With Mother's Day around the corner, I thought I'd post a poem I wrote for my mother at Christmas. It is the first of a planned series in which I will write my personal description of the most important people in my life, starting with my mother, father, and sister. Mom's poem is first simply because the words came first and the easiest. I guess it just goes to show there is no one quite like your mom. Or, as my best friend, Scott, said once in a conversation, "No one trumps mom." Anyway, happy early Mother's Day, Mom!
To my mother...
A silent hug, a gentle sob
At the phrase, “Mom, I’m so scared.”
The cool, unflinching gaze
Facing emergency or hardship,
And the scattered, playful persona
Found in the ordinary moments
The surprisingly unstoppable laugh
Like a flood gate held back and finally set free,
The tirelessness, the stubbornness,
The dedication to family togetherness
There is the bitter hint of the past,
But mixed with a fragrant calm
And an undeniable positivity
Infusing every word and action
The hesitant walk into a room
Suddenly powered by the quick smile of recognition
But hurried at other times, outpacing everyday New Yorkers,
The hair, a carefully coifed mane
A crowning glory she can't do without,
The eyes, at times withdrawn, ever unreadable, always kind,
Green orbs and wary and sometimes hidden behind a camera,
The tall body, thin arms, and legs shaped for field and court
Further forged by rounds and small office spaces
A caregiver, a doctor, a friend
A dispenser of advice (both the sought and unsought varieties)
The asker of uncomfortable questions
The assumer of the worst...sometimes
And the giver of hope in a bad situation
Most often, though, a face out in the crowd
Expressionless yet exuding support and pride
A face to look for amongst a strange array of stares.
I can't say what kind of face I have, but it must be one that invites total strangers to engage in random conversation. It happens to me all the time and in a variety of places. The checkout line at the grocery store. Seated at a restaurant. Walking down a street. It occurs often enough that I have to wonder why. Ironically, I am not a very gregarious person. Oh, I think I'm friendly and courteous enough, but I keep an emotional distance from people I don't know very well. And, I certainly don't start small talk with people for the sake of it. Nor do I believe I project the vibe of someone who is particularly receptive to it. Just to be clear, I am not talking about family or close friends. My guard is down with them, and I feel free to talk plainly and without censor to them, sometimes much to their chagrin. No, I am speaking about total strangers and sometimes acquaintances who assume a familiarity with me that I find wholly inappropriate. And, for the life of me, I can't figure out what about me suggests they should do such a thing. Nonetheless, people talk to me. All the time. They start up conversations with me. And worse, they ask questions. Questions I am obligated to answer in some fashion in order to not come across as a total curmudgeon. Thankfully, I find myself usually capable of supplying acceptable answers to some of these questions without offering information I consider too personal or too detailed. And more often than not I am able to maneuver out of the conversation without seeming rude. But, one day over spring break all my powers of patience and courtesy were tested as I sat in the local Starbucks trying to finish my blog review of Batman Vs. Superman. I had just treated myself to lunch at Panera (where I did the bulk of my writing) and indulged in another movie - a matinee showing of 10 Cloverfield Lane - before topping my afternoon off by enjoying a London Fog while I put the finishing touches on my review. I was seated a reasonable distance away from other people. My face was planted in my laptop screen. And, I was actively engaged in editing my review, which involved me visibly and audibly tapping away on the keyboard. My point being: I was obviously occupied with a task and not open to conversation. At least, that's how I would have interpreted my body language had I seen me sitting there at the Starbucks table with the look of concentration I know I get on my face. None of these factors, however, deterred two people I will call Henry and Mildred - not their real names - from foisting themselves upon me. Henry had been in front of me in line and took a long time to order not because he had one of those coffee orders that are as pretentious as they are convoluted but because he spent most of the time chittering away about whatever came to mind to the cashier. It was a marvel of stream of consciousness flow in conversation, and it made me begin to wonder if this elderly gentleman was doing it deliberately or was suffering a form of dementia. (Note: I tend to not think it was dementia as his ramblings, scattered as they were, still had a measure of coherence and were clearly tethered in the here and now of the Starbucks. However, I digress.) When all was said and done at the counter and both Henry and I had our respective beverages, we sat down at tables that were next to each other yet far enough apart so as not to be in each other's business. I should also explain that our tables shared a long cushioned seat on one side with a wooden chair tucked under each table on the other. Henry and I were both seated on the cushioned side, facing the same direction. This visual is important to understand what happened next when Mildred showed up. Mildred was also elderly and very physically frail. She came ambling through the door, unsteadily walking with a cane a few minutes after I sat down. Upon seeing Henry, she made directly for him, ignoring the line of customers waiting to place their orders. A conversation ensued between the two. Henry invited Mildred to sit down at his table with him. Mildred said she couldn't sit down in those hard wooden chairs. Thanks to Henry's circuitous approach to the art of