Planes: Fire and Rescue

Having won last year’s Wings Around the Globe Rally, Dusty Crophopper (Dane Cook) has turned into an overnight sensation.  The more races he wins, the more popular he becomes.  However, after a routine stunt breaks a rare part to his engine, Dusty is forced to consider retiring from racing altogether.  In addition, when an accidental fire reveals that Propwash Junction doesn’t meet current safety standards, their small town is forced to search for an additional rescue vehicle in order to stay open.  With his own future in question, Dusty volunteers to be certified and joins a team of fire fighters at Piston Peak to be trained.  As he is challenged by their gruff crew chief Blade Ranger (Ed Harris), Dusty begins to learn the value of sacrifice and what it means to be a true hero.

Admittedly, the Planes franchise is certainly built mostly around merchandising. Accused of playing out like a lighter version of Cars (and rightly so), the first film focused primarily on Dusty’s dream of being a racer in the face of adversity. Originally designed as a ‘straight-to-video’ release, Disney felt they had enough of a film to release on the big screen—and sell tons of toy planes along the way.  Still, in their second outing, Planes: Fire andRescue manages to bring something distinctly more dramatic to the franchise.

Opening with a dedication to those brave men and women who risk their lives fighting fires, Planes: Fire and Rescue does carry with it a sense of urgency.  Rather than the playfulness of a race around the world, Dusty is now faced with genuine risk both for his own safety and that of others.  “When other planes fly out, they fly in,” handyman Sparky remarks about Dusty’s new team.  Whereas the first film emphasizes the glory of winning the ‘big race’, Fire and Rescue connects true honor with risking one’s life for another person.  (In fact, the film’s primary villain is most guilty of serving his own ego, primarily seeking fame and recognition at the expense of the safety of others.)

In addition to this, the film also battles with issues of identity when tied to success as well.  For example, by taking away Dusty’s ability to race, the film places him into the middle of an (kid-friendly) existential crisis.  All of a sudden, he’s left to ask who he is if he can’t do what he loves most?  Although he takes his certification process very seriously, he also does so with the belief that he’ll one day be able to return to racing and, as a result, actually causes strain on his fire safety training. The more tightly he holds onto what he wants, the more difficult it is for him to move forward.   Only after Dusty releases his dream can he truly begin his journey as a firefighter. (Although, to be fair, [spoiler alert] his dream also returns to him at the end.)

As a Christian, I sense a strong duality of the nature of sacrifice in this film.  First and foremost is the obvious sense of physical sacrifice on behalf of another.  As Blade Ranger, Windlifter and the rest of the team throw themselves into the fiery furnace, they do so knowing that every mission could be their last.  “If you give up today, think of all the people you won’t save tomorrow,” Blade sermonizes.  There is a steadfastness to their commitment and a bravery in these characters that trumps anything in the first film.  (Really?  Can you even compare a message like that to the ‘wisdom’ of El Chupacabra?)  Theirs is a sacrifice that few are willing to make – a truly, Christ-like sacrifice for the lives of others.

However, having said this, there is also another form of sacrifice at play in this film.  There is a sacrifice for calling as well.  In order for Dusty to truly become the plane that he is being called to be, he must be willing to sacrifice what he wants.  So often, as we journey with God, we hold on to things tightly when He invites us to loosen our grip.  As with Dusty, there are times when we receive these dreams again.  Still, there is freedom in trusting God with our lives and circumstances in a way that allows us to be changed by Him as well.

Is Planes: Fire and Rescue an instant Disney classic?  No, I’m afraid not.  However, there’s enough insight and depth to the characters in this film that it opens the door for tremendous spiritual conversations with children afterwards.

And hey, they’ll likely sell tons of toys along the way.

Planes: Fire and Rescue

Starring Dane Cook, Ed Harris

*** out of 5

Dawn of the Planet of the Apes

“It’s their fault… Don’t tell me that it doesn’t make you sick to your stomach just to look at [the apes].” (Carver, Dawn of the Planet of the Apes)

Taking place 10 years after the events of Rise of the Planet of the Apes, Dawn opens with an ape culture that has become much more highly evolved since their escape into the forest.  Having developed an organized society, they remain loyal to their leader Caesar (Andy Serkis) and believe that they are finally free of their previous human oppressors.  However, when a small band of humans are discovered on ape territory, tensions between the two species rise quickly.  As a result, battle lines between humans and apes are quickly drawn with both sides wrestling with whether or not the other can be trusted.

Still, Dawn is more than just a mindless summer blockbuster.  Beneath it’s ground-breaking CGI-work and explosive action, this film offers an incredible portrait of a developing Cold War that is reminiscent of any number of global conflicts (past and present).  However, rather than simply depict one side as ‘good’ and the other ‘evil’, Dawn creates tensions within each species, revealing that these conflicts rarely offer clear answers and perspectives. 

