Hollywoodland

What makes a super man?

By Mark Ezra Stokes
9-17-06

Don’t get me wrong. Hollywoodland isn’t the worst film I’ve ever seen. It’s got a lot of good things going for it: a star-studded cast, a parallel story structure and a retro sepia-toned color scheme. Adrien Brody is believable as Louis Simo, the stereotypically-cool, vice-riddled gumshoe. He, along with most of the cast, seems to have the colloquialisms and mannerisms of the 1950s down to a “T.” Though the music doesn’t seem as powerful as it could be at times, it’s got a nice, jazzy, film noir sound that really sets the mood. My main problem with Hollywoodland, though, is that it’s not about “the most famous unsolved murder in Hollywood.”

Hollywoodland (with a pretty strong R rating for language, some violence and sexual content) is based on the historical death of actor George Reeves (mostly known for his lead role in The Adventures of Superman, a popular kid’s show in the ‘50s). At a cursory glance, the death looks like an open-and-shut case of suicide. However, many today still suspect foul play. The film is divided equally into two storylines. One storyline follows Simo’s investigation after Reeves’ death, and the other shows Reeves’ rise to stardom and eventual downfall. It sounds simple enough, even with the interweaving lines of narrative.

But there’s a point in the film where I decided I don’t really care about how Reeves was killed, particularly when the film focuses on countless slow reaction shots that seem to hold emotional weight, but really don’t. That’s because the murder isn’t the main story. Instead, Hollywoodland is a story about fathers, how our relationships with those fathers affect how we perceive life, and how we interact with those around us. It’s just sheer coincidence that these discoveries about paternal roles happen at the same time as a famous murder/suicide. We could’ve learned the same life lessons in another setting or era. In fact, we have.

The father/child motif has been around, gaining popularity way back in ancient Greece with Sophocles’ Oedipus Rex. And why are we still harping on this issue? Because, Hollywoodland seems to say, father/child relationships have a huge impact on a child’s ultimate perception of the world around him or her. But not only that, our perceptions of our fathers often have bearing on our perceptions of the divine (which in most patriarchal societies tends to be identified as male). I think Sophocles knew of this direct correlation when writing his play. In Oedipus Rex, Oedipus proudly challenges both his earthly father and the god Apollo. As a result, he undergoes some of the most agonizing physical and psychological pain imaginable. The moral of the story being that you might want to think twice before challenging the power of your father, earthly or heavenly.

So, what does a messed-up monarch have to do with a major motion picture? In the film, every male character with a child has a serious problem with his parenting techniques. As a result, the child suffers and is unable to function properly in society. This is a good lesson in and of itself, and it’s a vivid part of both the Reeves storyline and the Simo storyline. Then, there are deeper levels of father/child relationships. Reeves’ lover, Toni Mannix (played by Diane Lane), is married to an older man named Eddie (Bob Hoskins). Both Toni and Eddie openly have extramarital affairs with younger people, yet they stay together. Eddie protects and provides for Toni in a non-sexual, paternal way, and their relationship remains stable (well, as stable as can be expected, considering the disturbing circumstances). Also, adultery runs rampant within this Hollywood subculture, which pairs off the guilty parties with partners 20 years older or younger than themselves. I won’t go into all the implications of such relationships, but let’s just say Freud would have had a field day.

The intrigue, then, is in the actual major dramatic question: Is there hope for those with lousy fathers, or will the cycle of poor parenting continue on forever? The film freely acknowledges that it is difficult to overcome that cycle, and it’s more likely that the child will grow up to become his father (or to marry someone like her father), but that’s not always the case.

And what, you may ask, does this say to those of us who don’t worship Apollo or any other of Sophocles’ bi-polar pantheon? What does that say about our relationships with the divine? It’s no coincidence that Christians call God “Father.” It’s the way we relate, and it creates a mental image: God the Father. As a result of this label, we identify and understand God by many of the characteristics of our own fathers. This can be a good thing (if your father has admirable qualities like mine) or it can be a bad thing (if, say, your father’s aloof and conditionally attentive).

