Cool Hand Luke -- anti-authority antiheroes

Director: Stuart Rosenberg, 1967.

"What we got here is . . . failure to communicate." So says the captain of the prison camp (Strother Martin) to Luke (the late great Paul Newman). This famous line epitomizes this film, which underscores the chasm between authority figures and iconoclastic loners.

We meet Luke at the start, a free man. But he's drunk and taking heads off parking meters for the fun of it. For this misdemeanor he is sentenced to jail time. He will be working a Southern chain gang. Though not a prison, there are rules and regulations. Any infraction earns the prisoner a night in "the box," a wooden pillbox-like structure with no windows and no room to lie down. Even from the start, it is clear that Luke plays by his own rules.

Keeping to himself, he quickly runs up against Dragline (George Kennedy), the unofficial leader of the chain gang. Determined to teach him a lesson, Dragline takes him on in the Saturday boxing fight. Beaten senseless, Luke keeps on getting up. What started as entertainment for the men and a form of humiliation for Luke, winds up being painful for everyone. They all want the beating to end. Even Dragline tells Luke, "Stay down. You're beat." But Luke responds, "You're gonna hafta kill me." Dragline leaves him punch-drunk, wandering on legs of jelly. Yet, this kind of determination earns a prisoner respect. And in a poker game later, Luke earns the friendship of Dragline and his prison moniker: "Cool Hand Luke."

George Kennedy won a best-supporting actor Oscar for his portrayal of Dragline. He shows him change from gang leader to a "puppy" that follows Luke everywhere, idolizing him. Even at the end, he preaches the legend of Luke. Newman, too, was up for an Oscar for this poignant performance, one of his finest and definitive, of a free-spirited man crushed by society's rules; but he lost out to Rod Steiger for In the Heat of the Night. (Nominated 9 times, Newman won only one Oscar, for The Color of Money.)

To the men of the prison camp Luke is a leader, "a natural-born world shaker." But he does not want to be a leader. He has no plans, he lives moment to moment. He just wants to serve his time. He brings the unconventional to these men and gains their respect. But he also earns the eye of the bosses, the prison wardens, to whom he is a trouble-maker.

When his mother dies, the bosses preemptively put him in the box until the funeral is over, to stop him from running. This pushes his buttons. When he gets out he does run. But he can't outrun the baying dogs and the pursuing police. He is caught and given leg irons.

Luke was a symbol of hope to Dragline and the other men in the prison camp. They had their rituals but were following the rules and regulations imposed upon them. Luke brought a sense of freshness to this incarceration. We all need hope. We all need a breath of fresh air when our lives get stale. Jesus can offer us that hope (2 Thess. 2:16). He gives us that freshness that energizes and motivates us to keep going even in the monotony of life.

But Luke was an antihero. His was a life of breaking the rules, of doing what he felt like doing regardless of the cost. And this cost him his freedom. Jesus, on the other hand, is our true hero. He has given us some rules to follow. The two greatest commandments, he tells us, are to love our God and to love others as ourselves (Matt. 22:37-39). The rest of the Law, the Old Testament, can be summed up in these two (Matt. 22:40). He also gives us a new commandment, to love one another (John 13:34). The life Jesus wants us to live is not one that is overly constrained by a list of dos and don'ts. He wants us to be free, but within the constraints of love. We still need to live within society's rules. We cannot become anarchists or even iconoclasts like Luke. Instead, to live like Jesus is to experience real life, life to the full (John 10:10).

Luke could not be held back by a simple set of chains. It is as if he relishes the opportunity to challenge authority. Or perhaps he simply wanted to savor the freedom he once tasted. Regardless, he ran again, knowing that this third time would be his last. When he finds himself trapped in an abandoned church, he finally offers up a prayer to God: "Anybody here? Hey, Old Man. You home tonight? Can you spare a minute. It's about time we had a little talk." It's said that there are no foxhole atheists. And Luke, an atheist, exemplifies this. Surrounded by police and the bosses wanting to gun him down, he finally turns to God. Although acknowledging his existence, Luke clearly has a distorted theology. He sees God as the old man in the sky.

