Saint Paul, MN.

All Eternals Deck – The Mountain Goats
Angles – The  Strokes
Arabia Mountain – The Black Lips
A Smoke Ring for My Halo – Kurt Vile
Bon Iver – Bon Iver
Ceremonials – Florence and the Machine
Circuital – My Morning Jacket
Codes and Keys – Deathcab for Cutie
Cults – Cults
Era Extrana – Neon Indian
Helplessness Blues – Fleet Foxes
Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming – M83
In the Grace of Your Love – The Rapture
The King is Dead – The Demeberists
King of Limbs – Radiohead
Let England Shake – PJ Harvey
Mylo Xyloto – Coldplay
Only in Dreams – Dum Dum Girls
Portamento – The Drums
The Rip Tide – Beirut
Rome – Danger Mouse
Slave Ambient – The War on Drugs
Tomboy – Panda Bear
Torches – Foster the People
w h o k i l l – tUnE-yArDs
The Whole Love – Wilco

So without further ado, I present my top albums of 2011. And yes, there is a lot of quote whoring. Please, record companies, feel free to use me on any advertisement you see fit.

10. Cults – Cults

The widespread success of Cults (the band), who trail only Foster the People as the breakout talents of 2011, shouldn’t surprise anyone. Cults (the album) is one surefire hit after another, paying homage to nostalgic high school prom anthems of yesteryear. Of course, in their time those 50′s dance songs were more than successful mood setters. They provided a voice for young angst in a repressed culture that demanded conformity, and in that spirit Cults uses their crowd-pleasing aesthetic to express less-than-pleasant emotions for adults. Easy as it might be to get lost in the airy vocals and catchy hooks, this is a very angry album that tells the story of  relationship destroyed by suppressed emotions and simplistic moral and romantic ideals. Lead singer Madeline Follin sings with bitter sweetness, “Please don’t tell me you know the rules to go by. I can run away and leave you anytime,” in Oh My God, or “Tell me all the things you thought weren’t right about me in my life,” and, “Yeah I try to heal myself, and turn around cuz someone else. But I can never heal myself so f–k you,” in Never Heal Myself. The voices of famous cult leaders litter the background of many songs to add even more vitriol to the tyrade, but in spite of all of this the mood isn’t oppressive at all. In fact, the musical atmosphere is downright sunny, and I defy you not to dance to any one of the first three tracks. More than creating an ironic contrast that invites the listener to “grow up” or creating a cult-like euphoric atmosphere, the optimistic musical temperature (especially as the album closes) is meant to find catharsis in spite of the bad feelings, much like those old songs we talked about earlier. Cults might not be the most inventive album ever, but it might be one of the most likable released this year. I’m definitely drinking the cool-aid.

9. Circuital – My Morning Jacket

Conventional wisdom says that My Morning Jacket’s best days, album-wise, are behind them, lost to their more definitive early period of It Still Moves and Z. Well, no disrespect to those two classic albums (which I own and love) but Circuital could be my favorite MMJ album. I’m at least entertaining the notion. It’s probably not as ambitious, nor as sprawling and unique as those other two, but with Circuital the band might have found the most perfect fusion of their sci-fi electronic and southern folk rock sensibilities, as well as the best representation of their power as aesthetes. Repeated silences and the restraint of key moments to a small handful of instruments create a sparse but surprisingly effective journey through time and space. Take the album opener, Victory Dance, which is almost six minutes of little more than a couple guitars, drums and vocals: a pretty standard rock album track. But the strategic placement of of a single gong and the careful injection of background vocals transform it into an other-worldly experience. The next track, Circuital, which is over 7 minutes long, does the exact same thing even more impressively, and once disbelief has been suspended the album moves effortlessly from softer ballads like Out of my System and Wonderful (the Way I Feel) to pulpy satanic rock like Holdin Onto Black Metal and makes it all feel like part of the same journey. When closer Movin Away kicked in with its level 4 piano lesson intro, I really felt like something profound has happened. I wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but I just felt like it had. Maybe that was an illusion, or maybe the overarching performance really made even the simple songs like Out of My System slightly more profound. After all, everything looks more complete when viewed from outer space.

8. w h o k i l l – tUnE-yArDs

The first time I popped on w h o k i l l, I’d just spent several hours wrestling with Panda Bear’s Byzantine video game soundtrack Tomboy and was ready to give up on the whole “listening to music” thing forever. But before I was done shouting, “Really Pitchfork? 8.5? And Up From Below is a 4? REALLY?” I became aware that there was a noticeable change in the room. I was still listening to dense, chaotic orchestration, but I didn’t feel like I needed to be high to appreciate it. And then like those old Capris Sun commercials I was whisked away in a horrifying silver blob to another dimension. This second album from Merrill Garbus’s tUnE-yArDs project is a lot catchier, a lot more accessible, and much more direct than its predecessor, but it still keeps the big ideas rolling at an impressive rate. Garbus said the album title’s strange spacing was meant to reflect, “what we get from texting and emailing all the time, when nothing is ever exactly right.” (I’d like to thank Wikipedia for that bridge sentence) Miscommunication is certainly an aesthetic theme, with Garbus wielding chaotic dissonance like a mace. It gives the impression that this was recorded in a big room with white walls and wood floors by an army of beatnicks armed with horns and tambourines and saxophones and spoons and home apploances and stuff they found in the dumpster behind the building – there’s probably some guy painting in the corner and some woman who is turning the lights on and off for effect – and up front is Merrill Garbus, the psycho genius conducting and singing with faux hipness those ridiculous songs titled Gangsta, Bizness, and Killa as though anyone present has ever set foot in a crowd where those words are used regularly. And yet the literary themes are nowhere near so elaborate. In the opener, My Country, Garbus sings things like,  ”When they have nothing, why do you have something?” and, “The thing about living a lie is just wondering when they’ll find out.” Police sirens echo behind Gangsta and tales of authoritative violence feature prominently in Riotriot, Doorstep, Powa, and Killa. It’s a dissonant album for a dissonant world, except in the music Garbus finds order even while trying to subvert it.

7. Arabia Mountain – The Black Lips

While there is an actual Arabia Mountain in Georgia, the title of the sixth LP from the Black Lips calls to my mind some imaginary, seedy amusement park off some long-abandoned highway. All the rides are decorated with scantily-clad beauties in distress and poorly painted pictures of Spider-Man and Scooby Doo they obviously never bought the rights to. There’s a ton of rides scavenged from failed traveling carnivals and likeminded amusement parks that died just a bit earlier, and despite the fact that the whole place looks like it could topple down any second, it’s a lot of freaking fun. If that sounds like somewhere you’d like to visit (be honest, who wouldn’t) then this is your album. It trades in classic-sounding rock songs that almost universally clock in under three minutes and subverts them with garage band energy and punk irreverence (these qualities most perfectly blended in Spidey’s Curse, a song based on an elementary school educational video about sexual abuse that used Peter Parker for brand recognition). The catchy tunes pile up quickly (I’ve heard Family Tree, Modern Art, Raw Meat, and Time all on the radio, and nearly everything would make a great single), and eventually its hard not to be really impressed with how well these guys distinguish every track while sticking with the same approach. The Black Lips might not be the most popular band on this list, nor are they the most distinguished, but like the Arabia Mountain in my mind, sometimes the side attractions are the most enjoyable.

6. Slave Ambient – The War on Drugs

I would make a big deal about how Adam Granduciel’s vocal quality and lyical density draw comparisons to Bob Dylan, or perhaps how The War on Drugs’ anthemic optimism might be called Springsteen-esque, if I had noticed either of those things the first five times I listened. Slave Ambient is a wonderfully layered album, moody and un-ironic on the first few listens and perfectly satisfying in that state. The occasional line like, “Wonderin where my friends are goin and wonderin why they didn’t take me,” might register with the ears and further crank up the teen angst-meter, but the primary impact of Slave Ambient is atmosphere; thick, nostalgic, sun-drenched atmosphere. It’s one of those albums I would have loved as a teenager, walking through the streets of suburbia at dusk and melodramatically trying to find poetry in every little thing that went by. The whole affair is so definitive of the spirit of summer that even as I listen to it on the wrong side of Thanksgiving, I feel like I should walk outside to fireworks, bonfires, and kids buzzing around the park excited to be out past curfew. Listen to the whole album or pick any single track and I’m immediately tansported to those long days of vacation when everything just felt… more. What’s the grand message or big idea underlying all this indulgent nostalgia? Eh, I dunno. I’m sure there is one. I’ll probably get around to that eventually. All I really care about now is that of every album on this list, I find this the most compulsively listenable.

5. Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming – M83

M83′s latest is one of the rare instances where a critic need not be ashamed to use the words phantasmagorical or epic, even right next to each other. It’s a sprawling, two side, 21-track adventure through a half-waking nightmare that for some reason the dreamer enjoys. You know the creepy, strangely lucid dreams you had when you were 5 years old after watching some movie that shamelessly exploited youthful sentimentality? (mine was The Brave Little Toaster) These guys made an album about that; an unapologetically sugary celebration of cereberal innocence (say that ten times fast) that - with its joyous choirs, dour saxophones, and twinkling synths - makes 80′s emo sound downright subdued by comparison. Every track, whether it’s an opulent four minute sax overture like Midnight City or a short, somnambulent interlude like Train to Pluton, blends effortlessly into the larger whole until its easy to just get lost in the dream. I found it hard on the first few listens to distinguish each track on its own as the behemoth moved closer to the hour mark, but I bet it would be even harder to stop listening. (I wouldn’t know. It’s never happened) It’s every bit the compulsively listenable, cathartic, sinfully melodramatic, phantasmagorically epic ride that was promised us. I can’t think of a more likable or accessible album I heard all year. Come to think of it, I’m curious why Pitchfork liked it so much. (Just kidding, I really do love Pitchfork. But that 4 for Up From Below… Home by itself is worth at least a 6! And 40 Day Dream! Come on!)