Ultimately, however, the most introspective piece in the film is its exploration of the damage of unresolved anger and unforgiveness.  Given that the origin of their culture came after their escape from captivity, there remains a history of pain that follows them into the darkness.  Yes, they have established a fully functioning society but a terrible rage boils under its surface.  Fear and anger arise within the apes the moment the encounter even one human face to face.  (Incidentally, this rage is also not merely relegated to the apes themselves.  Although mostly wiped out by the simian flu, the humans still very much blame the apes for their extermination as well.)  This is best exemplified through Caesar’s military advisor, Koba.  Still angered over his mistreatment in the labs, Koba remains bitter and believes that the true interest of the humans is ape extermination.  “Caesar trusts humans.  Koba does not,” he growls.

In contrast to this, however, lies Caesar.  Emotionally, Caesar has been forced to deal with his own bitterness and pain.  Although forgiveness is a strong word to use—he still wrestles with a great deal of pain—Caesar is at peace with his past.  He recognizes that not all humans are necessarily evil and, as a result, he is able to move on from the damage he has endured.  As a result, Caesar experiences true emotional freedom whereas Koba remains trapped in a cage built by anger and vengeance.

It’s here that the film treks into spiritual territory.  How do we deal with the rubble of our past?  How does God expect us to let our hurts go?  Having worked with many youth have are wrestling with the trauma associated with a history of abuse, I have seen the damage that one—or many—can cause another.  Forgiveness can seem insurmountable.  The concept of grace can be a difficult one to accept, whether it pertains to the victim or the attacker.  Yet, in the midst of this, Jesus still calls us to love our enemies.  He reminds us that, if we do not forgive, our Father in Heaven will not forgive us.  Without question, God sees value in the broken, even when their actions have caused harm.  (After all, our actions have often caused harm to others, regardless of whether or not it’s ‘as bad’ as theirs.)  In the same way that we accept His grace for ourselves, we are commanded to offer it to others.  Admittedly, this is not something that we can do for ourselves.  Genuine grace always stems from our Father who helps us to ‘no longer see [others] from a human point of view.’  (Even Caesar recognizes that evil is not strictly a trait that lies in humanity but within apes as well.)  In this moment, we understand that the other person’s need for Jesus’ healing is as great as our own and, potentially, opens up space for new beginnings and grace.

When this happens, we experience genuine spiritual freedom.

When this happens, we experience a new Dawn.

Dawn of the Planet of the Apes

Starring Andy Serkis, Jason Clarke

Directed by Matt Reeves

****1/2 out of 5

Noah (A Spoiler-y, Hope-I'm-Not-Too-Late Reflection)

Finally, I've seen Noah.

Admittedly, the film has only been released for a little over two weeks and it does take time for me to get to a theatre nowadays.  (Having a 3-year-old will do that to you...)

Still, this experience has been entirely different.

Unlike any other major studio faith-based movie that I can recall, Noah has sparked a firestorm of controversy.  Director Darren Aronovsky says "It's the least biblical Biblical film ever made."  This pastor says he's saving his money.  That Christian film site (that I write for) endorses the pic.  This Christian reviewer says it's challenged his faith and left him in tears.  That Christian author calls other Christian teachers who have called it art to be 'liars'.

Noah is gnostic.

Noah's a psychotic environmentalist.

Over the last few weeks, it seems like this movie demands an opinion and, as a result, interest has been extremely high.  I have had literally anywhere between 15-20 people come to me and ask me if I'd seen it and what I thought.  To be fair, given my interests in such things, it's not uncommon for people to ask this question about a film--but the sheer volume and intensity of the issue actually made me feel as though I'd missed the boat.  (Sorry.  Couldn't resist.)

Over the last few weeks, I have been very grateful to the likes of Peter T. Chattaway, Jacob Sahms, and Brian Godawa for their framing of the conversation around a film like this.  Their arguments (both conflicting and challenging) have caused me to reflect on this film more than any other in recent memory--and rightfully so.  A friend of mine that I love and respect told me that he chose to view this film "the same way that he would view any blockbuster like Jurassic Park or Pirates of the Carribbean".  (That's entirely his right and it is only a film, after all.)  However, I do feel that a comment like that is a little overly glib in an instance like this.

I mean, it's Noah.

While Jurassic Park was meant to generate a dinosaur thrill ride, Noah is bringing life to a story that we preach on Sunday mornings.  This is the guy who built the boat that rescued the vestiges of humanity from a worldwide flood.  It's a story that has huge implications as a Christ-metaphor in Scripture.  Really, if it means so much to us, shouldn't we care about it's portrayal on the big screen?

So, with all the controversy surrounding the film, why did I like it?

