Roman Holiday and the Jubilee

I can't think of a more perfect film to watch to mark the Queen's Diamond Jubilee than Roman Holiday. Released in 1953 the year of Queen Elizabeth's coronation it imagines the story of a young princess (Audrey Hepburn) who escapes her duty for a single day, enjoys a day of freedom and falls in love before realising her duty and returning to her life of regal service.

The timing and therefore the parallels are more than coincidental. The thinnest possible veil is pulled between Hepburn's Princess Anne and Elizabeth II: Anne is younger, unmarried, and not from Britain, but how many other royal families have the Queen's English as their first language? Those parallels give extra meaning to the film's deep seated themes. Not only was our new queen stepping into a new life, with it's additional duties, responsibilities and obligations, but also the shock of the abdication of her uncle Edward VIII just 15 years before still hangs in the background creating the plot's central tension: will she return or won't she?

Hepburn is most fondly remember for Breakfast at Tiffany's; Gregory Peck for To Kill a Mockingbird and director William Wyler for Ben Hur, but I think all three do far better work here. The final scene alone is a masterful piece of subtle acting telling a story that no-one else in the room understands. Quiet, dignified and understated it belies the raw and painful emotions that rage under the surface.

It's hard to imagine a film like this would be made today. Not only is Edward's abdication a distant memory, but the idea that the only thing in life that matters is 'being true to yourself' is so deeply embedded now that a character rejecting that for the sake of her duty just wouldn't wash. But it's that same dedication and self-sacrifice that Queen Elizabeth has given for the last 60 years, and why she is so widely admired, something grout back to me watching footage of her carrying on with her obligations throughout the Jubilee celebrations as if it wasn't pouring with rain, or her husband wasn't seriously ill in hospital.

I can't help but imagine what might have become of Hepburn's Princess Anne. When, and if, she became queen; if she married; if she ever had a day that matched one; if, in some imaginary kingdom a lot like Britain, she too is celebrating 60 years, an old grandmother smiling and nodding to give approval to members of the public and 'stars' she will never quite see the appeal of or understand. And whilst we're left with the image of Peck meandering down a grand, spectacular, but empty hall, the perfect image of the life the princess has re-adopted, I wish that more films about 'royalty' conveyed even a fraction of that captured in that long lonely walk.

Voyage of the Dawn Treader and The Ten Commandments

I saw the new Chronicles of Narnia film, Voyage of the Dawn Treader, yesterday and my review went up at rejesus this afternoon. I'm always limited to around 500 words which means that I often don't get to make all the points I'd like to in these reviews.

One such point regards the green mist that kidnaps slaves from the Lone Islands never to be seen again. Now this mist isn't itself found in the novel - the book is rather episodic and so would lend itself much more readily to a TV series. It actually seems to be drawn from two elements of the next book - "The Silver Chair". Here the main plot is that Caspian's son has been kidnapped, and later on it emerges he is kept sedated / enchanted by a witch using green mist.

What struck me in watching this device in play was the similarity of the effect with Cecil B. DeMille's 1956 film The Ten Commandments. There a similar looking mist crawls along the ground, only rather than an undisputed force for evil, it's intended to represent God's Angel of Death, only rather than entrapping slaves as it does in Dawn Treader, it is liberating them. The parallel highlights the troubling nature of the text and, as a result on this occasion, DeMille's adaptation.

I don't have much to add to what I said in my review about the link between Aslan and Jesus. The Jesus/Aslan of this film at least is much more the divine figure / Great Lion of faith than the Aslan of history. That's fine, although it doesn't interest me quite so much. The film loses some of the point of the book which is very much about a voyage of faith anyway, although I was pleased to see that the line about Aslan being known by another name in our world remained intact.

There's one final thing to say about this film. After watching it I watched the review of it on Film 2010 starring Claudia Winkleman. She ended with the astonishing statement "We should also warn people... there’s a lot of religious symbolism...". I'm pretty miffed about this in honesty. I get that it's probably a "joke", and I worry that by objecting to it I might end up sounding like Lord Carey, but for goodness sake.

Simon Mayo and Mark Kermode gave her a bit of stick about this today, mainly along the lines of it being such an obvious statement that a CS Lewis film would contain religious symbolism.

For me though, it was the implication that religion is such a bad thing that people need to be warned off it which left a rather unpleasant taste in the mouth. People are of course entitled to their views (however snarkily phrased) but this programme isn't about discussing religion per se, nor is it about Winkleman's personal opinions.

To be fair she may have been intending to criticise the film for it's heavy handed handling of the religious themes and the lack of subtlety it displays in this regard. I do agree actually agree with this, sort of, although this trait is more down to the book than the film. But if this was her intention then it was expressed most clumsily, which does rather reinforce the low opinion I formed of the show's new approach during the first programme in the series.

Spartacus Coming to Leicester

Edit: Sadly, I've just heard that this event has been cancelled.
Following on from last week's showing of Jesus Christ, Vampire Hunter at the Phoenix Cinema, Leicester, I've just received word that they will also be playing Stanley Kubrick's classic 1960 film Spartacus.

I think this will be related either to the film's brief run last year, or to the recent death of star Jean Simmons, or even to the Blu-ray release on May 25th which will include the following extra features:

Deleted Scenes, Interview with Peter Ustinov, Interview with Jean Simmons, Behind-the-Scenes Footage, Vintage Newsreels, Theatrical Trailer, Production Stills, Concept Art, Costume Designs, Saul Bass Storyboards, Posters & Print Ads, My Scenes, and BD-Live.

In any case, the film is playing at 7pm on the 12th March, and I, for one, intend to be there.

Review of Book of Eli at ReJesus

My review of The Book of Eli is up at rejesus.

There are a few things that I didn't manage to say in that piece. One is that, despite its weaknesses, I did kind of like it. I think that comes across, but sometimes it's good to be explicit. I'm not sure how well it will work out on DVD, where the imagery will be less impressive making the problems all the more apparent, but I like its sense of giving homage to the enduring importance of the Bible.

