Brehm Blog
Joy Moyal Jul 19, 2010
Sensuality, Italian-Style
Recently I joined a group of students and alumni traveling to Orvieto, Italy, for the Brehm Center’s summer immersion course. For two weeks we would study medieval art and theology, with the philosophical ideas of contemporary Italian writer Umberto Eco mixed in for good measure. Since returning from my trip, many people ask me to describe my favorite part—a simple question that has become a surprising source of frustration.
Several times I’ve tried answer this question by explaining that for me, the most meaningful part of the trip was not the cathedrals, the frescoes, the sculptures, or even the food. It was the sensuality of the Italian people. But whenever I use that word, sensual, I know I’ve used the wrong one by the look on my listener’s face. It’s an expression of concerned curiosity with a hint of judgment, as though he or she is wondering if I spent every evening in Italy in dark corners of smoky cafes with a different Giovanni or Lorenzo.
Fair enough, I guess. But here’s what I mean by sensual:
For a long time now, I’ve wanted to spend a chunk of time in Italy so that I could slowly sink into the culture and try to experience la dolce vita, the sweet life that Italians have so artfully and famously mastered. Orvieto, a small medieval hilltop town in the region of Umbria, was the perfect place for a control freak/perfectionist like me to do just that. When Henry James traveled through the region, he picked up on the importance of this slower pace, writing in his Atlantic Monthly article “Chain of Cities” that a visitor’s “first care must be to ignore the very dream of haste, walking everywhere very slowly and very much at random.”
Indeed, after a few days in Orvieto I managed to shrug off any notion of haste as I spent 90 minutes savoring our midday meal with my fellow students. I also learned to walk slowly—bordering on aimlessly—through the winding, jasmine-scented streets of the little ancient town. And nobody had to teach me how to enjoy an espresso with a small square of chocolate or every bite of my gelato con panna.
One afternoon near the end of our stay in Orvieto, I sat on the steps in the shade of the cathedral. The piazza was to my right and a grassy lawn stretched out at my feet, a place apparently reserved for teenagers to come and smoke, gossip, or make out. I had a book with me, but instead of reading I leaned back on my elbows and looked around. Old women moved slowly together through the heat, and young children played tag all over the cobblestones, stopping once in a while to pat a stranger’s dog and ask its name. A pair of twenty-somethings ambled over to the grass and flopped down about 10 feet in front of me, where the woman used her lover’s chest as a pillow, both staring up at the white clouds moving across a deep blue sky and lazily smoking cigarettes.
The sensuality that steeped that afternoon was intense. My five senses were heightened: touch, taste, smell, sight, sound. I felt connected to my body and to my surroundings and so appreciative of the earthiness of Orvieto’s citizens. They are unapologetically human, embracing life and settling into their humanity in a way that is a bit startling—maybe appearing a bit unhygienic compared to Crest-white-strip America—but altogether admirable.
So if I can’t use the word sensual, I might need to use many words in its place. Maybe I will say that my favorite part of my trip to Orvieto was that, without even trying, the people of that medieval Italian city taught me to slow down, to open up all my senses, and to let each moment grow into me like moss on the cleft of a rock.
Or, I could just say that the gelato was amazing.
Elijah Davidson Jul 15, 2010
The Sorcerer's Apprentice is exactly the film one expects based on the trailer. It's not great, and it's not bad, but it is enjoyable in a light, turn-off-your-brain-and-go-along-for-the-ride kind of way. I don't regret seeing it. I see no reason to see it a second time.
The movie is directed by Jon Turtletaub, who has a very good track record of making movies that I enjoy. 1995's While You Were Sleeping is probably my favorite romantic comedy, and I've watched 1993's Cool Runnings so many times I find lines from the movie slipping into everyday conversation. I enjoyed the National Treasure movies as well, and The Sorcerer's Apprentice is in the same vein.
The story concerns a young man who discovers, much to his annoyance, that he is Merlin's rightful heir and destined to defeat once and for all the evil witch Morgana. He learns this by way of Balthazar, one of Merlin's ageless apprentices who has searched for the heir for 1500 years. Oh ho ho! Wait a minute though. Another of Merlin's apprentices - the evil Horvath - is still around as well, and he intends to set Morgana free so she can enslave humankind.