At this point in the discussion, you’re probably a bit confused as to whether I liked the film or not. On the level of entertainment and storytelling, I wasn’t so thrilled. Many critics have hailed the George Reeves role as Ben Affleck’s best performance, but I wasn’t so convinced. Throughout the film, I counted at least five different dialects used by his character, all of which were connected by his recognizable, trademark Massachusetts brogue. He seemed to be trying Nicole Kidman’s formula (biopic + prosthetic nose = critical acclaim), but it didn’t work for me. Brody’s approach to a normally-flat stereotypical gumshoe seemed to overshadow Affleck (plus, his schnoz was the real thing). Director Allen Coulter seemed to be taking a cinema verite/documentary approach to the story, but it only made the pacing slow and cumbersome. Story-wise, Hollywoodland didn’t seem to offer us anything we haven’t seen before.

On a thematic level, though, this lack of newness works in that it deals with a universal theme, and it draws some positive, family-affirming conclusions in dealing with that theme. This, to me, is the main redeeming point.

According to the buzz, both Hollywoodland and The Black Dahlia are film noir/detective period pieces about what each considers the “most famous unsolved murder in Hollywood.” Don’t let the buzz fool you. I can’t speak for The Black Dahlia (which I haven’t yet seen), but I can say that Hollywoodland is more than just mystery. In this case, it’s a statement that there’s more to being a “super man” than long underwear and a red cape. According to the film, true super man status requires commitment and devotion to those you love. I would add that those characteristics can truly be understood by observing the ultimate source of paternal insight: a heavenly Father without the flaws or baggage of men on earth.

Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby

Revving Up the Engines to Barrel Over Blasphemy

By Mark Ezra Stokes
8-18-06

Movie controversies just ain’t what they used to be. Despite all the hoopla surrounding The Da Vinci Code, it still managed to gross more than 200 million dollars in the U.S. (even if it ended up being too boring to elicit any lasting arguments). Though Harry Potter remains a tried-and-true target for picketers, no one seems to be listening, and we’ve got another year before the next one comes out. The question remains: With the current movies about snake-handling (Snakes on a Plane) and praying policemen (World Trade Center), how are Christians expected to get our boycott fix? Never fear, my picket-happy compatriots, because nothing offends our Lord more than the unsavory subject of… NASCAR.

Okay, so maybe there’s nothing intrinsically blasphemous about high-speed automobiles driving in endless circles, but Christian critic Ted Baehr considers Talladega Nights: The Legend of Ricky Bobby “one of the most blasphemous, politically correct major movies ever released by a major Hollywood studio.” This film is definitely intent on poking fun, but what if there’s credence to the various caricatures portrayed? Could the “art” of Ricky Bobby’s tale be imitating a few offensive trends in American society? Though I’m not a fan of NASCAR (or driving cars in general), I am a heterosexual, Christian, Southern, white male. So according to Baehr, I should be offended. Yet, for some reason, I’m not (at least not by the film).

Talladega Nights follows fictitious NASCAR legend Ricky Bobby (Will Ferrell) who, from his birth in a speeding muscle car on the way to the hospital, has always wanted to drive fast. His life is rooted on something his deadbeat dad told him during elementary-school show-and-tell: “If you ain’t first, you’re last.” During his career, Ricky remains focused on winning, though that sometimes means neglecting family, friends and his own safety. Like the books of Ecclesiastes and Job, the film ponders on what is truly lasting when accolades and material gains fade away.

Talladega Nights is definitely crude at times, earning its PG-13 rating for crude and sexual humor, language, drug references and brief comic violence. But amidst the low-brow humor and the sloppily-constructed storyline is an overarching message. Ricky Bobby and his friends represent capitalism at its most perverse extreme. Like NASCAR, the film offers a sensory overload of product placement, taking its criticism of corporate sponsorship as far as it’ll go (which includes an entire Applebee’s commercial in the middle of the final racing scene). It constructs a materialistic society where it’s impossible to separate the church from the state or the bank. Ricky and his friends incessantly spout patriotic clichés while revealing just how little they know about any nation outside of their borders. Ricky’s trophy wife (Leslie Bibb) asks him to pray well so he’ll win the next day’s race. Such cringe-worthy moments are prevalent enough to get the point across: too much of a good thing can create some really disturbing results.

