ScreenFish

where faith and film are intertwined

biography

Hesburgh – Conscience of the Nation

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He was called “the Conscience of the Nation.” He was the advisor and friend of Presidents of both parties from Dwight Eisenhower to Ronald Reagan. He served (and eventually chaired) the U.S. Civil Rights Commission. And around the Notre Dame campus (where he was President for 35 years) he was Father Ted. Father Theodore Hesburgh had a remarkable view of history unfolding in post-war America. Hesburgh is a new documentary from Patrick Creadon that chronicles the very public life of this man who thought of himself above all as a priest.

The film serves best as a history of the last half of the 20th century in America. We see the civil rights movement, Vietnam and student unrest, and other events of those years through Fr. Hesburgh’s involvement. To some he seemed a conservative; to others he was a flaming liberal. He stood up to Vatican efforts to censor topics at his school (even though it went against his vows of obedience). He set strict limits about protests on campus and expelled students that violated those limits. But he also spoke out against the war. He linked arms with Martin Luther King to sing “We Shall Overcome” and fought the politicians who wanted civil rights to be gradual.

Throughout his tenure at Notre Dame, Fr. Hesburgh believed that he was called not just to pass on the church’s teaching and tradition, but to be in conversation with the world around him. He sought to be a moral voice when everyone else approached things from pragmatic or political perspectives. For someone who rubbed elbows with the powerful, he did not seek power for himself. The film recounts a story of Pope Paul VI wanting to make him a cardinal, but Fr. Hesburgh had no such ambitions and declined.

What the film lacks is real insight into what made Fr. Hesburgh into the leader he became. There is a three minute section at the beginning that covers from the time he was six years old and wanting to be a priest until he becomes President of Notre Dame. There is nothing about his education, his mentors, or other forces that may have formed his views of the world or how he came to work so well mediating different views, as he did on the Civil Rights Commission.

And while the film is a good reflection of the events in the America, it does little to reflect the changes going on in the church during this same time. There is a brief mention of Vatican II and notes his friendship with Cardinal Montini (later Paul VI), but never mentions some of the movements within the church (such as Liberation Theology) that would certainly have been issues the school would have been involved with.

Even though I think the film misses these bits that would have strengthened the story they tell, Hesburgh is still a good example of the ways Christians and the church can and should be involved in the world and seek to be a force of change and morality.

Photos courtesy of OCP Media.

The Disaster Artist: The Lost (and Found) American Dream

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The Disaster Artist tells the story of Greg Sistero (Dave Franco), an aspiring actor who dreams of Hollywood stardom. His whole world changes, however, when he joins forces with the mysterious (and untalented) Tommy Wiseau (James Franco) with the hopes of spurring one another on to fame and fortune. As the two struggle to find work as actors, Tommy soon convinces Greg to make their own film using his script and seemingly unlimited bank account. After countless productions issues, they finally release The Room, one of the most critically-reviled films of all time.

Directed by and starring James Franco, Artist is a hilarious and surprisingly poignant picture of one man’s vision to justify his talents to the world. While The Room may have been labelled the ‘worst film of all time’ by many, the film develops out of a hurricane of chaos with the erratic Wiseau as its center. With the relationship between Sistero and Wiseau serving as the Artist’s emotional core, the decision to cast real-life brothers, James and Dave Franco, opposite one another proves to be an excellent decision. Portraying Sistero as the rational dreamer to Wiseau’s increasingly bizarre antics, there is a natural chemistry between the Francos that translates well in the film.

While both men bring their characters to life with energy and enthusiasm, it’s the elder brother James and his portrayal as Wiseau that holds the film together. Here, James is firing on all cylinders as the misguided filmmaker, exposing the faults of Wiseau’s confusing vision from start to finish. Amazingly though, his performance as not only lampoons the wild and mysterious Wiseau but also reveals his humanity. While the film could have simply chosen to showcase all of his shortcomings, Franco’s portrayal reveals an immense love for Tommy and even an admiration for his sheer, wild creativity. (In fact, this mutual respect is reiterated in a post-credit scene where Franco’s Wiseau and the real Tommy come into contact with one another.)

In The Disaster Artist, Tommy Wiseau is both passionate artist and wildly delusional. As an audience, we’re stunned by his bizarre antics and utter inability to formulate any cohesive directions to his cast and crew. However, at the same time, he also a sympathetic character who clearly needs the bright lights of fame to validate his emotional shortcomings. Wiseau is  everyone with a dream of stardom, but also a jarringly self-absorbed enigma.

