The Giant Mechanical Man

Starring Jenna Fischer, Chris Messina, Topher Grace            By Steve Norton

Rated PG-13 for some language                                                Rating: ***1/2 (out of 5)

Official Selection: 2012 Tribeca Film Festival

Currently available on iTunes

What do you do when you feel alienated from your own life? 

At least, that’s the key question being asked in Lee Kirk’s new dramedy, The Giant Mechanical Man.

If you haven’t heard of the film yet, you’re not alone.  In fact, Mechanical Man only premiered a couple of weeks ago at the Tribeca Film Festival in New York and, as far as I’m aware, has yet to score a wide release date.  However, this case is unique in that Mechanical Man is also one of several independent films that are taking a new approach to film distribution by offering itself for rent on iTunes prior to its wide release.  (Personally, I think it’s an ingenious idea that I hope continues to develop, especially for smaller films of this nature.)

As for the film itself, The Giant Mechanical Man follows the journeys of both Tim (Chris Messina) and Janice (The Office’s Jenna Fischer, who also serves as the film’s producer).  Considering himself an artist, Tim spends his time by mounting stilts, covering himself with silver paint and openly performing as a robot for the general public.  When his girlfriend becomes disenchanted with his art and breaks up with him, Tim is forced to look for work and starts to rethink his place in society.  Similarly, Janice’s story begins when she loses her job and is forced to move in with her domineering sister, Jill (Malin Akerman).  Jill believes wholeheartedly that her sister ‘lacks confidence’ and attempts to push her into a relationship with popular motivational speaker Doug Duncan (Topher Grace) in order to fill the perceived void.  As a result, Janice becomes caught between her sister’s expectations and her own beliefs about self-fulfillment.

In some ways, both Janice and Tim have opposite problems.  Tim’s art demands attention but people refuse to hear his voice while Janice appears to identify most with a small plastic figurine and seeks constant approval from others.  When they take menial jobs at the zoo, both Janice and Tim’s stories begin to intertwine.  Through their connection, they soon start to explore what makes life really meaningful while, at the same time, wrestling with their personal situations as well.

At its heart, Mechanical Man is really about struggling with a sense of powerlessness.  Tim’s ‘mechanical man’ is performance art and draws a crowd, yet he remains safely anonymous due to his make-up.  Janice works hard yet lives under the thumb of everyone in her life, be it employers or family.  Even the nature of their jobs at the zoo suggest an atmosphere of fading into the background.  (For example, although they are ever present amongst zoo patrons, they go relatively unnoticed by those who came to view something else.)  Invisible, Tim and Janice live in a silence imposed upon them by their friends, family and society at large.  They are the ones who don’t exist.  One poignant example of this comes when a reporter takes note of Tim’s performance as the mechanical man and invites him for a televised interview.  Excited by the opportunity to share the vision and purpose for his art with others, Tim becomes frustrated when the reporter deflects from his candidness in order to speak about his dance moves.  In other words, despite the fact that Tim is willing to bare his soul to the world, he finds himself muted by a culture that wishes to sweep his heart into the background.

With this in mind, Mechanical Man also heavily emphasizes the search for wholeness.  Both Janice and Tim are people who seek meaning in their lives yet find themselves stifled by the expectations of others.  In the majority of their encounters with people, they are pressured to believe that they must fill their void with success, relationships or simply “confidence”.  This notion is best exemplified through the character of Doug.  The author of several self-help books, Doug is worshiped by his adoring fans and appears fully satisfied with himself (literally).  Nevertheless, Doug’s ramblings contrast with Janice’s groundedness, causing him to appear vapid and empty despite his notoriety.  There’s no question that both Janice and Tim are realistic in their beliefs insofar that they understand their need for work to survive.  They simply do not wish to be limited by this view of success.  They seek a sense of completeness and purity to life that appears distant from them. 

As a Christian, it’s here that I most connect with this story.  Living within a culture that attempts to satiate our natural human desire for wholeness with financial success and relationships, one can easily lose sight of their own sense of humanness, creating feelings of isolation amidst the chaos.  Only by seeking a clearer understanding of God and his relationship to our world and ourselves can we begin to rediscover the true nature of our own humanity.  It is here that we experience true wholeness, regardless of whether or not society considers us ‘powerful’.  (Besides which, that recognition of our own powerlessness also puts us in greater position to be used by God as well.) 

