There are "scary" movies, and then there are "Halloween" movies, and then there are "scary Halloween movies."
With all respect to well-done "scary" movies such as "Silence of the Lambs," "Psycho," "Alien," "The Shining," "Jacob's Ladder," the original "Nightmare on Elm Street," and the clever "Texas Chainsaw Massacre," I think there's something different about movies that clearly carry the Halloween theme of ghosts, goblins, and, more specifically, demons and Satan himself. A spiritual person cannot ignore the importance of such things.
And for me, the movie that brought that most home to me—even beyond "The Exorcist" or "The Omen" or "The Devil's Advocate"—was John Carpenter's original "Halloween." It's probably too late to rent it today, but it's worth ordering. I originally went and saw it because we had all heard it was filmed in our hometown of Burbank. Never, though, did I experience the true edge-of-my-seat authentic feelings of being scared of what evil could do like I did in that movie.
It was low-budget, smart, surprising, obvious at times, and unrelentingly honest about how those who would seek to name the evil among us (in this case the pyschiatrist played by Donald Pleasance) are often seen as out of touch and over-dramatic while the innocent among us (in this case Jamie Lee Curtis's "Laurie") seem so naïve and blind to the ever present evil.
Before "Halloween's" dénouement and the final chase scenes, the battle of good v. evil in "Halloween" brings out the most important question for the spiritual seeker: "Is this spirit stuff really real?" If it is, we ought to equip ourselves for it. If not, then we can all go back to the fun and games and tongue-in-cheek way we treat Halloween.
But for me, before I even started reading the Bible and finding out what it's all about, I had a deep sense of the existence of how bad people can be and how scary it is that we don't notice, and it came from the experience of seeing "Halloween."
Everyone remembers his or her first time trick-or-treating, getting candy from strangers, and wearing costumes. I know I remember my first time. Mostly because I was 18.
Growing up in suburban New Jersey, I always knew what Halloween was: It was the week when television seemed to switch over to an "every night is Fright Night/Shocktober" format, all the candy in the supermarkets switched over to a fall color palate, and packages suddenly sported ghosts, witches, and corpses, which were very appetizing. And it was the week when my yeshiva (Jewish religious school) sent home a letter to parents informing them that since Halloween was a pagan holiday that had become a fulcrum for mischief and destructive pranks--sometimes of an anti-Semitic nature--it was highly advised that we not be permitted to participate in any of the celebrations.
The only way Halloween made a real impact was the constant ringing of our doorbell, as trick-or-treaters made their way down the block. My brothers and I would open the door and distribute candy to the costumed kids, occasionally pocketing a piece of candy for ourselves, and never whining to my parents to let us participate. It wasn't our faith. It wasn't our holiday.
After high school graduation, I went to college, and as October waned, people started talking about Halloween--instead of door-to-door candy collecting, there were fraternity keg parties and prizes for best costume. Costume strategies for men involved creativity and for women often included cleavage; and choice of costume often revealed elements of truth that we didn't see on days that didn't involve masks. One of my male friends dressed as a Mother Superior, which was hilarious in a Monty Python way; he came out a few years later. Another friend went as "Lampshade Man," sticking a lampshade on his head, and going up to women and saying "Turn me on!" Another dressed as a phone--she took a white t-shirt, drew a telephone keypad on it, attached a phone receiver to a headband, and went to a party saying, "Ring, ring, I'm for you! Pick me up!"
I wasn't really going to celebrate. I didn't even know how. "What did you wear the last time you trick-or-treated?" my friends asked. "Umm, I've never been trick-or-treating." After a shocked silence, I looked at my friends and realized I had managed to terrify them on Halloween--quite a good first effort at the holiday. They vowed to take me trick-or-treating that year, and for an authentic experience, they made me dress up (wearing a pretty modest miniskirt, tights, and boots, I didn't look that different from any of the shul-going Upper West Siders I currently see, but I believe we called what I was "a prostitute"). We left campus and went to the suburbs of East Brunswick.
House by house, as people opened their doors, we yelled "trick or treat" and thrust out our bags waiting for the candy goodness. But the homeowners were suspicious. "Aren't you a little old for this?" So we offered to trade services for candy--singing services. "Halloween carols? Really?" one homeowner queried. "Sure!" we agreed. We started with some classics, Frank and Broadway show tunes, and moved to some more contemporary stuff. Debbie Gibson may have been involved--the memory there is a little hazy.
So that was my first time. It felt a little weird, like I was pretending not to be Jewish; but most of the friends I was out with that night were also Jewish. They were just used to this holiday in a way I wasn't then and never really acclimated to. Even today, I'm not such a fan of Halloween. I know other people love it and I try not to grinch on their parades, especially the famous Village Halloween Parade, which has been the unintentional fulcrum of some of my NYC-based relationships.