He’s literally almost everyone and no one at the same time.

As a result, the film becomes both justification of and dissection of the ‘American dream’. Wiseau is a man who is determined to create something for his own recognition yet he simply doesn’t have any sense of restraint (or even common sense). While Artist suggests that Tommy is to be admired for his passion, he is also admonished for his lack of self-control. He believes that the Dream is within reach if he only commits himself yet his primary commitment seems to be to himself. In essence, his desire to be justified outweighs his ability to think and act humbly. As he alienates his friends and film crew, Wiseau blames them for their lack of support and increasingly takes only his own counsel. In doing so, the development of The Room becomes his own personal Tower of Babel, a monument to his own abilities that seems destined to come crashing down around him. Upon the film’s release, his expectation is that he will be lauded with critical praise and public recognition. (He even ensures that The Room fulfills the required screenings for Oscar nominations.) However, when the film is reviled by the public, he’s left feeling broken, viewing himself as a complete failure.Interestingly though, Wiseau’s redemption comes through an act of grace. Whereas The Room is critically hammered for its quality, Greg points out that the joy it brings to the audience is worth the effort. In other words, while the film may be a critical failure, Greg’s words offer a form of redemption for Wiseau. No, The Room would not be destined for Oscar glory but that doesn’t mean it isn’t valuable.

And it’s no different for Wiseau himself.

In essence, Sistero’s words of redemption for the film also offer grace to Wiseau, an agent of his own demise who has tied his own value closely to the success of his film. Demonstrating an almost God-like love of his disturbed friend, Greg assures Tommy that his effort is not at a loss. By reframing the importance of the film from critical praise to laughter and joy, Greg’s words offer new life to Tommy’s heart.

In short, Sistero’s compassion allows Wiseau’s healing.

In the end, The Disaster Artist becomes more than just another comedic biopic. Instead, the film takes on a life of its own, infusing generous grace to a man who shot for the moon and missed. Artist proves that even those obsessed with their own fame and success have value and need hope through found only in acts of love and kindness.

Ethel & Ernest – Extraordinary Ordinariness

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“There was nothing extraordinary about my Mum and Dad. Nothing dramatic. . .. But they were my parents and I wanted to remember them by doing a picture book.”

British author and illustrator Raymond Briggs told his parent’s very ordinary story in a graphic novel, Ethel & Ernest, which has now been made into an animated film. The film is as simple and unassuming as the two people at its heart. And that is where the emotional power of the film comes from—just seeing the story of people who lived their lives, as nearly all of us do, without fanfare, but still find happiness and love.

Ernest (Jim Broadbent) is a milkman who is both affable and outgoing. Ethel (Brenda Blethyn) was serving as a maid when she met Ernest, and having learned upper-class manners never likes to think of the family as working class. They have very different outlooks. Ernest, a socialist, favors the Labour Party; Ethel supports the Tories. They needle each other about this through the years. Ernest is always up-to-date on world affairs; Ethel usually looks no further than the family needs.

Although the Briggses are very typical, the times they lived in were certainly dramatic. They have a chance meeting in 1928, which leads to courtship, marriage, family. They live through the Great Depression, World War II, and the post-war social shift and spreading affluence. They died within months of each other in 1971. The film leads us through this history, but it is always focused on the love and relationship that gave meaning to their lives. Even when they have a child, the real focus of the film is the relationship of Ernest and Ethel. (After all, it is that child who created the story. He is intent on celebrating these two loving people and has managed to keep himself a minor character in their story.)

When I got the promotion about this film, I thought it sounded like an animated “Masterpiece Theatre”. And it would be a good fit for that PBS series. But unlike the cultural voyeurism of Downton Abbey, Ethel & Ernest is very much the story of everyday people. It is the story of the people who are around us. It is the story of us. Raymond Briggs did not tell their story because they led extraordinary or dramatic lives, but because of the love they shared with each other and with him. That may seem ordinary, but in reality it is the most extraordinary kind of life.

Photos courtesy Ethel & Ernest Productions

Maudie – Validation of a Life

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“The whole of life, already framed, right there.”

It’s hard to assign Maudie to any one genre. Certainly it qualifies as biography. But it is also a bit of art history. It’s an inspirational story of finding success and happiness against terrible odds. And at its heart it is a love story—but not the kind of love story that usually is made into movies.