4. In the Grace of Your Love – The Rapture

Considering my film major roots, I think I’ve done a pretty good job of avoiding the movie/music comparisons so far, but there’s just no way around this one. If Fellini ever wrote an album, he would be trying to make this. I think The Rapture intended for that comparison, as their latest is a rotating carnival of Fellini staples from Italian beach culture to Catholicism to youthful romantic yearning. Just listen to how intense and idealistic the passion described in opener Sail Away is, followed by the equally passionate but bittersweet Miss You. Tracks Like Roller Coaster and Children hop up and down like the calliope music that sets the festive pacing of La Dolce Vita and 8 1/2. And just like Fellini managed to capture the chaos of combating desires that is life, The Rapture have created a contradictory album that accesses different layers of love at its most raw and uncensored. By the end I felt like the surfer on the cover, arms sprawled out as though he might be in a state of rapturous bliss; or perhaps as though he has just been crucified. Either way love is the cause, and either way the album is perfect.

3. All Eternals Deck – The Mountain Goats

John Darnielle, the totalitarian songwriter behind The Mountain Goats, represents everything respectable about music. He spent the 90′s screaming his poetry with musical accompaniment into a boombox, and while his popularity has grown in recent years, he has stayed true to that initial spirit. His skills as a lyricist are legendary, and his skills as a musician are underrated only as they are eclipsed by the former, with each album taking advantage of the new tools and opportunities his increasing fame has provided him. This is the third consecutive Mountain Goats album where the band consists of Darnielle, his long-time collaborator Peter Hughes, and Superchunk drummer Jon Wurster, and the results keep getting more and more solid. I need to be upfront here and admit my bias. I am a HUGE Goats fan. I own everything I can get my hands on (some of that 90′s stuff is more difficult) and I listen to all of it all the time. In my opinion, Darnielle’s storytelling makes for some of the most re-listenable albums I own. Here especially he’s wrapping his music around some big stuff, and he’s telling a lot of diverse tales to get there; from a cowboy crawling through the desert after a vampire attack to Lisa Minelli remembering her mother, Judy Garland, as she passes her star on Hollywood Blvd. The angry songs like Estate Sales Sign are wonderful to shout to, and the softer, more reflective ones like Outer Scorpion squad move the listener closer to the soul in torment Darnielle so hopes to channel. There are musical surprises like the barbershop quartet in showstopper High Hawk Season, and the two closers, Never Quite Free and Liza Forever Minellia, first explore with Darnielle’s trademark irony the idea of heaven and the release after escaping the pit of despair, and then with his trademark humanity the distant future after great tragedy. (It’s very similar to the 1, 2 punch of Love, Love, Love and Pale Green Things that close the band’s 2005 masterpiece, The Sunset Tree) Every song is worthy of consideration, both a musical and literary work of art. In other words, All Eternals Deck is just another impressively consistent outing from the Mountain Goats. Which makes sense. When benevolent, dictatorship is the most effective form of government.

2. King of Limbs – Radiohead

In an increasingly pop-heavy music scene, Radiohead insists on serving up straight whiskey. (if these guys still released on a major label, that would be a surefire quote on the Youtube ads) Lost in King of Limbs are the final remnants of radio-friendly hooks from the indie juggernaut, and what’s left is the best musicians in the world striving with the tensile strength of the very medium to create increasingly complex images and ideas. There’s not a single to speak of on this album, and you really can’t address it on a song by song basis. I find it easier to sum up as one big 8-part symphony where they trade in paranoid androids for a highly theatrical introspective into the spirit of the forrest: a king of limbs presiding over his kingdom as plants bloom and dead trees stand resolute against the setting sun. The steady percussion transposed with nature sounds and Thom Yorke’s creaking voice put the seasoned listener within the mind of an imagined being that feels almost too real to be untrue; inverting the natural fear of standing alone in a bleak woods at night and suggesting, for this brief moment, that we sit on the other side of the rift observing ourselves. It all brings into question just how far out in front of the pack Radiohead is. This album is so stark and vivid, immediately penetrating suspension of disbelief to make me consider that maybe our dying forrests really might be moaning out in some unspoken language against the changing world. A good number of bands can paint impressive pictures, but of everything I’ve heard, only Radiohead can truly create life.

1. Helplessness Blues – Fleet Foxes

In the spirit of fairness I tried the entire top 5 in this spot, but there was never much question. When I consider my anthem of 2011, there will always be Robin Pecknold’s ethereal voice presiding over a thick, heavy summer of my discontent. When I first heard the Helplessness Blues single on the radio, with all its talk of “functioning cog(s) in some great machinery serving something beyond me,” and declaring, “If I had an orchard I’d work til I’m sore,” I thought the station had dug up some lost Simon and Garfunkel classic. It seemed like a 60′s revolution song from back when people actually cared about any of that stuff. People don’t sing to my generation that way, and yet after a closer listen I knew they were pointing at me. It was, after all, me and my generation who, “was raised up believing I was somehow unique; a snowflake disntinct among snowflakes, unique in each way you can see,” no matter how much the orchestration tried to convince me this song was written in some forrest in the middle ages. On the other hand, there’s a bold universality to Helplessness Blues as the band moves from topic to topic, exploring a wide range of the questions of man’s existence as though they were writing the first folk album ever. One minute it’s growing older in Montezuma, and the next it’s a call to simplicity in Helplessness Blues, and the next its the cosmological mystery of the orbs in Blue Spotted Tail. The album makes our modern age, in all its distilled plasticity and relentless commercialism, sound like something earthy and elegant; all we need to do, it suggests, is redirect our focus. Maybe my generation finally is ready to grow up, and maybe these guys just caught the revolution spirit a bit sooner than I did. If this album is going to be the standard, then I’m all for it.

Review: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part II

Last night I spent five hours in a packed theater with high schoolers costumed in black robes, bearing wands and sharpie lightning scars on their foreheads, casting invisible spells at each other and pretending that those spells connected while falling in dramatic slow motion. I’ll thank a merciful God that almost three of those hours were spent watching a movie. It all reminded me how quickly time passes. Nearly all of the kids in the auditorium (one of fifteen showing the film in that particular theater) would have been less than five years old when the first Potter book arrived in 1997. I was probably one of three or four people in the room who had much recollection at all of a world where Harry Potter was just a book series. I remember when the first Potter film came out. I had no interest at the time since I was lost in The Lord of the Rings, but that period of my life seems like eons ago as well. My point is that this series has been going on for a really, really long time, and pretty much anyone under the age of 30 has grown up under its influence.

A majority of the current audience is going for reasons more similar to attending a sporting event to root on their favorite team than to experience a story. They’ll nitpick over what was cut from or added to the books and who got too little screen time in the same way that sports fans complain about referee calls and why the coach sat so and so during a pivotal moment in the fourth. This isn’t the ideal way to experience stories, but recalling the magical nature of my Lord of the Rings days, I understand it. These huge, lengthy series are more opportunities for all of us to come together and markers by which to measure time and growth than they are individual works. And if we’re lucky, and in the case of the Potter series I think we are, they’ll be good stories too. Not great stories like my Lord of the Rings, but the Potter series is entertaining and even powerful in its own way. Many series (ahem, villainize Twilight some more, ahem) have been far less deserving of their rampant popularity than the Potterverse.

As I said in my Hallows Part I review, these recent films have been the best so far. They’ve been allowed the time required to do justice to Rowling’s long, complex narratives, and David Yates has been given a vote of confidence from the studio, managing to stretch his legs within that universe a bit. All the young actors keep getting better, now more than holding their own against the impressive cast of veterans who play their elders. Where once the Potter films felt confused and jumbled, now there is a confidence that sticks with the original material pretty closely but allows for the invention of legitimately hilarious moments like Voldemort hugging Draco Malfoy. Sure, not quite all of the changes work. At a certain point we just need to accept that these stories are best suited to books and that not every moment, when translated, will be a winner. But rather than nitpick over the particulars of the final confrontation, I’d much rather focus on the emotional core of the story which Yates absolutely knocked out of the park.

Like all good stories of Harry Potter’s ilk, there comes the moment where the hero must sacrifice himself and face death. Some stories put their heroes face to face with death in less literal ways, but I’ve noticed that the most powerful finales (thinking back to Toy Story 3 and The Return of the King specifically) require that their heroes quite literally look death in the face and accept it. With Potter, this moment is especially poignant and heartfelt, and perhaps one of the few places where the cinematic medium (which allows us to look into Harry’s eyes and see his hesitation as he faces his Gethsemane) improves upon the books. That moment, before Harry walks into the woods, is absolutely heart-wrenching, not because we doubt for a moment that everything will turn out okay, but because we know how unsure Harry is of that fact. We care about him, not about how the specific order of events will unfold. For a film series that, until recently, had merely been a secondary souvenir of a far greater literary achievement, that’s impressive.