I appreciate the creativity of a good costume, but for me, some of them, especially the "bloodied accident victim" genre, seem to have lost their "fun," which I trace to all the CNN footage I watched after 9/11, and others s
till seem like a chance for women to flaunt their womanly parts to the point of exploitation and drink until they can't tell the difference between friends and friends-with-benefits. Which may suit everyone else fine, but that kind of obfuscation isn't necessarily my cup of poison.
Even on the Jewish holiday of Purim, a yeshiva girl's approved day of dress-up, I'm always second-guessing my costume. So when it comes to Halloween, which is definitely not yeshiva-approved, I generally try to stay out of it. But I do get it. There is definitely something appealing about a day of fun and freedom from the strictures of contemporary dress and behavior. so maybe I'll come around. And, of course, there's candy, which--metaphorically and literally--everyone can agree is totally sweet.
posted by Esther Kustanowitz @ 4:48 PM | Permalink |
It's well known that at the Catholic University of Notre Dame, football is its own religion. The school even boasts a mural of "Touchdown Jesus" on its campus.
Notre Dame's football coach since 2004, Charlie Weis, is a giant of a man, who has brought the team back from a series of losing (yes, losing) seasons, is known for his harsh personality, and has also become infamous for excessive expletives on the field. And in the eyes of the campus and its fans, he is also above sin. Last night, "60 Minutes" did a special segment, called "Big Man On Campus," on this bear of a coach who has revived the Fighting Irish. In the piece, Notre Dame's President, Father John Jenkins, boasts giving him "special dispensation" for his foul mouth:
Notre Dame President Father John Jenkins says he hired Weis because his values and commitment to excellence mirrored those of the university. And he seems willing to give the coach a special dispensation for his language. "This may shock you, but I've heard salty language in football locker rooms a lot. Charlie's a New Jersey guy and he speaks very directly," Jenkins says. "Andy Reid of the Philadelphia Eagles, who was a good friend of Charlie's, said that Charlie's probably spending a lot of time in the confessional here for all of the language," Kroft remarks. "If he's spending time in confessional, I encourage him to keep doing that and repent," Father Jenkins says, laughing.
Interested in some President Bush-bashing? Two new films--one about the Dixie Chicks' grudge match with the president, and the other a mockumentary about the fictional assassination of the president--were released on Friday.
I haven't seen either, but both are being positioned as "talking points" for November's midterm elections, according to a CNN.com article. "Dixie Chicks: Shut Up and Sing" covers the fracas between the popular country-music trio and conservatives after lead singer Natalie Maines told London concert goers in 2003 that the Chicks were ashamed to be from the same state as Bush.
With the remark coming at the start of the U.S. war in Iraq, when American patriotism was at a high, Maines' remark triggered fallout as album sales dropped, many radio stations banned their record, and some fans boycotted them.
But perhaps more intriguing than "Shut Up and Sing" is "Death of a President," which has courted controversy from the get-go. Through creative film editing, the movie imagines the assassination of President Bush after giving a speech in Chicago in October of 2007. It shows Vice President Dick Cheney being sworn in and then hustling an even-stricter Patriot act through Congress.
And as these two films are hitting the theater, "The Road to Guantanamo" is coming out on DVD. This documentary tells wrenching story of British Muslims, who through a series of unfortunate events, found themselves held without charges for two years at the notorious U.S. military prison in Cuba. This documentary, more than any other, points a glaring spotlight on horrors of Gitmo and the ruthless way the Bush Administration allowed for the endless detainment of thousands of "terrorist suspects" without real evidence.
Rent "The Road to Guantanamo." You'll learn the price some people are paying for the U.S.'s no-holds barred war on terror. As for the other two films, I wonder if they will really affect the upcoming elections. Faith and politics have walked hand-in-hand through President Bush's two terms, and these films all explore its manipulation to attain some sort of bottom line.
Two years ago, Michael Moore's "Fahrenheit 9/11" opened up to big audiences nationwide. This movie had some major buzz and was a box-office draw. But President Bush was reelected to a second term, so in that sense the film did little more than make the president look like a buffoon.
Though "The Simpsons" was a repeat last night, it was new to me, and--though I am not sure why this fascinates me as much as it does--I couldn't help catching what was at least the second reference to Barbra Streisand's 1983 gender-bender drama "Yentl" in the animated series' history.
For those with all-too-short memories, "Yentl" was the story of a young Jewish woman in an Eastern European shtetl who, lacking educational opportunities because of her gender, is determined to study in an all-men's yeshivah, so she covers up in traditional Orthodox men's garb--white shirt, black suit, black coat, black hat, dangling side-curls--and enrolls as a man.
The so-bad-it's-funny movie first appeared on "The Simpsons" in an episode focusing on Nelson and his search for his father. Believing no one is around to hear him, the supposedly hard-hearted bully breaks into a heart-wrenching (or gut-busting, depending on your perspective) rendition of the movie's song "Papa Can You Hear Me?"
Then, in the episode rebroadcast last night, the kids' school is separated by gender, in order to give the girls an empowerment boost in math and science. Fed up with her touchy-feely math class--"How does a plus sign make you feel?" the teacher asks--Lisa decides to take a play from Babs' book and attend the boys school in drag. Discovered, one of Nelson's bully friends calls out disappointedly, "We've been Yentled!"
