There are just too many notes!

That line was from the movie Amadeus, and was given by Jeffrey Jones as the Emperor Joseph II.

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Okay, now, here’s next week’s, hopefully.

Sometimes there’s so much beauty in the world I feel like I can’t take it, like my heart’s going to cave in.

When a willing victim who had committed no treachery was killed in a traitor’s stead,

the table would crack and Death itself would start working backwards.

We didn’t have any takers, but the quote was from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by CS Lewis.

Here’s our new one:

[He] crossed to his bedroom on tiptoe, slipped inside, closed the door, and turned to collapse on his bed.  The trouble was, there was already someone sitting on it.

Let me know in the comments if you think you know it!

A little late for Mothers' Day, but I hop you enjoy it anyway.

2001 Rated PG-13

Directed by Gillian Armstrong

One thing about Cate Blanchett is that you can never tell how old she is. She can play anything from a love-struck innocent to an immortal elf queen, and her face, her high cheekbones and slanted eyes, always seems perfect for it. Like a rare few actors, she can convey love, panic, arrogance, pride, fatigue, and despair through the prism of that face without ever seeming to change her expression.

That skill serves her well as the eponymous character in the World War II film, Charlotte Gray. Charlotte is a single Scottish working girl of undetermined age (mid-20’s perhaps, though there is a gravitas about her that makes me want to skew it older), living with two roommates and commuting every day to London. On the train to London, she is coaxed into a conversation with a businessman, who learns two important things about her: she is angry about the occupation of France, and she herself speaks French fluently.

The businessman invites her to a book launch party, where she meets a young RAF pilot named Peter, played with beautiful depth and seen-too-much sadness by Rupert Penry Jones. They fall in love, become lovers, and then as happens in war, Peter is sent on a flying mission into France. His plane goes down, and he is declared missing in action, but is thought to be alive.

Driven by a desire to find him, Charlotte accepts an invitation from the “business people” that had hosted the “book launch,” to train to become a spy for the English inside France. All of this is set-up, because once inside France, Charlotte (now called Dominique) meets Julien, the French Communist resistance fighter played by Billy Crudup, and the story really begins. She struggles to keep her cover as she grows attached to Julien, Julien’s irritable but wise father, played by the ubiquitous Michael Gambon, and two Jewish orphan boys they have taken in but must hide. The body of the film is filled with deceptions, compromises, betrayals, manipulations, and the tentative blossoming of love in so many different manifestations. Julien and Charlotte work together to fight the Nazi oppressors, and to fight the encroaching fear that nothing they do will make that much of a difference.

I didn’t expect to like this movie as much as I did, perhaps because I’ve seen several war-era films recently that disappointed me. And I guess it didn’t get generally good reviews over all, but I found it getting inside of me, almost without my notice. Director Gillian Armstrong keeps things moving at an even, almost pastoral pace that matches the tidy farms and deep green fields of the French countryside, exquisitely photographed by Dion Bebe. The pace is so comfortable, and the French country life so pleasant, that when violence, anger, and betrayal erupt, it is as though the viewer has been tromped on by thick-soled Nazi boots. And cleverly, without calling attention to it, Armstrong brings those Nazis in at just those moments to provide an external expression of the internal turmoil her characters face. Whatever else you want to say about Nazis, you can always count on them to move the plot along.

Billy Crudup also gives a compelling performance as Julien, the Angry Young Man who carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. Though the movie is named for its heroine, Julien’s character arc is nearly as strong as hers is, and his French accent even better (though it is a bit of a mystery why Julien has a French accent and his father has an English one). Neither Julien’s nor Charlotte’s choices bring much resolution, but do bring home the terrible price that war demands. Only the ending, hopeful but not sentimental, keep those costs from being too high in the end.

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Image courtesty of scad.edu

Lynn was the sister of Vanessa and Corin, all of them children of Michael Redgrave and Rachel Kempson.  Corin died just last month, but Vanessa survives.  The siblings, especially the sisters, were always close, and all of them insist that any rivalry between them was made up by the press.  Lynn was a quieter, less flashy talent than Vanessa, but she always worked, and was nominated twice for Oscars.  Her first one was for 1968’s Georgy Girl, where she competed against her sister, but both lost to Elizabeth Taylor.  She was also known for her flexibility and sense of humor, appearing on sitcoms as well as in dramatic Oscar-nom material.  Her Best Supporting Actress Oscar nomination was for playing the brusque housekeeper in Gods and Monsters, but she took roles on The Love Boat, Desperate Housewives, and Ugly Betty, too.

It’s been a terrible year for the Redgrave family.  Niece Natasha Richardson died in a ski accident last year, then Corin last month, and now Lynn.  I’m sorry she’s gone; she was a steady, hardworking, non-pretentious presence in a crazy, self-aggrandizing business.  I wish her family every comfort and blessing as they go on without her.

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One morning I shot an elephant in my pajamas.  How he got in my pajamas, I don’t know.

That classic line was spoken by Captain Jeffrey Spaulding, played by Groucho Marx, in the 1930 movie, Animal Crackers.

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Okay, here’s our next one.  This one’s dedicated to my sweetie, but anyone can guess it.

There are simply too many notes!

What do you think?  Can you get it?

She was not quite what you would call refined. She was not quite what you would call unrefined.

She was the kind of person who keeps a parrot.

Nobody guessed it–not even my dad–so I’ll just tell you.  It’s written by Mark Twain, from his book, Following the Equator, 1897.