Having said this, it’s true to say that The Giant Mechanical Man isn’t going to win any Academy Awards next February.  With a fairly standard premise, the film operates primarily upon the level of romantic dramedy.  However, its sweetness and authenticity won me over quickly and I found it to be an unexpected gem that was well worth the cost of the rental.

After all, sometimes the most satisfying films are the titles that you’ve never heard of.

Hungry for the Games

In prior conversations about the next pop culture phenomenon, The Hunger Games inevitably rose to the top of the list… but I remained skeptical.  After all, these things have a way of appealing to a certain fan base and then disappearing into the Twilight.  (See what I did there?)  

It’s amazing how quickly someone can be proven wrong.

Grossing an incredible $152.5 million in its opening weekend, The Hunger Games has already shattered numerous box-office records:  

Highest grossing weekend for a non-sequel. 

Third highest opening weekend of all-time.  

In fact, it is already the highest grossing film in Lionsgate’s history, easily overtaking Fahrenheit 9/11 (which amassed a mere $119.2 million in it’s entire run). 

Nevertheless, what impresses me more than the final total is the manner in which The Hunger Games made that much money.  According to Box Office Mojo, the movie held up incredibly well on the Saturday of its release, suggesting that the demand “exists across a wide array of moviegoers, and isn't just rooted in the type of rabid fans that drove the front-loaded openings for recent Harry Potter and Twilight movies.”  With this in mind, reports also suggest that an incredible 51% of the audience held an average age of over 25, further revealing that the film’s appeal was not limited to pre-teens.  In fact, the Chicago Tribune even went so far as to call the series a ‘uniting force’ in our culture. 

In other words, The Hunger Games has become a full-blown pop culture phenomenon.

The question that I have is ‘Why?’

I think that the obvious first response to a question such as this is the film’s well-planned marketing strategy.  Rather than taking the more traditional route of focusing on the book’s legions of fan, Lionsgate opted to take a much broader approach in its marketing.  By emphasizing the intensity of the tournament,  Lionsgate was able to help the film seem more accessible to a wider audience.  All of a sudden, The Hunger Games wasn’t simply the latest ‘must-see’ event for ‘tweens.  Instead, the film also started to gain interest to the average ticket-buyer.[i]  (Although, to be fair, the plan was far from perfect.  For example, a major misstep appeared to occur with the release of the film’s first footage.  Releasing a teaser with a tone akin to ‘Twilight’ in late August of last year, the early buzz was decidedly negative and actually appeared to work against the film.  Still, it’s also possible that this error inadvertently aided the film in that it slowed the hype machine temporarily, ensuring that the general public were not experiencing Hunger Games fatigue by the time of the actual film’s release.)

To be honest though, I am not one to simply buy the excuse that ‘the marketing paid off’.  I’ve seen tonnes of examples of films that tried all the same strategies and failed to catch fire with audiences.  People don’t rush out to the movies in numbers like this simply because a promotional campaign tells them to do so.  

They have to care about the story.

Truthfully, I believe that the primary reason that this story has connected with such a broad base is due to the relevance of the narrative in our current cultural climate.  Obviously, our North American culture has yet to resort to watching teenagers hunt each other for sport.  (Although, that would probably be a step up from watching the Jersey Shore.)  Nevertheless, this series of stories really manages to capture the atmosphere of a world that feels trapped.  It’s true to say that dystopian narratives are far from new ideas.  Still, Katniss’ emotional journey somehow feels relevant to 21^st Century North America.  Like the rest of the people of District 12, we too cry out for freedom in a social climate that threatens to break us down.  Does hope really exist? If so, where does it come from? 

Angered over the callousness of the Capitol and the cruelty of the Games themselves, Katniss provides a voice for all audiences, regardless of age.  Her angst is more than a deep-seeded yearning for someone to save her from this life (read: Bella Swan).  Katniss’ journey is filled with a desire to see things change.  Yes, she feels helpless… but she is willing to challenge the system.  In a world such as ours that is battling global economic collapse and demonstrating ongoing protests, Katniss’ desire for freedom reveals itself as a universal ‘cry’ on behalf of everyone who feels as though they’ve been bullied by the system.  (Yes, even you, Harvey Weinstein.) Her situation may be foreign to us… but her feelings and quest for hope in a broken society are all too relevant.