There's a new version of an old mini-series that's sure to be a ratings grabber for the next week or so. The stakes are high, the subplots are numerous, and the cast features old stars and emerging new characters. As a nation, we'll tune in with interest until it runs its course and ends. And this one is not only on one channel.
There's something about the drama of the election that creates national interest that goes beyond politics. It's a story that interests Americans, with its many possible twists, turns, and mysteries:
• Will the Democrats take over the House? • Will the Republicans lose the Senate? • Will Hillary Clinton run for President? • Will Barack Obama run for President? • How will this election effect the war? • What will happen in my local congressional district or county commission election? • How will other races effect the one(s) I'm interested in?
What makes this interesting for me is the degree to which the national news media is perceived as an information-distributor, when in fact they are as much a "player" in the plot as anyone. Ratings and advertising dollars are being fought for, audience share is the prize, and all stops will be pulled out by the news networks to "win" their battles during this high viewership season.
Consider some quotes I heard last week:
On Fox: "You are correct that this is an issue of national importance, and that's why viewers will need to keep it on Fox, because, indeed, if the Republicans win that seat there is little chance the Democrats can gain control of the Senate."
CNN: "Thank you for that report, and I remind viewers that CNN was the only national news network to have a reporter live on that scene."
News anchor to expert commentator in the field: "Usually the off-year midterm elections are sort of boring, but this year seems to be anything but..."
These are classic examples of the self-promotional aspect of the news cycle:
1. The networks assert that this election season is exciting and not boring and that more and more people are interested in it;
2. A certain percentage of the audience believes that there's something special going on and they don't want to miss out;
3. Audience share goes up as (whaddya know?!) more and more people get interested in it.
In a poll released yesterday, Barack Obama is in a statistical dead heat with John McCain (41%-38%) for the 2008 election. Am I the only one who notices that the only reason for such polls now is the creation of subplots and stories to juice up an election? Neither McCain or Obama is in a close race in this election, and most Americans don't really know much about Obama's leadership record or his stand on every issue. But we know his image, and a bit of his story, and that is how the media drives our election processes and influences the results while posing as a bystander.
It all comes down to this: A spiritually-driven person who wants to cast a responsible vote needs to separate the wheat from the chaff when it comes to watching TV news, to identify what is of relevance and close to factual, and what is really just the media's efforts to win in its own piece of the drama that is Nationally Televised Election Season.
Like the Olympics, this ratings-grabber will be gone in two weeks, but the repercussions of our votes will last much, much longer.
"Conversations with God"--the true life story of Neale Donald Walsch, the bestselling author of the book series of the same name--hits screens nationwide this weekend. The books have sold more than 7 million copies worldwide, and the first one sat on the New York Times bestseller list for well over a year. (You can watch a clip from the film here.)
As the films in the "spirituality" genre are wont to be, "Conversations With God" is verrrrry slow at points. There are lots of "reflective silences"--gazing into space, at a lake with surrounding mountains, sitting on the couch during one of Walsch's particularly down-and-out moments. This slowness--rather than coming off as artistic, moving, or even suspenseful (see "Whale Rider" as an excellent film with little conversation but electric intensity)--comes across as cheesy. Viewers are supposed to experience these silences as pregnant with meaning, but they verge on the awkward, if not entirely boring.
That said, once the film starts really exploring the juxtaposition of Walsch's current life and success as a bestselling author with his earlier experiences as a homeless man living in a tent, the film picks up and audiences will find themselves wanting to know the bits and pieces of this rags-to-to-riches story. In other words, I did eventually watch with interest as Walsch's transformation unfolded, but it was hard to lose the feeling that the makers of this movie were trying to manipulate me, wanting me to cry, and most of all, to buy the book.
I must admit, I have not read any of the "Conversations with God" books--though Book One has been sitting on my shelf since the late 90's, a gift from a friend who thought I should read it during a difficult time in my life. At the very least, seeing the movie has sent me searching through the mountains on my shelves for my copy of that book. I'm now curious to read more than the snippets and excerpts the film offers viewers--it did whet my appetite (score one for the producers!). I imagine movie-goers still uninitiated to the series will feel a similar curiosity.
And the religion scholar in me couldn't help but ask, while watching Walsch's story unfold: Is Neale a modern-day mystic? One whose relationship with God is so intimate, so intense, that he cannot help but feel compelled to share this profound knowledge with the world? Neale's sensibility of the divine is as friend, and even more so as Love--a portrait not unfamiliar within the history of Christian mysticism. Hadewijch of Antwerp, believed to have lived in the 13th century, wrote many poems and lyrics inspired by her intimate encounters with God, which evoked Love as the proper divine address.