One of the things that adds to this sense of the film as a fable is the violence in the film. From the trailer this looks very much like it will be Eli as an avenging angel, but actually, in the film itself, there are only 4 moments of violence (the confrontation with the bandits under the bridge, the fight in the bar, the gun-fight outside the bar, and the shoot-out in the house). I suppose you could add a few minor moments to that (killing the cat at the start, the attack of the woman which Eli opts out of, and the killing of the men attempting to rape the girl - but these are really only the briefest moments). Of these, the opening one, filmed in a long shot which captures the action via silhouettes underneath a bridge, is particularly striking, not just because it looks so incredible, but because it distances the audience from proceedings, and heightens it's artificialness - adding to that dreamy quality.

I also thought it was interesting the clues there are to the fact that [highlight to see spoiler]Eli is blind. The glasses are, with hindsight (pardon the pun) an obvious double bluff, as is the general demeanour. But other things throw you off this as well - not always in a way that's fair (see for example the above image in which he doesn't have milky eyes). But there's also the way that Eli handles the Bible, his heightened sense of hearing and lots more that I'd spot on a second viewing. In any case, this final revelation suggests increases the sense that this is not a film set in the real world, but a fantasy fable told to make it's point about the importance of the Bible.

Finally, the film's handling of the Bible is rather odd. Firstly the central plot device - that the Bible has been erased save this one copy - is patently absurd (in the real world at least). Burning every copy of a given text has frequently proved impossible in the past - when the task would have been so much easier. Now, or at some point in the future it would be nigh on impossible. Aside from the millions of copies, in hundreds of languages (and this is a very American-centric movie), there's also the numerous quotations and citations in numerous other works (and of course most of these have a handy referencing system which would make reconstruction even easier) not to mention other formats such as the bible on tape, CD, and, of course, film.

Following on from that, the Bible was not a book to appear out of the sky in isolation, but something that was, in part a product of the church, and is, some would argue, best interpreted by the church. I'm a little less certain on that second point, but certainly the decision as to which books etc. became part of the New Testament was a decision made by the church, and not just a bunch of church leaders, but in all of those who had a hand in promoting, using, venerating those works over a few hundred years so that they were the books that came into contention for selection.

And of course what we see at the end of the film is that The librarians already have a copy of the Tanakh, so the Old Testament is pretty much covered. So really Eli's job has just been to protect the New Testament.

I owe some of those thoughts to Peter Chattaway, from a discussion a group of us are having at Arts and Faith.

A Serious Man

I've been very slow off the mark with the Coen brothers' latest film A Serious Man, partly because I missed the pre-release discussion on the film's content, partly because it took an age to arrive in the UK, and then partly because it's taken it even longer to get to Loughborough. However I thought I'd make a few comments on what the film has to say particularly about how it relates to specific parts o the Bible.

=============

A Serious Man is the Coen's take on the Book of Job. Like Job the lead here – Larry Gopnik is running into calamity after calamity, and like the book, our hero is frustrated by the hopelessly unhelpful advice of three supposed sages. In contrast to Eliphaz, Zophar and Bilhdad – who are largely indistinguishable from oneanother – here the three rabbis are, on one level at least, very different. The first is very young, crammed into a tiny office and thinks the car park is profound. (Take that American Beauty).

The second rabbi is more senior but equally vacuous. He lacks the youngers useful enthusiasm and has little to compensate save a bizarre story of a dentist who found one of his patients had Hebrew scribed into his teeth. Finally there is the elusive Rabbi Marshak. He has the biggest office of all and is protected by an officious secretary just so he can sit an think. Yet when we finally meet him – and it's not Lary but his son who gets the opportunity – he has little else to add to his colleagues trite aphorisms.

But I've skipped ahead of myself a little. The film opens in what is appears to be some part of Eastern Europe. Certainly it feels like a deleted scene from Fiddler on the Roof only with subtitles (which are apparently easier to read if half of them are not chopped off the screen by a lazy and/or incompetent projectionist). This prologue concerns a man who, like Gopnik, has been having troubles of his own. When a man helps him put the wheel back on his cart he invites him back to his house for soup. But when his wife hears the name of their guest she is horrified. The man has been dead several years. This must be a dybbuk (an evil spirit). Determined to prove her husband wrong she stabs their guest in the chest. He takes it very well, and only bleeds a little, but now the couple know that either way they are cursed. Either they allowed a dybbuk into their home, or they have just murdered an innocent man.

Given that this is the Coen's take on the Book of Job, it's fair to assume that this story is as critical to the rest of the film as Job's prologue is to it. Whether this is simply a parable illustrated or an account of Larry's ancestor's never becomes clear. The key, for me, is the way that this story relates to the film's core. Larry suffers and cries out to God, but hears nothing. By contrast, the man in the prologue gets help almost before he asks for it, but his unlikely helper takes his identity with him to his grave. The Coen's picture God saying you ask for my help and expect my intervention, but then when I did help you, you stabbed me in the heart. It's no doubt an mistake to interpret this thoroughly Jewish film in terms of Christian theology, but I find myself powerless to resist - the man who unexpectedly steps in to help is killed by those he came to save.

There is another reading of this opening that has occurred to me as well, that this man is indeed a dybbuk. He then becomes the Satan figure who is roaming the earth at the start of Job. The dybbuk is not angry when he is stabbed by the wife. On the contrary he praises her for her cunning. Satan also seems to have been impacted by humanity's shrewd decision making. So this opening scene could represent the incidents before the book's prologue. After all the Coen's have been so upfront about the fact that this film is based on Job that it would be fair enough to assume that their audience is familiar with the cosmic bet.

Betting rears it's head later in the film in the most unlikely of people, Larry's brother Arthur. Arthur is convinced he has figured out a system of probabilities for predicting the future, and whilst it seems to work at cards it doesn't fare so well in the field of predicting approaching policemen.

I'm not sure whether ultimately Arthur is meant to represent Job's fourth advisor, Elihu, the/another dybbuk, or God himself. In fact to push the allegorical nature of this story too far would be a mistake. My hunch is that he is the Elihu figure. He's less qualified than the three rabbis but his words are occasionally more on the mark. The directors (god-like figures) don't seem to condemn him as harshly as the rabbis, and there is certainly some truth in the scene when he tells Larry about all the good things he has.