This movie really was Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part II. I think once both films can be played back to back without pause, audiences will be surprised at how much they are simply two haves of a coherent whole. The first part was a lot of character development and buildup sans a legitimate climax, and the second part is a lot of climax with hardly any buildup. Not that this should affect those seeing the movie in theaters. At this point, most off the audience has these stories so internalized that we really don’t care about exposition. Just keep moving the stuff forward. We’ll remember things where we have to. But in the end, I don’t think there will be a Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part I and a Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part II. I think there will be Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, a five hour epic in the true spirit of J.K. Rowling’s sprawling novel. It makes me wonder how amazing this series could have been had every film followed the same procedure. I realize that was never a possibility, but I’m glad that everyone involved insisted they at least get the last film as right as they could.

Back to my screening for a moment. The moment the credits started rolling, nearly everyone in the audience got up and left. Immediately. This part didn’t ring true for me. Back in the Lord of the Rings days, everyone sat in that theater well into the end credits, just trying to soak up every last moment and make it all last. There were a few who remained from what I saw (I was running out to beat the traffic rush myself… I mean, its not The Hobbit people), but most people ditched right away. The world will now move on from Harry Potter. Onto something else. Fads will come and go, and the inconsistent nature of this film series has made it a faint echo of the phenomenon that was the book series (record-setting opening weekends aside), but there is something at the heart of this series that remains true. This will forever be a generation’s first brush with the true nature of story; with the reality that there is potential for good and evil within all of us, and the struggle between them is not so easy to resolve. As Dumbledore said to Harry, “Of course it is happening inside your head, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?” There’s very little that separates Luke Skywalker from Frodo from Harry Potter except the group of people who see a wider world through their eyes for the first time. I was reminded last night that, yes, Harry Potter is a fad that will go away with time, but also for the first time since I finished the book series, that it is a story that, for a select few, is capable of relevance that will outpace the fad by eons.

Review: Transformers: Dark of the Moon

Transformers: Dark of the Moon is better than Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen, but in the same way that marrying your cousin is a little better than marrying your direct sibling. Either way the same essential violation is taking place, although some of the specifics could be a little less unsightly. Michael Bay’s tribute to metal scratching against metal remains a monument to the world’s dystopian cinematic climate, the flesh and blood soul of story slowly extinguished for refusing to bow down to this generation’s increasingly short attention span. Like the Old Republic in Star Wars, the formula for mass entertainment laid down by Lucas and Spielberg remains only as a formality, to comfort those accustomed to it only until Emperor Bay can find a way to dissolve it permanently. There are characters and they do things and supposedly they want things, and there’s a plot and villains and our heroes fight to overcome them, but ripped from that frame is the “why”. Why should we care? We never care because of the characters or story. The audience is meant to care because of the staccato bursts of titillation that come along the way.

Maybe hyper-kinetic stimulation is all the Transformers audience desires, like a kid at a theme park who judges his favorite ride by the number of upside down loops it contains regardless of the fact that other rides might be taller, faster, smoother, and better designed. It might be terrifyingly rickety and dangle its riders upside down until change falls out of their pockets and its harnesses might press mercilessly down on the groinal region (I swear almost all theme park harnesses were designed by women); there might not be a single endorphin released during the entire endeavor but by golly it’s got the most loops and loops are stimulating because they are loops. And explosions are stimulating because they are explosions, and supermodels because they’re supermodels, and giant frigging robots because they’re giant frigging robots. Under such criteria, movies like Spider-Man, Minority Report, or The Lord of the Rings, which provide such stimulation but aren’t built around it, are acceptable but not ideal. How you enjoy a film is as important as what in the film exists to be enjoyed.

But what I’ve described so far could refer to any one of the three crazy-popular Transformers films, though the first was more pedestrian than record-setting abominable. The second movie set a new low for narrative storytelling, with a script that not even Bay himself could defend (he abandoned that movie and still defends Pearl Harbor. That’s how bad it is). With the third film, Bay has claimed to fix what was wrong last time (i.e. now there’s even more action, the plot is a lot simpler, and the female lead is even more attractive). The visual effects are more impressive this time around, losing some of the cartoonish incoherence from last time (there’s still plenty of incoherence, but it’s less cartoonish). I’ve come to admit that there might be some creativity in the way Mr. Bay constructs his shots and edits them together. In spite of the fact that I wasn’t attached to any of the characters or events for a good two thirds of the proceedings, I found myself drawn in by the odd beauty and effectiveness of the action sequences. (I counted many periods of time where the average shot was longer than three seconds. Astounding!)

But while some of the series’ appeal has been refined, the same problems that make Bay movies reprehensible are as relevant as ever. Tone deaf pacing avoids quiet moments at all times for fear that the audience will lose interest. The movie also refuses to think beyond guns, soldiers, mechanical parts, and munitions for its fantasy, and the somber tone, devoid of all irony, makes sure that everything feels like an uncomfortable (and boring) nightmare. Of course, it makes sense there’s no irony. Bay thinks irony might confuse his audience, because he thinks his audience is comprised of idiots. The script could have been written in a weekend, its elements so broad that there’s not even a way to double check whether they make sense or not. When the soldiers decide to use special flying suits to drop into Chicago, they claim that it’s the only way to accomplish their objective. But is it really? Does what happen next support that claim? They don’t even wind up accomplishing the objective, and if they had, was that really the only way to do it? Or were there a million different ways they could have broken into the city besides that one? In most action movies, that sort of thing is defensible once or twice (especially if it produces a really awesome action sequence) but when the entire plot is built with those sorts of generalities (or worse, horribly impossible coincidences), then the movie just becomes frustrating.

For a second after the film I tried to see if it matched up with what I remembered from the previous entries, but quickly I realized this train of though led nowhere good. For instance, when Sam and two Autobots talk about Megan Fox’s old character (I’m not even going to put in the IMDB work to remember her name, as nobody put in the script work to give that name a character), they talk about how mean she was to Sam. Now, in all of her moments in the last film, was she ever mean? She wasn’t a lot of things, but I distinctly remember her being not mean. Was that just a reference to Megan Fox and her argument with Michael Bay? Did anyone care that such an explanation made no sense with the last two films, or that previous series have found better ways to ignore such problems by just pretending the old flame had disappeared? I guess not. Also, the movie claims that the Deceptacon’s plot this time around has really been their plan the whole time. Since the original film! Does that match up with the last two movies? Did they really plan on losing both of those last times to set up for this final, ultimate victory? Does that make any sense at all? Does anyone care? Does anyone care this series is based on a child’s toy line that has nothing tonally in common with this? Is anyone even paying attention? Did I mention this movie is two and a half hours long?

Dark of the Moon doesn’t really even attempt to match up with itself. There’s a scene where Buzz Aldrin makes a cameo. I don’t remember why. Probably because it’s awesome to have a guy who was on the freaking moon make a cameo. But Optimus Prime says how honored he is to meet Buzz Aldrin. Why? Why is an extraterrestrial being who can go into outer space at will honored to meet Buzz Aldrin? I mean, sure it’s still cool he went to the moon, but Optimus has met Presidents and soldiers and lots and lots of impressive people. Could it be that that’s just what you say when you have a ridiculous cameo (I can just see Ricky Gervais in Extra’s exclaiming, “Buzz Aldrin! What are you doing in a secret military Transformers bunker? That’s mental!”). Also, how the heck was Megatron ever the leader of an army that was actually winning a war? All it takes to get him to undo his entire genius plan is one of his enemies walking up to him in an alley during a battle and suggesting that maybe, just maybe one of his allies is going to backstab him (a la the thing people do in a screenplay when they don’t care about quality and just want to get things over with). “Megatron! What are you doing stopping your ally just before he’s going to kill Optimus Prime? You’re the leader of a great army! That’s mental!”

And character… don’t get me started on character. Part of me wants to say there is none at all, but that would steal my opportunity to call attention to the insane hybrid Bay has created here. On display are some of the great character actors of their generation, obviously recruited by Bay to prove that for enough money everyone will come down to his level. John Turturro returns to collect his third paycheck, alongside Frances MacDormand, John Malkovich, Alan Tudyk (yes, they got Wash), and Ken Jeong. Only MacDormand, playing the cliched humorless administrative agent, is anywhere near something recognizable. Everyone else is full of quirk and oddity and bounces off the wall with a tremendous energy, but no pattern emerges to explain to us what is going on inside these people’s heads. Malkovich especially shows that nobody ever gave him a real character description, and he never bothered to ask for one. Jeong’s character should be playing paranoid or terrified maybe, but everything he does is so extreme that even when the twist regarding his character was unveiled, I still had to logically deduce he wasn’t one of the aliens from Men in Black (now that might be a worthwhile crossover) still getting used to living within his skin. Also back for the third time, Tyrese Gibson and Josh Duhamel continue to remind me of that feeling I get when I see Luke Walton on the court for the LA Lakers (i.e. What exactly is it that you do?)

As for the Transformers themselves, they are either stoic beyond the point of character or they are undeniably high as a kite. Seriously, the number of stoners in this movie is ridiculous. Or maybe that’s just characters who are only funny if you’re a stoner… Anyway, back on course here. Optimus Prime, probably the most interesting character in the film, has a couple of scenes that legitimately work. But aside from him, none of the other robots (including the ones played by humans) are even remotely interesting, and worse, a good number of them hit the dreaded Jar Jar level for ingratiating overbearingness.  When more than three characters in your film reach that level, or when John Turturro’s agent from the last two films is a welcome relief, you know you’re in a bad place.