Yet it is not quite right to compare someone like Hadewijch with Walsch. Hadewijch's portrait of Love/God is far more nuanced and complicated--her God can break your heart over and over and She (God) is undoubtedly Christian. Walsch's God seems to be one who loves you, yes, but who also wants to fulfill your every desire, whether monetary or otherwise, and seems most suited to the "spiritual but not religious" crowd. Most striking of all, though, is that Neale's God and Neale himself seem to be more or less one and the same. (This certainly launches him away from claiming a spot within the history of Christian mysticism--though it's not as if he's lobbying for one, either.)
Watching the film made me wonder: Walsch's claims, his publications, and his speaking/preaching tours do mimic (at least to a degree) what we know of many mystics across history--so why aren't scholars wondering about his status as modern-day mystic? Is it h
is lack of association with one religious tradition? Is it that our skepticism is too strong? Or is it the fact that perhaps, ultimately, his "Conversations with God" are too much about serving the "me" in all of us, and lack that ethical component--a sense of justice--evident throughout the history of mysticism?
Viewers and readers will have to decide for themselves.
I've already ranted here once before about actor Stephen Baldwin's brand of gnarly, extreme sports-themed Christianity, so I feel a little bit guilty about pointing out that the hip, high-class Salon magazine has a new profile on Baldwin--conveniently timed for the release of his memoir, "The Unusual Suspect." In the article, Baldwin makes such enlightened comments as, "We must shut off our brains, and be led by what God tells our hearts." He also says that he is not just a Jesus freak but a "Jesus Pyscho."
The Salon article, which has a snarky tone and some rather obvious anti-Christian bias, does not simply criticize Baldwin (he's just the easiest target), but other conservative evangelicals (Ryan Dobson, son of Focus on the Family's James Dobson, also takes some heat) as well. The article point out that there are many well-known Christians who are enticing a significant number of teens to buy into a certain brand of the gospel through a flashy marketing approach in which the supposition is that teens can only find a relationship with Jesus through the latest clothing fad, cheesy slogan, or dazzling video; as an example, the article says, a Stephen Baldwin skateboarding/evangelical rally drew 40,000 kids while the X Games only drew 16,000 participants last year. Serious reflection on anything with spiritual substance is simply not a requirement in order to make God your "homey."
I have no doubt that Mr.Baldwin has some good intentions hidden somewhere within all of his cheerleading for Jesus, but I wish he would simply stick to acting in some low-budget, well-crafted movies like the upcoming "Midnight Clear" where Jesus is revealed in a more authentic way.
TomKat is probably so busy planning for the big wedding next month in Italy that they won't even notice that Scientology is going to get another bad rap in the limelight this Saturday night, as CBS's "48 Hours" focuses on the controversial murder case of Elli Perkins. Back in 2003, Perkins was stabbed to death by her son, who happened to be a paranoid-schizophrenic. Because of the Perkins family's strong belief in Scientology, they refused to treat him with medication, but tried vitamins as a cure instesd. What ensured was a murder trial and an alleged Scientology cover-up.
But while Elli's death is tragic, perhaps even more heartbreaking is the fact that her son remains in a mental institution to this day, and his family has completely dissociated themselves from him.
Ramadan, the Muslim holy month of fasting, is now over. But Naeem Randhawa's revealing new documentary, "American Ramadan," (released this month) continues to chug its way around the world. Its been picked up by local PBS channels, Link TV, and international satellite stations such as Pakistan's GEO TV and Al-Jazeera.
First-time director Randhawa takes a look at five American Muslim families in the Dallas and Los Angeles areas during Ramadan in 2005. His interview subjects showcase the diversity of the American Muslim population: There's the interracial couple, the divorced dad, the super-busy, overachieving, hijab-wearing college student, and the Indonesian wife and her Caucasian-convert husband.
Their stories have a raw quality that gets at the heart of what an American Ramadan is all about: Physically fasting and trying to reach a higher spiritual plane while struggling to manage the craziness of daily American life.
This point is especially telling in a scene when the college student requests a 15 minute break at her mall job, then dashes to her car to quickly break fast before heading back in. "Not very glamorous," she wryly says to the camera. And that's the challenge of fasting in this country.
"American Ramadan" plainly shows that though that "Ramadan feeling" (of communal spirituality) can be found at Friday prayers at a local mosque or in the evenings at taraweeh prayers, most often it's a singular effort hampered by work, school, and family commitments.
When I spoke with Randhawa about the film, he described numerous obstacles he had in shooting the documentary. One of the participants started wearing a hijab midway through filming. Randhawa was faced with the possibility of losing hours of film he shot of her sans hijab. But after consulting a local imam, the woman agreed to let Randhawa use the earlier footage of her.
The documentary was definitely a learning experience and labor of love, Randhawa told me. His passion shows, but his filmmaking inexperience also is evident in the unsatisfying segues and repetitive images. Still, Randhawa (who is not a filmmaker by profession or study) produces a very viewable Ramadan experience for an American audience.
I've always thought fasting for Ramadan in a non-Muslim country is harder, and therefore my efforts (which are probably less than those fasting in a Muslim country) are hopefully recognized with much love by Allah. "American Ramadan" certainly hammers this point home.