The boy is played by Jay Baruchel who was perfectly cast as the voice of the nerdy Hiccup in How To Train Your Dragon. His hesitant nasally voice fit Hiccup well, but his whining timidity tends to grate when it is coming not from an awkward 12 year old but from a 20 year old college student instead. Nicolas Cage embodies Balthazar in a I'm-doing-this-for-the-money-and-phoning-it-in kind of way. Alfred Molina's Horvath is by far the best of the bunch.
That being said, Baruchel and Cage's performances are the only part of the movie that is tiring. The rest is a rollicking adventure through the streets of New York City where Chinese paper dragons come to life and mirrors become gateways to backwards worlds (my favorite sequence in the film). Balthazar and Horvath vie with one another more like bickering brothers and less like mortal enemies, which I found humorous even if it did tend to lessen Horvath's menace and rob Balthazar of any sense of urgency to stop Horvath's plans.
The special effects are excellent, and in a movie featuring giant metal eagles and dancing mops (It's called "The Sorcerer's Apprentice," remember? *wink*), what more can you ask for? As I mentioned before, the chase scene through Times Square is tons of fun.
The Sorcerer's Apprentice reminds me most of the second rate Disney movies of the past. It's much more Condorman than it is 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, much more The Strongest Man in the World than it is Mary Poppins. I enjoyed it, and I think one day my grandkids will enjoy it in a nostalgic kind of way as well.
The Sorcerer's Apprentice is rated PG for fantasy action violence, some mild rude humor, and brief language. It certainly deserves it's PG rating. A few of the scenes involving dark sorcery are especially dark. One scene involving a young girl witch is downright scary. If you or your kids are sensitive to such things, stay away. Otherwise, know that the scary moments are few and far between and very brief.
I always find it interesting that magic-focused stories such as this one keep well clear of any mention of Christianity or any major world religion. Works like The Lord of the Rings get around this by creating an entire new universe of activity. Lewis' Narnia books masterfully create a parallel dimension where the things of this world are differently expressed. Stories like The Sorcerer's Apprentice and the Harry Potter series take place in our world though. They are about the interaction of the physical and the spiritual. You'd think spiritually focused world religions would come into play.
The Sorcerer's Apprentice sideways addresses this by essentially explaining much of the magic away by likening it to a science experiment. I think that is a shame in the same way I think it is a shame that Christians willfully or unwillfully do not engage in this conversation. The interference of the spiritual world with the physical and vice versa is ripe to be explored. Indeed, it is the bedrock of our faith.
Elijah Davidson Jul 15, 2010
There are no heroes in Despicable Me, only ambitious, publicity-hungry super villains bent not on world domination, but on domination of the world's (dis)esteem. Reigning villain extraordinaire Gru (Steve Carell) and his ne'er-do-welling nemesis Vector (Jason Segel) want nothing more than to be the best at being bad.
They compete against each other in a battle of oneupmanship - Gru steals the Times Square Jumbotron, Vector steals the Great Pyramid, and then they both try to steal the Moon. This contest of purloining landmarks (Can the moon be called a "landmark?") forms the skeletal structure of Despicable Me and is entertaining enough on its own.
The film is fleshed out, however, by the adorable, cookie-selling orphans whom Gru finds on his doorstep. The accompanying relationship between Gru and these girls gives the movie its much needed heart and provides an excuse for a particularly eye-popping 3D sequence at an amusement park (I imagine. I saw the film in only two dimensions.).
Despicable Me is anything but despicable. Following How To Train Your Dragon and Toy Story 3 this summer movie season (both excellent films in their own rights), Despicable Me carries a charm all its own. It is engaging and fun in just about every possible way. The film is simply a pleasure to watch.
The colors especially are brilliant. When I close my eyes, I can still see the moonlight silhouetting Gru as he addresses his minions. I still marvel at the multicolored lights at the girls' dance recital. It is the most dazzling movie I have seen since Avatar.
Looking back over the past decade, I think one can identify a marked increase in quality of animated films, and I think this can be accredited to the consistent excellence of Pixar. Just as Gru and Vector are forced to up their villainous games with each theft, so the respective animation studios have been forced to continually up their games to stay competitive with each other. Despicable Me is from newcomer Illumination Entertainment, and they have produced a noble first entry into the animated feature world. Here's hoping they have more to offer in the future.