To begin, I admit that I am certainly one who falls on the side of the fence that this is an artistic interpretation of a very short story.  Some have suggested that Aronovsky had to 'stretch a passage of 5 chapters into a 2 hour movie' so, of course, he had add things, etc.  However, I also do not believe that this film was meant to desecrate a story that we hold dearly.  A confessed 'non-practicing Jew', Aronovsky actually has a strong affinity and passion for this particular story as well, having dreamed of making this film since his days in junior high.  Yes, he has added 'new' elements... but most of them stem from extensive research into Jewish midrashes and historical renderings of the story.  Rather than choose to 'nitpick' on details with which I may or may not be familiar or comfortable, I am much more interested in what Aronovsky's vision seeks to inform us as viewers.

In fact, one of the things that I appreciated the most about the film was Aronovsky's influence.  In many ways, this film was clearly an examination into Noah's psyche and his wrestling match with God.  There is no doubt that this was one of the key reasons that people have found the film disconcerting.  After all, Noah was a good man who loved God in the Scriptures.  The image of him as a madman who feels increasingly abandoned by God as the film progresses is not one that would make people comfortable.  (Though, to anyone that has ever seen an Aronovsky film, this should come as no surprise at all.  Black Swan, anyone?)  Nevertheless, to read Genesis 5-9, one thing that quickly becomes apparent is that it is told from God's perspective.  Noah says nothing throughout the entire narrative.  Despite the fact that Noah found 'favour with God' and 'obeyed all that God commanded him', we never directly hear his voice in the story.  Consequently, our vision of the man is most often one of passive humility.  Now, please bear with me.  This is not to question the value of humility before the Lord--that is not up for debate.  Still, what would an experience such as this have looked like from a human perspective?  Regardless of how one chooses to read the story, Noah would have still witnessed the destruction of the human race, whether it is justified or not.  One can only imagine the damage that this would have caused to his psyche (even resulting in his drunken binge afterwards).  Within the film, Noah is portrayed as a man who humbly serves the Creator and obeys when given a monumental responsibility.  He listens.  He builds.  He obeys.  However, Aronovsky also never allows us to forget that he is human either.

Crushed by the weight of God's decision to judge all of humanity, Aronovsky's Noah slowly descends into madness.  He "realizes" that God's care is only for the animals and that the human race will die out with his family.  (After all, why would God allow him to be spared when the evil rests in his heart as well?)  Many have been concerned by the fact that Noah becomes so obsessed with carrying out God's judgment that he even vows to kill innocent children in order to preserve God's will for His Creation.  Of course, there's only one problem with this assessment.

God never asks him to do anything but build an ark and open the doors.

Noah's impulse to 'destroy the future of the human race' comes entirely of his own understanding.  Traumatized and feeling abandoned, Noah draws his own conclusion of what God wants and attempts to carry out this 'justice' on his own.  As the story plays out, however, we bear witness to the fact that God has journeyed with Noah all along, even when he felt that he was stuck in darkness.  This image should not be lost on us as many of us have experienced periods of brokenness such as these.  Moments in the 'valley of the shadow of death' have been known to create fear and cause mankind to question the goodness of God.  Yet, to find ourselves in a place where we feel abandoned by God does not mean that we have been abandoned by God.  In this film, Noah seems to forget this truth but it does make him seem more... well... human.

Despite the fact that he is listed in the Hall of Faith in Hebrews 11, it is important to remember Noah's humanity in that this experience includes times of fear, anger and doubt.  As a result, I believe that a film like this can actually serve as an interesting companion to Scripture.  No, I am not suggesting that it's portrayal is so 'accurate' that it should be held in honour.  (Nothing else should be held in such high esteem as Scripture...)  Though, one must admit that the film does offer flavour and context to a story that has been too often emptied of it's power by childhood Sunday School lessons.  Aronovsky's film portrays Noah as a man called to do extraordinary things in extraordinary circumstances but also allows him the freedom to break down under the pressure.  That being said, Noah reminds us of the perils of our own humanity and warns us against ignoring God's commands.

Another piece that I particularly appreciated within the film was the portrayal of Ham.  Forced to grapple with the choice between honouring his father (whom he didn't fully understand) and the appeal of perceived power through Tubal-Cain, there was little doubt in my mind that Ham's journey mirrored the tension experienced in the Garden of Eden.  Whereas Noah seeks to follow the Creator's instruction of beginning anew, Ham cannot foresee how he can receive all that he needs (i.e. a wife).  Instead, he attempts to make plans for himself and fails miserably.  This leaves a void within him as he seeks control over his own life (epitomized in Tubal-Cain's offering of 'being a man') and submitting to his father's submission to God's plan.  Of course, by the end of the film, Noah's humanity has been made extremely apparent--a point which Ham feels the need to remind his father of by throwing the snakeskin at his feet in disgust.  However, despite Noah's 'missteps' along the way, the one who is ultimately 'expelled from the Garden' is Ham insofar as he refuses to be humbled and is forced to strike out on his own.  As such, the journey of Ham becomes symbolic of the human plight and represents the potential for humanities evil to be reborn, even in their new paradise.