The "Show Me" state's airwaves have been overrun with showmen these past two weeks, leading up to a hotly contested Senate race between incumbent between Republican Sen. Jim Talent, who opposes an embryonic stem cell initiative, and Democratic challenger Claire McCaskill, who supports it. Celebrities including Michael J. Fox, Sheryl Crow, Particia Heaton, and Jim Caviezel have all participated in campaign ads, creating a Battle of the Network Stars: The Left Team vs. The Right Team.
The showdown began with Michael J. Fox--actor, Parkinson's activist, and a member of the NBC Battle for the Network stars team--stomping for McCaskill and the stem cell initiative in ads that the Associated Press has called "powerfully vulnerable" and Rush Limbaugh decried as Fox just "acting" and "off his medication." In the ads, Fox is visibly sufferring from the effects of his Parkinson's, swerving and bobbing back and forth. Maybe Fox wasn't on his medication serving to dramatically illustrate--critics would say exploit--the plight of Parkinson's sufferers. But campaign ads are manipulative by nature; think Dukakis and Willie Horton. (Fox has also taped ads for Representative Benjamin L. Cardin, running for the Senate in Maryland, and Wisconsin Governor Jim Doyle.)
Not to be outdone by The Left Team, self-professed conservative celebrities attempted a counter-play by releasing ads opposing the stem cell initiative ballot. "Everybody Loves Raymond" star Patricia Heaton, actor Jim Caviezel (Jesus from "The Passion of the Christ"), and football great Kurt Warner are hoping to energize opponents of embryonic stem cell research.
When Ronald Reagan was elected to the presidency in 1980, his acting past was fodder for stand-up comedians and political enemies alike. Now, with Arnold Schwarzenegger in the California governor's office, Sean Penn reporting from Iraq, and celebrity after celebrity testifying before Congress, we don't blink twice when personalities morph into our politicians, and vice versa; think former President Clinton on "Arsenio" and MTV. But do these talking heads really make us vote for the issues, turn us off completely, or just serve to create name recognition? All of the above.
All political leanings aside, and even with the man who played Jesus as his competition, I would give Fox the victory in this Battle. It's hard not to be affected by his plea and his presence; besides, who could say no to Marty McFly?
Watch Michael J. Fox's ad here, and the right-wing response ad here.
Ted Neeley, the former rock drummer who played the title superstar in the movie "Jesus Christ Superstar," is still on the road, playing Jesus in the original stage musical. In an interview with The Dialog, the Catholic diocesan paper of Wilmington, Del., Neeley, now 65, remembers the night the show opened in 1971, when protestors lined Broadway and New Yorkers "thought we were going to destroy the culture there."
"Superstar" was the first work to suggest--however quaintly it may seem to our post-"DaVinci Code" sensibilities--a physical relationship between Mary Magdalene and her rabbi. Neeley points out that the musical, despite its famous number, sung by Magdalene, "I Don't Know How to Love Him," never makes that claim. Instead, he says, the true cultural legacy of the show is that it has become "a blueprint for teaching the religious ethic of Christ."
Neeley's own legacy may be that we now know what it would have been like had Jesus stuck around long enough to appear on the "Tonight" show:
Blogging about negative campaigning could seem as old and trite as blogging about taxes: There’s a sense that it’s never gonna change. We even have news networks whose bias is so pervasive that their negativity (or positivity) about certain causes and people is predictable even before the non-media spin types get started.
But now there’s a new kind of issue: Negative campaigning about negative campaigning. Or positive campaigning, depending on your perspective. A current example is Michael J. Fox’s commercials and appearances on behalf of stem-cell research.
"They say all politics is local, but it's not always the case," say Fox says in one commercial. "What you do in Missouri matters to millions of Americans--Americans like me." It’s not a commercial for research--it’s a commercial for a Democratic candidate. And conservative commentators are attacking Fox for it: Rush Limbaugh said Fox was "either off his medication or acting."
The Associated Press story week presents both sides of the issue. “Dr. John Boockvar, a neurosurgeon and assistant professor at Weill Cornell Medical Center at New York's Presbyterian Hospital, called Limbaugh's claim ‘ludicrous’," said the story. “Boockvar said those with Parkinson's have ‘on’ and ‘off’ spells.”
“’If there is one single disease that has the highest potential for benefit from stem cell research,’ Boockvar said Tuesday, ‘it's Parkinson's," said the same story. The AP’s conclusion: “Celebrities have a long history of supporting political candidates. But there's no question that Fox, who campaigned for John Kerry in the 2004 presidential race, is uniquely suited as a spokesman for stem cell research.”
I agree.
With all of the negative campaigning of the season, those who are supporters or opponents of stem cell research should debate the merits of the issue rather than the rights of certain Americans to leverage their role in life to make their case. That kind of negativity is worse than debating the issue: it’s un-American.