Like her literary equivalent, Larry's wife is part of the problem not part of the solution. Perhaps anticipating the sinking nature of the good ship Larry she gets out at the sart of the film. She doesn't quite tell him to ("curse God and) die", but is equally if not more unhelpful than Mrs. Job.

Another thing that intrigues me about the film is it's time period. I've been surprised that nothing I've read about this film comments on the fact that the film is set in APril/May 1967 - just a few short weeks before the six days war in Israel. For a film that has been praised for it's refusal to dumb-down its jewishness, the absence of any direct mention of the impending war cannot just be an oversight. Not when maps of the Holy Land adorn various walls. Yet having made that observation I find it hard to know what to make of it. Is the territory gained in the war a sign of the restoration and blessing we find at the end of Job? That seems unlikely. Is the suffering of Larry being linked to the suffering of Israel or Palestine. Is the absence of God in the film suggesting his absence from that conflict? I honestly don't have a clue, but I'm sure it's of significance.

[Spoilers]
Ultimately the film ends with an impending storm which recalls rather vividly the opening words of the final section of Job (38:1) where God answers Job "out of a storm". Yet whereas this is the point where things begin to turn around for Job - he's humbled, yes, but also vindicated and the beginning of his rewards are just around the corner - it's also the point where things are about to really start going wrong for Larry. His son looks likely to die in the tornado, he himself is about to receive a serious diagnosis, and perhaps fail to get tenure. Is this because he has finally decide that God will not come through for him, and he may as well take the money and solve two problems in one transgression?

And what about the unlikily named Korean student Clive (C[see] and live?). He is also the very opposite of Larry. Larry understands the maths but, by his own admission, doesn't understand the picture of Schrodinger’s Cat. He can't handle the mystery. Clive on the other hand understands the less tangible things in life. He gets Schrodinger’s Cat it's just the maths he can't do.

One of my favourite comments about the book of Job was a joke made by a friend of mine that it's ending seems "a bit Hollywood". It's notable, then, that in what is probably the fullest exploration of Job yet to emerge in American cinema the 'Hollywood ending' is nowhere on the horizon.

Reel History: A Man for All Seasons

I'm a big fan of The Guardian's Alex von Tunzelmann's Reel History film reviews (I've previously mentioned her reviews for Life of Brian and the 1956 The Ten Commandments). So I was pleased to see that von Tunzelmann recently reviewed Fred Zinnemann's 1966 film A Man For All Seasons about the life of Thomas More. Ok so it's not a Bible film, but it is a historical film about a religious character, and as I wrote a little about it in my film chapter in Cut to the Chase 0.5 I thought I'd mention it. And, of course, it could also be classed as a hagiopic, and whilst it doesn't fit with Pamela Grace's classification, the exception only makes it more interesting. Hagiopics (according to Grace) are not only films about the life of a saint, but the story about their divine encounters, suffering and experience of God coming good. In A Man for All Seasons however More suffers plenty, but there is no divine encounter and ultimately God does not intervene.

Anyway, it's an interesting read. Anyone wanting a second opinion could try either Marilyn Ferdinand's review (Ferdy on Films) or Steven D. Greydanus's (Decent Films).

My Nativity! Review Online

Jesus may only feature as plastc doll, but some of you may be interested to know taht my review of Nativity! is up at rejesus.co.uk. The word count always means that I have to be briefer than I would (at times) prefer, but I don't think I left much of substance out. I wanted to say somewhere that the film was hugely unrealistic - perhaps made most obvious by the costumes in the finished play - and that the ending could have been better if [spoiler] Ashley Jensen's return was without her boss cos she' decided to leave her job to be with her again[/spoiler]. Oh and that I liked the way it redeemed the teacher from the other school - a nice touch. I also thought it was interesting how they allowed all the children to play the lead roles, albeit briefly - an intersting way of allowing people to engage with the pivotal characters plus a very post-modernist angle on how we each identify with a shape Mary and Joseph in our own way.

I wouldn't widely recommend the film, but if you don't mind a bit of sentimental cinema in the run up to Christmas then this is worth a go.

Review: Dante's Inferno

Like many of us, I enjoy watching films with friends, although I've never really understood why. Sitting next to someone in near silence, rarely, if ever, making eye contact is hardly a great way to enjoy their company. But it seemed vaguely appropriate for Dante's Inferno. After all, "Hell is other people".

But some films are harder to sell to friends than others. When asked "what's it about?" I'm left splurting out something about cardboard cut outs and "The Divine Comedy", becoming rapidly less eloquent with every syllable. Thank goodness for blogging: a couple of hours to piece my thoughts together without having to think too much about the raised-eyebrow-o-meter.

Dante's "Inferno" is the most well known part of his epic poem "The Divine Comedy". It's been hugely influential on our culture even though the majority of modern readers find his mediaeval worldview pretty horrific. So it's hard to know what motivated Sean Meredith and co. to adapt it into a movie. Do they find the idea of horrific, ironic punishment after death appealing, or even just likely. Or are they so appalled that elements of this worldview persist today that they want to expose it for what it is? Or do they just see it as a part of our cultural history which on grounds of longevity alone is worthy of celebration?There's very little in their modernised version of Inferno that really answers such questions. There's too much post-modern irony about for it to be the first, but even after watching the "making of" featurette, I'm none the wiser.

Nevertheless I'm glad they did because Dante's Inferno is one of the most innovative and interesting films I've seen in a long time. The story is relocated in the twenty first century and acted out by two dimensional cardboard puppets. As you might expect, the puppets themselves are fairly simplistic - though certainly not lacking in artistry - but the creative and intricate way in which they operated is eye opening. Whilst the characters movements are fairly normal, the way in which the puppets' creators and operators use them to convey emotion is staggering. The otherness of the cardboard puppetry allows it a great deal of versatility, and once you've seen it, it's hard to imagine another medium which could capture the inherent bizarreness of all that the story entails.