Therein lies the incredible secret of the vastness of Hunger Games’ success.  On the surface at least, this series appears as though it should only appeal to a very limited age group.  Yet, at the same time, the depth of the thematic content also connects with an audience that is much more broad in its scope.  As a result, The Hunger Games manages to find an audience that consists of a hybrid between die-hard fans and the average filmgoer.  Will it flame out by next week?  It’s possible.  However, given the numbers that have been reported—and the film’s strong ‘A‘ Cinemascore average— I suspect that these Games will have an impact for some time.

At the very least, the odds are certainly 'in their favour'..

---

[i] http://www.boxofficemojo.com/news/?id=3401&p=.htm

Hollywood Jesus, blogging and other stuff

Has it really been 3 months?

Given the amount of time since my last post, I felt it appropriate to write a brief piece to update anyone who might be interested on my status with this blog.  As it stands, I have been writing reviews for Hollywood Jesus now since last November.  It has been--and remains--my goal to continue to blog on Movio Dei whenever possible.  However, because of my work at HJ (which, by the way, I have found personally and spiritually invigorating), I have neglected my posting on this site on a regular basis.

But I'm not willing to shut it down.

As a result, in an effort to continue to use this site, I will post a link to my latest reviews on Hollywood Jesus as they come.  What's more, it is still my intent to continue to utilize this blog for my personal musings.  (Though, to be fair, that will be less frequent than my posting with HJ.)

Movio Dei has been an exciting project for me over the last year and remains so.

I'm looking forward to what God has in store for us in Year Two.

On Hugo, Sundays and Matters of Preparation

To view a film is a fascinating experience.

Take my last time in a theatre, for instance.  For our 'Youth Christmas Extravaganza' this year, we opted to split our evening playing games at the church and taking in a late movie.  There are numerous ones available this time of year and so I decided to allow them to vote online for their pick.

This year's pick was Hugo.

Now, sure, it wasn't my first choice--but I maintained a very open mind.  After all, it has gotten great reviews and several people I know were particularly excited about it.  After all, the trailer seemed promising enough and the synopsis of the film describes it as "a thrilling journey to a magical world".  So, I popped on my 3D glasses and settled in for a magical ride.

Man, I was bored.

That's hardly an exaggeration either.  I mean 'bored'.  It's one of only a handful of film experiences I've had that I can say that I chose to go to sleep for a bit.  Not dozed off.  Chose.

Now, let me pause here for a minute.  Oddly enough, I'm not even really being critical of the film.  I could see that it was particularly well-made (although, to be honest, I felt the 3D aspect was entirely unnecessary).  The film was relatively well-acted and included valuable themes of value and hope.  What's more, Hugo even referenced classical cinema in a way that provided a veritable cornucopia of film history.  (A Trip to the Moon!  In a children's film!)

All of this sounds like it's right up my alley, doesn't it?  And yet, bored.

For me, this begs the question of 'why?'  After much thought--and yes, I spent time investigating why I didn't like a movie--I think I've come to an answer.

I felt like I'd been lied to.

To digest the promotional materials for the film, Hugo is billed as a wild ride into whimsy yet what the we're given is actually quite different.  For example, take a moment and compare the one-sheet posters for Hugo and newest vision for The Adventures of TinTin.  Although they maintain different content, I would argue that the visuals in both scenes are virtually identical in tone.  In all seriousness, this type of advertising does not do Hugo justice.  The film is not the adventure that is sold to us.  In fact, it's more of a character study.  There's a depth to the piece here that puts the film far above Arthur Christmas.

They sell you Narnia but, in actuality, you buy a Dickens novel.

Interestingly, I can't really blame the marketing campaign either.  They're simply trying to give the film as general an appeal as possible.  It's their job to make money and movies like Hugo are a pretty tough sell to the general public.  Usually, I'm fairly self-aware of these things.  They just simply caught me off guard this time.  (Besides, the last thing that I want is to come across as this person...)

Nevertheless, in light of this, I found myself wrestling with the issue of expectation and preparation.  In truth, we do prepare ourselves for a film before the lights dim and camera rolls.  If we're viewing a serious drama, we anticipate experiencing the film differently than if we were seeing, say, anything with Tom Cruise.  Further, there are also many factors that play into our enjoyment of a particular film as well.  Issues such as stress, exhaustion, personal interests or even motivation for seeing a certain film all play a role in whether or not we can engage a film properly.  Heck, even distractions in a theatre can ruin a film experience.  (Bah!  Cell phones!)  In fact, if you were to be totally honest with yourself, you might admit that--most of the time--you have already decided whether or not you'll like a film at all before you watch it anyways.  (Incidentally, Greg Wright has some good insight into this idea in his recent review of 'The Help'.  You can read it here if you're interested.)  Regardless of the issue at hand, our movie experiences do not exist in a vacuum.