But all that aside, the most offensive addition to this tradition is Shia LeBeaouguff’s Sam, primarily because he is the protagonist and we have to see the story through his eyes. Sam spends most of his time either acting psychotically jealous about his new girlfriend, (played by Rosie Huntington-Whitley, who was cast solely because she’s more attractive than Megan Fox), or yelling. He does a LOT of yelling, usually the same words over and over again while he hits things. Like, I’m pretty sure he’s doing that very thing for 70% of his screen time. You ever heard the term “hang out movie” where you spend so much time with a character that you begin to feel like you’re their friend? You will become friends with Shia LeBeef yelling and hitting things if you see Transformers: Dark of the Moon. It’s been a few years since the last “adventure” and he has begun to feel like he doesn’t matter anymore. This is explained by him acting in ways that wouldn’t tell us that at all (unless yelling repetitively and hitting things communicates that), and then he says he feels that way out loud. Anyway, Sam begins solving a mystery that US Military intelligence and the super-intelligent transformers couldn’t figure out, and then he feels alright and that problem is solved. This happens about an hour in, and then there’s some stuff about him having to betray the Transformers and win back the woman he loves. Neither of those two developments are foreshadowed, and the more I think about it, the less the second one even makes any sense.

This arid, passionless storytelling is defended under the diplomatic immunity of “popcorn entertainment,” even though the meager pleasures offered by Transformers: Dark of the Moon are less than those contained in the bucket of popcorn. Sans a story worth being told, the robots crashing into each other are just a non-interactive substitute for video games. Sans romantic interest, the female lead is just a child-friendly substitute for porn. I always feel dirty after seeing these movies. The original summer popcorn films, Jaws, Star Wars, and Raiders of the Lost Ark, appealed to nobler, universal, deeply mythical sensibilities. Sure, there was violence and idealized human forms on display, subtly enticing the audience, but those elements are never the point in anything but cheap, exploitative trash. “Popcorn entertainment” used to (and to many still does) mean something different. In his day Alfred Hitchcock was regarded a populist (he only ever spoke of his films in terms of how much they entertained audiences) but to be the Master of Suspense, he had to engage the audience with mystery, both exterior and interior to the human soul. There’s a clear idea or two behind each of his films, and they’re all very painstakingly developed. Those movies, popcorn entertainment though they were, were valuable forms of communication that fed the imagination and expanded the mind beyond the limits of reality, which is kind of the whole point of story in the first place.

Bay’s insular, claustrophobic cinema regurgitates stereotypes, tactlessly beats the mind into submissiveness with overwhelming visual and sound, and allows audiences to sit comfortably within their own limits, never asking anyone (and in fact depending upon them never expecting) to go beyond. In fact, it encourages everyone to regress to their most basic form, tugging at carnal pleasure centers to disguise the true banality of what is being absorbed. I don’t want to hate on the people who see these movies. I really don’t. I don’t want to be a party pooper either. I don’t want everyone to view movies as art and go see Tree of Life this weekend. But there are objectively better, more immersive ways to view and be entertained by movies, and like all dangerous addictive substances, the Transformers movies and their like slowly dull the senses until they cannot appreciate what works better.

Greater thrills exist than Bay’s hyperactive brain stew and greater flights of fancy than a camera moving in a pleasing direction past an attractively curved Victoria’s Secret model. But such value requires a setup; an investment on behalf of its audience, and the more acclimated viewers become to movies that demand nothing, the less capable they will be of appreciating true adventure. Again, I don’t consider myself beyond this sentiment. There are days when all I want is to sit down in front of the television and give up on thinking for a few hours. But even the most basic escape has degrees of quality, and in a more immersive theater experience where the lights are dimmed and the theater goes quiet and everyone’s attention is sucked into the big screen, society deserves better than Transformers. This is a movie that assumes that it’s audience is going to be texting and talking and surfing the internet (and also probably a little high or drunk). It assumes that we all spend hours on Facebook in our free time, having no desire to see the world or experience things beyond ourselves; that we are all animals who crave animal desires above human experiences. That’s so depressing. Why would I want to escape to that idea, true or not?

In fairness, I should address a few moments that surprised me. I began to notice that an actual theme (you know, something that might actually draw me into the story and make me care about what happens next) was developing through the film. It might have even connected to Sam’s desire to feel important. Many characters address the need for self-sacrifice in order to be truly meaningful. Characters who wallowed in self-pity the entire film end up having to sacrifice their lives (a connection they state out loud using dialog as the act takes place). Many soldiers die in the line of duty, and we see an unusual amount of evil from the Deceptacons (including CGI blood, because this series had apparently not yet committed every possible visual sin), accounting for the the heroes’ need to give their lives to stop such evil. In a two and a half hour-long movie, there were just enough moments like this for me to notice them. One moment, when all hope seems like it has finally been lost, I actually maybe cared a little bit. I really wanted to know what happened next. And then things got stupid again. Can’t let anything feel too real. Then the audience might get uncomfortable.

“Review: Cars 2, A Tale of Two Screenings”

I’m going to start with the very first thing that went through my mind after the lights went up at the Cars 2 midnight premier last weekend: “the streak,” whatever it was, is officially over. That magical aura of invincibility that seemed to shield Pixar from the soulless vacuum that is the big budget film industry was, if not destroyed entirely, temporarily damaged. After one of the most impressive sprees in 20th century entertainment, the studio responsible for Toy Story, Finding Nemo, Wall-E, and Up has finally shown weakness, proving even they couldn’t make a good movie starring Larry the Cable Guy. And worst of all, the moldy corners of Cars 2 seem located on what is usually Pixar’s bread and butter: the story. Perhaps the posterboys for artistic integrity finally cracked under the increasing pressures of merchandising; developing a film to sell more action figures, setting it overseas to appeal to foreign markets, dumbing it down to make it easier to sell to the kids, and forgoing story and passion for an easy buck. Maybe the studio that built itself from the ground up for the last twenty-five years on the principle of quality above all else finally did something completely counter-directive to their nature, and if so, what hope do any of the rest of us have?

And with that in mind, I absolutely had to see the movie again the next day, this time at a 4:00 matinee with my four and six year old siblings in tow. And maybe it was merely my lowered expectations, but I enjoyed the film a lot more. Once “the streak” was no longer an issue, I could accept Carts 2 for what it was. It wasn’t a masterpiece. It was deeply flawed, and I didn’t feel obligated to like it. But you know what? I kind of did. And suddenly I didn’t feel like John Lasseter and co. had to necessarily sell out to make such a film. It’s amazing how answers present themselves when you’re of sound mind and it’s not 3 in the morning. Maybe the film’s international angle had more to do with defining this film apart from its predecessor, and the simpler plot simply worked better with that premise. And maybe the placement of Mater as the film’s lead was a genuine, if a bit miscalculated, attempt to broaden a universe most adults could care less about seeing more of. I could live with that.

Cars 2 is the story of Tow Mater (Larry the Cable Guy), that supporting character from the original Cars who we all thought could grow wearisome (if he already wasn’t) if given any more screen time. Mater is unlikely best friends with famous racing car Lightning McQueen (Owen Wilson), and like every social outcast befriended by a kindly, unsuspecting cool kid, he is milking this relationship for everything it’s worth. When McQueen returns from the Piston Cup Circuit, Mater expects that they will spend all their time together (he’s even disappointed when McQueen abandons him to have dinner with his girlfriend Sally, voiced by Bonnie Hunt). When McQueen gets roped into an international race to determine the fastest car in the world, he feels obligated to bring Mater with him, and like every good middle American touring Europe, Mater makes an absolute fool of himself. Lighting is frustrated by Mater’s antics, particularly when they cost him the first race in Tokyo. What Lightning doesn’t realize is that Mater has been pulled into an international spy plot ala The Man Who Knew Too Much (or The Man Who Knew Too Little), and when odd things start happening, Lightning assumes that his dense, ignorant, arrested friend is being dense, ignorant, and arrested. They argue. Mater leaves. And so Mater is pulled further into a dangerous spy plot away from all his friends and Lightning continues racing while wallowing in guilt over their confrontation, until their separate stories begin to converge.

I’ll admit that I like the spy angle. There was no way Cars 2 was going to reach the same heights Pixar has achieved in recent years, and a Hitchockian fish-out-of-water romp is definitely a fun, if not quite as edifying, way to kill a couple of hours. On top of that, I thought perhaps the movie would venture into the touchy territory of the American reputation and ideals in a modernized Europe; kind of a Ruggles of Red Gap in reverse. Instead, the film focuses on Mater and his idiosyncrasies, drawing sympathy from the way people get frustrated (or laugh condescendingly) when he does really stupid things. The results often feel mawkish, cloying, saccharine, and several other thesauruses full of semi-synonyms for what Pixar usually does, except not good. Lasseter’s typical affectionate, unironic approach to character might have backfired on him this time. I really think he cares that much about Mater, as he does about all his characters. Just like Cars seemed a lot like Doc Hollywood but was probably organically drawn from Lasseter’s love of middle America and NASCAR racing (which confused a lot of people, because how many great artists love middle America and NASCAR?), Mater seems like a compilation of stereotypes and contrivances, when I think Lasseter views him as a character. That’s fine when he’s in a supporting role, but in order for him to anchor a film, the audience has to care as much as Lasseter does. This will be divisive, because any idiotic character who accidentally succeeds over and over again, separate of any intentional effort on their own part, is going to become grating to a lot of people (although thankfully that happens a lot less than you might expect). So I don’t think Mater’s arc is so much pandering as it is unearned pathos, not helped at all by the fact that the film’s goals are the least ambitious in the studio’s history.

