Things We Lost in the Fire -- accept the good

Director: Susanne Bier, 2007.

The first English feature film from Danish director Bier, Things We Lost in the Fire is a slow and steady study of loss and grief, recovery and redemption. Like Kieslowski's Blue (Trois Couleurs: Bleu), this deals with a woman tragically widowed who must decide how to respond.

The movie opens on the day of the funeral. Audrey Burke (Halle Berry) is burying her husband Brian (David Duchovny). In flashback, we see Brian as a committed husband and loving father. A successful land developer in Seattle, he had strong relationships with his family and friends. One of those friends is Jerry Sunborne (Benicio Del Toro), whom Audrey hates. Jerry is a heroin user, a junkie. Jerry always seemed to come between her and Brian. But Brian and Jerry were boyhood friends, and Brian's loyalty is undeniable. Audrey was ever afraid that Brian's trips to the slums where Jerry lived would end in disaster.

One day Audrey's nightmare becomes reality. The flashing lights of the arriving police car is a harbinger of bad news. Brian is dead in a bizarre but brave incident. Shot to death on the route that he ran every morning.

As Audrey sinks into her self, she reaches out to Jerry. Though resentful of his life ("Why wasn't it you, Jerry?"), she offers him space in her unfinished garage free of rent. But Jerry is not without his problems. Still recovering from addiction, he relapses when pressure mounts. Heroin is "like the kiss of God" he says to Audrey, but once addicted it is a pleasure you chase but never find again.

Halle Berry brings a fragility and sensitivity to Audrey. She is a soul in need of human contact. And Del Toro conveys the conflicting emotions in an addict, wanting to stay clean yet craving the high of a quick fix. Like Renton in Trainspotting, Jerry shows the pain of heroin withdrawal. But whereas Trainspotting was a comedy this is the painful business of life.

Things We Lost in the Fire shows the need for human touch, human friendship. Audrey cannot cope alone after Brian's death. Likewise, on his own Jerry is strung out on drugs. Grief and addiction are stubborn bosom buddies. But together Audrey and Jerry can help each other. Audrey can help Jerry kick the habit; Jerry can help Audrey face life.

We are like this, too. We need others. We were made for life in community. We can help each other face the trials and tribulations of life, the successes and the falls. The writer of Ecclesiastes put it this way: "If one falls down, his friend can help him up. But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up!" (Ecc. 4:10)

Early in the movie, Audrey and family are gathered for dinner after the funeral. There is sharing and remembering of Brian's life. But it is superficial. It is what often happens at funerals. Perhaps grief is too fresh for emotional vulnerability. Toward the end of the film, there is a parallel scene. Only now Kelly (Alison Lohman), Jerry's friend from Narcotics Anonymous, is present. She has experienced loss, and knows the power of getting in touch with the emotion of grief. She cuts through the banter to ask some questions about Brian, tough questions that penetrate Audrey's protective shell. Kelly is the catalyst that allows Audrey to finally understand that Brian is gone. And with that understanding comes genuine, ear-splitting grief. Kelly helps Audrey realize that things lost are less valuable than people lost. One can be replaced, the other cannot.

Things leaves us with two impressions. The first is that people matter so much more than things. We can become distorted in our perspective, as Audrey was. We may lose stuff, even all our stuff. But it is still stuff. We can replace stuff. Even if we do not have the resources, the money, to do so, it is still possible. We can grieve over lost possessions, and perhaps we should. But we still have our relationships with our family and friends. People are different. When they die, they cannot be replaced this side of eternity. If they have followed Jesus they will be with him (2 Cor. 5:8). And if we, too, are Jesus-followers then we can be assured of a heavenly reunion (1 Thess 4:17). But that will not occur on earth. Grief for lost loved ones is infinitely more painful than grief for things we lost in the fire. Kelly gives us that wake-up call.

The second impression is that of hope. There is always hope. As Audrey learned to let go, little by little hope emerged. Jerry taught her to "accept the good." Even in the darkest storm there is usually some good. Brian's death helped Jerry to rediscover life. As Audrey saw hope and life emerge in Jerry, she found hope in her own life. Jerry's friendship helped Audrey to rediscover her children. Even in the Seattle storm a bouquet of roses reminded her, and us, of life's precious goodness.

Sometimes it takes a tragedy to wake us up to what we have. But it doesn't have to be that way. We can find hope in Jesus, who himself is our hope (1 Pet. 1:3). We can accept the good that comes our way, if we are looking for it. Perhaps it's time to put our consumeristic gaze aside and focus on relational sharing. Let's take time to enjoy those we love in case they go out and don't come back.