Ironically, I find that this is also the case with Sunday morning services as well.

Now, obviously, I'm not really comparing a worship service with attending the Cineplex--at least practically speaking anyways.  They both serve different purposes in our daily experience.  Nonetheless, when you think about it, it's not really that big of a stretch in the context of this conversation, especially in the North American church.  For instance, in our culture, attending a Sunday morning service really isn't that different from going to the theatre.  (Maybe that's why so many churches thrive in theatres?)  For instance, in both scenarios, you come and sit down with people that you may or may not know, stare at the front and are encouraged to digest what is presented to you.  Good churches try to break out of this mould and engage the people more directly... but, in our culture, its not all that common.

With this in mind, I have heard (and stated) many arguments as to why someone (myself?) does not get anything out of a time of worship.  Like going to see a film, I believe that there is definitely responsibility that lands on the leaders of the church to create an environment that is conducive to engaging God and one another.  This includes worship that draws people to the heart of God, a sermon that challenges the hearts, lives and theology of the people and a community which supports, engages and cares for one another in a way that exemplifies God's presence.  These are absolutely essential to meet people where they are and invite them to a deeper faith journey.

But it doesn't end there.

I do believe that there is something to be said for our own preparation and motivation on a Sunday morning as well.  It is true that responsibility lies on the church for what is presented... but, like my experience in Hugo, my own issues and preparation affect how I engage the worship.  Again, stress, exhaustion, motivation... all of these are things that we bring into church on a Sunday morning.  We can't avoid them.  They're part of our lives.

Still, if we are largely unaware of these things, we risk missing out on what God has for us in these moments. In an echo of our experience with the arts, worship requires a heart of openness and intent to engage in the moment.  It requires a willingness to own our distracted and sinful hearts and allow ourselves the freedom to offer them to God so that we might be made new by meeting with Him.  It is one thing to be aware of these outside factors and release them.  It is quite another to hold onto them in a way that allows them to shape our experience of God.  As such, if we can allow God to help us move beyond these barriers, connecting in a worship service can provide opportunities for us to be spoken to in a way that leaves us unsettled.

It's in these moments when we can be shaped.

It's in these moments that we meet God.

So, as we ingest a film, book, song, or sermon for that matter, we must be aware of the factors that shape us in that moment.  If left unchecked, these issues can prevent us from connecting with the text in a way that impacts us.  Maybe Hugo deserves a second viewing.  Maybe it doesn't.  Either way, I'll never know what God may/may not have had for me in that theatre that night.

And, as an avid believer that God speaks actively to us in all forms of media, that is the real disappointment.

Something New...

I have some very exciting news to report to you all.  (Both?  lol)  After speaking with their online editor, I have been added as a volunteer staff member over at Hollywood Jesus.

In case you haven't heard of them before, Hollywood Jesus is a website devoted to examining pop culture from a spiritual point of view.

Sound familiar?

Active for 13 years now, Hollywood Jesus has many people on their staff -- I estimate about 80? -- and exists primarily online.  I have been told that, on the whole, the site receives roughly 60 000 hits a week.  Reviews and comments vary widely, both in content and style.  I have kept an eye on their site for several years and respect what they are attempting to do.  Their staff discuss all sorts of media, ranging from movies to video games.  I will be contributing to them on a monthly basis with film reviews and other stuff.  

So, what of Movio Dei?

I assure you that my blog will continue to go forward.  I haven't quite figured out what that means yet (i.e. whether I write only film reviews for HJ and other things here) but I will let you know.  As for now, I'm working on my next review and (at least for this one) probably post it to both sites.

I would appreciate prayer as God opens this new door for me.

It's nice to know there are others like us out there.

TIFFology 103: Further Thoughts and a New Hope...

As September slips into October, TIFF is starting to fade into a distant memory for this year.


Nevertheless, I do feel that one more reflection is appropriate.  I've enjoyed doing these too much and still have more to say to keep from one final shot.  I guess that's what happens when you see six movies in one week.  Man, does God do some serious mashups...