That's powerful stuff, man.

Incidentally, the issue that I did take with the film was one that I have not heard from other reviewers thus far.  Of course, much has been made about Noah's theological stance.  After all, 1 Peter refers to him as a 'preacher of righteousness', placing the emphasis on the issue of 'righteousness' itself.  Complaints have targeted Noah's perceived lack of interest in God's holiness and that the people must repent lest judgment cometh.  Instead, Noah speaks about Creation care and God's protection of the 'innocent' animals.  Personally, I take no issue with this.  There's no doubt that this was Aronovsky's intent in making the film and, because he's not an evangelical himself, I don't believe that he can be held accountable to our traditional theological ideologies.  In other words, whether or not I agree with his position, the fact remains that it is his position and moviegoers need to be prepared that his vision may conflict with their traditional Sunday School versions.  What's more, due to Scripture's command to 'work and keep' the Garden, I am also a strong believer that Creation care is part of our mandate as followers of Christ.  With that in mind, how can I take issue with the fact that Noah seeks to honour the Creator by treating the Earth with respect or that he views the desolation that man has caused as sin?

No, ironically, my comparatively small issue with the film is that it does not portray our titular hero effectively as a 'preacher of righteousness'.  I'll explain.  Before I saw the film, I purchased and read the graphic novel, which was also co-written by Aronovsky and screenwriter Ari Handel.  As with any early drafts of a screenplay, there are significant differences between it and the final product.  As expected, I believe that some changes are for the better (in the novel, Noah awakens the animals to help him steal the babies on the ark) and some for the worse (the inclusion of the snakeskin).  Although, one of the changes that I felt the film sorely missed was the inclusion of a scene where Noah proceeds to the city to warn the people of the oncoming flood.  Of course, they do not heed the warnings (Spoiler Alert!), and Noah is promptly ejected from the city.  In the film, however, Noah's portrayal is a little different.  With the inclusion of the death of his father in the opening sequence (and that snakeskin), Noah becomes one who hides himself from humanity out of fear.  As a result, the only time that Noah warns anyone about the oncoming flood comes when he is discovered by the nomadic and violent human race.  Personally, I found this change to the narrative irked me in that Noah's interest in saving the human race became muted.  (Admittedly, he has already stated that he believes the Creator's intent was to save the 'innocent', which the human race clearly was not.)  In short, Noah moves from preacher to passive.  Yes, he earnestly taught his children the value of God's Creation.  (And, make no mistake.  Despite accusations to the contrary, Ham fully understands that "the Creator is God" in this film.) Still, I would have appreciated it greatly if Aronovsky had illustrated the arrogance of man by including a scene pre-flood that demonstrated an opportunity for mankind's redemption, even if it would have been subsequently rejected.  However, I admit that this is a relatively minor quibble.

By the end of Noah, Aronovsky depicts God as a righteous judge that seeks to restore what He established in Eden.  God's original intent for His Creation (nature, animals and humanity) is revealed to be a place of shalom that has been shattered by humanity's fallen nature.  As a result, the only solution was to wipe things out and start over.  (Incidentally, despite what many people believe, however, this was not solely an act of anger but an opportunity to reveal His love for His Creation.  Genesis claims that God's heart is 'grieved'--a word rooted in love.)  What's more, Noah's revelation within the film that the evil still resides in him portrays God as even more merciful by demonstrating that the problem hasn't been 'solved'.  Instead, God simply rescues the man who best represents the type of world that He had intended in order to begin again.  It is true to say that, within the film, Noah lets his circumstances overwhelm him in such a way that he loses sight of this vision and, consequently, his mental grip.  Ultimately, however, his character is not left in his spiritual mess and invited to rebuild God's shalom once more.

And, in our culture, that kind of truth that could really make some waves.

Noah
Starring Russell Crowe, Emma Watson
Directed by Darren Aronovsky
***1/2 (out of 5)

TIFFology 300: Preparations, Remembrances and Things Left Unsaid

Cue the lights.  Play the music.

TIFF is back.

It will come as no surprise to anyone that this is one of my favourite times of the year.  I rabidly follow the development of the entire festival throughout the year, even keeping track of other festivals to see what may/may not make the final cut.  In many ways to me, it's like unwrapping presents on Christmas morning -- oh sure, you know what you asked for but you don't really know what you're going to get.

And yet...

This year, there's a little bit of a chill in the background.  Don't get me wrong.  I'm more than excited about it and have no less that 8 potential screenings scheduled.  (More on that later...)  Still, this year, I confess that the memories of last year linger in the shadows.  For most of you (both? ;) ) that read this when posted, you may have noticed that TIFFology took a break last year unexpectedly.  Given that last year's TIFF experience was forever linked with the loss of our unborn child, writing simply became too difficult.