conversation, this exchange happened about three times before I realized Mildred was trying to say that she wanted to sit where I was - in a cushioned seat at a table next to her friend. In an effort to be a gentleman as well as respectful to my elders, I offered to move over to the next table so that Mildred could sit next to Henry and have her own table and a more comfortable seat. I made my offer and started my move in one fell swoop before Mildred had a chance to lodge any phony protests, or before Henry could chime in with some ramshackle musing. I simply offered her the seat and moved over. She took the seat and cordially thanked me. I accepted the thanks and went back to writing my blog. But, of course, it didn't end there. Henry and Mildred started a conversation I only half heard as I continued to work on my blog. I vaguely remember Henry getting up to go order a coffee for Mildred. But, when Henry left, I noticed Mildred kept talking as though the conversation had no reason to stop just because Henry was momentarily gone. When I realized this, I stole a glance in Mildred's direction and noticed her staring directly at me. It then dawned on me that Mildred had turned the focus of her conversation toward me and was engaging me in a very one-sided discussion. Stumbling over my words (more from surprise than embarrassment), I quickly apologized for missing what she had just said. She asked what I was working, which I knew wasn't what she had just been saying, but I didn't mention it. Instead, I told her I was working on my blog. "What's a blog?" she asked. I explained. "What kinds of things do you write about?" I gave her a brief synopsis of what my blog is and told her I was currently working on a movie review. She nodded her head in a oh-that's-nice sort of way. Shortly, Henry returned with Mildred's coffee, and the two of them began a discussion that I can only describe as kvetching about all things modern, including the old staples - technology, traffic, and today's youth. As their conversation progressed, it became clear that I was included in the last category, which simultaneously flattered and offended me, given the level of complaining they were doing about the group they had lumped me into. Still, it felt nice to be included in the "young" group once again. To be clear, there were no comments made directly about me, but little descriptions, some choice phrases made it apparent where I would have fallen in their world view. The focus eventually shifted to films, and their opinions (not surprisingly, modern films are horrible and don't compare with the old ones) prompted them to engage me in the conversation once more. "I bet you don't watch many old films or know any of the old time actors, do you?" said Mildred. Again, it took me a moment to realize she was talking to me, but when I did, I couldn't help but chuckle to myself because these people clearly did not know me. "Which ones are you talking about?" I asked. "What about One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest?" Mildred replied. Now here I must admit some pleasant surprise. Mildred didn't answer as I expected with a true golden oldie but named a film, while being 41 years old, is considered a modern classic, with the emphasis on modern. "One of my favorite films of all time," I said. "Oh, so you have seen it?" Mildred looked mildly impressed. "Yes. I'm a big film buff." Sadly, what followed was not a discussion on what I consider one of the greatest films of all time but a long back and forth between Henry and Mildred about all the violence in today's films and how much louder (much too loud) they generally are compared with older films. I didn't engage in the conversation any further because 1) I had to finish my blog and 2) I didn't feel I could add anything of value since there was no place to go with the discussion. Oh, so you think today's films are too loud? That's nice. *chirp chirp* Besides, I am completely uninterested in older people who have nothing but complaints about the modern-day world or younger generations. That kind of discourse is born out of fear and lack of understanding and accomplishes nothing but further disconnect between generations. I have heard many times that western culture lacks respect and admiration for our elders when we should be seeking their wisdom and advice. I say our elders should lead by example by actively participating in the world without closing their minds to it or clinging to an overdeveloped sense of nostalgia for what has been and is now gone. Because what has been wasn't as good as they like to remember anymore than what is now is completely bad. Anyway, I'll get off my soap box now and get back to the original point of this post, which is how I often get pulled into interactions with people when all I want is to be left alone to accomplish some sort of task. Upon reflection, my encounter with Mildred and Henry wasn't nearly as extreme as some others I've had, but it did get me thinking about all those other instances. Am I too nice? I hardly think so. Too polite? Maybe. I affect a formal tone and disposition when I interact with strangers and acquaintances. It's a tone that would say to me, "This individual doesn't wish to get into extended conversation. Let me make this short and sweet and then leave him alone." But, clearly, others don't read it like that, or choose not to. Maybe I just need to accept the unwanted intrusion of others into my life whenever I am out in public. It could be that I am levying too high an expectation on people to pick up on clues that would be evident to me. Or, maybe I am not communicating as strongly as I believe. Subtlety is a quality I admire and cherish, but that doesn't mean I should expect other people to follow suit. Maybe a more direct and forward approach is necessary even if I risk being considered rude. Whatever the answer, I believe I've thought long enough about this topic for one Blog post. Happy weekend, all!
