I don't think I've ever written about a movie, I mean this was never meant to be a media or pop-culture blog. That said, almost a week after watching it, I can't get Drive out of my mind. Not the characters, the cinematography, the music, or the deeper heart of the thing. I watched Moneyball a few days ago and walked out of it thinking about how good Drive was.
This is not me recommending the movie. Though brief, the violence is grotesque and the awkward silences are exactly that. I don't expect you to like it and I doubt most of you will watch it, which is fine. I don't even think it's a "movie" it really does fall into the "film" category of pretentious art house criticism and consumption.
I love Drive. It is a beautiful compelling piece of work, one that got under my skin and made me think about the beauty and complexity of life. Life together and life alone, sacrifice, chosen commitment, and the ability to change behavior without changing nature all wrapped themselves in an unrelenting stylized story - one intentionally modeled in the tradition of Aesop. I want to make deep observation about it or what I learned about myself through it, but the truth is it simply connected with something in me.
Perhaps that's the "deep" observation I was hoping for. Something in this decidedly non-christian move (not anti-christian) reverberated. It came back as an echo because it found something to bounce off of. We are inherently communal and there is something real in us that a stupid little art house flick can touch, and in doing so become ironically relevant. As much as we can learn about ourselves in monkish isolation and meditation, it is only in community and relating to others - good and bad - that we learn the truly important stuff. Who we are is much more than what we think about ourselves, or even that we think; who we are is revealed as we relate to others. Ideally, it is in relating to the divine Other that who we are is perfectly revealed. The cool thing is it can happen imperfectly in a movie theater as well.
But seriously, Drive is a sick (in the awesome context) movie.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Thursday, September 22, 2011
I felt like a Jerk the first time I said it, though the more I thought about it the more I believed it: Poverty is relative.
I recently read two articles/blogs that echoed my statement but articulated it in ways not "Jerky". If you want to hear people say things better than me, check these out:
and especially http://www.missionfrontiers.org/issue/article/projecting-poverty-where-it-doesnt-exist
(Sorry if these don't link right)
Both authors had their own takes and reminded me of stuff I didn't want to think about. What gives me the right, in all the Starbucks WiFi clean water wealth of my culture, to determine what poverty looks like and who is in "need" of my help? I've met a few families, living in bamboo and mud huts respectively, who lived better happier lives than many wealthy Americans. It's nice to compartmentalize, stereotype, and judge based on our feelings of "should", but real life is much more complex.
Real poverty exists, the stuff with war, famine, diseased water, mass corruption, nonexistent resources, etc., and if we can do something about it we should. Passion, ingenuity, moral imperatives, christian ethics all come into play. But not having a T.V., "career", new car, secondary education, or living in a green construction house out of necessity rather than some Eco-friendly politically correct mindset, doesn't mean you need the beneficence of the West to come in and save you.
We all have the disgusting ability to evaluate life according to our own standards rather than God's. We evaluate quality of life according to our own expectations rather than anything with eternal significance. We like to think of "happiness" and "love" as the highest standards of a life well lived, yet we expect to find them in places incapable of creating them on their own.
We think the mentally retarded (sorry if this has become an inappropriate term, I honestly don't know what's politically correct anymore) are broken and deserving of sympathy and pity, as well they may be in some real ways, but we refuse to recognize they may in fact be healthier than us "normal" people in many ways that matter more. The few mentally retarded I've known and spent real time with have a childlike love of life and ability to give and receive love that probably comes closer to mirroring God and his desires than anything found in most "healthy" people.
Much like with what we call poverty, the impact and real quality of life for those with miss-formed brain systems varies greatly. For all the things I intend to do, the one I don't is downplay the challenges or hardships of others. Real poverty sucks and is demonic, literally or figuratively, and retardation is rarely if ever a gift. At the same time, we the healthy and wealthy, may be more broken than many - our ignorance worthy of pity. If happiness and love really represent high values in our lives, it's time we started acting like it and looking at what actually stimulates those things, at what actually matters.
I hope I never stop caring about and for the poor and broken, but I pray I never do it in the fiction I'm not one of them or that I know best. Humility may be the first casualty of "success", but asking God, "What does loving you look like in this situation?" and "How do you want to love in this situation?" are probably good ways to avoid meaningless and destructive behavior.
In the end, none of us are the ones who set the standards, we are the ones hopefully walking towards God. Socioeconomic and mental health don't dictate the journey, I hope we never act or think as if they do.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
In the midst of a recent two day road trip with my dad he asked the question. Most men still on speaking terms with their fathers know what I'm talking about. He did his part to keep it from sounding "disappointed father nagging-ish", which I appreciated. The paraphrase went like this: Don't take this the wrong way, I don't have any problems with the way you live your life, but I'm curious. How do you feel about being your age, unemployed, without money, and having no plan?
My response: That's a fair question.
Five years ago, I'd have been defensive in my response. Now, not so much. It WAS a fair question, and it wasn't meant to be confrontational. Oddly enough, my life is a lot less "together" and I'm more at peace about that then ever before. It isn't that I've given up caring, it's that I've slowly figured out what I care about. Letting go of, as best I can, the other stuff I do care about but have no real control over has helped as well.
In the movie City Slickers, Jack Palance's crusty old character Curly offers some advice to Billy Crystal's character Mitch:
Curly: Do you know what the secret of life is?
[holds up one finger]
Mitch: Your finger?
Curly: One thing. Just one thing. You stick to that and the rest don't mean shit.
Mitch: But, what is the "one thing?"
Curly: [smiles] That's what *you* have to find out.
At 14 I wanted to know what the answer was, what other people said the "one thing" was. At 34 I get what Curly meant, and it's true, you do need to figure out what it is for yourself. As a christian, I believe the true answer is ultimately the same for all of us, but why it's the same is different for each of us. Being told what I should care about more than anything else, while convenient, defeats the purpose of actually caring about it.
In the past, the defensiveness creeping into my response was anchored to split relationships. Worldly expectations and values mix with everything else, Christian and otherwise, to create a picture of a "normal/respectable/successful life" that may or may not have anything to do with who we are. We end up tearing ourselves apart and undermining our happiness and identity by walking down three or four paths at the same time. We embrace insecurity by pretending to be all things to all people, rather than figuring out what the "one thing" is and living as if it were true.
My life might look more a mess than ever before, but the foundation is more secure. I can't help but think this is a good thing, perhaps even a slow creep towards maturity.