However.

There is one post that began and was never completed and, finally, I feel it appropriate to share it with you.  The following was written shortly after last year's TIFF experience.  I remember writing this piece was actually really cathartic in my dealing with my feelings.  (And, that may be why I never published it...)  It remains unfinished and unedited but I will add more upon its conclusion.

_________________________________________________________________________________


Bear with me.

I admit that this is year's entry is going to start off really intensely.  The truth is that I simply cannot separate my TIFF experience this year from the hell that our family endured at the same time.  It shaped my week--my life--in a way that is impossible not to bring into this discussion as it will most certainly also shape my reflections.  So, before the reflections officially begin, I feel it appropriate to begin with the story and let the rest follow.

On Thursday morning, we got the news.

After a routine check-up with her midwife, my pregnant wife was told that they could not find the baby's heartbeat.

At first, I wasn't worried.  At all.  The truth is, we were only 15 weeks along and, as such, it's not uncommon.  In fact, I continued to make plans for my week, especially those involving TIFF.  I had purchased several tickets for this year's festival and had even enrolled in a theology course connected with the festival.  (Hmmm.  What a good idea.  Wish I'd thought of it...)  We had an appointment for an ultrasound first thing in the morning and I spent the rest of the day reassuring my wife that everything would be fine.  After all, why wouldn't it?  We had no indication of problems prior to this.

I was wrong.

At Friday's ultrasound, we were informed that the baby had died sometime over the past week and that we would have to wait until Sunday to officially lose him.

As you can imagine, we were (are?) crushed by this.  I won't forget that Sunday.  It was quite literally the worst day of my life.  To lose a child in this fashion is a pain that I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemy.  It is essentially like losing a person that you love deeply, yet have never met.  Never truly having had to experience grieving personally, these feelings were (again... are?) overwhelming and difficult to process.

And yet, we were (and are) at peace.

We both felt it.  Strongly.  Too strong for words, really.  I can't explain that feeling other than to suggest that it was the strength of the prayers of others.  Here we were in the depth of the valley of the shadow of death and yet we felt as though things would be alright.

That we weren't alone.

It's true to say that we did have an incredible amount of support from our dear friends--to whom we continue to thank for their sacrifices, phone calls, gifts, Facebook messages, etc--but this knowledge of the presence of an Other had nothing to do with them.  We were simply aware that there was a God-centred light in the midst of the darkest hell we'd ever encountered.  Somehow, we knew that the world wasn't going to end--even though it could have been perceived as such...

And, in the midst of this, lies TIFF.

I confess that, to be honest, my passion for TIFF really seemed trivial in a time like this.  After all, family tragedy is much more important than seeing a whack of films in one week.  As things started to shake down, I did the only humane thing I could do:  I withdrew from my course and began selling my screening tickets.  I simply didn't believe that I should be able to participate in this activity.

In fact, were it not for the encouragement of my grace-filled my wife, I would not have attended any screenings at all.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Without question, writing out these feelings was really helpful for me.  It was important to gain a little perspective and I really did feel a sense of peace at the time.  It's interesting because, in some ways, I'm only now reflecting on the last year and realizing how damaged I truly was.  What's more, this only became more accentuated six months later when my beautiful wife and I suffered our second miscarriage.  (Trust me.  It would be really interesting to read a blog post during that time.  The second miscarriage really sent me into a downward spiral emotionally and spiritually.)

The pain of losing children (even those you've never met) is an unspeakable tragedy and I pray you never have to go through it.  Looking back, I can see how much I was clinging to my own abilities and whims.  I wanted to believe in some ways that I could control my life and that, if I worked hard enough, I could prevent this from happening again.  Shades of Anakin Skywalker in Episode II, I suppose.  (And, yes, I'm sorry that I just quoted the prequels...)

Today, I finally accepted that I can't.

Stripped of my trust in myself, I realize that all I am left with is Christ.  I believe that He weeps with me.  I believe that He walks with me.  I believe He is present with me.

I also believe that He doesn't owe me anything.

That's hard to admit... but it's true.  I cannot find safety in monuments to myself and, although I wholeheartedly believe in God's protection, I also believe that everybody suffers.  To be honest, I don't think I ever really accepted that.  As stupid as it sounds, suffering was something that happened to other people.

Now, I know otherwise.

I thank God that I have such an incredible wife and son for the incredible gifts that they are.  (Not to mention my family and church family as well.)  They are loving, patient and, more often than not, smarter than I am.  They truly are God's gift to me... and I know there will be more hard times ahead.  Still, in the midst of that, I also believe that God is actively engaged in our lives and that, although it doesn't always seem like it, He takes no pleasure in our suffering.  I am becoming more interested in seeking His voice again, despite the fact I might not always like what I find.