Then again, the lesser ambition isn’t exactly a flaw. In my humble opinion, the studio couldn’t very well keep upping the ante as they have been, or eventually their wonderfully contrasted opuses would become bipolar Oscar bait (or worse, Dreamworks films). Eventually Pixar was going to have to break free of the expectation that they could do all things for all people every single time out the gate. Such a sentiment could become just as limiting as the commercial whoring of other animation studios. Rather than a shift in the wrong direction, I see Cars 2 as an isolated attempt to take a break from the admittedly glorious but somewhat morose trends in the studio’s recent work (the last three films prominently featured the world ending, an old couple separated by death, and protagonists descending into the pit of hell). Sure, there are some scary elements to Cars 2 (including death, or whatever the car equivalent of death is), but it’s all in the name of a good time; the kind of time most kids have when playing with their cars. Talking cars blow up other talking cars on huge exploding buildings while racing while shooting guns while making toilet jokes while going across the world. For my inner five year old, Cars 2 is a miracle movie (also for my six year old brother, whose review I posted a couple days ago). I’m actually glad Pixar hasn’t become too full of themselves to make this movie. If the first film was Lasseter’s ode to car culture, this is his symphony to the sandbox. And like most films so personal and so free-spirited, it has a lot of holes and a lot of flaws, and a lot of people (myself included) are going to have some serious issues with it.

But let’s reel things back for a moment and take a look at all the things Cars 2 does exceptionally well. For instance, Pixar movies display some of the purest, simplest, most effective “camera” work in the business. Their elegant, unobtrusive shot selection is one of the most underrated weapons in their arsenal. Even when the story doesn’t service them well (it pretty much always does) the individual scenes are easy to get lost in. The Cars 2 spy action sequences, particularly the first one, shame most of today’s comparable big budget filmmaking. Compare these action scenes – which I emphasize have to work around the fact that guns are being wielded by cars – to the action in Quantum of Solace, Thor, Iron Man 2, or Inception (excepting Inception’s awesome hallway sequence. But imagine how hard it would be to shoot that with talking cars). Christopher Nolan could take a few pointers from Lasseter on how to maintain total coherence while still keeping up the frenetic pacing and breathtaking spectacle. How to Train Your Dragon has come the closest of any animated film I’ve seen to achieving the same complexity and effectiveness of Pixar’s direction, but forgetting for a moment the stories and characters in the two films, Cars 2 (by no means the best shot Pixar film) still has greater moments of aesthetic beauty and thrilling euphoria.

I hardly need to address the shot quality of Cars 2. From Finding Nemo to Wall-E, Pixar’s animation dominance has been well recorded. Here, various cities from Tokyo to London are breathtakingly rendered, reminding me of some of those incredible New York shots from Peter Jackson’s King Kong (Jackson claimed he had the entire city built digitally, accurate down to every individual door handle, and I believe him). Even more impressive is the way cars are made to express emotion and distinctive facial traits while remaining essentially car-like. Watch the facial performances of spies Finn McMissile (Michael Caine) and Holly Shiftwell (Emily Mortimer) closely. They’re incredible. Of course, these are the types of things we come to take for granted from a studio like Pixar, but I see them done in generic or even boring ways in enough animated films that I try to allow them to impress me, even after all these years.

That’s what I find amazing about Pixar. Everyone involved in the making of the film is talented enough and dedicated enough that if one department falls behind, the others pick up the slack (presumably. This is the first time any department has really fallen behind). Cars 2 might limp along occasionally, but I think it still has enough juice to putter past the finish line (and thus ends the car puns for the remainder of this review. I promise). The voice acting is superb for the most part. I especially loved Bruce Campbell’s brief cameo as the rough American spy car who is forced to deliver his plans to Mater in a Tokyo restroom. One villainous tow truck’s face and voice combine to deliver just the right sense of menace in a key moment of the film that escalates the action (where I think the script probably left much to be desired). Michael Giacchino’s score is the most forgettable of all his Pixar arrangements, but it services the film well. Truth be told, there’s not one scene in the movie that doesn’t at least somewhat work for me. While the pacing and development may not reach the heights of Pixar,  they would work for just about anyone else.

So yes, for all intents and purposes, “the streak” is over. Cars 2 is the worst Pixar film. I love the original Cars (the only other entry in their filmography to ever draw any flack) and so in my opinion, this is their first slip up. Nonetheless, you could do a lot worse for summer entertainment than Cars 2. It is still an incredibly crafted film, maybe a little messy and disorganized but enjoyable throughout. Its messages of being yourself and sticking up for your friends are trivial but harmless, and applicable to younger members of the audience (kids, having no filters, act like Mater a lot more than adults do). The social messages might be a little more pronounced than typical in a Pixar movie, but after this last summer, who doesn’t want to see Big Oil villainized a little bit? I just know this is the type of movie I would have gone crazy for when I was younger, and given the right expectations, it can be enjoyable for adults as well. I wouldn’t want Pixar to release Cars 2 every time, mind you, but once every sixteen years… I can deal with that.

Joshua’s and Lydia’s Review of Cars 2

I’m just finishing my review of Cars 2, and so while I finish up, here are the thoughts of my younger siblings who saw it.

Joshua Sanderson’s (age 6) Review

“I think it rocks. There were spies, and the spies can do anything with their guns. When that girl, she flew up in the air with her wings and she was a car, but a spy too. Mater had the bomb in his trunk or whatever it’s called. It was so cool because there was spies and all kinds of fun stuff. Some parts were boring like the parts where they were just talking and that kind of stuff. Most of the time I don’t think Pixar movies are boring in the talking parts, but that one kind of had some in it. I think my favorite character was Mater. He’s hilarious. Tow trucks are just funny. At least, when they can talk they are, because they can say funny jokes. When Mater was talking around and being funny, going ooohhhhh, that was the best part. When is Cars 3 gonna come out?”

4.5/5… that’s just a little worse than 5, right?

Lydia Sanderson’s (age 4) Review

“I hated it. It was loud. Stop talking to me.”

I didn’t like it/5 “

Star Wars vs. The Lord of the Rings: Episode I

Introduction

People on the internet like to fight over things. Anything really. Scientists cannot discover aspects of the universe as fast as people can quickly decide which side they are on and that the other side is an affront to human decency. Go on a web site discussing beach towels, and there’s a good chance somewhere in user comments Tanbaby1138 and Sunofthebeach69 are going back and forth about the design, color arrangement, or general comfort of any given towel. They probably update their browser hourly to see if their fellow combatant has posted anything new in their battle of wits. There’s always going to be really cynical, really angry people on the internet. They need to be that way because it’s their domain, and without strict, sometimes despotic rule, what’s the fun of having a domain? The thing that’s wonderful about the internet is that it’s just one more opportunity for people to claim metaphorical knighthood and fight their dragons, whether they want to do it literally on WoW (is that what people do on WoW?) or figuratively by pretending to be intellectuals (there’s also the crowd who does it by getting ignorant 60 year old grandmothers to download viruses). Businessmen get to abuse the marketplace. Politicians get to abuse the government. Why can’t these people have a place where they can exercise their God-given right to be powerful and abusive?

Regardless, long after our culture has gone and our paper books have decayed, comments on the internet may still remain. This is the worst possible thing that could happen. Why? Because none of these arguments are long enough. Anything, when elaborated upon long enough, becomes intelligent. The issue with our discourse isn’t a messed up set of priorities or a clear inability to empathize with fellow man. It’s that nobody has taken this flame war thing as far as it obviously needs to go in order to work. OBVIOUSLY if you elaborate clearly and succinctly every detail of your belief, taking only small pot shots at the opposition along the way, the other side will have to see the error in their logic and bow down to your objectivity. Just look at that crazy essay response to the Red Letter Media guy who makes those hilarious video reviews of the Star Wars prequels. RLM’s reviews were like 90 minutes long. And so the other guy’s essay was like 108 pages long. Obviously the essay guy won, if for no other reason than I’m sure most people would rather admit defeat than actually have to read that. The real mistake Red Letter Media guy made was that his reviews were entertaining, thus compelling us to actually pay attention. It’s like how Roosevelt spent a lot of money to get America out of the depression, but it took a greater commitment to spending motivated by a unified movement against a tyrannical monster threatening the world as we know it to really get things moving again. The moral of the story? We need to spend more. More of our time, energy, and resources. If it’s worth doing it’s worth doing well, and it’s worth doing in the exact same way we would do it if we were fighting Hitler.