Last year, a sketch character called Borat sang a song advising the world to throw the Jews down the well so his country could be free, and in the process he managed to convince the patrons in a country-western bar to sing along. The world's response? Some Jewish organizations were predictably fearful--worrying about the possibility that the sketch was promoting anti-Semitism--while many individuals around the world embraced the joke, and the comedian, behind the sketch. Many of Borat's fans were Jewish, but didn't see it as a conflict; some of them "got the joke," that people will do anything on camera, and the "not-so-jokey" part, that people are followers who may embrace anti-Semitism if it's compelling enough in the moment. Other people just thought it was funny.
This year, Borat's got a new movie coming out, called "Encyclopedia Borat and the Case of the Infernally Long and Unmemorable Fake Movie Title." (Actually, the movie's real title is "Borat's Cultural Learnngs of America For Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan." See? Mine was easier.) So with millions of people about to be exposed to this anti-Semitic Kazakh journalist, we'll be hearing a lot about whether the movie is good for the Jews.
While Borat's creator, Sacha Baron Cohen, is himself Jewish--and, as a cover story in Entertainment Weekly noted, "wrote a thesis on the black-Jewish alliance in the American civil rights movement"--one of Borat's more famous characteristics is his virulent anti-Semitism. Most recently, People reported that he expressed a wish "to meet the fearless anti-Jew warrior Melvin Gibson." He continued, "We agree with his comments that the Jews started all wars. We also have proof that they were responsible for killing off all the dinosaurs. And Hurricane Katrina--they did it."
But what's that gibberish dialect that Borat speaks in the film? It's supposed to be his native Kazakh language, but after viewing a new trailer, Jews the world over know the truth: Borat speaks Hebrew.
In the movie, according to a report in the Jewish Telegraphic Agency (the AP of Jewish journalism): "Borat takes leave of his ancestral village, telling one resident, according to the subtitle, 'Doltan, I'll get you a new arm in America.' In fact, Cohen says in Hebrew, 'I'll buy you some kind of a new arm.' Borat also parries with his wife in Hebrew." (I am citing the report for journalistic reasons, but as a Hebrew-speaker, I can verify that this is true.)
The Entertainment Weekly article further noted that the "Kazakh" Borat speaks is actually a blend of gibberish, Hebrew, and Polish. And Borat's Wikipedia entry notes that the Kazakh journalist has been known to say the lyrics of a Hebrew folk song, "Koom Bachur Atzel." (Anyone who knows that song will now have it stuck in his or her head for the rest of the day. Sorry about that.)
Clearly, the artist behind Borat doesn't really believe Jews should all be thrown down the well, or that Jews killed the dinosaurs, any more than the creators of South Park believe that skater Brian Boitano built the pyramids and beat up Kublai Khan. But perhaps within Borat's choice of language, there's an additional wink in an already parodic portrayal. Perhaps it's even a reward for the Hebrew-speakers who can see past the
"anti-Semitism" and get the joke.
posted by Esther Kustanowitz @ 6:47 PM | Permalink |
Laura Marshall (Laura Linney), an extreme religious fundamentalist, is the villain in "Driving Lessons," a semi-autobiographical comedy written and directed by Jeremy Brock. But is Brock, who also incorporated spirituality into his adaptation of "The Last King of Scotland" (co-written with Peter Morgan), commenting on what he sees as the repressive nature of that type of religion?
It didn't seem that way when I talked to Linney, who plays the very British, very Christian, and--ultimately--very hypocritical mother of Ben (Rupert Grint of "Harry Potter" fame). Why? At heart, her character isn't religious at all.
"What I loved about how this movie is formulated is that you have one woman who portrays herself as being spiritual but she's actually theatrical," Linney said recently in New York City. "And one woman who (acts) theatrical but actually is spiritual."
That second woman is Evie Walton (Julie Walters), an aging actress based on Dame Peggy Ashcroft, who Brock worked for and befriended in his teens. In "Driving Lessons," Walters and Linney battle over Grint: the former kidnapping him for camping excursions and a long road trip (he gets the impromptu "Driving Lessons" of the title), the latter stifling him with Bible study, long-winded lectures, and rehearsals for the church pageant.
"She used the religion for her own game," Linney explained. "She liked the attention, so she would give in order to get. She liked being the person who gave the most, who did the most, so people could be dazzled by that. She was selfish, whether she was religious or not."
In real life, Brock eventually abandoned what he called the "constraints" of his mother's fundamentalism for liberal Christianity, and the differences between the two is one of the themes of "Driving Lessons." In the film, the former is represented by Linney's screen husband (Nicholas Farrell), a spineless vicar who stays home while his wife has an affair with the churchgoer playing Jesus in the pageant.
Linney found her character's extremism "particularly fun to play," and she hasn't been this deliciously despicable onscreen since "The House of Mirth." But was it hard for the actress to embody a character she didn't morally agree with?
"No," Linney said. "You just have to not judge them. And if you ask yourself 'why' all the time it makes you think about things and people in a different way. It gives you a different perspective, which I think is good to know."