A final thought. I find it particularly interesting that Despicable Me's "hero" is a villain and even its "villain's" villainy is called into question. The film (I would argue) inadvertently calls into question absolute morality. Unlike other similar "the hero is the villain" and "the hero is villainous" films, like Shrek and The Dark Knight, Gru is never shown to be "good." He is a super villain to the end. Perhaps the unspoken truth of the film is that no one is truly good, and we're all a little villainous.
Probably not. I'm sure I'm thinking much deeper than the film intends, and there's no reason to go into the theater with muddled thoughts of moral ambiguity jostling around in your head distracting you from the fun on the screen. Despicable Me is a wonderful, amusing, beautiful film. I heartily recommend it.
Despicable Me is rated PG for rude humor and mild action. In my opinion, there is nothing in this film that even approaches the crudity, adult humor, and comic violence of the Shrek franchise.
P.S. The minions are hilarious.
Elijah Davidson Jul 12, 2010
Overall, in my estimation, The Last Airbender is a terrible movie. Consider all the things that contribute to a good film - an engaging plot, compelling characters, sharp dialogue, stunning visuals, good acting, mesmerizing cinematography, heartache and humor, suspense and revelation - The Last Airbender lacks all of these things. It is a cold, emotionless, boring, mess of a movie. At least, that is what I thought as I watched, no, endured it.
Then, I talked to my friends, and some of them had very different opinions of the movie. A few of them forgave it. A few of them tolerated it. A couple of them even liked it. After picking my jaw up off the floor, and quickly evaluating my friends and deciding that yes, I do respect these people's opinions, I probed deeper. "Why?" I asked, "Why do you forgive/tolerate/like this train wreck of a film?"
Let's begin with those that forgave it. These friends watched The Last Airbender and decided to overlook the cliche-ridden, exposition-filled dialogue and muddled, complicated plot and see instead a noble intention on the part of the filmmaker.
They admitted that The Last Airbender, like many recent Shyamalan films, is permeated by a vague sense of morality and spirituality. There is another world beyond what we can see, Shyamalan's films seem to suggest, though his film doggedly refuse to define that world in any way. "It's as if Shyamalan doesn't really believe anything or wants to accept everything," one friend said, "and so his films lack conviction and fidelity."
And then there are my friends who tolerated the movie. Most of them praised the world the movie is based on. The Last Airbender is the theatrical version of a popular animated show, Avatar: The Last Airbender, which aired between 2005 and 2008 on Nickelodeon. I've only seen one episode of the show, but many of my friends are die hard fans.
Admittedly, the concept of the show is intriguing, and the world of The Last Airbender is complex. There is great potential in the material Shyamalan had to work with. Perhaps there is too much potential. Shyamalan tried to fit the entire first season of the show into an hour and a half movie. Because of this, there isn't the time to develop the characters and plot visually, and so the audience is incessantly told verbally what is happening and what characters are feeling. As a result, I felt like the movie thought its audience was ignorant and incapable of following a plot or understanding character development. It's a shame Shyamalan didn't try to boil the story down into something capable of fitting into a feature film's running time. All that potential is wasted.
Finally, there are my friends who actually enjoyed the movie. From what I can gather, they responded to the explicitly stated message of the film - battles are won not by force but in the heart. The film's hero, Aang, (and the audience) is told by a grandmother figure that his destiny is to bring peace to all humankind not by violently defeating all aggression, but by changing the hearts of the violent ones. My friends resonated with this message, and I appreciate that about them.
We do, after all, serve a God who incarnated Himself among us to bring peace to the earth by changing our hearts. Christ gave us hope for life which compels us to live differently than those who are plagued by dread of death. Aang is, in some ways, an imaginative avatar of Christ.
As the story plays out however, Aang fails to live up to this comparison. As the plot progresses, we learn that the battle is not to change the hearts of humanity, but to change Aang's heart. Only then is he able to command the element bending power that is his birthright and overcome his aggressors through an impressive display of force. Like my friends who enjoyed the movie, I can identify where the film came close to truth, and I am willing to celebrate that, but I mourn that the narrative ultimately misses the point.