All of this required an enormous number of puppets and military precision in filming. The action really does all take place within the confines of the miniature theatre that we are taken into during the film's opening minutes. It's two or three foot off the floor to allow the puppeteers to move about underneath, but you'd never know from the expansive journey that Dante and Virgil undergo that this was indeed the case.The presence of Dante and Virgil underscores the manner in which the film has one foot in the past and one foot in the future. Virgil remains firmly as the poet of the past, just as he was in Alighieri's day. But Dante is brought right up to date - a laconic noughties slacker whose cynical detachment from the horrors before him is almost as shocking as the torture that unfolds before him. The words are Dante's, but the delivery traces its ancestry back to Bogart's string of private detectives.

Updating the work is a smart move. Contemporary resonances aside, it restores to the story the dynamic between past and present that Dante's original audience would have
keenly understood. To moderns, both Dante and Virgil are just figures from the distance past. Bringing Dante and numerous points of reference up to date restores the essential tension at the heart of the original work. It also involves its audience more in the vision that unfolds.

What is particularly clever is the way that so much of Hell's scenery is so like 21st century America. Virgil guides Dante through a world of inner city ghettos, run down theatres, takeaways, churches and post-industrial waste land. A smattering of older references remain. The pair still cross the river Styx, encounter other figures of antiquity and pass numerous clever background references, but mostly things are right into contemporary times.In particular, there are numerous references to modern politics. Condeleeza Rice appears in one of the opening scenes, Ronald Reagan fines himself in level 8, not for being a corrupt politician (that is reserved for Spiro Agnew) but for consulting an astrologer. Finally Dick Cheney appears frozen in ice in the innermost ninth circle of hell.

At times modern references are even dressed up as ancient ones. Ulysees tells the story of the rise of the Greek Empire through the use of silhouettes. But it's unmistakably an allegory of America's actions in the Middle East.

The friend who I ultimately managed to persuade to watch this with me found the considerable number of political references a little off putting. But then Alighieri's original work is full of them. And whilst it is certainly harsh to say that Cheney has been condemned to hell even whilst he is still alive, perhaps the same could be said of Alighieri's treatment of Archbishop Ruggieri. Thankfully, though, the friend still appreciated this film, even if punishment for the sin of lust, amongst others, was a little more graphic than we were both anticipating. But then any depiction of Dante's Inferno should be disturbing. The question is how it motivates us to repond.

Samson and Delilah and Sunset Boulevard

I've been meaning to post this for weeks and weeks, but for some reason I've failed to, delaying other plans elsewhere. Anyway, perhaps as long as two months ago now, I had my first viewing of Sunset Boulevard. It was one of those films I'd been meaning to see for ages, and as I was reading Robert S. Birchard's "Cecil B. DeMille's Hollywood" it seemed a particularly good time.

Unsurprisingly, the scene which most caught my attention was the one where Norma Desmond (played with relish by Gloria Swanson) goes to the Paramount Studio to meet her former director Cecil B. DeMille. For those not in the know, DeMille plays himself and it's interesting to see how closely his brief cameo coincides with the portrait of him in Birchard's book. Birchard repeatedly cites examples of DeMille's faithfulness to, and his care for, his former stars. Here he has a difficult case to deal with; one of his former, silent, leading ladies is deluding herself that she can make a comeback and has sent DeMille her own script. Meanwhile, one of DeMille's team has contacted Norma to try and borrow her vintage car for another film. Misinterpreting a call from DeMille's office as a sign of his interest in her script she rushes to Paramount to meet with him. There she is treated like the star she once was (see picture below), not least by another DeMille old timer who lets her experience life in the spotlight for one final brief moment. DeMille's sensitivity and care is apparent throughout, and whilst we should not forget that hie words are both scripted and directed, it also seems to come very easily to someone who only stepped in front of the cameras to act on a handful of occasions.The other thing that grabbed my attention was the fact that this scene appears to take place on the set of Samson and Delilah. I don't know much about this kind of stuff, but I would guess that this is the real set of Samson and Delilah. Firstly, Henry Wilcoxon (above) is filmed, but is not given any dialogue. Wilcoxon played a leading role in Samson and Delilah, but was also DeMille's associate producer . His presence would be easily explained if the Sunset Boulevard crew came onto the Samson and Delilah set, but it's unlikely that they would pay a star such as Wilcoxon just to be an extra.

Secondly, the scene in question is being filmed on a studio sound stage as most of Samson and Delilah was. Would the makers of Sunset Boulevard really build a set that was identical to one that already existed? I suppose there is the possibility that the existing set didn't give the the right angles for the pulled back shots they required, but it still seems like the most probable answer?

One final point, it took me a little while to figure out the chronology. After all Sunset Boulevard is set in, what was then, the modern day, so audiences assume that it's 1950. But Samson and Delilah was actually released the year before in 1949 suggesting that Boulevard actually takes place 1948-1949. I can't remember if there is any other evidence in the film that suggests a more specific date.

ReJesus Prince Caspian Review

My review of the latest entry in the Chronicles of Narnia series, Prince Caspian, is up at ReJesus. For those of you in North America wondering why it's taken me so long, Caspian only came out in the UK this weekend.

I've been surprised, though, at just how well other people rate this film. I'm not surprised at publications such as Christianity fawning over it ("a cinematic triumph"), but I'm a little surprised that idea's Rich Cline also giving it the thumbs up. Moreover, Empire gave a generally positive 3-star review, as does The Guardian (although elsewhere reviewer Peter Bradshaw is disturbed by it's innovation in the field of "sneaky subliminal corporate branding"). So perhaps it's just me that found the acting so dire that it spoilt the whole film.

Incidentally, my interview with co-producer / Telmarine Crier Douglas Gresham is still up at Ship of Fools.