Copyright ©2009, Martin Baggs

Dr. Seuss' Horton Hears a Who -- Belief and Promises

Directors: Jimmy Hayward & Steve Martino, 2008.

Growing up in England, Dr. Seuss was not very big. Either that, or I had a very sheltered childhood. Whichever the reason, I had never read the Dr. Seuss book that this film is based on and so had no idea of the plot.

This film was better than I expected;
it did not even leave me dejected.
It entertained me with its rhyme,
while it whiled away the time.
As it leaves the Whos with relief,
it tells a story of belief.

The tale is of Horton (Jim Carrey), the elephant living in the jungle of Nool. One day, while simply enjoying the life of a pachyderm, he hears a cry. This cry is coming from a speck of dust that landed on a purple clover. He saves the clover from falling into the lake. But when he tries to explain the cries to his friends, they cannot hear.

Horton crosses a line when he tells the animal children. Kangaroo (Carol Burnett), the antagonist, sees this as leading them astray. Since she and they cannot see, hear or feel the Whos, they cannot exist. And if they don't exist, then Horton needs to simply let go of the clover. It is a delusional influence, according to her. And, being the leader that she is, she uses her authority to persuade the other animals in the jungle that Horton needs to be silenced.

Meanwhile in the microscopic land of the speck, there is the town of Whoville filled with Whos. The mayor (Steve Carrell) is the only one who hears Horton, and they enter into a dialog, neither able to see the other. But, since the speck has been moved from its original location, it is now unsafe, facing danger.

The artwork here is lush and colorful, vibrant even, with realistic drawing. But like Kung Fu Panda, there is a dream sequence that juxtaposes this realism with faux-Japanese anime style.

The voice talent in Horton is first-rate. Jim Carrey matches Horton to perfection. When Horton morphs his large floppy ears into a variety of hats, it is easy to picture the malleable face of Carrey, known for his physical humor. Steve Carrell brings his dry comic sense to the mayor, who in Whoville is a misunderstood Who.

As the movie reaches its climax, Horton is chased by an angry horde. Ironically, Kangaroo wanting to protect the order of the jungle incites the animals into a frenzied anarchistic mob. Horton finds himself surrounded. Facing Kangaroo, she offers him a choice, recant or be imprisoned in a cage; either way the clover is destined for destruction.

Faith is the theme that unites Horton and the Mayor. Both have to choose to believe in something they cannot see and face the consequences. Horton has the tougher role. He faces active persecution for his faith. In this life we have to choose what we will believe in. Will we believe in no God, accepting time and chance as the causes of all we see? Or will we believe in Jesus, the God who made it all and still holds it all together (Col. 1:16-17)? Many do choose to follow Jesus, though we cannot physically see, hear or feel him. And when we tell our friends, if they respond like little children they will hear and believe. But many of our friends or relatives refuse to accept what they cannot prove with their senses.

Moreover, Horton gives an illustration of what can ensue from following Jesus. For some, there is active persecution, even death. There have been many martyrs for the Christian faith over the centuries, from Stephen (Acts 7) and the apostles to many modern missionaries. Jim Elliot was one who was killed by the Auca indians he was trying to reach; he left us with the famous saying: "He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose."

On the other hand, many of us who follow Jesus don't face angry hordes or death. For us, our faith is more like that of the Mayor. When we tell others there is one who is above all, greater than all and who holds our world in his hand, they simply laugh at us or belittle us. This is essentially how the Whos treat the Mayor. For him, Horton the huge elephant in the sky actually holds his world in his hand, or at least in his trunk. And the future of Whoville is totally dependent on this god-like figure.

As the film moves to it showdown, Morton (Seth Rogen), challenges Horton to give up his quest. But Horton says, "I meant what I said and I said what I meant." Morton completes the rhyme: "An elephant's faithful one hundred percent." This is Horton's motto. He has made a promise, and he is faithful to keep it. Whatever it might cost him, he is determined to take the Whos to safety even if it costs him his life. What a marvellous moral message for us today. Too often, we make a statement, throw out a promise, that we don't really mean. And in letting the promise drift away, not keeping it, we lose our credibility. Trust is trashed. Our character is chipped away with each promise that evaporates like the morning mist. Promises are meant to be kept. Promises should not be uttered without careful thought.

It took me 27 years to come to faith in Jesus. Perhaps if I had read Dr. Seuss as a kid, I might have discovered faith before adolescence. For faith and faithfulness are the dual rivers running through this film.

Copyright ©2009, Martin Baggs

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban -- time and truth

Director: Alfonso Cuarón, 2004.

This is the third installment of the Harry Potter saga. After directing the first two Chris Columbus handed over the reins to Cuarón. He later directed Children of Men, a post-apocalyptic vision where children are no longer born. Here, he brings that same moody approach to this project. The Potter series is clearly evolving and growing.

