Duck

I knew a guy at high school called Paul, but for some reason everybody called him ‘Duck’. It was one of those nicknames whose genesis was lost in the mists of whatever else it is you spend your teenage years doing. I remember going to see ‘Dead Poet’s Society’ (an extremely well-crafted but morally hollow film, to my mind) in 1989 at East Belfast’s Strand Cinema, which Van Morrison is photographed beside for the inlay cover art of ‘The Healing Game’ album, and where I saw more of the formative films of my 15th/16th/and 17th years than anywhere else. Duck came into the theatre just as the audience was almost fully seated, and so we called out to him: ‘DUCK!’ A few dozen people did.

That serves merely as a circuitous way into talking a little about a film I saw last night, called ‘Duck’, and for good reason. It’s about a man and a duck. The man is a widower, and earlier lost his son. The movie’s version of the US is a soulless place in which every tree is being colonised by shopping malls, and where psychiatrists mistake innocence for mental illness. The man, played by Philip Baker Hall, an actor who can genuinely be called ‘great’, not least because I usually feel exhilarated any time I see him, wanders around accompanied by the eponymous creature, a gorgeous goose, looking for the ocean. The movie doesn’t really hold together - it’s a fable whose critique of the breakdown of community is not exactly subtle or nuanced; but it’s absolutely worth watching for the central performance. Hall is so beguiling and sympathetic that he manages to invest the duck itself with a personality. It is easy to buy into their relationship, and not for a second - until after the film was over - did I think about the central absurdity and slightness of this film.

Lakeview Terrace

The Number One film at the US box office this past weekend is 'Lakeview Terrace', Neil La Bute's somewhat thoughtful thriller in which an LAPD officer harasses his new neighbors; the cop is black, the neighbors are an inter-racial couple. If the ethnic identities were switched, the film might never have been made; and if it had, would have been a far less interesting film – it would have been a simplistic story about a white supremacist and the battle for people to be allowed to live in peace. Instead, 'Lakeview Terrace' aims to wrong-foot the audience into re-considering our preconceptions, and succeeds most of the time.

I planned to write a post here about the film, and how it's well photographed and mounted with imagination, and how Patrick Wilson is turning into my favourite same-generation-as-me actor, and how Samuel L Jackson reminds us of how he really can bring it when he's working for more than just a paycheck, and the exploration of racial tension, the psychological terrain of the police officer, the power dynamics in marriages when one set of in-laws is wealthy, and the simple concept of how an obsession with private property may be at the core of the breakdown of community (good fences in this film not only fail to make good neighbors, but become a tool for concealing the sinister agenda of the bloke next door).

I was going to write about how Neil La Bute's films (see 'In the Company of Men', 'Your Friends and Neighbors' and even the misbegotten remake of 'The Wicker Man') create a beguiling mood that is rare in contemporary mainstream cinema, and that he is at least trying to say something meaningful, even if the possible benefit of his purpose has to battle to float above the apparently a priori cynicism that is his modus operandi (two Latin phrases in one sentence might be the kind of thing that would impress a character in one of his movies). I was going to write about how, for the first hour or so, I felt close to compelled by 'Lakeview Terrace', and thought it had the potential to be one of the best films I've seen this year; before it turned into less than the sum of its parts, becoming ultimately a conventional thriller.

I was going to write about all of this, when I stumbled across a news item suggesting that Val Kilmer is considering running for Governor of New Mexico in 2010. And it made me wonder if there were a connection between the La Bute film (which wants to be taken seriously as a work of political fiction) and the small but significant tendency of Hollywood actors to think they are qualified to run states because they once wore a superhero cape. That thought didn't stick around long enough for me to be too preoccupied – and so I returned to reflecting on 'Lakeview Terrace'. I'm not quite sure what to make of it other than to say it's a well-made film, feels realistic (for part of its running time), but eventually trades its pretensions to being a serious intelligent work in exchange for the cheap thrill of an utterly conventional ending. In the clichéd climax, the film-makers may be critiquing the trigger-happy culture of the LAPD, or they may simply be giving the audience the ending they think they want. It's not clear. And in a sense it doesn't really matter, because the film is raising important questions that will only ever be answered by us out there in the dark. What does it mean to be a good neighbor? What lies at the core of prejudice? How important is home ownership to contemporary identity? How is it possible to de-escalate conflict when one of the parties seems simply irrational? (I might also add the following question: Why is the MPAA giving PG-13 ratings to more and more adult films these days?)

Randy Newman and the Fall of the American Empire

Randy Newman might be surprised to see himself mentioned on a progressive spirituality blog. In his five decades of making music that is alternately brilliantly satirical and elegant (and sometimes both), he hasn't often smiled on religion or religious people. In spite of his skepticism about spirituality, he also has written some of the most beautiful love songs I've ever heard, and many of these are shot through with regret for his past mistakes.