Historical Epics Newsbites

None of this is Bible film related really, but those interested in the historical films in general might like to know that FilmChat has a special version of "Newsbites" just about forthcoming epics. There are a whole range of them in the early stages of production at the moment, and it seems like a number of deals have been done in the last week. Here are the titles of those Peter talks about with links to the relevant story:

Olympia
Eagle of the Ninth
Agora
Mortal Armour: The Legend of Galahad
Pope Joan
Unamed film on Da Vinci's Trial
Unnamed film on Mahler

Echoes of the Bible in Tokyo Story

Tokyo Story (1953) is perhaps the most celebrated film of Japanese director Yasujiro Ozu. As the film is set in, and was the product of, Japanese culture it's clearly not based on the Bible, and where religion features in the film it's Shintoism that is being considered rather than Christianity. Nevertheless, as I watched it last night I was struck by a couple of echoes of scripture that I wanted to discuss briefly.

The story, such as it is, revolves around an elderly couple who travel to Tokyo to catch up with some of their family. They had 5 children, their daughter Kyoko still lives with them in Onomichi; their other daughter, Shige, has married and lives in Tokyo; Koichi, now a doctor, is also in Tokyo with his wife and 2 children; Keiso lives in closer-to-home Osaka; and lastly Shoji died during the war leaving his widow, Noriko, alone.

Once in Tokyo they are confronted with their children's disinterest - only Noriko goes out of her way to make their time in Tokyo special. Having been shunted off to the highly unsuitable Atami, they decide to return home. On the way the mother is taken ill, so then stop with their son in Osaka before continuing back a day or two later. Shortly after the mother dies, but even then she is treated with a degree of indifference.It's fairly clear that the film is not particular intended to evoke stories from the Bible. The fact that is does so for some viewers is merely a coincidence based on the universality of this story and those we find in scripture. Such is the nature of good art: the perspective the viewer brings to it is significant, and it enables him/her to reflect on that perspective and what has formed it. It can shed new light on an issue, and in this case, not expecting such a dialogue can catch a viewer unaware helping them view a story from an unexpected angle.

I found myself constantly mulling over two stories from the Bible as Tokyo Story meandered towards its climax, both of which relate to the way that Noriko the daughter-in-law plays the role of a true daughter in contrast to her husband's siblings.

The first of which is the story of Ruth. Whilst Noriko's father-in-law is still alive, her husband has been killed, and both her and her in-laws clearly have a great love for each other. There is particular devotion between the two women which is touchingly portrayed. The Bible is very upfront about the devotion Naomi and Ruth show for each other, but, as a result, it leaves little room for the subtler nuances we find here.The other story that came to mind was that of the Good Samaritan. The parable is so well known to most churchgoers that it requires serious reworking to restore its original punch. The recent Oscar winner Crash did this very well. Here the comparisons are much less low key, but the same emphasis is present - those who treat you well are not necessarily those you might expect. Noriko acts an example for us all.

I loved the subtlety and humility with which this film explored it subject. In honesty I struggled to stay awake, and briefly nodded off at least once, but, as I'm getting older I find that the quality of a film rarely correlates to my ability to keep my eyes open. Indeed, often the fact that a film doesn't rely on fuelling my adrenaline, but offers me a more honest and realistic exploration of life is a mark of its quality itself.

Roger Ebert's review is, as always worth checking out, and there are a couple of other reviews of it at The Guardian as well.

Gresham Interview, Jesus' Son

My interview with C.S. Lewis's adopted son Douglas Gresham, who now works as a co-producer on the Narnia films franchise, is up at Ship of Fools. I should probably add that the phrase "sexing up Narnia" is nothing to do with me. That said, given the subsequent release of the film's new TV trailer which shows Caspian and Susan kissing (see FilmChat) although, I can't say I'm particularly unhappy with my editor's choice of words. Incidentally, (and it might be slightly inappropriate to mention this given that Narnia is a family film and Susan is meant to be a child), but given all the flirting and kissing Caspian and Susan are getting up to I can't help but wonder about th unintentional implications of the above shot of Susan handling Caspian's weapon. Put it another way, if this still was of two adults, and was discussed in a gender studies class, one reading of it's subtext would no doubt be very much to the fore.

Moving swiftly on, my new review of Jesus' Son is also up now over at rejesus.

Nattvardsgästerna (Winter Light)

One of Ingmar Bergman's lesser themes was children and family, be it the Jester's family in The Seventh Seal and Dr. Borg's reflections on his childhood in Wild Strawberries (my review though it's currently unavailable) to name but two. So it's somewhat ironic that his films present me with such a dilemma: on the one hand I love so many things about them, but at the same time being an exhausted newish parent means that whenever I watch them it's a very real struggle to stay awake .

Winter Light is not a Bible film, although two of it's stars later took leading roles in Bible films (Max von Sydow as Jesus in The Greatest Story Ever Told and Ingrid Thulin as Miriam in Moses the Lawgiver). Yet, in many ways, it's a meditation on Christ's suffering in the short time before his death, and various parts of scripture are quoted throughout, whether as part of liturgy, or just in the ensuing conversation. Its leading man is Tomas Ericsson, the pastor of a small church who wrestles with his doubts about God's perceived silence.

The film opens towards the end of the Sunday morning service, and proceeds in almost real time throughout the rest of the day. The service itself takes around ten minutes of the comparatively short runtime (75 mins), and quotes words from various parts of scripture - the last supper from the gospels, the priestly blessing from Numbers and so on. There's a deft comic touch to these opening scenes, provided primarily by Olof Thunberg's organist, whilst they simultaneously introduce themes of being distant from God, and going through the motions of religion even though faith has well and truly moved on.
Following the service two people seek and audience with Ericsson - his sexton, who must wait until later in the day, and Karin Persson, who is seeking to persuade her husband Jonas to open up about his struggles. On the surface, Jonas is primarily troubled by China's march towards the nuclear bomb, but the real issue is that he is deeply disturbed by the apparent absence of God - the very question which oppresses Ericsson so. Ericsson attempts some words of comfort, but ends up blurting out about his own lack of faith. Persson leaves, and, moments later, is discovered to have shot himself in the head.