The child stars are also growing and evolving. All the main characters, Harry (Daniel Radcliffe), Ron (Rupert Grint) and Hermione (Emma Watson), are now in their teens and in the midst of puberty. They are looking bigger. No longer are they the young kids of year one at Hogwarts. Even their acting is better. Evidently practice makes perfect; well at least better.

Unlike the earlier films, this third year starts stormily. Though it must be late summer or early fall, the Hogwarts express makes its way north through a portentous rainstorm. To add to the gloom and doom, Sirius Black (Gary Oldman), the murderer and supporter of Voldemort, has escaped from Azkaban and is on the loose. Harry has been told that Black wants to kill him, since doing so will enable Lord Voldemort, He-who-shall-not-be-named and He-who-has-not-yet-been-seen, to regain his power and return. Where the first two movies took too long to get to the main plot, this one is up-front and early. Black against Potter. The escaped prisoner of Azkaban wants blood and vengeance for 12 years spent inside.

Another element added early is the presence of the dementors. These fearsome guards from Azkaban can suck hope, joy and even the soul from a person. As the Hogwarts express fights through the dark night, a dementor descends to the train, causing windows to ice over and fear to spread inside. Coming into Harry's compartment, they start to suck away his hope. Only the help of Professor Lupin (David Thewliss, The Boy in the Striped Pajamas), the new defense against the dark arts teacher, saves Harry. But this is a taste of things to come, since dementors have been sent to Hogwarts to guard each entrance against Black.

Lupin tells Harry later about dementors, "They feed on every good feeling, every happy memory until a person is left with nothing but his worst experiences." Dementors sound strangely like demons. And Satan and his demons want to suck life and all that is fundamentally good from people. When all that is left is the bad, the evil, the worst experiences of one's life, hopelessness and despair rule. No wonder the dementor's kiss is so threatening and dreadful. The biblical antidote to this is found in Paul's writings to the Philippians. He says, "Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things" (Phil. 4:8). When our minds are filled with positive thoughts, when we commit our worries and cares to God in prayer "the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus" (Phil. 4:7).

Even the first entrance into Hogwarts is dark. The Hogwarts Choir greets us to a rendition of, "Double, double, toil and trouble. Fire burn and cauldron bubble! Something wicked this way comes!" Taken from the witches chant in Macbeth, here is another omen. Wickedness is coming. Black is coming.

The Prisoner of Azkaban introduces us to Buckbeak the Hippogriff, a flying magical creature cared for by Hagrid (Robbie Coltrane), who is teaching a class for the first time. It also adds the Marauder's Map, a device for knowing who is where in the school. Hogsmeade, the local village, is seen for the first time. And Michael Gambon appears as Professor Dumbledore, replacing the late Richard Harris.

One of the themes of the film is time. From the scenes of Hogwarts main entrance to the clock tower, time keeps recurring. The pendulum swings slowly at the entryway, seen each time students come and go. Harry sits in the clock-tower looking out through the clock-works at what is changing in his world. And a plot-device involving time helps the heroes at the climax.

Despite being billed as a children's movie, this is an entertaining film even for adults. The narrative continues what was started but adds some insight into the night of Harry's parents' death. And not everything is as it seems. The truth is difficult to find.

Indeed, truth is another underlying theme of this movie. As Hermione says to Dumbledore, late in the film, "We know the truth. Please believe us." And then in the denouement, Harry says to Lupin, "None of it made any difference." Lupin replies, "Didn't make any difference? Harry, it made all the difference in the world! You helped discover the truth." Here are two widely divergent perspectives on what happened. Harry's expectations were dashed. But he did discover truth. He did learn more about what happened to his parents. And this did move the overall story arc along towards its eventual conclusion.

Sometimes we can think nothing happened, that our lives have made no difference. Despite all the work, even some adventures, we can succumb to this despairing delusion. But if we have brought truth into the light of day, then we have indeed made a difference. There is truth. Even when others decry truth, as Pilate did 2000 years ago (John 18:38) and postmoderns do again today, truth still is there waiting to be discovered. Jesus said "I am the way and the truth and the life" (John 14:6). He is waiting to be discovered. The one who discovers Jesus will find a difference in life.

Copyright ©2009, Martin Baggs

Hancock -- attitude and likeability

Director: Peter Berg, 2008.

Hancock has a strong cast, a great concept and yet is a disappointment. With the recent popularity of the superhero genre, this had tremendous potential to be a non-conventional version. But as with his previous movie, The Kingdom, Berg wastes his talented actors by switching gears half-way through.