This is the story of Canadian primitivist artist Maud Dowley Lewis (Sally Hawkins). Suffering from severe arthritis since childhood, she is cared for by her overprotective and judgmental aunt. When mercurial fish peddler Everett Lewis (Ethan Hawke) seeks to hire a woman to clean his house and cook his meals, Maud sees it as a chance to escape. Everett lives an almost hermit-like existence. He had learned to be self-reliant to a fault. He lives in a 10’x12’ house without water or electricity. When Maude moves in to such close quarters, it is hard for both of them to adjust. Everett is demanding and at times violent. He is taciturn, while Maud is opinionated and talkative.  Early on he treats her as a lower life form (even the chickens outrank her), but she soon finds an important place in his life.

As an outlet, Maud begins painting pictures of birds and flowers on the walls—and soon the door and the windows. She paints on scraps of wood and paper. A woman from New York wants to buy some pictures, and soon Maud has a roadside business. While this enhances their finances, in many ways it rubs Everett the wrong way. It is a constant struggle to balance these two very independent souls whose lives have become intertwined and who find a love that many may find a bit cold, but there is a passion there.

The film’s greatest strength is the pair of performances by the lead actors. Even when there is little dialogue, their screen presence carries us through the story and the moods that are such a part of the film.

The film often makes use of windows—looking in or out through windows, conversations through windows, windows that might be so dirty we can barely see. For Maud, her art was the window through which she viewed the world. Her paintings are vibrant and happy—far happier than we might expect from someone who suffered so much both physically and emotionally. It is through the window of her art that Maud found happiness and validation.

The concept of validation is a key. How frequently we use the word invalid for someone with a physical or emotional problem. And how close we may come to thinking of such a person as not valid because of their affliction. That is certainly how Maud’s family treated her. She was deemed unimportant and a burden. Early in her relationship with Everett, he thought her incapable of doing what needed to be done. Yet when others began to see beauty in the pictures that she created, it was obvious that she mattered. It was not just that she was earning money. It was that she did something that brought joy to herself and others.

Maudie reminds us of the intrinsic value each person has. To treat them otherwise means we could well miss the gifts they offer to us.

Photos courtesy of Sony Pictures Classics

 

A Quiet Passion – Emily Dickinson and Spiritual Contemplation

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“God knows what is in my heart. He doesn’t need me to be in pews to remind him.”

While watching A Quiet Passion I was struck by how well Emily Dickinson (Cynthia Nixon) would fit in with today’s “spiritual but not religious” sentiment. Her thoughts (and poetry) were often on thoughts of significant theological import, but she seemed to want nothing to do with any outward participation in church.

Death and eternity are a constant presence and topic in her thoughts. This gives some people the idea that she is a morbid writer. However, in the film we are reminded that death was handled in a much different way in that time than today. It was the norm that people would die at home with family. It was a part of life, and a part of life that seemed to fascinate Dickinson.

The 19th Century American poet was something of an unknown at the time. After all, women were not expected to be writers. Yet she spent most of her life as a semi-recluse, spending her time on her poems, most of which only came to light after her death. This film gives us an overview of her life, from school (where she begins to show her ambivalence toward religion) through her time where she always lived with her family. She is content to be with the family of people she loves. Thoughts of marriage and a new family don’t appeal to her.

Dickinson is portrayed in this film as witty and intelligent. Early on she makes friends with other women and they have wonderful conversations. Dickinson is shown to be something of a proto-feminist. (She notes at one point, when slavery is being discussed that “gender is slavery”.)

But as the film progresses she retreats more and more into her home—and even her room. When a potential suitor comes, she only speaks to him from the door to her room, where he cannot even see her. As time passes she becomes more melancholy. She also becomes more judgmental and cruel in how she relates to those (even in her family) who do not live up to her ideals.

From a faith perspective, of interest in this film are the religious themes that seem so important to Emily, even though she does not want the trappings of the church—indeed, often rebels against anything churchly. The themes she brings up besides death and eternity, as mentioned above, include sin, salvation, and the interplay of atheism, agnosticism, and humanism. It is not that she was irreligious and anti-religious—many of her poems have overtly religious themes—but her spiritual musing are not what was common in the church of her time. However, there may be many today who find within her spiritual understandings something they can identify with.

Photos ccourtesy of Music Box Films

I Saw the Light – Hank Williams’s Demons and Darkness

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“Everybody has a little darkness in ‘em.”