Persson's sad demise is surrounded by Ericsson's discussion with Märta Lundberg. The two had been living together following his wife's death, but now their relationship lies in tatters. Lundberg's love for Ericsson remains, albeit in a somewhat distorted fashion, but he has realised that he still loves his wife. Thus Lundberg's failure to match up to her has left him despising her instead. Whilst their discussion appears to clear the air, there seems little hope that their relationship has any kind of future.One of the things I love about Bergman's films is their lighting, and the areas of brightness and shadow that so enliven his compositions. Of course this film's title specifically draws attention to the light. so it's no surprise to find one luscious shot after another. Even if Bergman's images didn't move I could still look at them for hours (provided, of course, that I managed to stay awake). Here the light almost seems to function as an extra character, such as when early on in the film the light through the window suddenly intensifies. There's a clarity about the outdoors in this film which contrasts with the darkness found inside the church. It's not that the great outdoors offers any greater sense of hope - indeed it is outside where Persson takes his own life - but it does seem to provide a sense of clarity which is absent from the murky atmosphere in the church.

Yet, as the film draws to a close, its only glimmer of hope comes from the possibility that in going through the motions of religious practice we might touch something deeper. When the sexton is finally given the chance to talk to his pastor in the vestry it is simply to offer his reflections on Christ's passion. As a man who has suffered much physical pain he cannot see how that was Jesus's greatest challenge. No, his mental torment as he was betrayed by his friends and faced with God's silence must have been the hardest part. Whilst outside the church is all but empty, the sexton's quiet observation, couched in everyday language rather than Bergman's more typical conversational philosophy, gives Ericsson the motivation to push on through and perform one more act act of worship.

It's not an easy film, then, nor one that could be said to be in any way uplifting, but at the same time it's clear that Bergman had not yet abandoned all hope, and he at least offers himself the possibility that hauling oneself off the tarmac one more time might bring a brighter, if still difficult, future.

Atonement Review Up

I don't usually plug my reviews of non-Bible films here, but my review of Joe Wright's Atonement has been a long time in coming, and, unless I find the time to go to the cinema a whole lot more than I have done recently, then there's a good chance that this will end up as my film of the year.

The Book of Judges and Pulp Fiction

First off, let me start by saying that I realise this is a bit tenuous, but sometimes idle speculation can be a lot of fun and not entirely worthless so I though I'd post this anyway.

I'm currently running a course called Through the Bible in Five and a Half Years, and this month we're looking at the book of Judges. It's about eleven years since I did some detailed study on the book, but one of the things I remembered thinking all that time ago was how Judges was the Pulp Fiction of the Bible.

It's no doubt partly down to the fact that I first watched Pulp Fiction at around the same time, and partly down to the fact that there I was encountering various literary features of the book which I'd not really come across before. Anyway, as part of my preparation for Monday's session I thought I'd re-watch it, particular as I've not seen it since that initial viewing.

The comparison with Judges is certainly interesting. There's not been a film made about the book as a whole, at least not as far as I'm aware. Furthermore, despite a number of interesting, colourful, narratives only two characters have been represented in film at all. The first is Gideon who has only featured in two obscure films - Great Leaders of the Bible: Gideon (1965/6), and Gideon: The Liberator (1958). The other is, of course Samson. About a year ago I listed at least 49 films about the legendary strongman, and the recent appearance of Corina van Eijk's Samson and Delilah nudges that tally up to 50 (making his the second most filmed biblical story after Jesus).

The two things that first led me to connect Judges and Pulp Fiction were the violence in each story and the non-linear chronology. At first citing "violence" appears somewhat superficial - after all much of the Old Testament is horrifically violent. Yet Judges particularly seems to revel in the violence, and at times use it for humour, and the same could be said of Pulp Fiction. The most pertinent example from Judges is when Ehud's sword is swallowed up by Eglon's fat belly. The narrator seems to wallow in this detail and delight in spelling it out. It's worth pointing out that Ehud is effectively a hit man. The same could point could be made about Samson (although from the perspective of the Philistines his final act is perhaps a suicidal act of terrorism). Pulp Fiction was Quentin Tarantino's second film, and the violence was much commented on at the time. Indeed Tarantino's first film Reservoir Dogs was initially banned from video release due to it's violent imagery.

The second point is the non-linear narrative style that both writers adopt. At the time of the film's release this was one of the film's two major talking points (the other being the snappy dialogue). The film ends with the same scene it started with, albeit from a different perspective. Furthermore rather than the film consisting of one main story split into many different scenes, this is more of a collection of stories woven into a broader narrative. In between the opening and closing stories various other stories are told which, chronologically speaking, are from both before and after it. Whilst there is no one-reason why Tarantino adopted this approach, Roger Ebert noted how "if you told the story in chronological order that would get monotonous, this way the audience stays on its toes".¹ Certainly the tension that emerges in that final scene would have been greatly dissipated. Re-arranging the chronology of the individual parts of the story allows the film to draw different themes to the fore.

In the same way, Judges consists of a collection of individual stories sewn together to form a broader narrative. Indeed it's noticeable that whereas these various stories generally only concern a tribe or two at a time, the redactor uses them to comment on what was happening in the whole of Israel at that moment in time. Now whilst a minority of scholars would still claim that the historical data presented in Judges is accurate, the vast majority, including many conservative scholars, consider the chronology to have been highly stylised in order to give the overall story greater impact. Judges contains a prologue and epilogue that are often held to be later additions to the text, and these are generally set aside when looking at the core of the book's literary structure.

Both works have a kind of symmetry with their opening and closing stories both reflecting one another, but also being notably different. In Pulp Fiction we see the same scene, but from a different perspective. In Judges the differences are more significant that the similarities, but we effectively see Ehud paired off with Samson. As noted above, both are lone hit men whose actions are so strategic that they turn the course of the conflict decisively in Israel's favour. Whilst the similarities in Judges are weaker, this chiastic pairing is continued as we move towards the core of the book. Deborah and Jephthah are both social outcasts who Israel calls in during a desperate period to lead them to great victory. Both victories require the one of the heroes to break a part of their respective social codes. Whilst Jael's disregard for hospitality seems, to us, trivial compared with Jephthah breaking the laws against child sacrifice, the two taboos would have been far closer in the minds of those at the time. The final pairing is Gideon and Abimelech who are almost opposite in terms of their character and their faithfulness to God - and it's this contrast between faithfulness and unfaithfulness, and the impact of each, that is the book's major concern.