And that brings me back to TIFF.

To be honest, this year's TIFF experience could have been tainted by last year's trauma.  Let's face it.  Last year's pain is intrinsically linked to the festival in every possible way and could easily cause this year's experience to be haunted by the past.  Instead, however, I have remembered what it is that I am most passionate about the festival in the first place.

The truth is that the thing I enjoy most about TIFF is always the God-consciousness, community and conversations.  Over the years, God has provided opportunities to grapple with tough issues with people I respect--and, honestly, there's nothing I like better.  (Seriously.  I'm giddy just thinking about it.)  TIFF provides opportunity to wrestle with God's truth in ways that other things do not.  I can't explain it but it does... and I love it.  There's a dance between art and Scripture that takes place during this time.  On top of that, throw in a healthy community of others and I'm hooked.

In short, God is present at TIFF... and He let's me join in.

I never really know what I'm going to experience at TIFF.  This year's line up for me includes:

The Fifth Estate

The Dallas Buyers Club

Gravity

The Grand Seduction

Man of Tai Chi

Don Jon

The Husband

Prisoners

Admittedly, this is an inflated number of films this year (easily my most) and anything can happen throughout the week.  Still, I am psyched to once again meet with God in unexpected ways.  After all, He's in town this weekend on the red carpet.

And, after a long and painful year, I think I'm finally ready to dance again.

Storming the Gates

“Would you like a pill?”

In a world broken by disease, hunger and lack of resources, it seems that attempted solutions are often token in nature. The above quote, taken from Neill Blomkamp’s highly anticipated sci-fi actioner, Elysium, is an illustration of a lack of consideration towards those who suffer. Spoken by a disinterested parole robot, the offer of a pill to sooth ex-con Max Da Costa’s (Matt Damon) nerves serves as a metaphor for a much deeper attitude that exists within the world.

Set in the 2154, Elysium reveals a world divided by financial barriers. While the wealthy enjoy life on Elysium, a space-station utopia orbiting the earth that offers unlimited resources, the remainder of the population are left to suffer amidst the planet’s rubble and disease. Living amongst the masses, Max is an ex-con who simply wants to make a fresh start with his life. However, after an industrial accident leaves Max with only a few days to live, he realizes that his only manner of survival is to get to Elysium so that he can make use of their health care technology.  As a result, Max is forced to revisit a life of crime so that he can earn his ‘ticket’. However, after the assigned ‘job’ goes awry, Max becomes a fugitive and must choose which path his life is going to take moving forward

Clearly influenced by the recent Occupy movement, Elysium begs the question of fairness when it comes to the distribution of resources. As the wealthy maintain their life of luxury orbiting the earth, the demand for proper health care continues to increase amongst the rest (and increasingly restless). Disease is rampant and hospitals are overrun. Violence and crime are everywhere. Still, Blomkamp wants his audience to sympathize with the people rather than sit in judgment of them.  Although Elysium’s earth has been ravaged by criminal activity, one recognizes that much of the behavior has been driven out of desperation rather than a desire to do evil. Here, the finger is pointed squarely at the ‘haves’, not the ‘have-nots’.

On the other hand, it’s also interesting to note that the majority of the ‘super-rich’ are not portrayed as particularly evil either. Instead, despite the fact that much of Elysium’s resources are produced on the backs of the rest of humanity, the wealthy merely seem to wish to turn a blind eye to what’s happening below. In other words, in a much more literal interpretation of ‘out of sight, out of mind’, the wealthy appear more concerned about preserving their own way of life rather than intentionally exploit those less fortunate. As a result, the wealthy remain content yet distant from the rest of humanity, ignoring the devastation that lies below.

Without question, this conversation elicits thoughts of Christ’s conversations about care for the less fortunate. Scripture references such as Matthew 25 command to feed and clothe the less fortunate or even Jesus’ seemingly endless healings of the sick and blind point to a much deeper spiritual calling for humanity. From the moment Jesus established the foundation of his Kingdom, He has called for us to live in a manner that brings healing through love rather than further pain and suffering.

Still, the spiritual conversation within Elysium also travels much deeper than a broad plea for social justice and also offers a powerful example of what is meant to take place during a journey of discipleship. One of the best examples of this comes through Max’s story. A low-level employee of Armadyne Corporation, Max’s life seems no different than anyone elses. Simply trying to survive, his life has little purpose or direction. Nevertheless, after he receives his exo-skelton and attempts his first ‘job’, things change dramatically. [MINOR SPOILERS AHEAD] After understanding the importance of his newly stolen ‘cargo’, Max begins to understand the impact that his life could have on the rest of the world. [SPOILERS END] In fact, in a fascinating Scriptural connection, Max’s associate even tells Max that he holds “the keys to the Kingdom”. Using this analogy, this direct reference to Matthew 16:19 suggests that Max suddenly has the ability to ‘bind and loose on earth and heaven’, placing a great deal of power and social responsibility upon him. As a result of this realization, Max’s journey begins to be reshaped as he wrestles with the questions of calling and personal responsibility as he moves forward with his life. Moreover, in drawing this comparison, Blomkamp also reminds the viewer that much of the responsibility for change lies on the viewer himself. Are we willing to help create change? Do we recognize that our lives have meaning in the world? In the same manner that Jesus calls for justice in His Kingdom, he also commands us to be active participants in what He wants to happen.