The title song of his new record, Harps and Angels, sees him looking forward with a combination of reluctance and mystery to the prospect of his own death. At 64, he realizes that his time is short, and if the title song is to be believed, he may have come around to the idea that "there really is an afterlife." But the heart of the album is a quintet of songs in which Newman addresses the political, even spiritual landscape of the U.S. In quick succession, he names what ails the nation ("Y'all have lost faith in yourselves"), reminds listeners that the dream of "America" was built on the idea that everyone could have "a piece of the pie" (although few seem to care about current inequalities, says Randy, except protest singers), and makes some amusing (and provocative) assertions about just how to change things. The most impressive song on the album is a political tract. "Just a Few Words in Defense of our Country" speaks what is so often considered unspeakable in polite conversation -- the fact that we are living through a period in which the global political order we have known since the second World War is coming to an end. The song ends on a bleak note, with Newman bidding farewell on behalf of a U.S. that needs to relearn its place in a new international structure. He may be granted easy passage to say such a thing -- he's functioning much the same way as a medieval court jester, telling the king what he doesn't want to hear but wrapping it up in biting humour.

From my (hopefully) humbler position as an outside observer of the U.S., I think Newman is half right. The global order that we have known is clearly diminishing, and new relationships need to be negotiated. The fact that there will soon be a new U.S. president offers an opportunity for an energized and thoughtful approach. There will be very few people in Europe sorry to see President Bush leave office, and while international adulation for Barack Obama is obvious, there is also a recognition outside the U.S. that John McCain would at least try to rebuild the vastly diminished standing of the country if he is elected in November.

I can imagine the legitimate criticism for an Irish guy suggesting that the American empire is falling, and I would counter this by saying that I love the U.S. so much that I'm moving there next week (if you'll have me). I still see hope in the idea of the values that the U.S. at its best represents. Just for starters, there's a pioneering spirit, hospitality and kindness, the creative impetus, and a positive attitude about the future (serious theologians would call that something like "eschatological hope," I suppose). But I am also aware that limiting such hope to one nation's idea of itself has pretty tragic historical antecedents. I prefer to think in terms of the distinctive gifts and goals of a nation, and how they interact with those of the rest of the world. The U.S. has something special, which in recent times has been mislaid or perhaps even misappropriated by leaders who seem not to understand (or not to want to understand) that we are all in this together. Newman may well be right in asserting that the empire as we know it is falling, but answering the question of what will replace it is a task not just for politicians or provocative artists but for everyone who takes the common good seriously.

North by Northwest and what it (might) mean

I saw 'North by Northwest' for the umpteenth time the other week - one of those 'comfort films' that makes me feel more at home in myself; nostalgia sometimes gets a raw deal these days, but if a work of art helps you integrate yourself at the end of a busy day, there's no shame in that. At any rate, what you remember when you watch 'N x NW' is the texture and colour on screen - Cary Grant's suit, Eva Marie Saint's red dress, the cement lines on the neck braces of the Mount Rushmore Presidential faces. I wrote the notes below on my last viewing, five or six years ago:

I have a problem with Alfred Hitchcock. His films have so comprehensively entered the popular consciousness that it is impossible to come to them fresh, perhaps even if we have never seen one before. Something about 'North by Northwest' prevents it from being a tense experience for me; similar to the fact that our folk knowledge of what happens in 'Psycho' prevents us from feeling excited or scared; even if we have never seen it, we know who did it, and why (s)he did. Thankfully, this doesn’t at all inhibit our delighted wonder at these works of genius. NXNW is perhaps Hitch’s most perfectly realized marriage of thrills and laughs, as a flamboyant anti-hero and cad Cary Grant is mistaken for a spy and spends the rest of the film running from (and into) James Mason’s heavies. His character’s name is “Roger O. Thornhill” – he says the “O” stands for nothing, and this is one hollow guy. I think this is a none-too-subtle way of representing the ROT of the upper middle class that Hitchcock, the working class miner’s son despised. He has a perfect tan and handmade shoes, like Grant himself, he’s a “little more polished than the others.”
The story is at once simple and convoluted – Thornhill is mistaken for a spy and kidnapped by some nefarious bad guys led by James Mason and his “special friend” Martin Landau. There are two chases – by car and plane (the buildup to which is a masterpiece of editing and mise-en-scene) – a couple of fights, and some spectacular set-pieces, a femme fatale (or is she?), a government conspiracy, and our hero gets the girl. What more could we want? But I think it is a mistake to see NXNW as a simple action comedy – it’s riddled with metaphorical bullets and aesthetic pleasures. For one thing, the dialogue is some of the most sparkling Hitch ever worked with. We discover that there is “no such thing as a lie, merely the expedient exaggeration.” Mason has a marvellous moment of villainy when he says, “The least I can do is afford you the opportunity of surviving the evening.” I was reminded of how funny it is on a recent viewing, when for example Grant says, “Not that I mind the odd case of abduction once in a while but I’ve got tickets for the theater tonight” or responds to “I’m a big girl” with “Yes, and in all the right places.” The story is beautifully structured, building mystery and tension (in spite of Grant’s inability to play drunk in a key scene; he’s clearly having a lot of fun, and so are we.) But there is much more than humour and action here – I think Hitchcock is using Grant’s character as a commentary on modern superficiality and relationships.