Besides, what would a movie blog be without a trilogy?  Hopefully the third one won't be a mass disappointment, ruining the effort of the first two.  (I'm looking at you, Matrix Revolutions...)


An additional theme to emerge from my experience at TIFF 2011 was that love is the ultimate impulse.  Within our culture, it's clear that the driving force behind much of life's decisions is determined by our relationships with one another and the world.  Our experience of love (or lack thereof) shapes our view of the world and influences the way that we interact within it.  In light of this, the best example of love's influence comes through the story of Sam Childers (Gerard Butler) in Marc Forster's Machine Gun Preacher.  Based on a true story, Machine Gun Preacher follows Childers' journey from drug dealer to born-again Christian.  Soon after accepting Christ, Childers opts to participate in a service trip to the Sudan where he witnesses first-hand the horrors of a country torn apart by civil war and violence.  His heart broken for the plight of these families, Childers decides to build an orphanage as a refuge for child soldiers.  Despite the fact that he is the target of violent attacks of the opposition, Childers' love for the children calls him to remain dedicated in his desire for justice and protection for these people.  Further, this commitment to justice is a complete turnaround for him.  Having once thought only of himself, Childers has now had his world reshaped by Christ's love in such a way that he is compelled to sacrifice his wants for the benefit of others.  He understands that his actions are seen as a threat to the status quo.  For example, when confronted with the fact that his actions are making him a target, he responds by arguing that "[he] must be doing something right then."  Still, he remains steadfast in his 'calling from God'.  In essence, Childers' experience of love then becomes the primary motivator for his expression thereof.


Interestingly, however, the story really gains its narrative tension from the division between Childers' two worlds:  his American home life and his Sudanese orphanage.  It is within this dichotomy that Preacher really grapples with the imbalance that can occur when love becomes obsession.  [POTENTIAL SPOILER ALERT]  In other words, as Childers first embarks upon his mission to rescue child soldiers, he is driven by love for their safety and well-being.  What's more, he also manages to balance this love of justice while fully offering his heart to his wife and daughter back in the US.  Nevertheless, as his heart is slowly broken down by the ravages of war, Childers becomes filled with anger, causing him to increasingly disengage from his family while obsessing endlessly about his personal war.  [SPOILERS DONE]  In this case, the impulse of love moves from a call to health and healing to the driving force for destruction.  Although still technically Childers' primary motivator, his commitment to love is tainted by rage, creating a darker, more ferocious heart within him.


This darker side to love leads us quickly into the idea that, within our culture, true honour is morally grey.  A theme like this permeates much of popular culture these days, especially within television and film narratives.  Much is rationalized in the name of love.  An excellent example of this comes through Nicholas Winding Refn's gritty crime drama, Drive.  Here, Ryan Gosling plays a nameless character (simply known as 'Driver') who works as a stunt driver by day while moonlighting as a getaway car driver at night.  His existence is a quiet one that operates with few attachments, keeping relatively off the grid.  Nevertheless, his world quickly changes after connecting with a young family who live down the hall.  As his relationship with the family--including the beautiful young mother, Irene (Carey Mulligan)--deepens, Gosling soon becomes involved with some former mob ties that still haunt the family and chooses to fight in an effort to free his friends from their past.  This particular film is interesting insofar as the clear heart of love that beats within Gosling's character is offset by the extremes that he is willing to go in terms of violence.  In an interview, Refn described his protagonist as 'part man, part machine'.  After seeing the film, I truly don't really know how else to describe it.  Gosling's 'Driver' is clearly a damaged soul who appears to find wholeness in the love of this family.  Nonetheless, this desire to protect also awakens a roaring lion inside of him that operates without restraint when the need arises.  [SPOILER ALERT] Interestingly, although Irene initially objects to this type of violence, even she cannot help but be thankful for the liberty that comes as a result.  [SPOILERS DONE]  Without question, this is a clear example of the 'ends justifying the means'.  Viciously stomping skulls or nailing bullets into foreheads means little to Gosling if it provides freedom to those he loves in the end.  Because his intentions are honourable, his actions must be as well.