And clearly it is worth doing. Why would millions upon millions of people waste so much of their short, precious lives glued to their screens, transfixed in debates over Justin Bieber, Twilight, religious semantics, etc. unless it actually meant something? That would be so depressing. Why by that very evidence, this cannot possibly be just a war over pop culture fads. At the core here is the very battle of good vs. evil. And if there’s one thing we’ve been told, be us people of faith or science, our side is always very clearly right, hence good. You know who you are. You’ve fought the good fight. Those heathens have worked so hard to subvert the common people and uproot rational, critical, or moral thought as we very well know it. But you’ve toed a hard line, refusing to be fooled by their lies. Heck, you’ve refused to even listen any more than you need to shoot back a brilliant retort or respond point by point with the exact same things you’ve always been saying (if it ain’t broke, I say you are ENTITLED not to fix it). Well, let me be the first to say, well done good and faithful servant. But let me take over from here. Because clearly if you’ve agreed with my every point up until now, then you must know exactly what I am talking about. Clearly I am referring to how much better The Lord of the Rings movies are than the Star Wars movies. If you weren’t tracking there, or if you refuse to admit the superiority of a far more award-winning, critically acclaimed franchise, then prepared to be wowed. What will follow is the most comprehensive analysis of this debate ever conceived.

Concerning Nerds…

According to the internet, Dr. Seuss invented the word “nerd” in 1950. This sounds right. Some guy who wasn’t really a doctor and couldn’t really draw, writing and animating books primarily for children which are constantly enjoyed and quoted by adults; yep, that sounds like the perfect uterus from which to burst forth in all its sticky afterbirth the oversized, veiny, gelatinous crest of the child we know as the modern nerd. Of course, Seuss just coined the word, and out of context at that. The original nerd emerged whenever story did.  As God is responsible for that, as well as black holes, the tyrannosaurus rex, and the aliens who helped build the pyramids, I suppose we could call Him the first nerd. Maybe not. Either way, 1950 seems like a good date to begin our story, because not long after that (1954 to be precise) J.R.R. Tolkien finished the first part of his epic fantasy narrative The Lord of the Rings. Whatever the nerd had been before that – if ever the lazier peasants posted theses on the church doors about whether Lancelot or Robin Hood would win in a fight or a few introverted Greeks skipped the olympics to trade Zeus and Poseidon cards – the whole enterprise changed with Tolkien. Here was a guy who actually spent years developing and conceiving his very own complex world. Not our world with minor additions (like Lovecraft or Wells) or merely a contrived, idealized extension of reality (ahem, Avatar, ahem), his world was complex with its own histories and languages and physics and laws and religions, all of which he actually made up in his head. It was a world so big you could easily get lost in it, and furthermore (perhaps most importantly) it was a world where the celebrated heroes were short, squatty fellows with hairy feet who wrote and sang poetry, read a lot, talked to trees, wore capes, and hung out in the woods playing swords with a group of nine guys without any female interaction at all for months on end. That’s like putting up a big sign on the door saying, “Nerds Welcome!”

J.R.R. Tolkien died in 1973, not one month after a young American filmmaker named George Lucas released his first major hit American Graffiti. Sure that’s a stretch, but I had to tie these two together somehow. Maybe American Graffiti was the last movie Tolkien saw before he died. In fact, I’m sure that was the case. We have no way of knowing (please don’t research that). Anyway, just as Tolkien was a member of the “Inklings” at Oxford with C.S. Lewis, Charles Williams, and others, Lucas was a member of “The Dirty Dozen” at USC with Walter Murch, Robert Zemeckis, and others. Also like Tolkien, Lucas was a student of myth, admitting Star Wars was heavily influenced by Joseph Campbell’s 1949 “The Hero with a Thousand Faces.” Both Campbell and Tolkien were contemporaries well-aware of each other’s works, and both published historic discussions on the origin and deep, perhaps spiritual power of myth (see, there are some legitimate parallels that can be drawn here). It was this power that, while always present in many popular works, gained widespread discussion and analysis in the early 20th century from writers like Tolkien, Campbell, Jung, Freud, Lewis, and Nietzshe. To date, the two most popular commercial examples of original, modern myth are Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings and Lucas’s Star Wars. Which brings us back to nerds, who in essence are semi-religious followers of these mainstream myths.

As everyone discovers when they turn about 8, real life is really, really boring. A lucky man only has a handful exciting things happen in his life, and between those he spends a lot of time reminiscing and waiting. To go anywhere cool requires hours of travel, and even when you get there you spend a lot of time sleeping, traveling, and waiting. Getting a great job means years of running the rat race and clawing to the top, and that’s no guarantee the job will ever come. It’s like raking a crab over for like half an ounce of meat or watching four hours of football for twenty minutes of real gameplay. What can men do? Try to find meaning in the journey or embrace the moment and make sure those things we’re moving towards in life are really worth the time we’re spending? Are you kidding? That’s just impractical. What if everybody did that? What would we have then? Huh? Huh?

Anyway, more than boring, real life is depressing. Good people die and bad people live. People in one country eat til they’re overweight while people in another can’t even get enough food to keep their kids alive (not naming any names). Wouldn’t it be nice to withdraw to a place where all that horrible boring and depressing evil were condensed into bodies, dressed up like stormtroopers, and then we got to shoot them? (without any real risk to ourselves, of course) Such an ideal place, completely fake though it may be, would almost be worth escaping to forever. When the Tolkiens and Lucas’s of the world create vast alternate realities, its very tempting to just fill them and make them our own. Amazingly, this is what people have done. Equally amazing, rather than traveling to all sorts of alternate worlds for a much broader experience in the minds of countless authors and thinkers, many people hold up in only a handful of places and use them, much in the same narrow-minded, short-sighted way they used the real world. Fortunately, then the internet arrived and everybody could have their voice heard in a massive community, which effectively fixed all of that.

Star Wars and The Lord of the Rings were able to coexist for a good quarter century. One was a book. One was a movie. It seemed like an ideal arrangement. But then some jerk named Peter Jackson showed up and screwed with all that. But wait. I am getting ahead of myself. First there was another jerk who screwed with things. You see, in the years following Star Wars, George Lucas presumably went a little loopy. That crazy ambitious USC film student rocketed to the top of the charts less than ten years after graduating, and presumably ever since then he’s longed to go back to the bottom again. He took his most beloved works and plastered CGI dewbacks into shots where they were nowhere near appropriate or aesthetically pleasing. Then, if that wasn’t bad enough, he took his millions and made Star Wars Episode I. And even after that, fans insisted on giving the man money. He made Episode II. They still gave him money. Episode III, the same. Then The Clone Wars. And all the while he signed off on books like that Glove of Darth Vader one that I accidentally read in third grade. And still, fans refuse to let him do what he clearly wants, which is dump his money into a giant landfill, burn it, and start from the bottom making experimental college films again. Anyway, while this was going on, that jerk Peter Jackson decided that he didn’t want to make gory  horror films for the Kiwis, and it wasn’t fair that James Cameron made a billion dollars off Kate Winslett when Jackson found her first. And so Peter Jackson started making The Lord of the Rings movies. But because he was a jerk, rather than adhere to general Hollywood procedure of big budget mediocrity, Jackson spent years upon years upon years researching and creating a ridiculously vivid Middle Earth. And then he released all three films to critical acclaim and commercial success, and people started suggesting that maybe The Lord of the Rings was the greatest film trilogy of all time.

Well, that didn’t please the Star Wars fans. Particularly Kevin Smith, the self-proclaimed King of the Nerds. Smith is a professional Twitter troll who occasionally makes films. He also clearly idolizes Lucas because of his repeated attempts to mirror the man’s career trajectory. Smith was a young filmmaker who in 1994 made a movie about nerds that struck a chord with a very specific fanbase, and he’s been out to make them regret that ever since. Anyway, in his clever, tasteful way, Smith made comments about The Lord of the Rings suggesting it would have been better if Jackson had made the ending a porno; his most scathing criticism of the series being that they are just movies about “walking.” The full comments are on youtube, although they’re very, very NSFW. Anyway, Smith has a wide following. Likewise, his eye sees all. Seriously, I think he google searches for negative uses of his name and there’s a very real chance he’s going to read this blog. And if that happens, watch out. Gird your loins, because you are going to see fury unleashed the likes of which you Christian collegiates have never witnessed. But I hope they show up. Because this is the point where I insert my own name into the tale. Because when they read what is below, there will be so much converting going on here it would make Billy Graham blush. Here is my moment of glory. You hear that Smithies? Get ready to bow before your maker; John Ronald Reuel Tolkien.

To be continued…

Why Christian Movies Suck (and other musings)

Warning: As the title suggests, the following article is not scholarly. Sometimes broad stereotypes are used for comedic emphasis and I try to balance them on both sides of the issue. Also embedded in the texts are my honest, sincere thoughts. Please read at your own risk and leave comments if you disagree (or agree. Those are really nice too). I’m only 22 as of this writing, and there’s still a lot more that I need to learn. All opinions are welcome.