His prayer continues: "You've got to admit You ain't dealt me no cards in a long time. It's beginning to look like You got things fixed so I can't never win out. Inside, outside, all of them . . . rules and regulations and bosses. You made me like I am." Luke knows he is in trouble, yet he blames God for his problems. Like Adam in the garden who, when confronted by God with his sin, shifts the blame to Eve and God (Gen. 3:12), who gave him the woman, so Luke will not accept responsibility for his own actions. Most of us are like Luke and Adam. We want to find someone to blame for our problems, our predicaments. But we must play the hand we are dealt, whether it is a cool hand or not. God will give us fresh grace for each day; his mercies are new each morning (Lam. 3:22-23).

Luke closes his prayer. "Yeah, that's what I thought. I guess I'm pretty tough to deal with, huh? A hard case. . . . Yeah. I guess I gotta find my own way." After all his praying he is no better off than when he started. He ends the movie as he begins, not listening to authority. Ironically, his prison number, 37, is a reference to Luke 1:37: "For nothing is impossible with God." It takes faith to believe in the God of the impossible. Luke was a loner whose faith was in himself alone. He had no time or room for faith in others, even God. Loners may be heroes (or antiheroes) in the movies but not in real life. We need God.

Copyright ©2009, Martin Baggs

Transsiberian -- lenses and lies

Director: Brad Anderson, 2008.

"Kill off all my demons, Roy, and my angels might die, too," says Jessie to her husband Roy near the start of the movie. We get the sense that her character is multifaceted in contrast to Roy. Indeed, Transsiberian is built around her character and her ever-present camera.

Roy and Jesse are returning from a two-week missions trip in Beijing through their church. She has been taking photos of children, her pictures showing something of God's grace in the lives of these little ones. But it is clear that it is Roy's church and his faith, not so much theirs. Woody Harrelson gives Roy a naive, almost childlike faith, in God and people. He is the small-town store owner from the mid-West. In contrast, Jessie has a dark past. The trans-Siberian train ride to Moscow is Roy's idea of adventure for them, an opportunity to patch some marital problems.

When handsome but suspicious couple Carlos (Eduardo Noriega) and Abby (Kate Mara), English teachers overseas, join them as their cabin-mates their compartment feels claustrophobic. How can they reestablish their marriage with these strangers merely feet away?

The movie opens with a scene from a Russian port. A boat deck with a body, the frozen corpse still sitting at his dinner table. A knife is buried in his neck up to the hilt. Russian Narcotics Detective Grinko (Ben Kingsley) quietly observes and discovers a drug smuggling compartment that is missing the drugs. Picking up the phone left on the table, he walks away from the scene. This short prolog sets the scene for the story -- it is one of drugs stolen, of cruel Russian police pursuing barbaric criminals. It is not for the faint of heart.

Anderson carefully builds the tension slowly. The first act introduces the main characters. When Roy goes off with Carlos and never reboards the train there is an air of mystery; something sinister is afoot. This continues as Grinko embarks on the lookout for students or young people who are mules, running drugs for the Russian mob. When Carlos and Abby fail to get back on the train, Grinko becomes their new compartment occupant. He is the last person Jessie wants in her cabin. This deepens the plot and adds a further threatening element to her demons.

Who is good and who is bad? As Jessie says at the start, we all have our demons as well as our angels. We are more than one-dimensional. Jessie is a great example of this, but it is true in reality. Biblically, we are touched by sin (Jer. 17:9). This has impacted all of our being, our mind, emotions, will, motivations, etc. We may have good qualities but even these are marred so that, as Isaiah puts it, "all our righteous acts are like filthy rags; we all shrivel up like a leaf, and like the wind our sins sweep us away" (Isa. 64:6). Paul echoes this when he says, "There is no one righteous, not even one" (Rom. 3:10). We are complex characters with our fair share of both good and bad.

It is implied, here, that we can change another person. Of course, that is wrong. The only person we can change is ourself. It is implied, too, that in making someone better we will destroy their good qualities as well; we might make them boring, mundane, a kind of Roy-like figure. Anderson seems to suggest that only by having some demons, some dark past, can we have a bright present. This is like those in the church that wish they had a "powerful testimony," perhaps a drug or criminal past from which they have been saved. A person from a Christian home who came to follow Jesus as a child would have no striking story. But this is errant thought. A person does not have to have a full set of demons to have an angelic future. Indeed, Jesus lived a sinless life, no demons, no dark secrets, no skeletons in the closet (1 Pet. 2:23). Yet, his is the purest, most perfect life; his is the most beautiful character of anyone who has ever lived.