Mark Twain, Image courtesy of Berkeley University

Okay, here’s the new quotation to guess:

When a willing victim who had committed no treachery was killed in a traitor’s stead, the table would crack and Death itself would start working backwards.

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Last time out quotation was:  Fasten your seatbelts.  It’s going to be a bumpy night.

Here’s Bette Davis as Margo Channing:

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Ready for a new one for next time?  This one’s especially for my daddy, but anyone can guess it:

One morning I shot an elephant in my pajamas.  How he got in my pajamas, I don’t know.

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Passion of the Christ

2004
Rated R

Directed by Mel Gibson

I was in a unique position for the original release of The Passion of the Christ.  I was teaching in a liberal Christian college, which was nestled in a very conservative Christian culture.  From my liberal colleagues—most of whom refused to see the film—I heard strongly worded condemnations of the supposed anti-Semitism of the film, and critical, even horrified, assessments of the “unnecessary” violence of the film.  From my more conservative church members, I heard the elevation of the film to the level of Scripture–also often before they had seen it.

There’s some justification for considering the film to be faithful to the spirit of Scripture, even if it’s not exactly revelation.  With an emphasis on John’s gospel, borrowing from other gospels and certain mystical works, it’s hardly a mistake to consider the film a reliable resource for historical, even theological, information.  In that context, the charge of anti-Semitism needs to be addressed.  This is a more complex line of thought than it might seem.  The canonical evangelists, all but one of whom were Jews themselves, tended to be very hard on their own people.  Their frustration with the Jews was born from the exasperated love for beloved family members who refuse to act in their own best interest.  “He came to his own, and his own knew him not.”

But the fact is, the Jews had no power to execute anyone.  They were an oppressed and occupied nation.  Only the legal authorities of the Roman state, represented by Pontius Pilate and his military support, had any power over rebels, traitors, or insurgents.  Both history and Scripture make it clear: the Romans, not the Jews, are responsible for Jesus’ death and punishment.  The film does not equivocate in this matter.  Pilate was conflicted and compromised, Roman troops ranged individually from compassionate to sadistic, and in that context, Jesus suffered standard Roman punishments.

Though director Mel Gibson doesn’t leave the burden of blame on the shoulders of the Jews, he certainly does fail in exploring the untenable position the Jews were in in relation to Jesus of Nazareth.  Gibson plays the Jewish contingent at the surface level, giving his actors very little complexity to attach themselves to.  It’s faithful to the letter of Scripture, but misses an opportunity to flesh out the conflict, especially on the Jewish side.

The objection to the violence of the films is another matter, and it’s hard for me to be patient with that line of thinking.  I’m reminded of the anecdote about the British lady who objected to the film, because “it makes our Lord’s crucifixion seem so unpleasant.”   Whatever one thinks of Jesus, he was both flogged and crucified.  This is no sanitized-needle lethal injection in which the criminal just falls asleep.  It’s not even a bloody but quick beheading.  It’s one of the most tortuous and violent means of death ever perpetrated by men upon other men.  If you’re going to make, or watch, a film focusing on the suffering (and “passion” means suffering) of a historical figure, you’re going to have to deal with that suffering.  If you can’t stand it, then don’t watch it, but don’t criticize the filmmakers for being honest to the historical events.  As far as I’m concerned, it’s a point of honor; I can’t keep him from suffering, but since he did it for me, the least I can do is watch without turning away.

It’s that devotional impulse—the “he did it for me”—that appeals to the devoted Christian audience.  These are folks for whom the same Jesus portrayed by Jim Caveizel is a living, active presence in their lives.  To be exposed to the real suffering of the One they love most, to have it taken out of stained glass and Italian sculpture, is an incredibly powerful experience.  In that power is the reason for the film’s success.  For the faithful viewer, it’s all about the conviction that while Jesus was suffering, he was thinking of me.

Nevertheless, Gibson understands that even those of us who were “washed in the blood,” can’t maintain an emotional investment in non-stop, unbroken violence.  Gibson tempers the harshness of Jesus’ suffering, especially as he is more and more disfigured, with flashbacks of Jesus teaching and healing.  In these flashbacks, we see Jesus as active, intentional, and above all, strong.  This is a masculine, assertive Jesus, with both compassion and joy—and a bit of a temper.

Thank God for that.  Heaven knows that between numerous “Jesus films” and the efforts of countless preachers, we’ve had enough portrayals of Jesus that reduce him to a weak, asexual, effeminate being, the “declawed Lion of Judah” we so often get in church—“fit only as a pet for pale curates and pious old ladies.”  In addition, Caviezel is beautiful—physically beautiful—in this role.  The more bloodied and objectified Jesus gets, the more desperate we are to see the agent Jesus—acting on others, not being acted upon, and full of glowing health and vitality.  By the time Jesus dies in ugly horror, we need the Resurrection.  It’s a privilege and a profound relief to see our Jesus restored to his intensity and masculine beauty.

Gibson’s film is not above criticism, and it would be a mistake to transfer our love for Jesus to Mel Gibson. Jesus’ suffering seems abstract at points, leaving the viewer to wonder just how much Gibson counted on his viewers to fill in motivation and conflict.  The figure of Judas is creepy and pathetic, but we are given little insight into why he betrayed Jesus.  The androgynous Satan figure actually works surprisingly well as a symbol of the insidiousness of temptation, though I spent too much time trying to discern whether that was actually the actor’s own voice the figure used.  But in the end, the film was made with love for its subject matter, and believers, at least, benefit in the making-real of something that has too often been kept at a distance.