I do not enjoy writing negative reviews, because I truly love movies, and I want others to enjoy movies as much as I do. I truly believe that there is almost always something to celebrate in every film. My friends helped me identify the good in this film. The Last Airbender attempts to be respectful to all faith-bents, it contains a rich and complex story-world, and it recognizes truth. Unfortunately, in the end, in my opinion, it lacks conviction, squanders its potential by being overambitious, and falls sadly short of the life-giving good it aspires to emulate
I'm indebted to my friends for this review. I'm indebted to my friends for lots of things actually, but I credit this review especially to them, because without them, I wouldn't have anything good to say about M. Night Shyamalan's latest film, The Last Airbender.
(That's not entirely true. I liked James Newton Howard's score. I liked the art direction, because I'm a sucker for bold, primary color schemes. The element-bending, what little occurred in the movie, was cool. I think the movie might make a great screensaver.)
Overall, in my estimation, The Last Airbender is a terrible movie. Consider all the things that contribute to a good film - an engaging plot, compelling characters, sharp dialogue, stunning visuals, good acting, mesmerizing cinematography, heartache and humor, suspense and revelation - The Last Airbender lacks all of these things. It is a cold, emotionless, boring, mess of a movie. At least, that is what I thought as I watched, no, endured it.
Then, I talked to my friends, and some of them had very different opinions of the movie. A few of them forgave it. A few of them tolerated it. A couple of them even liked it. After picking my jaw up off the floor, and quickly evaluating my friends and deciding that yes, I do respect these people's opinions, I probed deeper. "Why?" I asked, "Why do you forgive/tolerate/like this train wreck of a film?"
Let's begin with those that forgave it. These friends watched The Last Airbender and decided to overlook the cliche-ridden, exposition-filled dialogue and muddled, complicated plot and see instead a noble intention on the part of the filmmaker.
They admitted that The Last Airbender, like many recent Shyamalan films, is permeated by a vague sense of morality and spirituality. There is another world beyond what we can see, Shyamalan's films seem to suggest, though his film doggedly refuse to define that world in any way. "It's as if Shyamalan doesn't really believe anything or wants to accept everything," one friend said, "and so his films lack conviction and fidelity."
And then there are my friends who tolerated the movie. Most of them praised the world the movie is based on. The Last Airbender is the theatrical version of a popular animated show, Avatar: The Last Airbender, which aired between 2005 and 2008 on Nickelodeon. I've only seen one episode of the show, but many of my friends are die hard fans.
Admittedly, the concept of the show is intriguing, and the world of The Last Airbender is complex. There is great potential in the material Shyamalan had to work with. Perhaps there is too much potential. Shyamalan tried to fit the entire first season of the show into an hour and a half movie. Because of this, there isn't the time to develop the characters and plot visually, and so the audience is incessantly told verbally what is happening and what characters are feeling. As a result, I felt like the movie thought its audience was ignorant and incapable of following a plot or understanding character development. It's a shame Shyamalan didn't try to boil the story down into something capable of fitting into a feature film's running time. All that potential is wasted.
Finally, there are my friends who actually enjoyed the movie. From what I can gather, they responded to the explicitly stated message of the film - battles are won not by force but in the heart. The film's hero, Aang, (and the audience) is told by a grandmother figure that his destiny is to bring peace to all humankind not by violently defeating all aggression, but by changing the hearts of the violent ones. My friends resonated with this message, and I appreciate that about them.
We do, after all, serve a God who incarnated Himself among us to bring peace to the earth by changing our hearts. Christ gave us hope for life which compels us to live differently than those who are plagued by dread of death. Aang is, in some ways, an imaginative avatar of Christ.
As the story plays out however, Aang fails to live up to this comparison. As the plot progresses, we learn that the battle is not to change the hearts of humanity, but to change Aang's heart. Only then is he able to command the element bending power that is his birthright and overcome his aggressors through an impressive display of force. Like my friends who enjoyed the movie, I can identify where the film came close to truth, and I am willing to celebrate that, but I mourn that the narrative ultimately misses the point.
I do not enjoy writing negative reviews, because I truly love movies, and I want others to enjoy movies as much as I do. I truly believe that there is almost always something to celebrate in every film. My friends helped me identify the good in this film. The Last Airbender attempts to be respectful to all faith-bents, it contains a rich and complex story-world, and it recognizes truth. Unfortunately, in the end, in my opinion, it lacks conviction, squanders its potential by being overambitious, and falls sadly short of the life-giving good it aspires to emulate.