One problem with Transsiberian is that it becomes contrived, even preposterous, as it moves towards its climax. And Jessie's character crumbles under pressure. Yet, the tension keeps us engaged. There is a scene of gruesome torture that is hard to watch, but conveys the seriousness of the situation that Jessie finds herself in. And it is her camera that plays a key role in bringing resolution to the film. As she hid behind her camera, seeing the world through its lens, so the world can see what she sees. And captured on digital film, it provides evidence for and against her.

Emily Mortimer, the sister-in-law in Lars and the Real Girl, gives another superb performance showing the fragility of a woman caught up in a past that had its problems and a present full of lies. She holds her ground against Oscar-winner Kingsley. Indeed, Jessie's character exposure and dissolution are the highlight of this film. When she faces Grinko, and he is questioning her, he knows she is lying and hiding something. He says: "In Russia, we have expression. 'With lies, you may go ahead in the world, but you may never go back.' Do you understand this, Jessie?" A crucial moment in the plot, Jessie must make a decision: to tell the truth and face the consequences, or to lie and live with its web of deceit. This becomes the pivotal moment.

Transsiberian reminds me of Wolves in the Snow. Both films are layered thrillers. Both films are set in snow-covered locales. Both films are centered around a woman who must make a decision, and in choosing the path of deceit find circumstances spiral out of her control. In both films the message is clear. Lies will catch you out. You can't escape them.

Ethically, we know this is true. A lie might seem easy at the time. But once spoken, it must be remembered and all evidence that would refute it must be hidden or destroyed. Such subterfuge takes an enormous toll, on the character as well as on the pscyhe. This is seen in the face of Jessie, as her easy smile becomes a permanent frown. Would we be more like Roy, child-like and open-faced, smiling, or like Jessie, layered and hidden, frowning? Don't make the mistake of seeking to go ahead in the world through the little white lie. You will regret it.

Copyright ©2009, Martin Baggs

The Incredible Hulk -- being god-like

Director: Louis Leterrier, 2008.

Last year (2008) was a great year for superhero movies. Arguably the best film of the year reprised Christian Bale's Batman as The Dark Knight and had a career-defining performance by the late Heath Ledger as the Joker. We also saw Robert Downey Jr as Iron Man, a role perfect for his deeply flawed yet sardonically wise-cracking character. Where Dark Knight was dark and moodily philosophical, Iron Man was light and fun. Also from Marvel comics comes The Incredible Hulk. This is no Iron Man. It's all action but nothing deeper than that.

The plot is familiar to readers of the comic book or the old TV series. (And Lou Ferrigno, the Hulk in the TV series, has a cameo as a security guard and also provides the voice for the Hulk here, an enormous total of 6 words.) Dr. Bruce Banner (Edward Norton) has been contaminated in a freak laboratory experiment. His blood has been changed by the gamma radiation and whenever he gets excited and his pulse rate increases too much, he transforms into the Hulk, the big green monster. General Ross (William Hurt) is looking for him, since this discovery has tremendous military potential. But Banner has gone into hiding, leaving his girlfriend Dr. Betty Ross (Liv Tyler), Gen. Ross' daughter, behind to find a new life.

At the start of the film, Banner is working in Brazil. When Gen. Ross finds evidence of him there, he sends a team of soldiers to capture him led by Emil Blonsky (Tim Roth). Of course, things go awry in the carefully planned take-down. The night-time chase sequence across the roof-tops and into the deserted bottling plant is a action-packed opening. But when Banner is trapped his pulse rises and the Hulk comes alive.

In an interchange with Blonsky, Gen. Ross tells him, "Banner's work was very early-phase. It wasn't even weapons application, he thought he was working on radiation resistance. I would never have told him what it was really for, but he was so sure about what he was doing he tested it on himself. And something went very wrong . . . or it went very right." This raises the ethical issue of informed consent. Banner was deceived in the work he was doing and so was ignorant of the risk and potential consequences. This was not even unplanned. Ross knew exactly what was going on. He was exploiting Banner for his own purposes. Even within government or military research, misinforming a civilian is improper, unethical and possibly illegal.