Although I am technically posting this on the same day I wrote it, thereby making the tense of the first sentence completely justified, I imagine most people won't be reading this until tomorrow (Sunday, April 3). It is something I felt I should mention to save any confusion.
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When I arrived to work at the hotel today, there was a brief sunshower, and the same comment I always have at such times popped into my mind: The Devil is beating his wife. I was a small child when I first heard that disturbing, superstitious phrase, and I remember hearing it in two different contexts, although I don’t remember which preceded the other. One of the times originated with my Uncle Bruce when he said it during a massive thunderstorm. I was about five or six. We were at a hotel - a lot of my family that is - for a cousin’s wedding in which I was the ringbearer. The night before there was a tremendous storm that scared me out of my wits, and Uncle Bruce, in his usual comic tone, said, “The Devil must be beating his wife.” It was a highly bothersome image, to say the least, and it made the thunderstorm all the more frightening. Looking back, the phrase also had a certain irony given the wider context of the pending wedding. At the very least, it was extremely ill-timed humor, and perhaps a little prescient as the marriage didn’t last although spousal abuse, to my knowledge, wasn’t involved in its dissolution. Either way, I digress as usual. The other occasion I attribute to my sister, Beth. I have a vague memory of her using the phrase as we sat under a holly tree in our front yard and explaining that it pertains to sunshowers - the phenomena in which rain falls while the sun is still shining in the sky. I was around the same age (or that’s how it feels at least) that I was during the other instance when a sunshower started on a perfectly warm, sunny day. Despite the warmth of the day, my sister’s usage of the phrase and subsequent explanation gave me chills. So, once again, a purely natural (and completely explicable) occurrence was rendered mysterious and foreboding through the juxtaposition of an image created by mere words. From a purely visceral standpoint, Uncle Bruce’s usage makes more sense as raging thunder would seem to be the perfect accompaniment to the Devil’s violent outbursts. But, my sister’s context for using it has far more emotional resonance. The incongruity of a rainfall against the backdrop of sunshine fits the unsettling disruption of right and wrong caused by a husband (even if he is the Devil) doing physical harm to his wife. Still pondering the phrase (and having nothing much better to do at work), I did some research online and found that my sister used the more common application of the phrase, and I can believe it. There is something slightly unnerving about a sunshower because it creates a conflict amongst your senses, namely between what you see (a bright, sunny day) and what you feel (cold, wet raindrops). It disrupts the feeling of self-assured balance derived from a predictable world of causality and rational outcomes. And, this feeling isn’t localized to the American South, where the phrase is said to have originated. Other cultures from around the world have similarly labelled this odd occurrence with superstitious descriptions, most of which, interestingly enough, involve marriages that go against the natural (or normalized) order of things. That tells me there is something universal in the unsettling nature of a sunshower and its pairing of things we feel shouldn’t be together. Right now, I’m not sure what point I’m trying to make with all this other than it was on my mind and felt like writing about it. I don’t want to bore you with the various sayings other cultures have come up with, not when you can look them up as easily as I could should you so desire. But, I do know I am endlessly fascinated with the ways we find to describe the world around us through language and our capacity to create meaning and reality from that same language.
I found I couldn't say all I wanted to say about this film without putting in some significant spoilers. Consider yourself warned.
So, I'm doing something a little different with this entry of my W2WW series. Instead of highlighting older and sometimes lesser seen films, I'm tackling a movie that is poised to become one of the blockbusters of the year as well as one of the most maligned: Batman Vs. Superman - Dawn of Justice.
From the moment it premiered, I have steadily watched Batman Vs. Superman (BvS) get struck down by critics (although ones I actually respect and read on a regular basis gave the film a more measured if not altogether positive review) while the general public has flocked to see it. Audience reaction has been more positive but hardly overwhelmingly so.
Here's what I think: it isn't as good as I would have liked it to be, but it is far better than most are giving it credit for.