Lin Schulz Preiss Jul 07, 2010
“What good will it be for you to gain the whole world, yet forfeit your soul? Or what can you give in exchange for your soul?” (Matthew 16:26) These words of Jesus, while rhetorical in nature, present a legitimate question that more than just the twelve disciples have contemplated in the course of human history.
Paul Giamatti is looking for his soul. And he has come to Russia to find it. However, this is no introspective journey to the homeland of Chekov, Tolstoy and Dostoevsky. Paul really just wanted a few days peace from the burdens weighing him down, but now his soul is missing. In fact, after being extracted in a simple procedure, his soul has been illegally trafficked in an underground soul trafficking ring between Moscow and New York. Incidentally, it looks like a chickpea, but he’d really like it back nonetheless.
In her 2009 film Cold Souls, filmmaker Sophia Barthes’ leads Paul Giamatti and audiences alike with enchanting ease to this climactic scene in search for one man’s soul; the absurdity of the film is all part of the charm. Like Paul Giamatti’s character (of the same name), the narrative began innocently enough, but the implications that unfold are of the deepest human concern. As a result, this surrealistic tragicomedy skillfully exposes some of the deepest questions of identity, pain and personhood that echo those asked throughout time and by Jesus himself.
The concept of the soul is unavoidable in the history of human narrative. It is a topic that can be found in all cultures and eras. The fate of the soul is central to most religions worldwide. Likewise, science, often accused of explaining away God, cannot avoid addressing the inherent notion of the soul. Philosophy, art and literature all wrestle with the subject of the human soul with reverence, mystery, and unshakable importance. The subject of the soul seems to permeate all variety of fruit of human endeavor. But what is the soul of a human? The subject of the soul elicits both familiarity and a sense of gravity while remaining ever elusive to understanding.
For Sophie Barthes, the subject of the soul is powerful enough that it even pervades her dreams. The dream that would develop into Cold Souls had its roots, like many prophetic tales, in the mysterious visions of sleep. Barthes describes her dream in few but vivid sentences:
“In the dream, I am waiting in line in a futuristic office. I am holding a box, like everybody else in line. A secretary explains that the box contains our extracted souls. The doctor will examine it and assess its problems. Woody Allen is also in line, just in front of me. When his turn comes, he opens his box and discovers that his soul is a chickpea! He is furious. At this point, I feel extremely anxious. I look down at my container but the dream ends. So I never saw the shape of my soul! But I wrote a screenplay…” (Sophie Barthes, “Cold Souls”: Dreams, Psychoanalysis, and the Shape of the Soul www.indieWIRE.com January 9, 2009)
An admirer of surrealism and the Theatre of the Absurd, perhaps Barthes had fallen asleep reading the works of Samuel Beckett, or contemplating a painting by Max Ernst. Or perhaps she simply ate an odd combination of late-night leftovers. Whatever it was, the idea that resulted from that night’s dreaming blossomed into Barthes’ first full feature film; one that skillfully contemplates the abstract idea of the soul with eloquent realism and deft humor. However, in the film, Paul Giamatti brings a masterful performance of “himself” who indeed channels a Woody Allen type of neurosis. Barthes film takes one of the most abstract and elusive ideas of humankind and makes it concrete; transforming an idea that is most often related to the immaterial into a material and dispensable commodity. In this way, Barthes explains, film can make “philosophical concepts accessible and playful.”
I loved this film, even without the intoxicating atmosphere of Sundance. It is quirky, absurd, inspired, and beautiful. And I confess I envy Barthes dreams. Perhaps if I eat some chickpeas and fall asleep reading Checkov, inspiration will come to my own dreams; to spur on theological, existential and philosophical angles of life—with a humorous addition of a chickpea or two— I’ll get a better handle on the body-soul paradigm through which we experience God. I believe inspiration was with Barthes in the creation of this beautiful, albeit quirky film. However, it received very little media since its 2009 debut. Perhaps I am delusional in my love for this film... So, I recommend you see it and make your own assessment, but with the due warning that you'll never look at chickpeas the same way again.