When Banner returns to the US to seek out a cure he returns to the university where Betty works. Of course, he is reunited to her, his one true love. But this sets the scene for the second Hulk sequence, when Gen. Ross once again sends in Blonsky and men to capture him. This time, Blonsky has had some modifications of his own to become stronger. But he is still not strong enough. Again, the Hulk escapes, this time with Betty who sees Banner's alter ego up close and personal.

The scenes of Banner changing into the Hulk are clever, particularly showing the painful inner metamorphosis. Norton communicates the pain, both physical and emotional, in this transformation, but the resultant character is disappointing. He just looks too fake.

Banner finally meets up with a scientist helping him find a cure, Dr Stearns (Tim Blake Nelson) in New York. When Banner is captured, Blonsky tells Stearns: "I want more. You've seen what he becomes, right?" Stearns replies, "I have. And it's beautiful. Godlike." The aggressive Blonsky comes back, "Well, I want that. I need that. Make me that." And Stearns does. But what he creates is not another Hulk, but The Abomination, a larger, meaner, more aggressive creature. The finale sets up an extended fight sequence between The Abomination and The Hulk.

Like the climax to Iron Man, we see two larger than life characters duking it out while a frightened populace runs and hides. However, in Iron Man Stark is fighting Stane in a conscious battle of good versus evil. Here, the Hulk has very limited mental ability. Banner's thoughts and memories are clouded by the anger and fury. So in this final fight, it is more one of might vs more might than good vs evil.

Moreover, another comparison with Iron Man is worth mentioning. The supporting characters surrounding Downey Jr, with the exception of Rhoades, are first-rate, making full use of the strength of that cast. They have depth and feel real. Here, the characters mostly feel one-dimensional. Gen. Ross and Blonsky are caricatures that could have been played by most actors in Hollywood. Norton does well as a convincingly conflicted Banner, but he seems to be working alone.

The key theological theme here is the desire to be godlike. Blonsky sees beauty in the raw power and aggression that Banner displays when he becomes Hulk. To him, godlike equates to power and strength. Certainly, God is almighty, all powerful (Jer. 32:7). But there is so much more to God than simply brute strength. He is multi-faceted, more than we can know. But we do know, from biblical self-revelation, than God is all-love (1 Jn 4:8), all-holy (Isa. 6:3), pure and perfect beyond comprehension (Matt. 5:48). He is all-knowing (1 Jn. 3:2), all-wise (Rom. 16:27). Like Hulk, he is wild and dangerous, untame. But where Hulk, or even the Abomination, could destroy cars and choppers, city buildings, God can destroy whole planets. These are the planets and galaxies that he has created (Gen. 1:1). God is not safe, but he is good.

Further, like Blonksy, mankind wants to be like God. Satan's first interaction with humanity in the Garden of Eve was to offer a tempting but deceptive promise to Adam and Eve: "For God knows that when you eat of it [the forbidden fruit] your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil" (Gen. 3:5). This initial temptation led to original sin, and it continues today. We might want to be like God, but we are not God and we will never be God. Only in following Jesus can we become like God as we become Christ-like. And this is not a one-time event, via some form of injection. Rather, it is a life-long process as the indwelling Holy Spirit changes us into the image of Christ (2 Cor. 3:18. Rom. 8:29).

We can become a "holy Hulk," morphing from the old person into the new creation, if we let the Holy Spirit have his way in our lives.

Copyright ©2009, Martin Baggs

The Trap (Klopka) -- a moral dilemma

Director: Srdan Golubovic, 2007.

Parenting is a tough and often thankless vocation. It can be painful, even sacrificial. More painful, though, is to watch a son or daughter suffer helplessly. What would we do, what lengths would we go to, what would we give, to save one of our children? That is the question that we face in this movie.