I just finished four years attending a conservative Christian college. At said college I was required to minor in Bible. I was also required to attend daily half-hour chapel services where camp counselor’s from the north shore tell our students how evolution is evil and how long women’s skirts should be. I was only allowed to visit female dorms during certain hours with the doors open and an ordained minister standing behind us and was prohibited from drinking, smoking, gambling, swearing, and asking questions. Everyone who teaches at that school is required to affirm the entirety of the school’s doctrinal statement including the infallibility of scripture, the doctrine of the trinity, and that all the heathens burn in hell for eternity and if that bothers you you don’t love God enough. On the other hand, I’m kind of a film junkie. I hope one day to pursue a career in film, and I watch everything I can get my hands on from pretentious arthouse crap by gay French intellectuals to violent godless trash from Quentin Tarantino. I am therefore more sympathetic to communists, pot smoking, and Grand Theft Auto and would be considered a negative force in society by Bill O’Reilly. I occupy two very different worlds, but I don’t consider myself a contradiction. A paradox maybe, but not a contradiction. I follow Jesus for very specific reasons and I engage in media for very specific reasons, the primary reason on both sides being I’m passionate about them (moreso Jesus than movies, just to be clear). In fact, I think that the war between Christians and media is poorly defined and picks a lot of the wrong hills to fight over. To be sure, there is an incredible media presence in the world today and very little of it is truly positive. Unfortunately, Christians are pumping out as much negative content as Hollywood, albeit for different reasons. What follows are my honest thoughts about merging faith and film, and how just about everybody yelling the loudest right now is getting it wrong.

I was taught while earning my intensive mandatory Bible degree that the primary purpose of Christians on this earth is to bring glory to God. Now whether this is done by unconditionally loving others and making the world a better place or declaring dead birds in Arkansas to be God’s message of hate to the gays on national television is a matter of interpretation. But I think all Christians can agree that bringing glory to God is a good thing. Most evangelicals, especially the most conservative ones, would say that is the most important thing. Anyway, if Christian media is considered to be the worst, most basic, most insular, and least intelligent (and just take my word for it. It is. Even among most Christians in media), how does that glorify God? I’m about to offend a lot of people and there’s really no way around it at this point. I’ve sat in a room where one of the head deacons at Sherwood Baptist Church talked about their surprise hit Facing the Giants. He explained the countless emails and phone calls he’s received from people telling him what an impact those movies have made on their lives. That film was shipped around the world, and the numbers of those who converted to Christianity was staggering. I’m not denying that’s a good thing. Those people were probably wonderful people, and I hope that transformation made a lasting impact in their lives. I have no doubt, however, that they were not filmmakers. No filmmaker would be able to leave Facing the Giants with anything but disgust for the ideology that made it possible. That person wouldn’t just be cynical either. The movie could still legitimately be crap and move a specific audience. The truth is that people can be impacted by just about anything if it hits their lives at the right time, and most people don’t take the time to discern if what they’re consuming is quality or not. Just because lots of people listen to Miley Cyrus music doesn’t mean that Miley Cyrus music is good. People who know anything about music hate it because they know what constitutes quality. I emphasize that I have nothing against the people who do listen to Miley Cyrus. They have other things going on in their lives aside from studying Bach. But objectively, that music is not good. Is that lowest common denominator in every field the one we want to aim for with Christianity? Sure it produces big numbers, but does it express the genuine truth of the gospel and does that impact last? How does it reflect upon Christianity that our art sits in the gutter and avoids broader context? People are looking for answers and I can see them flocking to Facing the Giants because it claims to have them. But are the answers provided in Facing the Giants capable of enduring the many storms of life and complex ideologies and challenges that will come their way? Is that film a lasting artistic statement that will stand the test of time?

Sometimes I feel like Christianity is the McDonalds of religions. In every civilized country each is going to have at least one building in every town, sometimes hundreds if the city is big enough. They all look pretty much the same, inside and out, and are gonna be frequented by a lot of conservative middle Americans and people looking for a cheap meal. Sometimes people from the left show up, but they’re usually desperate and in a hurry and they almost never go back because they feel judged. Anyone can enter provided they have shoes on. In fact, the whole goal of the enterprise is just to bring more people in. Anyone who brings up trying to make things better gets laughed out of the room (actually, this is where the comparison falls apart. Historically, Christians have burned those people at the stake). To be fair, these are stereotypes that by no means apply to all churches, and Christians aren’t the only people who fall into these traps. Most of Hollywood is organized the same way. In fact, most of media has been dumbed down in order to sell products and appeal to audiences, and it is dumbing down society at large. In his book Amusing Ourselves to Death, Neil Postman compares the future as predicted in George Orwell’s 1984 and Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World, arguing the latter view of the future has already come true:

“What Orwell feared were those who would ban books. What Huxley feared was that there would be no reason to ban a book, for there would be no one who wanted to read one. Orwell feared those who would deprive us of information. Huxley feared those who would give us so much that we would be reduced to passivity and egoism. Orwell feared that the truth would be concealed from us. Huxley feared the truth would be drowned in a sea of irrelevance. Orwell feared we would become a captive culture. Huxley feared we would become a trivial culture, preoccupied with some equivalent of the feelies, the orgy porgy, and the centrifugal bumblepuppy. As Huxley remarked in Brave New World Revisited, the civil libertarians and rationalists who are ever on the alert to oppose tyranny ‘failed to take into account man’s almost infinite appetite for distractions’. In 1984, Huxley added, people are controlled by inflicting pain. In Brave New World, they are controlled by inflicting pleasure. In short, Orwell feared that what we hate will ruin us. Huxley feared that what we love will ruin us.”

Amusing Ourselves to Death, which I highly recommend, makes a wonderful case for how the dumbing down of culture is a prevalent problem and one with far reaching implications. Unfortunately, Christians seem pretty okay with it so long as culture is being dumbed down their way. Christian author Scott Nehreg wrote in his analysis of Christian films, You Are What You See, “The term Christian film has become synonymous with substandard production values, stilted dialogue and childish plots… we still wanted the pleasures of modern culture, only without any tempting content or philosophy.” I would argue that this is the problem with all ideologically insular art, and it is intensified by Christian culture’s rejection of most outside forces as dangerous. The question that arises is does Christianity work as well when dumbed down? When stripped of its context and discourse and a wide view of the world, is Christianity the same effective religion? A billion trillion things happen every day (that’s a real statistic. Look it up) and not all of them have a simplistic answer or a corresponding Bible verse. If our Christian art ignores those things, then it’s a statement that our Christianity ignores them as well. And what does that say to the people who struggle with those things? Not everyone can live in a suburb in the American midwest. You could argue this same pursuit of safety and attempt to escape any conflict is what drives Christians to push their culture on others through politics, but for the sake of time and my own personal safety I’m not going to argue that right now.

When Billy Graham talked to Johnny Cash about his career as a singer, he advised him, “Don’t apologize for who you are and what you’ve done in the past… Be who you are and do what you do.” Cash, one of the most prominent artists of the 20th century who claimed Christianity, had a multi-generational appeal that stemmed from his honesty. Cash didn’t hide his struggles, and he was honest enough with himself to know what they were. Part of honesty is having rounded perspective on the world. There’s enough good stuff in the world that you could just paint pretty landscapes and deer in front of houses for your entire life, and there’s enough ugly stuff that you could make a million No Country for Old Men’s based on real stories. But painting pretty landscapes doesn’t mean kids in Africa aren’t constantly dying of water contamination. The key is to try to keep perspective; not to pretend everything is all rainbows all the time and not to give into fatalism either. Right now Christian film (let’s not even go into music or television) has no balance, in part because Christians are trained from a young age to regard discomfort as the nudging of the conscience. If it makes you uncomfortable it’s probably a bad thing, or so that train of thought goes. Many Christians relate their experience with media to stories like Joseph fleeing from his lust or Paul’s plea to the Philippians, “whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, dwell on these things,” or to the Colossians, “Since then you have been raised with Christ set your minds on things above.” For these reasons, Christians sterilize their content just to be on the safe side. Let’s ignore for a moment the possibility that most of the sterilization we choose could be cultural and not in keeping at all with the values of the early church those passages were written to, or that to disregard such content in all cases would mean chopping significant segments from the Bible. This entire view ignores that perhaps expressing truth means addressing sin and evil in more direct ways. Former Christianity Today film critic Jeffrey Overstreet wrote in his book Through a Glass Darkly, “If a depiction of evil causes us to sin, by all means, we must respond to our conscience and withdraw until we have become stronger. How many of us are humble enough to admit when we are what Scripture calls ‘the weaker brother’? But if we can look at evidence of sin, consider its consequences and resist the temptation to imitate it, this can lead to wisdom and resilience.” Am I saying that every Christian should go out and rent A Clockwork Orange, or even be willing to make a work with everything contained therein? No. Am I saying there might be some value to A Clockwork Orange and we maybe shouldn’t knock it, and there might even be things we can learn from it (not to mention that it is more valuable to society as a whole than Facing the Giants or Fireproof)? Absolutely.

