One of my favorite westerns is “Unforgiven.” I walked away from watching it thinking I had just seen Eastwood make a clear statement against redemptive violence. But when I talked to some others, Christians and non-Christians, their response was that the movie gloried in violence. The climax of the film is a shootout where he kills all the evil-doers. The denouement could indicate that he sold his soul or that he was rewarded for what he did.
Eastwood made a much stronger and straight-forward statement with “Gran Torino.” But I’m not sure most average film-watchers picked up on what he was saying any more than they thought through the supposed equivocation of “Unforgiven.” As the credits began to role on Gran Torino, a guy with his girlfriend at my screening actually said: “Wait a minute, when does he go back and kill everybody.”
The reality is that many people watch movies solely as entertainment. They don’t spend a lot of time thinking about any deep or hidden meanings. They don’t use them as a jumping off place for discussions about truth or good or the way the world is vs. how it could be.
But that is what I do with films and books and TV shows and news accounts. I recently watched “Pulp Fiction” with my 15-year-old daughter. It got us talking about the dangers of drugs (no sugar-coating in the film) and how people go through their lives without thinking about the consequences of their actions. We talked about the non-linear story-telling, the changing points of view, the characters that appear and disappear only to come back again in a totally different context. We talked about how you couldn’t understand any of the film unless you watched the whole thing. And we talked about the passage of “scripture” that Jules quotes more than once, but only comes to some understanding at the end.
Sorry to disagree Jules, but the real truth is that we are all the weak, we are all the tyranny of evil men and some (most, maybe even all) of us, at one point or another, at least try to be a shepherd.
“Inglourious Basterds” isn’t a film I have seen. I will probably watch it on video. I’m not a big fan of Tarantino. I loved “Pulp Fiction,” but thought “Kill Bill” was mostly eye candy that pandered to my darker desires for vengeance. Don’t even get me started on his piece of the Grindhouse film (talky sexploiation, to give a hint).
Yet despite his inconsistency, I pay attention to Tarantino. He is popular and he is frequently trying to say something (good or bad, most of his work isn’t just mindless entertainment to make a buck). Yes, the language in Tarantino’s films is often strong, but my kids hear worse on the school bus each day. Some of his films may have sexual content that I wouldn’t let any of my children see. And the picture of the world he paints often isn’t pretty, but I work in Newark and have to admit — the world I’m in often isn’t pretty. But back when I started listening to popular music I came to the conclusion I would much rather listen to an artist who was searching than one who claimed to have all of the answers. Listening to “Hotel California” caused one of my college roommates to turn away from the mindless pursuit of sex and drugs and believe there was a higher purpose for his life.
Should I avoid Tarantino’s work or the work of others because I (and some around me) are the weak? I see the point. An alcoholic should stay out of bars. But short of closing your eyes and ears and mind, how do you avoid all of the ugly and unholy things in the world? Should I lock myself away in a false bastion of purity to avoid tempting myself or my brother? How, then, do I converse with those who don’t even desire my context on life if I can only speak to them of what I will or won’t do? And what if, in all the effort to protect my weakness or that of others, I also close my heart?
I understand the position of those who believe Christians should only allow in what is holy and pure and that, conversely, they should preserve themselves against the polluting effects of the world. I was raised in that tradition. Perhaps it was just my peculiar up-bringing, but that tack seemed far more false in the end.
My childhood also left me with the sense that people don’t call Christian’s hypocrites because we act like everyone else. Rather they see us as false because we often insist on trying hide our weakness with our tyranny by insisting that we are acting on behalf of the Shepherd. Their disrespect for us and our message isn’t because we will or won’t sit in a cinema, but because we all to often refuse to sit down with publicans and prostitutes unless we let them know and they accept their position in the flock (they’re the lost one; we are the holy ninety-and-nine).
Quite frankly, I have a better time discussing Tarantino with the atheists whom I know than I do Tay-Sachs or the God-decreed genocides of the Old Testament. And for their part, many of them claim they would have less problems with me (i.e. those who claim to be followers of Jesus Christ) if we didn’t worship love and forgiveness of Sundays, then advocate war and exploitation of our enemies Monday through Friday.
Jesus prayed that his followers would not be “of the world” just as he was not. But he also sent them into the world, just as he was sent. There is a difficulty there, a balance that must be found. But the honest search and struggle for that balance seems far less fraudulent (if perhaps more equivocal) and invites more fellowship, than insisting there is only one way for a believer to be true to their faith.
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