In the end, Elysium certainly delivers in the area of sci-fi action. However, director Neill Blomkamp also offers an intense—but grounded—metaphor for the damage that is left by selfishness and greed. In moments such as these, Elysium connects very deeply with the heart of Jesus and his Kingdom. Whereas Elysium speaks of a world divided by suffering, we are reminded that Christ invites us to a world healed by wholeness. As such, Elysium challenges us to decide whether we will seek to be an advocate for change on His behalf or remain silent.

After all, through Christ, we have the power to “override their whole system”.

Elysium

Starring Matt Damon, Jodie Foster, Sharlto Copley                         

Directed by Neill Blomkamp                                                

Rating: **** (out of 5)

Political SciFi: Suffering (and Healing) in District 9

“We must learn to regard people less in the light of what they do or omit to do, and more in the light of what they suffer.”

― Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Letters and Papers from Prison

If it’s true that history is told by the ‘winners’, what does it look like when we allow ourselves to hear the story of the ‘others’?

This question lies at the heart of District 9, a science fiction action film set against the backdrop of racially divided South Africa and the remarkable directorial debut from Neill Blomkamp (Elysium). Using pseudo-documentary style filmmaking, District 9 tells follows the relationship between the human race and group of aliens (derogatorily named ‘prawns’) who landed in Johannesburg in 1982.  After 28 years of confinement in District 9, a local government-enforced camp, the South African leadership decides that it’s time to relocate their ‘tenants’ to a new facility and hire Multinational United (MNU) to carry out the mission. 

Enter Wikus van de Merwe (Sharlto Copely), an Afrikaner bureaucrat who is appointed to lead the camp relocation by serving the aliens with eviction notices.  Inexperienced but cocky, Wikus and the MNU forces raid the homes of their alien tenants with boyish glee, taking pleasure in their mistreatment. However, after being inadvertently sprayed by alien fluid, Wikus’ body slowly begins to change, taking on the form of a ‘prawn’ himself. As Wikus slowly mutates, he also starts to learn first-hand what life is like at the hands of the merciless MNU. With the transformation process accelerating and the MNU closing in, Wikus is forced to join forces with Christopher Johnson, a prawn who believes that there might be a cure for his situation.

Released in August 2009, District 9 entered into the hectic summer blockbuster market with very little fanfare or star-power.  (In fact, the only “name” in the promotional materials was the film’s producer Peter Jackson, director of the Lord of the Rings films.) Written and directed by then-unknown filmmaker Neill Blomkamp, District 9 became an instant hit with critics and audiences, garnering 4 Oscar nominations including Best Picture and Best Adapted Screenplay.

Although the film takes the form of a sci-fi actioner, District 9 actually offers an unsettling (and honest?) look at Apartheid and it’s effect on South African culture.  (Incidentally, this theme should come as no surprise in that, having grown up in South Africa, this is likely something that would be close to Blomkamp’s heart.) What makes District 9 so unique however isn’t the subject matter but rather the manner with which it is handled. By focusing on Wikus’ journey, Blomkamp manages to actually reshape the perspective of his audience as well.  In other words, by opening the film with the story of Wikus and the MNU, Blomkamp invites sympathy for their reaction against a species that appears to be the aggressors. However, as Wikus becomes increasingly invested in the world of the ‘prawn’, Blomkamp is also able to challenge our assumptions, revealing an alternate story that exposes the nature of true evil.

What’s more, it’s also on this level that Wikus’ journey echoes the Christian narrative and, more specifically, the story of Jesus Himself. As Jesus willingly sacrificed his Divine nature to become human, he also entered into our story in a way that he hadn’t before. In doing so, he was able to understand the human experience in a different manner, even ‘empathizing in our weaknesses’ (Hebrews 4:15). As a result, Jesus’ experience enabled him to offer his own life on our own behalf as the penalty for our sin. Similar to the manner in which Wikus’ life exemplifies what could be considered a moment of renewal for human-prawn relations, so too does Christ’s incarnation demonstrate hope to us spiritually by offering us new life.