The premise is promising. Hancock is a superhero with an attitude. He is a foul-mouthed alcoholic with super-strength, invincibility and the ability to fly. He saves the people of Los Angeles from criminals, but at what cost? Each act of "heroism" ends up costing millions to the taxpayer in destroyed property. He is a Frankenstein of a hero, a monster running amok.

The introduction says it all. Hancock is sleeping off a bender on a city bench while three criminals are leading the police in a chase through the streets of L.A. in a white SUV. Shades of OJ, but this chase is high-speed with submachine gun bullets flying everywhere. When a young boy wakes Hancock to call his attention to this chase and the police's need, instead of retreating to a phone booth, he grabs another bottle. Priorities, for Hancock, are askew. When he does fly into action, he ruins several police cars before stopping the criminals, leaving them hanging.

If Hancock is a hero with attitude and behavioral problems, his foil, Ray Embrey, is a polyanna PR man with too much positive attitude. He is seen trying to change the world. But his vision is beyond his ability. After another unsuccessful pitch, he finds himself on the train tracks with a locomotive plowing down on him. With no way forward or backward, and a door handle stuck, Ray is seconds from death when Hancock steps in. But his method once again needs polishing. He saves Ray but leaves him upside down in his car while the train is destroyed. Ray, seeing how much the people who witnessed his salvation dislike Hancock for doing things wrong, senses opportunity. He may not be able to change the world, but he could change Hancock. This is Ray, riding the train tracks all the way to success.

Will Smith plays Hancock as a surly superhero, a loner rejected by those he is trying to help. As in many of his movies he seems to play this kind of character with ease. You know that he will change by the end because this is Will Smith we are watching. Jason Bateman, who also starred in The Kingdom, is a good foil to Smith as the idealist PR man. His marriage to Mary (Charlize Theron) is unlikely in the extreme, but this is Hollywood, and he needs a beautiful wife to take care of his adorable son Aaron (Jae Head).

As much as we want to root for Hancock, the film makes us ask what he sees in the people he helps. Why does he do it? He gets no thanks, no appreciation. All he gets is verbal abuse. He does not even want to be liked. He sees no reason to change. All he cares for is his whiskey. But inside is a rage and anger that he tries to hide. His kryptonite is being called an expletive. Like the Hulk, this is enough to make his blood boil. And when Hancock's blood boils, watch out.

In seeing Hancock's weakness which turns him into a monster, even a bully, it is worth considering our own weaknesses. What is it that riles us? What hot buttons do we have that, when pushed, make us turn red with fury? How do we deal with these? Hopefully, not like Hancock with the use of power and strength. Perhaps we need our own Ray, a person who can help us change.

Ray uses his spin-doctor work to change Hancock. Resisting this offer of help, Hancock wants nothing to do with change. That is, until he faces jail. Where Hancock sees conviction, Ray sees conversion: "People take you for granted, you know. We gotta make people miss you. People don't like you, Hancock." Convincing him to go to jail to leave a void where he used to be, Hancock agrees.

During the days of his incarceration, Hancock sits in on group therapy without participating. But when he finally shares with the group he gets a round of applause from his fellow cons. This is the first time he has felt acceptance. Almost immediately afterwards, he is asked to help the police and he emerges from jail to true superhero music. This is the beginning of the change. Yet it is only halfway through the movie.

The final half of the film descends into melodrama. There is a plot twist that comes out of left field, that leaves the movie focusing on who Hancock is and was, rather than who he is becoming. Despite some deft action, there is hokey plot development piled upon hokey plot development until the unbelievable climax. Mixed in there is wrong theology that should be evident to all.

Hancock gets us thinking and perhaps wishing for character change. What seems so easy here is, as we all know, difficult. But it's not impossible. We all have our flaws and faults. It's a truism that we can't feel our way into acting; we must act our way into feeling. When we take action, when we rise above our feelings and emotions, things can and do change. Hancock illustrates this so well. Like him, we can say to those around us, "You deserve better from me. I can be better. I will be better." And then take action to make this a reality, not a fiction.

Moreover, Hancock leaves us pondering attitude. His was a cynical and clouded attitude. A seen-it-all, leave-me-alone approach to life, it led directly to his unlikeable character. In contrast, Ray's let-me-at-it attitude led to his sunny disposition. Attitude is everything. It changes how we respond or react to what life throws at us. Biblically, we are called to have the same attitude as Jesus (Phil. 2:5). This Jesus, who was almighty, invincible, the supreme superhero, took on the attitude of humility. He looked not to his own needs, but to those who were in need. He had an attitude of compassion and love, of mercy and giving. How is your attitude?

Copyright ©2009, Martin Baggs