Bunch of Nonsense
Music, Books and Life in the SpiritArchive for January, 2008
There Will Be Blood
Saturday, my son Ben and I saw the movie “There Will Be Blood.” The movie is nominated for best picture. Daniel Day-Lewis is nominated for best actor and sounds like he’s a sure winner. The production, cinematography, acting are all world-class. The movie is truly epic and visually stunning. At times, it reminded me of some of the great films that I saw in the 1970s like “McCabe and Mrs. Miller” “Little Big Man” “The Great Northfield Minnesota Raid” or “The Long Ryders” It could have been directed by Sam Peckinpah or maybe even Terrence Malick (Badlands, Days Of Heaven) and the cinematography was worthy of some of the greats of that era like Nestor Almendros or Vilmos Zsigmondt. The movie really creates a world all of its own (rural interior California circa 1898 to 1911 for the most part) in a way you just don’t see these days. A lot of talented people put in a LOT of long hours creating this film. BUT while this movie does a lot things right, even brilliantly, it really fumbled on some very basic things. The main character (despite the brilliant acting by Day-Lewis) doesn’t really make sense. Some of the things he does at the end of the movie are simply not congruent with his earlier character. Kind of. And that’s the problem. It was as if they were just changing things about him as they went along (which is strange for a film that was so thoughtfully made). My theory is that the director couldn’t resist visual images he wanted to make no matter what it might do to the story. There’s a lot of heat here, and very little light. For such a long movie, it is shockingly thin. There’s really only one character, and maybe two others and all of them are similarly underdeveloped. If you striped everything away and just wrote the story as an essay, a freshman English teacher would give you about a C- and a lot of red-lines. The ending is stunning, but in all the wrong ways. The fact that this movie is getting such overwhelming raves, is a telling critique of today’s critics more than anything else. It’s interesting that the opening 15 minutes is some of the movie’s most powerful and there isn’t one word of dialogue. Everything was there to make one for the ages, cast, crew, direction, but the writing was just not up to the task. Instead of another “Days of Heaven” it is closer to being another, “Heaven’s Gate.” And lastly, a form of Christianity is highly visible in this movie, but its only straw man to be blown over later. Nothing even remotely Christian is done by anyone, anywhere. I would say when you decide to make things this dark, this morbid and hopeless, it puts EVEN MORE pressure on your script being water tight. So everything is pure evil and there’s no hope for redemption, nothing worth saving, no one moving toward anything… it leaves the audience feeling, ambivalent at best and more like “So what?” It is my opinion that evil needs something to reflect off of and in this movie, there’s just nothing there. Evil. Darkness. All is lost, without hope. “There Will Be Blood” is a beautiful movie, but ultimately kind of a beautiful nothing. Kind of.
Spurgeon, the KJV and a bunch of Beeves
So, okay I’m a blogging fool. My last post was only two days ago? What gives? I don’t know.
So anyway, I’ve been reading Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening this year (not quite true, more like, I’ve been reading it v e r y s p o r a d i c a l l y this year) and I was struck by his use of the King James language. Today’s devotion used the words “canst” and “hast” and my favorite “didst.”
Of course he uses the King James Version because there was no other Bible really in use at that time. Now Spurgeon probably wrote this sometime around 1890 or so. But the thing is, Victorian England did not talk like this. This is Puritan 17th century language (The KJV was written in 1611). It was just understood that when people talked about God or quoted from the Bible, they used 17th century Puritan language. This went on for four hundred years! probably until the mid to late 20th century when the RSV, NASB, NIV and others began to be fully accepted. This is kind on odd thing when you stop and think about it. What did God think about this? Did he like it? Did he think it was kind of an honor (that they use special language when these people pray to me or read from my Word?) Or did he wish that people would just talk normal when they talk to Him, the way they would if they were talking to the grocer? Is there something about this that gives God a special reverence? And if this is a good idea, why didn’t the men in 1611 use middle English of the 12th century when they wrote their translation? It all seems kind of strange now. Did people think God only understood Puritan language? I for one am really glad those days are over. It seems rather off-putting (kind of an old fashion word, which is kind of ironic here don’t you think?) to only use old fashion (or archaic) language when you read God’s word. I like the ESV (English Standard Version) for study and the NLT (New Living Translation) for reading. Some of my favorite words found in the King James Bible are: Alamoth (women singers), Beeves (Cattle), Wast (were), Thitherward (toward), Bruit (a rumor), Ravin (torn flesh), Anise (plant of the parsley family) , Bunches of camels (camel’s humps), Habergeon (coat of mail), Nitre (kindness), Matrix (a mother’s womb), Holpen (helped), Gainsay (oppose), Euroclydon (furious) and everybody’s favorite Necromancer (sneezing).
blog blocked
I’m blog blocked. For the life of me, I can’t think of anything to say, but in an attempt to breakout of this writer’s block… I’m just going to write whatever comes to my mind. Scary.
I like the TV show American Gladiator. Its utterly moronic, lame, cheesy, probably completely unredeemable, but I like it. My kids like it and its something my wife and I watch with them. Now that I think about it, I watched the original show back in the early 90s too, with Nitro, Lace, etc., even when Cheap Seats made fun of it, I still liked it.