Set in modern Belgrade, The Trap is a strong atmospheric Serbian drama focusing on a moral dilemma. When his son, Nemanja (Marko Djurovic), comes down with a serious heart condition causing seizures and risk of imminent death, only surgery can save him. But this surgery must be done in Berlin and is expensive. It is more money than Mladen (Nebojsa Glogovac) and his wife Marija (Natasa Ninkovic) can come up with. When all else fails, Marija takes out an ad in the paper begging for help. The shocking answer to this ad, and to Mladen's need, comes in a cell phone call. A man offers to pay the entire amount plus expenses if Mladen will kill a businessman in return. So, here is the dilemma. If Mladen refuses this offer his boy will inevitably die; but if he accepts this offer he will become a murderer, saving his son but losing his soul.

The Trap shows the huge divide between the wealthy and the workers in Serbia, a country in transition, struggling to find itself. Mladen is one of the workers. When Marija, a teacher, agrees to privately tutor one of her students, she sees the divide first-hand. The student's home has a picture frame that costs more than the surgery her son needs. Literally, this frame is worth more than his life. Post-war Belgrade is filled with such paradoxes.

Two scenes epitomize the sense of helplessness and despair. In the first, we see Mladen rush Nemanja to the hospital unconscious. As his son is wheeled away on a gurney, the camera moves with it leaving Mladen at the end of a long corridor looking on, shrinking in perspective. There is nothing he can do. His son is leaving him. He stands forlorn, a picture of impotence.

The second scene has Mladen and Marija sitting in their old Renault at a red light in the pouring rain. As the wipers swish back and forth, the couple sit there silently. The traffic light, reflected in the surface water on the road, slowly turns from red to yellow to green and back to red. They are in no hurry. There is nowhere for them to go or to turn. They are in a sea of despair, alone yet together.

Golubovic uses close-up shots of Mladen's and Marija's faces to show the inner turmoil and emotions. He also has Mladen talk directly to the camera, almost an act of religious confession, even from the start. He wants to do the right thing. But what is the right thing to do in these circumstances?

In a film like this, it is clear that there will be no happy ending. This will end in tragedy, though it is unclear who will die or how. It is apparent that Mladen, in sheer desperation, will accept the offer since there is no other option. But making a deal with the devil is indeed a terrible thing. The devil is a liar (John 8:44) and does not always make good on his promises. The trap is set and ready to be sprung.

The Trap in some ways reminds us of the Hollywood Indecent Proposal. There, millionaire Robert Redford was attracted to Demi Moore and wanted to sleep with her. He offered her and her husband $1M for one-night of sex with Moore. That indecent proposal was itself a moral dilemma. But in that case both parties could walk away the next day. Sin might occur, guilt would still result, but no one was left dead on the floor. Here the dilemma is much more deadly.

The Trap has some intriguing twists and turns along the way, especially as the victim's wife Jelena (Anica Dobra) comes onto the scene. Murdering a businessman is one thing. But he also has a wife and a child. Killing him leaves a widow and an orphan. Mladen can see the devastation that one bullet could cause.

The Trap paints a picture of a father in pain. Fathers are supposed to be strong, able to provide for their children in times of need. Fathers are supposed to make things better. When they cannot, something is wrong. When it is a matter of money, there is a sense of social injustice. When the rich can buy baubles to beautify their homes while beautiful boys lie dying in hospitals needing these baubles to buy their lives, something is indeed amiss. The wilderness of the cityscape has invaded the souls of its inhabitants.

What would we do? If this were your son, laying amidst the tubes and monitors in a hospital bed, would you commit the unthinkable to save his life? If it cost you imprisonment or death would it be worth it? If you got away with it but lived a guilt-racked life, would it be worth it? On the other hand, how painful would it be to sit with your son and watch him die slowly in front of you. Moreover, would his death haunt you, change you, perhaps even bringing on separation and divorce? Ethically, the solution is clear. It is a sin to commit murder (Exod. 20:13). Accepting the proposal would be unbiblical and unethical; the resulting guilt could be soul-consuming. But denying the proposal would be killing off a part of yourself. Ultimately, life lies in the hands of a good God. He can work miracles. He can provide when provision is impossible. But he does not always do so. Perhaps the right thing to do would be to trust and pray that God would work his will in his way. Do you have the faith for such a prayer?

Copyright ©2009, Martin Baggs