It's a little surprising to me that not one, but two movies centered around magical illusion as an art form have made their ways into theaters in the last few months. Edward Norton's "The Illusionist" came and went rather quickly last summer, but last weekend's opening of director Christopher Nolan's ("Memento") "The Prestige" was considerably more successful. In our current fast-paced, entertainment-driven, technology-focused society, why would Hollywood think we should care about a couple of competing magicians from Victorian England who are bent on revenge? My theory is that this recent fascination with the art of illusion has at least a little something to do with our enduring desire for spiritual mystery.
"The Prestige" is, at its most basic level, an intricate, occasionally well-crafted murder mystery. Early on in the film, we see magician Robert Angier (Hugh Jackman) drowning in a water tank as fellow illusionist Alfred Borden (Christian Bale) watches, refusing to help. In flashbacks, we are then taken through the tumultuous connection between these two men over the years, as they work together, then compete against each other, and, eventually, destroy each other.
While the plot is overwrought and implausible, one thing Nolan does exceptionally well with this story is examine the importance, as well as the cost, of living a life of duplicity and secrecy. These men were the movie stars of their day, and the price they pay for fame and fortune is hefty. Unlike celebrity life in today's culture, these men realize that their careers depend on the general public not knowing anything about who they are or how they do what they do--in other words, mystery.
But from a spiritual perspective, what really struck me when I was watching this film is the explanation given for the three key elements of any good illusion. First, there is the "Pledge," in which an ordinary object (or person) is produced and the magician promises to endow it with something unique. The there is the "Turn," in which the object (or person) is transformed in such a way that its fate is hanging in the balance. Finally, there is the "Prestige," in which the object (or person) is miraculously rescued or restored.
I know some people will say I am reaching here, but that sounds like a great description for the mystery of our relationship with God, at least from a Christian perspective. God creates and designs us for a purpose, we are transformed--not in a good way--by our selfishness and sin, but in the end, by God's grace, we are restored in our relationship with him. It's a mystery I still don't fully comprehend.
Hindu goddesses and saints dressed in tight-fitting leotards and modern clothes, walking the violent streets of modern cities, wielding fantastic weapons and fighting evil and wrongdoers: You'll find all of this and more in the new Shakti line of comics from Virgin Comics. With names like "Devi," "The Sadhu," "Snake Woman," and "Ramayan Reborn," these editions are all about Hindu gods, goddesses, mythology, culture, and philosophy.
Shakti comics are being backed by some powerful names, including Richard Branson, the founder of Virgin, Shekar Kapur, director of "Elizabeth" and "Four Feathers," and none other than the writer and spiritual leader Deepak Chopra. Gotham Chopra, Deepak's son, is the Chief Creative Officer and Editor in Chief. Virgin Comics is based in Bangalore, India, and houses nearly 100 artists and writers in its creative studio.
For the traditionalists and the conservative Hindu community--which has been outraged by the pictures of gods and goddesses imprinted on T-shirts, shoes, bags and other clothing items--this might seem like rubbing salt on a raw wound. To the liberal, the young, and the sanguine comic reader, this might just seem like an interesting work of fiction. Either way, it will be interesting to see whether these comics are commercially successful.
In the comic books, the illustrations and stories are like those in any superhero comic book, and the stories are primarily about fighting evil and letting good prevail. Still, the books seem too bizarre at times and the comics may come across to some Hindus as a misrepresentation or a disrespect of Hindu gods and culture.
Devi, for example has been created to fight a fallen god Bala. The pure gods sacrifice a part of themselves to create this powerful new entity. Devi is voluptuous, dressed in highly unlikely clothes, and wields a lightning-like weapon that crackles and destroys. Devi is reborn in the present day and continues to fight the evil Lord Bala, this time in a tight black leather outfit and knee high boots.
This idea is innovative, but unlikely to molify Hindu conservatives, who will think of these comics as deprecating Hindu gods and goddesses. Still, Virgin Comics is trying to reinvent the rich indigenous narratives of India and is poised to expand from the realm of comics into films, television, animation, gaming, wireless content, websites, merchandise, and more. "Secrets of the Seven Sounds," a full-length animated feature for kids inspired by the ancient Indian myth Ramayana is currently in development, with Virgin Comics and Kahani World, a Toronto-based independent animation company, as co- producers.
A few weeks ago, toward the end of a festive holiday meal, the rabbi of my synagogue threw out a light-hearted challenge to us. This was back when both the Mets and the Yankees were still in the playoff hunt, and the rabbi's question was straightforward: How is baseball like Judaism? A few people tried making the connection, but nothing satisfactory came from it, and the rabbi moved on to more serious topics.
Now, having had this past weekend to ruminate on the Mets' heartbreaking loss to the Cardinals last week, I've developed my own answer to the question of how baseball, if not like Judaism as a whole, is at least like one piece of the Bible: the book of Ecclesiastes.