Nevertheless, this is not to suggest that Wikus is actually a Christ figure.  (His self-absorbed and racist heart eliminates any possible comparisons on that level.)  However, because of his transformation and gradual assimilation into the world of the ‘prawn’, what follows is an incredible example of incarnation.  Although the experience is far from his own choice, Wikus’ chance encounter with alien fluid slowly opens his eyes to an alternate version of the narrative that he thought he knew.  By suffering at the hands of his military counterparts, Wikus begins to enter into the story of the alien population himself.  As a result, this experience eventually begins to challenge his beliefs about their culture, reshaping his own behavior as well. In a powerful example for the church, Wikus suffers with the oppressed and, potentially, may serve as an advocate on their behalf in the future. As a result, Wikus’ ‘plight’ becomes his greatest blessing—and, potentially, an opportunity for hope for the prawn culture.

In the end, District 9 finds an effective balance between sci-fi action and social commentary by drawing the audience into the story of an unknown culture. This invitation to suffer with those who suffer echoes the heart of Christ as He calls us to seek His Kingdom here on earth. What’s more, in doing so, Blomkamp also invites his audience to re-examine their own hearts and, potentially, offer a voice to those who have none.

Elysium will be released on August 9^th, 2013.

Breaking the Bad

“Sometimes, in order to see the light, you have to risk the dark.”

– Dr. Iris Hineman (Minority Report, 2002)

Why is it that, as a culture, we tend to expect in the inevitability of darkness?

It seems that, as our world dreams of its future, more often than not the picture is one of destruction and despair. For instance, in much of our science fiction storytelling, post-apocalyptic realities, common themes include worldwide corruption and oppressive regimes are common themes, especially in realm of film.  Through classic movies such as Blade Runner (often held as the standard for contemporary sci-fi), Serenity, The Matrix and many more, the future of our world is depicted as cold, disengaging and terrifying.  (Heck, even the Christian film industry has cashed in on this notion of apocalyptic reality through films like Left Behind and its subsequent sequels.)

Admittedly, there’s little argument that much of the intent behind science fiction is to offer a critique of our contemporary world and its issues.  For instance, there’s no question that Blomkamp’s District 9 and the highly anticipated Elysium serve as metaphors for larger, more immediate problems.  Still, it is interesting to note that the overarching theme of most science fiction films seems to be that the future is inevitably evil.  Sometimes that evil may be specified as the end result of greed (Elysium; In Time), over-reliance on technology (The Terminator, WALL-E) or war and oppression (The Hunger Games; Nineteen-Eighty Four).  Sometimes, as in the case with Luc Besson’s The Fifth Element, that evil simply remains an ominous and ever-present darkness.  Whatever the depiction, there is certainly a sense of hopelessness that permeates the atmosphere in contemporary visions of the future.

The real question is why?

Is it the assumption that things are so bad now that they can only get worse? Or is it some deeper belief that an oncoming darkness is simply part of who we are and, as a result, inescapable? Whatever the reason, every possible scenario points to the realization that the world is not the way that it’s supposed to be and that, left unchecked, it’s only going to get worse.  As a Christian, I recognize this stain upon humanity as the destructive presence of sin and its effect on our world.  Without question, the sinfulness of man has left damage in virtually every area of life, manifesting itself in ways that range from corporate greed to human trafficking.  As we gaze into our history and see the carnage in our wake, is it any wonder that our expectation of the future would be any different?

Fortunately, science fiction stories also offer another common element… the hero who fights the system.  From Elysium’s Max DaCosta (Matt Damon) to Snake (Kurt Russell) in Escape from L.A., every sci-fi features at least one character who attempts to defy the social conventions.  Some, like The Matrix’s Neo, manage to break the system, bringing freedom and hope.  Some, as in the case of Deckard (Harrison Ford) in Blade Runner, are less successful.  However, in every scenario, there is always one to recognize that this way of life cannot go on in the same way.  Although the results vary from film to film, each sci-fi venture places its protagonist on a quest for hope. 

In a larger sense, this quest for freedom and newness connects deeply as well within the Christian faith which points to the life, death and resurrection of Jesus as the hope for humanity. (To be fair, that is not to say that every sci-fi hero is a Christ-figure.  Can you really accurately compare Jesus to Judge Dredd or even Iron Man’s Tony Stark?)  Through his humble sacrifice for humanity, Christ established his Kingdom in a way that offers hope in a world engulfed by darkness.  In other words, his life and ministry remind us that hope for the world is something tangible.  While many protagonists have been broken by the system in a way that causes them to rebel, Jesus himself is the very incarnation that things can—and were intended to be—different.  Because of who He is, we have hope.

With this in mind, it is important for us to recognize that sci-fi does offer us a window into the future, grim as that may appear to be.  As the ramifications of sin run rampant, science fiction films often remind us that our journey will drive us into further chaos if we continue along this path.  However, it is also crucial for us to realize that the God of the world is also building something new in its midst. Although it may appear that our culture lives in the heart of darkness, the light of His Kingdom is beginning to break through.

Even if Hollywood can’t always see it.

Elysium will be released on August 9^th, 2013.