By contrast, Pulp Fiction uses it's non-linear chronology to shield the film's major theme from the viewer until the end. When the sequence of events is unjumbled it becomes apparent that both Jules and Vincent both witnessed the same "miracle", but responded to it in very different ways. Jules realises that he has to leave his life as a hit man behind him. Vincent carries on as before and is shot by Butch shortly afterwards. In fact "every one of the major sequences in Pulp Fiction ends with a character being saved".² Mia is saved from her drug overdose, Butch is saved from a life on the run. Pumpkin and Honeybunny are saved from the new style life of crime they were about to embark on, and Jules is saved from his life as a hitman.

This leads to a further similarity then: both works are deeply moral calling their protagonists to leave behind them horrifically sinful lives and be righteous. Samuel L Jackson, who plays Jules in the movie claims that "the story is totally about redemption. Everyone in the script who's life is spared is given another chance to do something with their lives".³ In this way it actually differs from Judges. Pulp Fiction's moral cycle works it's way up. It's greatest act of salvation occurs at the end of the movie. By contrast, Judges portrays a downward spiral where the morality of the characters descends with each new segment.

It's easy to be so disturbed by the degradation that is on display in Pulp Fiction that this theme is missed, and not dissimilarly its surprisingly how many of those reading Judges fail feel to feel the heaviness with which the author regards his countrymen's apostasy. Actually both find characters pulling their way to bloody salvation - both spiritually and in terms of their physical security, and the end to the threats under which they had previously been held.

I'm sure I had a few more observations, but they all escape me for the time being. I'll post up any that come back to me.

1 - Roger Ebert on "Siskel and Ebert - At the Movies: Pulp Faction"
2 - Roger Ebert on "Siskel and Ebert - At the Movies: Pulp Faction"
3 - Roger Ebert on "Siskel and Ebert - At the Movies: Pulp Faction"

Ingmar Bergman Dies Aged 89

Just Heard from The Guardian that legendary Sewdish Director Ingmar Bergman has died aged 89. He was one of the few directors in the history of film making that genuinely deserved the label "legend", making films for over half a century, continuing to direct films into his 80s with 2003's Saraband.

Obviously Bergman never made a Bible film as such, yet spiritual issues were never far away from the heart of his films, and he occasionally ventured into direct discussion about stories form the Bible such as his discussion of the crucifixion in Winter Light. His most famous film The Seventh Seal (1957) also touches on a great many biblical themes.

I've been a fan of that film for a long time, but it was one of the other films he made that year that really captured my attention. Wild Strawberries (my review) contained some incredible, memorable, beautiful yet melancholy images. I have a clearer print of the image above in my copy of Stig Bjorkman, Torsten Manns, and Jones Sima's Bergman on Bergman: Interviews With Ingmar Bergman which I could spend hours looking at.

Given how many of those involved in making films die so young, it's almost ironic that Bergman, whose films were, at times, almost obsessed about death, lived to such a grand old age. Sadly, death has finally won its game of chess.

Viaggio in Italia, Illibatezza and Roma Città Aperta

In preparation for seeing Atti Degli Apostoli later this month, I've been (re-)examining some of Rossellini's other films. I've now watched four in the last week, including and having recorded my thought on Il Messia in last month's podcast I'd now like to make a few comments about the other three.

Viaggio in Italia - 1953
The first film of the trio was 1953's Viaggio in Italia starring Ingrid Bergman and George Sanders as an unhappy married couple. The film opens with shots out of their car window. This gives the film a sense of immediacy such that it feels like the film had been playing for some time before we tuned in. Of course in the story of this couple's life, this is exactly what has happened. As the film settles down, it becomes clear that the marriage is starting to unravel, neither seemingly able to take the steps to bring about the necessary reconciliation.

Finally, after a short time apart (the whole film occurs in less than a week), they agree to get a divorce but are interrupted before the conversation reaches its natural conclusion. In the final scene whilst attempting to escape from the surroundings that have seemingly oppressed them so much during their stay, they are forced to abandon the car in the midst of a crowd. But once in the midst of the throng of people, Bergman is swept away and looks back in desperation towards her husband. He forces his way through to "save" her and the two are reunited and declare their love for each other.

To an audience bred on Hollywood romance, the film's ending feels incredibly abrupt and unrealistic. This has been variously interpreted by some as a deliberately false ending, or as a miracle – particularly as a man is shown directly afterwards carrying a pair of crutches. For my part, I can help but feel that this is part of the film's realism. Couples often argue over the silly little things, and the decision to get a divorce (particularly in 1953) seems facile.

In the same way the moment of reconciliation tuns on similarly insignificant event. Bergman faced no real danger, but it was enough to remind her of her need for her husband, and him of his love for her. Furthermore the moment has enabled them to express things to each other they both needed to share.

Illibatezza (Chastity) - 1962
Next up was Rossellini's section from the four way collaboration RoGoPaG (the other directors being Goddard, Pasolini and Gregoretti. Rossellini's film Illibatezza (Chastity) is the first of the four and last for about half an hour.

The story revolves around an American business man, Joe, and his obsession with a beautiful yet naïve air stewardess, Anna Maria. We first meet Joe as he looks at a copy of Playboy: that is until he sees Anna Maria when he puts down his magazine to watch her more closely. Clever use of point of view shots and editing mean that the audience quickly find themselves in Joe's place, viewing Anna Maria as an object of desire. He has clearly idealised her innocence which has, in turn, birthed an obsession within him.

Worried about the unwanted attention she is receiving, Anna Maria seeks the advice of her boyfriend. Significantly, we are first introduced to him via a film. Indeed the use of cine cameras throughout the film (Joe, Anna Maria and her boyfriend all use one) indicates that amongst the issues Illibatezza is raising is the medium of cinema itself. No less important is his absence from her life. Throughout the film's duration the two are never together.