Interestingly, this viewpoint also permeates Machine Gun Preacher as well.  Like Gosling in Drive, Childers is a man divided (albeit much less composed).  As he grapples with the horrors of life in the Sudan, there is no doubt that Childers wants peace and justice... however, he also believes that taking action is the best way to get it.  In short, he simply sees no other option.  Every time that he straps on assault weapons to fight the resistance army, he is fully aware of the controversial nature of his methods.  When confronted by another aid worker about his use of weapons, Childers growls, "Why don't you fight the evil in this place your way and let me fight it mine?"  What's even more fascinating to me is that, for the majority of the film, we, as the audience, sympathize with him.  Although there are moments towards the end when we can see that his behaviour is going too far, much of the narrative is spent from Childers' perspective.  As such, we journey with him as the viewers, all the while torn between the method and the motivation.


Moreover, it is in the midst of stories like these that we must ask ourselves where the Gospel permeates.  There is no question that the Gospel offers hope and freedom to the oppressed.  Out of our experience with Christ and motivated by love, we, as believers, are called to exhibit these qualities and call for justice in our world today.


Few would argue this truth.


Things get complicated, however, when one engages discussion as to how that freedom should be brought about.  In a scene during the closing credits of Preacher, the real Sam Childers asks a simple question:  "If one of your children were taken and I said I could bring them home, would you care how I did it?"  As a believer and, not to mention, as a parent, it's a question that I cannot easily answer.  Must peaceful action and violence be mutually exclusive if they are motivated by love?  Films like Drive and Machine Gun Preach thrive within this tension.  (Incidentally, this tension is even evident within Preacher's print ad campaign.  Witness the differences between the first promotional poster and the second one-sheet.  It's staggering.)


In response to this, I believe that much of this discussion stems from a quest for hope.  Whether one takes a violent approach to seeking justice or whether they opt for a more peaceful recourse, one's actions often stem from their belief in the root of hope.  Does God really take an active role in the world or is it really just up to us to make things happen? 


To attempt to answer this, I would argue that the larger question in films like these is whether or not genuine hope actually exists.  


Cue John Williams score... now.

The search for hope is ubiquitous in all of the films that I took in at this year's festival, each with their own questions and answers.  Whereas Drive offers hope through taking matters into one's own hands, a film like Jeff, Who Lives At Home believes that it comes from outside of ourselves, as if we're part of some greater plan of which we are unaware.  While From the Sky Down finds hope in community that is united by the Spirit of God, Anonymous focuses its hope on human freedom and creativity.  Interestingly, both Machine Gun Preacher and Martha Marcy May Marlene end open-endedly on their quest for hope.  However, it is also intriguing to note that, while Preacher celebrates Childers dedication as a source of hope, Martha Marcy leaves us with an overwhelming sense of fear and hopelessness.  (This dichotomy is further echoed in the promotional materials as well.  For instance, although Machine Gun Preacher's poster carries the message that "Hope is the greatest weapon of all", Martha Marcy offers no such platitudes or taglines, implying that there's no easy answer.)

As a believer, this quest for a new hope draws me back to our Creator for answers.  There is no doubt in my mind that Jesus Christ speaks to each of these issues, calling us back to wholeness and restoration in Him.  Though we might not always agree on how it manifests itself, there is no question that the truth of the Gospel does offer freedom to the broken and oppressed in a way that brings both healing and hope.  The movement of God towards His people reveals the depth of His love for us in ways that reshape us in such a manner that we are prepared to grapple with issues like honour and justice from His perspective.

As a result, love really does become the ultimate motivation after all.

TIFFology 102: Martha Marcy Edition

Martha Marcy May Marlene

Starring Elizabeth Olsen, John Hawkes                                                   By Steve Norton

Rated R for thematic content, language and brief nudity            Rating: ****1/2 (out of 5)
In Theaters Friday, October 23rd, 2011

As I continue to debrief my experience at TIFF, I keep coming back to one specific film.  I have been able to link it with other films and deconstruct it from that perspective but, to be honest, that wouldn't do this particular film justice.  My experience of this film was one of emotional horror.  It left me feeling disturbed to my very core and was one of those rare occasions when I simply did not know how to deal with what I had just seen.

It’s excellent.

The film was Martha Marcy May Marlene.