One of the most “offensive” elements of the film involves the Bobby family prayer around the dinner table. During Ricky’s prayer (which involves lots of shallow gratitude for prosperity and abundance), Ricky’s wife chastises him for referring to Jesus as “Lord Baby Jesus.” Ricky explains that he likes the Christmas Jesus best. What ensues is an absurd, family-wide argument of whose perception of Jesus is the best and most accurate.

Also during the prayer, we’re introduced to Ricky’s foul-mouthed, disrespectful children, Walker and Texas Ranger (T.R.). Though 90 percent of their dialogue seems meant solely for shock value, we learn that these children are merely products of their environment. They’re brats because, like Ricky, they’ve been taught to do whatever it takes to get what you want.

Though Talladega Nights raises some relevant sociological concerns, it’s just not constructed well (much like last month’s Lady in the Water). Never does the story flow in one direction before being yanked in another direction by some random joke. Though the main storyline seems to be one of Ricky’s redemption, we’re yanked a different way to follow the children’s reform, and then we’re yanked in another direction to follow Ricky’s attempt at atonement with his father. All of these storylines could’ve really meshed well together thematically if the pacing were worked out. Instead, Talladega Nights seems to center on Ferrell’s numerous improvised lines—many of which have been spoiled in the T.V. trailer.

Talladega Nights won’t be a required viewing at film schools, nor will it become a vital part of our pop cultural lexicon. But it does paint quite a disturbing picture of what watered-down Christianity can become—not as a result of outside persecution or infiltration, but because we have created gods in our own image that look more like infants, Southern rock singers and ice skaters than the one, true God.

I suppose the boycotters are right when saying that Talladega Nights is offensive, but I don’t think we can blame such pseudo-blasphemy on the filmmakers. The sub-culture in this satire is alive and thriving, and the brunt of this perverse worldview seems to hit hardest in the chest of an unwavering but increasingly-exploited God. The most offensive, frightening reality of the film is that Ricky Bobby’s world is a slightly-distorted mirror of our own. That means that we as bored boycotters now have the opportunity to use the logs from our own eyes (see Matthew 7:1-5) to construct new picket signs that will guide us in identifying the real problem: the misperceptions of the person who stares into the mirror.

Summer Blockbusters of '06

His Eyes are on Jack Sparrow: Jesus Walks in the Summertime

By Mark Ezra Stokes
7-17-06

Christ-figures seem more blatant in mainstream films these days—particularly in summer blockbusters. For that, we can thank both the commercial success of The Passion of the Christ and the critical success of The Writer’s Journey (Christopher Vogler’s book on mythic structure in screenplays). Though some executives may think all it takes is some lantern-jawed hero with a death wish and outstretched arms, this summer has reminded us that there must be more to the equation. There must be connectivity—something few of the latest films seem to have grasped.

Though the X-Men franchise is always full of sacrificial figures, its third installment (rated PG-13 for intense sequences of action violence, some sexual content and language) is so focused on obscure mutant cameos that it seems like an action-packed extension of the Where’s Waldo? series, with strings of “shocking” deaths to keep its viewers interested. The result is pretty eye candy, but not much more. If we had been invited to share in the lives of a mere fraction of those loveably freakish characters, we would’ve more than likely been left in awe at their selflessness in death (see John 15:13).