Hank Williams is one of the names that is synonymous with country music. He has been inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame, the Songwriting Hall of Fame, and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. There are so many songs associated with him that it’s hard to believe that he died when he was only 29. I Saw the Light is a celebration of Williams and his music from writer-director Marc Abraham.

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The film shows us Williams’s (Tom Hiddleston) life from the mid-1940s, when he is playing on a local radio station and in road houses, until his death from a heart attack on New Year’s Day 1953 on the way to a show. Hiddleston, who does his own singing in the film, does a wonderful job of creating a persona that evokes the legend of Hank Williams. The opening song, sung by Hiddleston standing alone in the spotlight, sets the stage for an admiration of this music. The film follows his meteoric career, his tempestuous relationship with his wife Audrey (Elizabeth Olsen), the domineering influence of his mother Lillie (Cherry Jones), and his struggles with alcoholism and pain medication to treat his spina bifida.

While the film has a good deal that will appeal to audiences (especially the performances and the sampling of Williams’s music), the film is a bit superficial. I came away from watching this feeling like I didn’t really get a chance to know him and to appreciate the demons he was dealing with. Those demons are more than just his addictions. We see a glimpse of his ambition, but not really the struggle to achieve his goals—nor the reasons he let it all begin to slip away while he was on top. His relationships with women—Audrey and Lillie especially—were never easy, but we aren’t really sure why.

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We also don’t see anything of the spiritual side of his life. The one line in the film that points to that is when he says “I made a little poem to the Lord. It might turn into a song.” The implication is this is the genesis of the song that lends its name to the title of the film—although we only hear him singing that song quietly to his infant son as a lullaby. (The song does come up again at his death.) Williams was a man who knew about the dark side of life, but who also had a foundation that gave him hope even with all the troubles in his life. His saw his songs not only as the darkness that everybody has within, but also as an expression of the joy that also is available to us. This combination of a flawed life and the understanding that there was something that could overcome those flaws, I think, is a side of Williams’s life that could have been examined a bit. He is, after all, the one who penned:

I wandered so aimless life filed with sin
I wouldn’t let my dear savior in
Then Jesus came like a stranger in the night
Praise the Lord I saw the light.

Photos courtesy of Sony Picture Classics

Janis: Little Girl Blue – Janis Joplin Searching for Love

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“Met a girl who sang the blues/ And I asked her for some happy news/ But she just smiled and turned away…” (Don MacLean, “American Pie”)

Early in Janis: Little Girl Blue, we hear Janis Joplin talking about ambition and reducing it to the need to be loved. That need was a driving force in her life, her career, and even in her terrible struggles. Even forty-five years after her death, she continues to be an icon of rock and roll. Her voice, the energy of her performances, and her smile continue to be immediately recognizable. Amy J. Berg has created a documentary biography of Joplin using archival footage, interviews with friends and family, and even some of the letters Joplin wrote home to her parents throughout her career. The result is a story that not only looks at the music that was so central to her life, but some of the pain and loneliness that helped to form that music.

Joplin grew up in a middle class home in Port Arthur, Texas. By the time she was in high school, she felt like an outsider. Even when she went to the University of Texas, she never really fit in. There she was voted “The Ugliest Man on Campus”—a contest she didn’t enter. When she discovered the blues, she found an outlet for the emotions that filled her. She eventually found her way to San Francisco at the dawn of the hippie era and there she found a place to belong.

As part of Big Brother and the Holding Company she began making the music for which she became famous. We see that she seems to live for that time on stage. But when that is over, there is an emptiness. The admiration (something easily mistaken for love) brings her great satisfaction. When it is not there, is when she became open to the methods she used to try to mask the emptiness: alcohol, drugs (especially heroin), and sex.

The letters home that we hear are especially helpful in painting this picture. There were often men in her life that she felt loved her more than they seem to think they did in retrospect. Rarely did she have a relationship that constantly provided the love she was always looking for. Even when there was love, she often undermined it with her addictions.

As we look back at her life, we see it as tragedy—especially her death alone in a motel room. But the real tragedy is that love was so hard for her to find. Even in the midst of fame and adulation, she felt alone. There are no doubt deep-seated issues involved in her difficulty in feeling love—and all the substitutes she sought. It is difficult for a film to find such causes. But the film does show us the pain that such loneliness as isolation can bring.