Nine days ago my 18 year old son, Ben hugged me so hard he broke a rib on my left side. You think I’m joking. I’m not.
I like the music of Elliot Smith. I find myself going back to his songs over and over and he’s one of the artists that gets better with time, that you actually get more into his music the more you listen to it. He was a very angry, bitter man who battled depression, alcoholism and drugs for years and his lyrics had their share of anger and rage and four letter words. This is strange for me, because usually I have ABSOLUTELY no tolerance for such language, but with Smith, I don’t know, it never seemed like a show, it seemed real, all too real in fact. He was one of those rare rock stars who really did hate the rock star lifestyle (there seems no end to those who CLAIM to not be into the rock star world, but their lives beg to differ). Smith put a kitchen knife in his own heart October 21 2003, RIP.
Every container of humus should come with a free tic-tac.
I love my work as Resource Pastor at Calvary Church Of Santa Ana.
The lyrics to Brian Wilson’s utterly brilliant and classic song “Love and Mercy” seems particular apropos considering everything going on in Kenya right now.
“I was lying in my room
And the news came on TV
A lotta people out there hurtin’
And it really scares me
Love and mercy that’s what you need tonight
Love and mercy to you and your friends tonight”
I like to do house cleaning. My kids do not.
The worst movie that I can remember seeing in the last ten years is Mr. Magoo, hands down. Or maybe Men In Black II… or maybe Stepford Wives. It’s a tough call.
I love to read the sermons of George Morrison (1866-1928). He is probably my favorite writer right now (though Frederick Buechner is tough to beat). Morrison was a preacher who served in Glasgow Scotland from 1902 until his death. I just finished two of his sermons on The Cross and they are wonderful, powerful messages (maybe I’ll write more about them sometime when I actually stop and think about what I’m writing). One is entitled “Love’s Argument” and the second is, “Cross Bearing.” I will probably read them ten more times before the year is over. I need to be reminded of their message at least that often. They should be required reading FOR THE ENTIRE HUMAN RACE!!
Beagles are smart dogs, but can be easily tricked into stop barking if you just suddenly whistle real loud. It kind of blows their minds and they forget what it was that was so important that they should bark at it FOREVR!
Lastly, (this is not news) but two bands that confirm to me that often the worst music gets all the airplay and sometimes the best music often gets little or no attention are the Australian band “Augie March” and the band “Midlake” who are from the Denton Texas (where my mother went to one year of college in 1944 btw). They each have released three CDs and except for Midlake’s first, they are all completely amazing CDs and I would recomended them to anyone who likes great music. It is MHO that Midlake’s last CD, “The Trials Of Van Occupanther” is some kind of brilliantly odd timeless masterpiece and close to a perfect record. Augie March are equally brilliant. As The Donald would say, “They should be HUGE!” I think people will be listening to both of these bands long after today’s cookie-cutter formula money making fad bands (is ever an end of it?) are long gone.
Okay then. That’s enough run on sentences and random thoughts for one day.
Gerard Manley Hopkins
I first read and fell in love with the poetry of Gerard Manley Hopkins around 1978… my Junior year of college or so. Pied Beauty, God’s Grandeur and Spring and Fall have always been my favorites. Funny thing is, I never really knew much about the man, beyond a few simple facts: he was a Priest, he lived in the late 19th century and his work was never published in his lifetime. But that did not stop my imagination from filling in the blanks. Read the poem Spring and Fall and I think you can see what I mean.
Spring and Fall
(to a young child)
Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, líke the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you wíll weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow’s springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.
I read that poem and could only imagine a man who lived a quiet peaceful life, maybe cloistered away somewhere, walking down quiet empty hallways, thinking deep thoughts about life, nature and the passing of youth… But my little fantasy bubble was popped this week as I began to read Frederick Buechner’s excellent little book, “Speak What We Feel.” Buechner tells mini biographies of four writers who wrote in blood. I learned (once again) how wrong these little fantasies can be. Far from a quiet peaceful life, Hopkins lived what could only be described as a nightmarish life. He taught at a small College in Dublin. (the equivalent of a JC?) He was British and so somewhat of a permanent outsider in Dublin. He was a quiet soft spoken man, but his students did not respect or listen to him. It was said that another teacher once caught Hopkins’ students dragging him around the room for fun. He was overwhelmed with work, sometimes grading as many of 1700 papers. And Dublin sounds like it was a filthy diseased ridden disaster. It was said that the country people were afraid to even go into Dublin for fear of catching something and dying. The college where Hopkins taught smell so bad the bottom floors smelled like a sewer. Hopkins had a single room where he rarely ventured out, because of the danger and darkness all around him. And to top it all off, his one connection in the publishing business hated his poetry so badly, he refused to read it twice or even write him back with comments. Hopkins died in his mid-forties, poor, forgotten. His poetry was not published until 1918. It is with these thoughts that I am even more amazed that a man in such conditions could write such beautiful, hopeful, God centered words.
God’s Grandeur
THE WORLD is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.
And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs—
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844–89). from Poems.1918