Martha Marcy opens as a young girl named Martha (Elizabeth Olsen, in one of the best performances I have ever seen) escapes from a cult in the Catskill Mountains.  Searching for safety, she reaches out to her sister and brother-in-law—the only family that she has left—to take her in.  Upon Martha’s arrival, her sister slowly begins to notice distinct differences in her sister’s behaviour, ranging from her comments about being a ‘teacher and a leader’ to skinny-dipping publicly in broad daylight.  From there, the film unfolds in a skewed timeline that ebbs and flows between reality and flashback (or is it a dream?).  The film masterfully contrasts Martha’s seemingly bizarre behaviour with her family while, at the same time, slowly revealing to us the horrors that took place in the commune under the influence of their charismatic leader, Patrick (John Hawkes).

Since viewing this film, I have not been able to escape the vision of the depth of damage incurred by sin at the Fall.  The best illustration of this comes through the journey Martha takes in her relationship with Patrick.  For instance, when Martha first meets Patrick, he carries himself with incredible charm.  In a conversation that is eerily reminiscent of the Serpent’s exchange with Eve in Genesis 3, Patrick promises much to his young inductee and welcomes her to the commune with humility and openness, explaining that ‘it’s as much yours as it is mine’.  The interesting thing is that Patrick’s teachings even appear to make sense.  He seamlessly blends truth and lies together in the pseudo-spiritual advice he offers to his new recruit, inviting her to ‘let her guard down [because they] want to help…” and teaching her that, despite their poverty, they are ‘in need of nothing’.  In Patrick, Martha finds an escape from her life and potential hope for a future.  He even refuses to call her by her given name, stating she ‘looks like a Marcy May’ (a metaphor used by the film to show the death of her old self). 

Nevertheless, similar to the Genesis account of the Fall, Martha’s (or is it Marcy May?) openness to Patrick’s teaching causes her to suffer her own fall from grace.  As a result, she gradually loses her sense of self, becoming the very ‘picture on the wall’ about which Patrick sings.  Martha Marcy May Marlene is a haunting vision of the devastation that occurs when one allows themselves to be seduced by skewered visions of love and wholeness.  Martha’s openness to life with Patrick may have begun as a desire for a fresh start but it ends up reshaping her life and worldview in a way that leaves her barely recognizable to her family.  (Even the film’s poster—a giant ‘M’ with Olsen’s picture behind it—suggests that Martha has found herself imprisoned by her experience.  You can see the ad here.)  In other words, like Adam and Eve’s experience in the Garden, Martha’s desire for something better than what she had leads her into world of brokenness and disarray far worse than she could have imagined.

Furthermore, this film really also speaks to the depth of one’s story.  This idea is best brought forward through Martha’s relationship with her sister, Lucy (Sarah Paulson), and brother-in-law Ted (Hugh Dancy).  Having been absent from their lives for two years, Martha’s reappearance causes a great deal of tension within the family unit. To her sister, she’s still a child; to her workaholic brother-in-law, she’s an annoyance.  In fact, perhaps the most frustrating thing about this film is the manner in which her family deals with the ‘new’ Martha.  Ted exists in his own world, focusing primarily on himself.  His intent is to enjoy the time (and money) that he’s earned and consistently complains about Martha’s imposition on his vacation that ‘he only gets two weeks a year’ to utilize.  On the other hand, while Lucy’s engagement with her sister is far more sensitive, it still falls short of truly being able to help.  Rather than inquire of and listen patiently to her sister’s story, Lucy makes assumptions about Martha’s relationship with Patrick and writes off the experience as having to do with ‘some boyfriend up in the Catskills’.  As a result, both she and Patrick appear consumed with curbing her behaviour so that she can function socially.  In truth, however, Martha’s story has been damaged so deeply that merely attempting to acclimatize her actions is only a Band-Aid solution at best. What does a moment like this mean to us as Christians?  Interestingly, it is also here that the nature of the Gospel is at it’s most relevant.  As Christ speaks grace and truth into the hearts of the broken, he offers restoration at the very deepest parts of our souls.  However, the attitude exhibited by Martha’s family actually prevents her from experiencing genuine, God-filled healing by focusing on her behaviour instead of connecting her heart with the Spirit of Christ.  In short, Martha doesn’t need to be ‘fixed’.  She needs to experience healing—and that can only begin once you get to the very heart of her story and meet her there with grace.

The truth about Martha Marcy May Marlene is that it genuinely reflects the effects of our own fallenness.  Similar to the events of Genesis 3, Martha’s journey illustrates the reality of the shattering of our own wholeness.  Furthermore, the brokenness of her story pleads for someone to offer her freedom and restoration.

Which is also the very point where the Gospel needs to intersect.