Thornhill is an advertising executive, and I guess some people might think you can’t get much more superficial than that; he runs away from his mother while being chased by people who want to kill him, so we get some of Hitch’s trademark misogyny and distrust of parents; the romance between Grant and the divine Eva Marie Saint is totally unconvincing – Cary can’t kiss for toffee; he’s so cold and unpassionate that if I thought Hitch were more cynical I would say he’s trying to make a point; this same point is alluded to in the relationship between Landau (one of Hitch’s stereotyped gay villains) and Mason – there’s all kinds of weird sexual stuff here, from Mason accusing Landau’s character of jealousy and saying he’s flattered to the downright crass – but hilarious – use of a train speeding through a tunnel as a saucy metaphor.
So, all in all, NXNW isn’t a particularly profound film, but it does present an archetype of anti-hero as cad. Thornhill is morally without foundation, he’s selfish and a user of women, but he’s enormous fun to be around (in small doses). The icy blonde is portrayed as far stronger and more intelligent, and Grant is obviously older than the actor playing his mother, so it’s pretty clear that Hitchcock doesn’t particularly like his protagonist. He’s the kind of guy you’d invite to a cocktail party but never go on holiday with – like Hannibal Lecter without the blood. NXNW is a story based on coincidence upon accident upon downright naïve construct switching back through predictable denouement, but still thoroughly entertaining. The use of soundstages is pretty awful – the trees even shake in one scene, and if this had been directed by somebody else, I’m almost certain it would not have the reputation. But, for what it is, the breeze that blows through NXNW is a refreshing one, and a pretty magnificent lesson in how to make a film.

More reflections on film and film-things at www.thefilmtalk.com

Religion and Politics

There has been a recent controversy in northern Ireland regarding the role that some fundamentalist Christians wish their faith to play in politics - there is a huge conversation to be had about this, and I look forward to exploring it at Greenbelt in a few weeks' time - come and say hi if you're a reader - but for now, here's one small contribution:

When Senator Barack Obama recently addressed the role of religion in public life he said that religious politicians can no more divorce themselves from their convictions than can committed secularists. For we all bring a range of beliefs, experience, and prejudices to the table. But the problem arises when we offer no rationale for our policy positions other than referring to a religious or ideological text.

William Wilberforce, the British MP who campaigned for an end to the slave trade is often held up as an example of how faith should influence politics. No one would doubt that his view of scripture and the teachings of Christ led him to oppose the evil of human trafficking. But it may be inappropriate to use Wilberforce as a role model for traditionalist Christian activism today. Wilberforce did not simply uphold traditional Christian morality – if he had done so, the slave trade might have continued a lot longer than it did, for church authorities were often complicit in injustice themselves. No, in fact, what Wilberforce did was far more risky than simply siding with the religious establishment – on being confronted with the horrors of slavery, he reconsidered his theology in the light of experience and reason. In other words, he changed his mind about what he thought God believed. And he devoted his life to persuading others – using the same combination of scripture, reason and experience.

In that light, using Old Testament texts to maintain the status quo today does not represent the tradition of radical Christian activism personified by William Wilberforce. In fact, it may be doing the opposite.

What is most troubling in the debate is that faith-based activism has a lot more to be concerned about than the typical issues of private morality mentioned by some individuals and groups. Senator Obama made his remarks about religion and politics in a speech to a progressive Christian group in the United States, who have engaged with the vast issues of economic injustice, the dangers of climate change, racism, and the war in Iraq. This suggests another question to me: if William Wilberforce were around today, what aspects of religious faith would he criticize, and which oppressed groups would he defend? This is certain – religious power often comes late to the side of the oppressed; and good people are often proven wrong in even their most sincere convictions.

It should not surprise us when people of faith re-consider their beliefs, for religious faith is supposed to have conversion at its centre. The notion of change should not therefore be threatening to people of faith. And so, to put it simply, if we want to follow Wilberforce, might we start by asking ourselves: what part of our own religious traditions need to be converted?