In baseball, as in life, you never know the outcome, and any one at-bat--like any game, season, or even career--seems to rest on little other than chance. A weak-hitting catcher belts a ninth-inning two-run homer, while a genuine superstar MVP candidate strikes out looking with the tying run in scoring position. Whether a line drive falls for a two-run double or is caught by charging outfielder; whether a pitch curves in for a perfect strike or stays outside for a ball; whether a high fly ball soars over the fence for a homerun or veers left for a foul ball or is caught on the warning track for an out; whether a ground ball skids past a diving shortstop for a single or is stopped for an easy ground-out--all of these can go either way in any situation.
Sure, talent and effort count, but so do field conditions, weather, what ballpark you're playing in, and a million other known and unknown factors.
In the face of this unpredictability, what do we do? It's easy to turn away, overwhelmed at the randomness, and withdraw. Or we can adopt an abiding pessimism, a fatalistic certitude that there is no justice and that fate is against us (see: Red Sox, Boston, pre-2004). But neither of these responses is satisfying. Instead, all we can do in the face of seemingly arbitrary fate is to get up day in and day out and play the game. We must not let yesterday's victory go to our heads and lead us to think that we are, indeed, fully in control of the outcome, nor can we let yesterday's defeat weigh us down and convince us that victory will forever be elusive.
All we can do is remember that talent and effort are important factors--ones that we can control--and try our hardest to be the best players and teammates we can be, to face our challenges and hopes and fears, and to work our hardest toward our goals. And to leave the rest in God's hands.
The documentary "Jesus Camp" directed by Heidi Ewing and Rachel Grady finally rolled around to my neck of the woods (Burlington, VT) this weekend. I was eager to see if the film was as "frightening" as so many journalists and reviewers have claimed, and if so, what exactly was so scary. (I would like to comment only briefly on my take on the film here. But for an additional perspective, as well as concise summary of the documentary, see my fellow blogger Kris Rasmussen's astute post, "Jesus Goes to 'Camp.'")
There is no doubt that Pastor Becky Fischer--a children's ministry leader and head of the camp central to the film--is frightening. She spouts on about preparing kids to go to war, to go into battle, to become warriors and armies--the list could goes on regarding the military language and approach she seems to understand as necessary to form children into faithful Christians. Viewers will surely leave the movie frightened that such a camp actually exists.
But what is more frightening is that the documentary directors portray Fischer's camp and ministry as if it is somehow indicative of the whole of evangelical children's ministry across America, yet they do so without providing any additional footage to back up their implied claim. How is it that anyone can make such broad conclusions about evangelicals and Christian formation from a single camp? From a single pastor? Where "Jesus Camp" fails miserably is that it sticks tightly to its title: It explores only "camp," in the singular, a sample size of one.
Ewing and Grady indeed may be onto something--that there are disturbing happenings across America with regard to our children and religion. But if that's really the case, they need to show us this with a much wider lens. And I've seen too many positive evangelical ministries to believe that these directors have given us the whole story--or even a large piece.
So if you want to see the ravings of Pastor Becky Fischer and her "Jesus Camp" go right ahead. Just remember that's all you are seeing. No more, no less.
Full disclosure: I've never been much of an Audio Adrenaline fan. First of all the name. Adrenaline is a hormone, a glandular fluid that enters the bloodstream for a short-term or circumscribed effect. It didn't promise much in the way of introspection, which I am a fan of, even in rock music; nor did it guarantee visceral fortitude.
But after 15 years in the business, 18 radio hits, countless Dove Award nominations (okay 22), Audio Adrenaline has more than lived down the name. Now that they've decided to call it quits--years of belting it out has left lead singer Mark Stuart's vocal chords in a threateningly tattered condition--the band's contribution to the Christian rock looms even larger.
Entering the Christian rock scene at a time when most Christian bands were pale imitations of mainstream names, Audio A certainly hit some familiar notes--they are most often compared to U2 and the Red Hot Chili Peppers--but had a bright melodic sense that was all their own, catchy hooks that sold their songs, and tons of energy. They first came to attention as an opening band for DC Talk, a band that took Christian rock to a new level; Audio A's success, especially their debut hit "Big House," gave that level some depth. The band and the song also made the genre more fun than it had a reputation for.
There's still time to catch the supergroup on their 35-city farewell tour with Mercy Me. The band will shut down after a final concert in Georgia in April.
Less than a month from now, the video game version of the Left Behind series, "Left Behind: Eternal Forces," will debut at big-box retailers, just in time for Christmas shopping season. The game, set in New York City, follows the basic M.O. of the bestselling Christian adventure novels. Tribulation Forces--those left behind to figh
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It's a little surprising to me that not one, but two movies centered around magical illusion as an art form have made their ways into theaters in the last few months. Edward Norton's 
Hindu goddesses and saints dressed in tight-fitting leotards and modern clothes, walking the violent streets of modern cities, wielding fantastic weapons and fighting evil and wrongdoers: You'll find all of this and more in the new Shakti line of comics from 
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Full disclosure: I've never been much of an