Even comedy films, such as Nacho Libre (rated PG for some rough action, and crude humor including dialogue), have variations on the Christ-figure. Though Nacho (Jack Black) feels a divine calling into the world of professional wrestling, he must forsake his monastic brothers, who see such activities as “scandalous.” Few elements of Nacho’s life allegorize that of Christ, but he makes the Christ-like decision to risk social death by rejecting extra-biblical dogma and pursuing what he believes is God’s call. The minds behind Napoleon Dynamite do seem to use one flatulence joke too many with this one, but the heartwarming sacrifice seems to redeem the film and keep it inches away from the realm of “So what?”

The allegorical intent of Superman Returns is the most blatant of the summer. Jor-El (Marlon Brando, in an unused clip from the 1978 Superman) delivers a voiceover monologue that sounds vaguely familiar: “They can be a great people, Kal-El, if they wish to be. They only lack the light to show the way. This reason, above all, is why I send them you, my only son.” Lois Lane (Kate Bosworth) claims several times that she doesn’t need a “savior.” Also, Superman (Brandon Routh) floats over the world with outstretched arms and a weary expression that looks directly gleaned from the Garden of Gethsemane.

The perennial problem with the Superman character, though, is he often seems too super. Like the early films retelling the life and death of Christ (From the Manger to the Cross (1912), King of Kings (1927), etc.), Superman Returns involves a protagonist who is so divine, it’s difficult for a human audience to relate to him. Instead, like Lois Lane, we feel alienated from such a Christ-figure or, like Lex Luther, we feel jealous of his perfection (because it reminds us of our imperfections).

Pirates of the Caribbean 2: Dead Man’s Chest (rated PG-13 for intense sequences of adventure violence, including frightening images) most effectively portrays the poignancy of self-sacrifice, and it also tells the best story I’ve seen all summer. I think each of these two elements—believable self-sacrifice and a good story—are essential for the film’s success and the success of other films that choose to incorporate Christ-figures.

Rather than sending us through some melodramatic story where compassion is expected, screenwriters Ted Elliott and Terry Rossio infuse light and wonderfully timed comedy into a dark world where death and damnation remain on everyone’s minds. Imagine a blend of Captain Kidd and the Keystone Kops—a Saturday-morning serialized drama where Buster Crabbe and Buster Keaton meet to fling pies at nefarious villains. Though it’s an unlikely meshing of nostalgias, it has proven to work quite well in the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise, and this film is no exception.

If Superman Returns embodies a Christ that is more God than man, Pirates of the Caribbean 2 shows multiple characters—all very gritty and human—who display their awareness that the ultimate display of love, friendship and loyalty is self-sacrifice. In the realm of Christ-figures, Pirates of the Caribbean 2 is closer to the depictions of Jesus Christ Superstar (1973), The Last Temptation of Christ (1988) or Jesus (2000). As a result, we can easily identify with heroes just as flawed as us. “If these people can make the greatest of sacrifices,” we ask ourselves, “then what’s stopping us from dying for noble causes?”

Though none of this summer’s films identify specifically the relevance of the historical Christ, they lead to some pretty profound truths. X-Men 3 teaches us that self-sacrifice only affects us if we feel that we’ve somehow encountered the victim on a personal level. Nacho Libre shows that self-sacrifice often involves more than just physical death—that social death can be nearly as painful and profound.

We learn from Superman Returns that if Jesus Christ were exclusively divine, he would’ve been beyond our reach—a catalyst for alienation and jealousy. The best-case scenario of a direct encounter with the solely divine would include piles upon piles of corpses (Exodus 33:20) and perhaps a few lucky stragglers with shiny faces (Exodus 33:21-23 and Exodus 34:29). We learn from Pirates of the Caribbean 2 that if Jesus were just a man who happened to do nice things for people, we’d be affected by the profundity of his compassion and ultimate sacrifice, but we’d be scratching our heads about his reliability and/or sanity (in Jesus’ case, directly relating to his claims of divinity in John 5:18, John 3:13, John 8:23, John 8:58-59 and John 10:30-33).