Anna Maria's boyfriend discusses the problem with a psychologist friend of his, whose diagnosis is shocking: Joe is a psychopath with a fixation on Anna Maria's purity. In order to shake him off, she is advised to give the appearance of looseness. She dresses more provocatively and dyes her hair blonde.

Fans of of Hitcock's earlier, although colour, film Vertigo will notice numerous similarities. The voyeurism and obsession displayed in this film are reminiscent of that film as is the way in which a woman is co-ursed into turning blonde by an emotionally detached boyfriend. The scenario is far less extreme, and the genre is comedy rather than thriller, but thematically the two are very similar.

As predicted, Joe acts with horror and is left only with his memories. Having initially rejected the sexually "available" blonde of his Playboy magazine, in favour of a "virginal" brunette, he finds that she has become the image of the girl in the magazine. In the film's most comical scene Joe projects the film he took of Anna Maria onto the wall of his hotel room and seeks, in vain, to grasp her image. He has once again chosen the pure brunette over the sexually "active" blonde only this time he has chosen an image of a woman over the real thing. Joe's fruitless grapsing is both comic and tragic. He is left only with his obsession, unable to lay hold of a relationship with a real person.

Interestingly, Joe's revulsion at Anna Maria's new look is matched by that of her boyfriend. Even though she is clearly uncomfortable with her new image, Joe turns away in disgust upon seeing it. Like Scotty in Vertigo he has re-fashioned the appearance of his girlfriend only to be appalled by what he sees. In trying to protect her he has caused a rift in their relationship.

Roma Città Aperta (Rome, Open City) - 1945
This was Rossellini's breakthrough film and it was my second viewing. Whilst remembering only few images from the film prior to rewatching it (Pina's death and Don Pietro's interrogation in particular), I was astounded at how familiar the images were once I saw them again.

One thing I don't remember appreciating the first time around is the film's humour, particularly in the earlier scenes. This is not uncommon for Rossellini. Both of the previous two films involve some form of humour, and Il Messia occasionally injects irony into the proceedings.

I was also surprised at how graphic the torture scene was at the end. Sadly the person I watched it with found it all a bit much, and this detracted from me enjoying the film's climax as much as I did the first time I watched it.

As the film that popularised neo-realism it's hard to appreciate it's innovations over 60 years later. That said, knowing that this film was shot in the places where the original events occurred gave the film a real edge this time around. Similarly, the acting of Don Pietro in particular is strengthened by the expressiveness of his normal face.

I also noticed how the film blurs the line between the heroes and the villains by inserting two characters into the film who lie somewhere between the Nazi's and the Italian resistance. In the first half of the film (up to Pina's death – the sudden, unexpected nature of which causing a significant shift in the film's tone) there is an Italian policeman who is both friendly with those on his beat and who helps them during the Nazi raid on the neighbourhood. The second, darker, part of the film features a singer who has betrayed Don Petrino and his companions in order to get a fix.

What is interesting is that we sympathise with the policeman, even thought he works overtly for the enemy, whereas the singer's betrayal elicits the opposite response. However there is a twist right at the end when the cocktail of drugs and drink she bought with her information leave her unconscious on the floor. Her female confidant (and, it is implied, her lover) bends over only to reclaim the coat which she had supposedly given her. The singer remains on the floor only now our perception of her has become more sympathetic.

The Church Times - Fifty Top Religious Films

Leading Anglican weekly newspaper The Church Times has published its Fifty Top Religious Films. It's been put together by a panel of four: Nev Pierce, editor of Total Film; documentary filmmaker Shan Stephens, Gareth Higgins, author of one of the most enjoyable books on faith and film "How the Movies Helped Save My Soul"; and James Abbott, who is the jurist at a number of international film festivals.

It's a really good list, with much in common with the Arts and Faith Top 100. As always there are a few surprises including the omission of Dreyer's Ordet and anything by Kieslowski's or Ozu, but it's great to see a list that is prepared to cover the full history and geography of cinema rather than limit itself to Hollywood films from the last 30 years. That said I'm really pleased to see Field of Dreams come in at number 23. That film has never made it onto the Arts and Faith list, despite (or perhaps because of) my lobbying on its behalf. What is also surprising is the inclusion of a number of church made films such as The Prodigal (1983).

As with any good list, there are also a couple of films I'd not really been aware of previously. John Huston's Wise Blood and Nicholas Hytner's The Crucible are both new to me, and there are a number of others which I'm adding to my "to see" list such as Priest, A Man for All Seasons and a number of others. By my reckoning I've seen 36 of these 50 fifty, so still some way to go!

As expected, there are a number of Bible Films on the list:

2. The Gospel According to St Matthew
4. The Last Temptation of Christ
9. The Passion of the Christ
15. Jesus of Montreal
27. The Greatest Story Ever Told
28. The Prince of Egypt
33. The Ten Commandments
34. Jesus Christ, Superstar
40. King of Kings
43. Samson and Delilah

I suppose Ben Hur and The Robe could also be included on the above list. Two I wouldn't have expected to make an appearance are The Prince of Egypt and King of Kings. The former doesn't really offer a great deal in my opinion, and if it was included to give the list a child friendly appeal then I think The Miracle Maker would have been a better option. In contrast, as much as I personally have a soft spot for King of Kings, I don't agree with the article's comment that it "has become perhaps the most acclaimed movie about Christ".

All in all though, I can highly recommended this particular list, and it's nicely laid out in the PDF version of the file. Worth printing out for future reference at any rate. (Thanks to Gareth Higgins for posting this at his blog).

Update on my other writing

I've tended to avoid posting links to my writing elsewhere, mainly because I've not wanted to flood this blog with items that are irrelevant to its main purpose. However, I think it's worth including an occasional update on my other writing in case some of the projects that interest me might interest anyone who reads this blog. So here are a list of links to my recent writing for the rejesus blog:

Film Review: Rocky Balboa

Tomb Raiders - A look at the Jesus Tomb Controversy

Film Review: Pan's Labyrinth

Film Review: Amazing Grace

My Sweet Lord - Some thoughts about the Chocolate Jesus sculpture

The Follower - Review similar to my review here about these 3 short films.