A lot of Christian artists have made the arguments that their work is unpopular because it is counter-cultural, to which my question is, what’s so counter-cultural about making something that appeals only to yourself and the people like you, specifically so that you don’t have to listen to what anybody else is saying? My generation does that a lot, wildly consuming only those movies, music, television, and internet content that advocate their self-centered, eternal youth mindset. Is Jesus’ message so weak that it needs that kind of isolation from reality? In that sense, Facing the Giants is about as counter-cultural as the MTV Movie Awards. What would really be counter-cultural is someone who could address pain and suffering head on and find the root of it not in politics or some worn ideology but in the core of human nature. Christians don’t know of anyone like that though, right? C.S. Lewis once said in his book An Experiment in Criticism, “To be moved by the thought of a solitary old shepherd’s death and the fidelity of his dog is, in itself and apart from the present topic, not in the least a sign of inferiority. The real objection to that way of enjoying pictures is that you never get beyond yourself. The picture, so used, can call out of you only what is already there. You do not cross the frontier into that new region which the pictorial art as such added to the world.” I love C.S. Lewis. I’m going to take a moment aside to say that. Most Christians love C.S. Lewis, but I think that’s because most of them haven’t read any of his stuff except the Chronicles of Narnia and Mere Christianity. Here’s a guy who knocked on just about every uber-conservative Christian cliche and stereotype in the book, wrote about a ton of stuff evangelicals fight over like crazy these days, and the way he pegs the problem with Christian media is just pure poetry. When films like Facing the Giants or Fireproof or music like that of Casting Crowns appeals to Christians, it’s not necessarily a problem. Maybe there are honest parts of the Christian experience that those works access, but they’re working with material that’s already there. It doesn’t require any craft or strength, and if the goods weren’t there already then it has no effect at all. When our media is like this, we are never challenged and we never improve, and our media has no effect on discerning audiences outside of our demographic. And if you  think you already have it all figured out or that the quality of your media and art is no big deal, then you’re part of the problem because neither of those things is ever true. I heard a number of complaints earlier this year about some mild swearing in a school play I was involved in. That play, while not the height of art, had some interesting things on its mind. I’m probably going to offend some more people here. I guess if you’re still reading at this point you can handle it. If you can sit through an entire play about the plight of the mentally handicapped and come out offended by a light swear word, then maybe the theater (or real life) just isn’t for you.

Next we come to perhaps the most overused excuse for why Christians make the media that they do. If our art doesn’t display the truth of the gospel in a clear and defined (some would say heavy-handed) way, then the artist is ashamed of the gospel and wasting an opportunity to bring the audience to Christ. Most Christians I know who do not work in media see media as a practical form of religious advertising or a clever tool for expressing Christian doctrines. Again, I’m going to ignore a few really major flaws with this line of thinking, like why on earth should a person be moved to our side simply by us expressing it basically (and this is a big one. Like maybe the biggest one. I’m ignoring it because I think it requires no elaboration at all. That just doesn’t make sense). Also, is that method of Christian witnessing effective in all cases, or can it be a hinderance to many seekers? (if you say its not, you have already ruled out most of Europe ever heading to a church ever again) Instead, I’m going to focus on how that view of art disregards what art is. Poet and University of Maryland professor Rod Jellema wrote in his article “Poems Should Stay Across the Street from the Church”, “I don’t think the Church seriously wants ‘Christian poetry’… if you say you want Japanese food, you must first want food; if you want a three-power microscope with oil-immersion lens, it is implied that you already have some working interest in microscopes and what they can do. Likewise, if the Church wants Christian poets, it should be apparent that the church is tuned into the vision of poetry generally, and finds poetry valuable in its rendering of human experience.” The truth is that forcing any type of artistic expression renders it dishonest, regardless of what the conclusion is. Yes, art does reflect the views of its creators, but there are natural steps to achieving that, and starting with a Bible verse in mind and just trying to express what the verse is saying is so simple and contrived that it is a disservice to the form. That is not art. So some Christians argue that art therefore has no value. Actually, they might have their stuff together better than the Christians who just view it as a practical tool. They at least acknowledge that the way most Christians use art is pretty petty and useless outside of church services themselves, and that the way art really works has no value within their worldview. But I still beg to differ. Theologian Karl Barth made a case for the value of art when talking about the music of Mozart. “Because he knew something about creation in its total goodness… He had heard, and causes those who have ears to hear, even today, what we shall not see until the end of time – the whole context of providence.” Is art necessary? Only in cultures that are reasonably prosperous and settled does art thrive. Otherwise people are working on things like, oh, surviving. But the same thing applies to the pursuit of self-fulfillment and truth, and Christianity is pretty dependent on those things being important. Not all truth can be expressed in doctrines and easy catch-all sayings. Maybe in low conflict communities we can manipulate our realities to fit within those confines, but I defy any person living to figure out the best way to deal with the conflict in the Middle East. There are as many opinions as there are people, and they’re all wrong to a certain extent. We live in a complex, sometimes messed up world that doesn’t fit into easy boxes. Art expresses the complexity of life. It expresses emotional truths. It has a life of its own. To make art fit into those confines that our own worldview fits into and not consider any other possibilities makes our art dishonest. A film can be filled with nothing but Bible verses and Christians living them out and it could be a total lie. In fact, it would always be a lie because that is not how the world works. I think R.C. Sproul once said, “All truth is God’s truth.”

Here’s another problem I’ve realized with Christian art, and this tangent is going to probably going to derail this article for its duration. I spent a long portion of time in college as an agnostic. In the Christian community, that’s a tough thing to admit (it’s like coming out for gays, except it’s Christians who shun you instead of… oh, never mind). This might be the first time I’ve ever admitted it publicly (not that we all don’t live like we’re agnostics most of the the time, but really, would you want me to explore all these tangents? This article’s too long as is). Pretty much from the moment I set my foot on Northwestern’s campus, I was arguing with atheists and fighting against evolution and liberal politics. But I found myself empathizing with the other side. And people in chapel kept telling me that theirs was the only way and leading me down logical alleys by which any view but theirs led to the abandoning of Jesus. I know a lot of Christians who argue that their worldview is given to them by the Holy Spirit and anyone who disagrees probably just hasn’t had the truth revealed to them. It’s an easy way not to have to listen to anyone else ever. Must be nice. Instead of viewing the whole Bible as true, they view the Bible as the only source of truth. Anything outside is either off limits or unimportant. I thought as soon as I started asking questions about mass killing in the Old Testament or the justice of sending people to eternal hell or why God’s plan for restoring the world really didn’t seem to be working in Africa, I was out.

I no longer struggle with my faith at all. I struggle with things in the Bible and the way it should be lived out daily, but my faith is unwavering. Here’s why. Some point last summer I finally felt okay with leaving the faith. I was no longer in it for the guilt or the fear. The world was going to end and I wasn’t going anywhere when I was going to die, and I was absolutely alright with that. Human nature was driving the world to hell in a hand-basket and self-absorbed Christianity was no different from any of the other ideologies more concerned with recruiting members and being right than with fixing these problems. The thing that happened when I gave up was important. I finally became able to read the Bible again. I hadn’t read the Bible for years except for class purposes because I was terrified that what was in there was what everybody on both sides kept saying there was. I rediscovered Jesus when I reopened the book. The thing I love about Jesus is that whenever somebody asked him a question, he’d ignore the question entirely and ask another question that got to the real heart of the issue, usually something that person was terrified to give up or admit. That’s somebody who I’d like to follow, not out of guilt or fear, but because he seems to transcend the system. He was surrounded by people who wanted to turn what he said into a political message or something that attacked all the people they disagreed with. He avoided it. He was focused on living and doing and breathing truth, while everyone else looked for safety. In my culture today, that’s really appealing. Terrifying as hell itself, but appealing.

I think even in peaceful America we’d kill Jesus all over again, and I think there are some Christians who would lead the charge. Really. That’s not hyperbole. I really, genuinely think in this world we live in today, Jesus wouldn’t make it to 33. Jesus was a troublemaker (I almost said maverick, but my goodness that word has to leave my vocabulary). He called his followers to give everything; not ten percent of their income or attending church on Sunday mornings (both can be good, but are not the point) but to give absolutely everything they had. He looked people in the eyes and made them unmistakably aware of the lies they were telling themselves and the things they weren’t ready to give up to find enlightenment. In our world, entrenched in all of its ideologies, each of us so entitled to our own opinions and angry at others for theirs, he’d just have to meet somebody who’d get so angry at not being able to lie to themselves anymore that they’d have to kill him. Jesus had perspective. Jesus knew of the evil in the world. There was child sacrifice, slavery, and rampant poverty going on in his day. He knew the incredible sacrifice required to combat fatalism in a self-centered, problematic world. All of my favorite Christian authors from Rob Bell to Greg Boyd to Donald Miller all refer to Christianity as a response to fatalism. There’s a lot of messed up stuff in this world (child sacrifice, slavery, and rampant poverty to name a few), and only apathetic or ignorant people aren’t bowled over by it. Jesus’s was a worldview that acknowledged all of that, but provided a tough answer. God wants to restore all things. We, the church, the people of the world, are His way of doing that. We just have to be willing to die, to give up our material possessions, to give of ourselves in ways that supersede following moral checklists and signing doctrinal statements in order to do that. It’s not forced or coerced. It’s by God’s grace. I struggle with that so much. I’m still getting up the courage to live it out like I think I should.

I don’t have all the answers. Nobody does, and anyone who says they do is lying. Anyone who says the argument is over or that thinking things through for yourself is dangerous is also lying. That’s what cults do because they can’t stand under the weight of truth. If I thought Christianity taught that, I wouldn’t be a Christian. There’s lots of truth that’s not in the Bible. The Bible itself says that God reveals himself through nature. As Rob Bell put it in his book Velvet Elvis, Christianity is  “about the identification of a God who is already there.” Back to art for a moment. There are lots of Christians whose artistic work is excellent; musical genius Sufjan Stevens, Pixar’s writing brain trust of Andrew Stanton and Pete Docter; the late, great Johnny Cash; heck, Stephen Colbert is a practicing Catholic. Look at their approach to making art and see how it differs from the traditional understanding. It will say a million times more than anything I can write here. I think Christianity can make a difference in the world, and I think art can make a difference in the world. They both do when used correctly. And I think Christians, for that reason, should make and consume the best art. End of story.

Now please argue with me below.