The beauty of the historical Christ is his perfect balance between the divine and the human. While his humanity allows us to identify with a person who has walked in our shoes, his divinity provides a higher standard for us to pursue, and access to someone far greater than ourselves or our very-human acquaintances. The historical Christ is the perfect mediator—the perfection of Superman mixed with the accessibility of Captain Jack Sparrow. Thank God for that blend. And thank Hollywood for reminding us of that blend.

Just My Luck

Luck be a giggly lady

By Mark Ezra Stokes
5-16-06

I was a child during the first Mary-Kate and Olsen craze. This was toward the end of their Full House career, and they were queens of the straight-to-video empire. I cringed whenever visiting my grandmother’s house with my younger cousin present, because I knew that, rather than spending some quality time with He-Man, the Smurfs or G.I. Joe, I’d spend hours on end tapping my foot while she watched Mary-Kate and Ashley Visit Grandma, or Mary-Kate and Ashley Save Christmas, or Mary-Kate and Ashley Brush Their Teeth. Though I never understood the joy in watching an annoying pair of twins spouting badly written catchphrases while being pursued by another pair of bumbling criminals, my cousin ate it up. And now, thanks to my cousin and millions in her demographic, Mary-Kate and Ashley are multi-millionaires. Lindsay Lohan, though nearly out of her teens now at age 19, seems to have been taking notes, and her latest film, Just My Luck, fits nicely alongside her other romantic comedies that involve luck, fate and coincidence.

Just My Luck (rated PG-13 for some sexual dialogue) follows always-lucky Ashley Albright (Lohan) as she climbs higher and higher into the corporate world, with no effort at all. At the same time, Jake Hardin (Chris Pine) is just trying to climb out of his janitorial job with all the effort he can muster, but to no avail. Luck changes, however, when they meet at a masquerade ball and, for no other reason than to advance the plot, kiss 10 seconds after meeting one other. As we all know, luck is a communicable disease (it might help to tell that to your superstitious preteens), so their luck is naturally swapped. Immediately, she is thrown in jail, and he becomes manager for the hottest new pop-rock band, McFly (a real-life band that owes its agent big-time for getting it this much publicity). Realizing that her bad luck had been brought on by the kiss, Ashley decides to hunt down everyone who fits the profile of her masked dancer, hoping to reverse the curse by kissing the same guy a second time.

Though the idea of corporate executives teetering around New York and giggling about cute guys may seem implausible to anyone outside of Lohan’s social circles, the film isn’t completely unbearable. Behind the fake tans and overpriced outfits, there lies a deep, existential question: Is there something out there, beyond our control, which governs our lives?

Just My Luck seems to hint that there is—though Ashley and Jake admit at one point they don’t know exactly what to call it. The film also seems to say that there’s nothing we can do to make luck work entirely for us. Instead, we must learn to appreciate the good things and simply accommodate for the bad things. Just My Luck also provides an expert on all things cosmic in Madame Z (Tovah Feldshuh), the fortuneteller who can decipher the universe’s mysteries through her trusty Tarot deck. But can we be satisfied with this answer of “accommodation” when really bad things happen—those things that involve more than doggy poo or soapsuds?

For the Christian, assurance during the “bad luck” times comes in an alliance with a deity who is less fickle than luck—more personable than fate. Though Christians usually go through the same amount of hardships as non-Christians, the knowledge of God’s interest in their lives provides a hope and sustenance beyond reason. And though the Christian’s cosmic force has been known to interact personally in the lives of those in His care, He also provides his own “experts on all things cosmic” in pastors, church leaders and mature Christians, and He provides a guide to the “universe’s mysteries” in the Bible.

Just My Luck is a fable aimed at the typical American teenaged girl. Though some of its actors tend to overact at times and both of the leads seem absolutely exhausted throughout the whole film, it has moments of “cute” comedy that even an adult can enjoy without too much involuntary gagging. Like many of today’s films, it opens doors to weightier questions than the typical, “How can I get my hair like Lindsay’s?” or “Where can I get a poster of him in a tank top so I can hang it on my wall?” If we’re “lucky,” such questions can lead to tackling some serious issues about what or who controls our lives.