Ironically, the reason for my personal disappointment is the same for why it is better than many are saying. My thirty plus years of reading comics (primarily DC Comics), of steeping myself in the lore of these fantastic characters paradoxically hinders and heightens my enjoyment. For me, the movie was an emotional roller coaster ride of highs venturing on the sublime and lows sinking into the bitterness of missed opportunities.
Furthermore, I can say unashamedly that the vast majority of my affection is reserved for the characters of DC Comics far more so than those of Marvel. Don't get me wrong - I have enjoyed many Marvel comics over the years as well as the films, and I have great admiration for several of its characters. But, DC has always reached back to something from my childhood, a mainline connection of sorts that has never been there with Marvel. I just get the DC Universe and have always had little difficulty walking around in it.
Does that mean I'm biased when watching a DC Comics movie? Probably. But, only in that it makes me more mindful of blunders and, as I stated before, missed opportunities just as much as it causes me to rejoice in the successes. And, it should be noted that I am peculiar amongst my fellow comic nerds in that I am nowhere near as enamored of Superman and Batman as I am other characters in the DC Universe, namely the Flash and Wonder Woman. So, my expectations going in were slightly different than most, and I was looking for things other than the much talked about Battle Royale between the two icons.
But, first, let's start with the plot. I am surprised that so many have called it nonsensical and even incomprehensible because I saw all the major plot points coming from a mile away. This is where my comic book background both aided and hindered me. Super-hero team-ups are a long established tradition in the comic book genre, and one of the tried-and-true characteristics of them is that the partnered heroes have to fight each other at some point in the story before finally teaming up to take down the real menace. And the reason they end up fighting each other is almost always because the characters have had some major lapse in judgment or thought the other to be in the wrong somehow. BvS religiously adheres to this formula, slavishly so in fact that a more accurate criticism would be its lack of originality. But once I got over the disappointment of such a rudimentary plot, I stopped focusing on what was going to happen next to enjoy the moments leading to the next plot point.
And, it is in those moments that BvS shows some real brilliance.
Much has already been said and written in praise of one of those moments of brilliance: the involvement of Wonder Woman in the story. I enthusiastically echo those sentiments. Wonder Woman's presence in the film was indeed a major highpoint. I have nothing to add to the resounding applause other than Wonder Woman is a second banana in BvS only because the story isn't centrally focused on her. At no point is she diminished as a character or overshadowed in favor of her male counterparts. In fact, had they given her more screen time, she would have completely stolen the film out from under the other two. As a result, I came out anxiously anticipating her solo film, which I'm sure was the intention all along. So on that front, well played, Warner Brothers.
Many have also hailed the soundtrack as something special, and indeed it is amazing. Probably the best I've heard for an action movie and certainly for a comic book movie. It is powerful and operatic with moments of fun and whimsy thrown in for good measure. Most of the tracks, especially Wonder Woman's theme, have been on constant rotation on my iPod. I would go so far as to say it is Hans Zimmer's best score since The Lion King.
The action scenes are stylish and expertly shot as is usually the case in Zack Snyder's films. Of particular note is a fight sequence in which Batman takes on a gang of thugs that is reminiscent of a similar scene from The Dark Knight Returns. Highly energetic and visually stunning, it is singlehandedly the best Batman fight scene put on film to date, outshining even the work done in the Nolan trilogy.
Speaking of the Nolan trilogy, that brings me to a major bone of contention with BvS: whereas those films found moments of fun and joy to sprinkle into a dark story, BvS is gritty and ponderous and doesn't fully allow the sense of awe and majesty that these characters deserve. Some have said that they felt no connection to either Superman or Batman, and I have to agree. The versions presented in this film are not the Batman and Superman I've known my whole life. Superman is unsure and conflicted about his role in the world and more than a little obtuse about the effect he is having on those around him; Batman is an alcoholic womanizer who has devolved into a brutal, angry, and largely ineffectual avenger. There isn't a lot to admire, much less like about either of them.
Those qualities more than anything made me initially dislike the film. Tonally, it had its two main characters all wrong. Then I remembered two key lines of dialogue that made me think differently:
"Be their hero, Clark. Be their angel, be their monument, be anything they need you to be... or be none of it. You don't owe this world a thing. You never did." --- Martha Kent
"That's how it starts. The fever, the rage, the feeling of powerlessness that turns good men... cruel." --- Alfred Pennyworth
Reflecting on these two lines of warning/advice from parental figures in the story, I realized that BvS is showing Superman and Batman at stages in their lives that have not typically been depicted for these characters.
Superman is at the beginning of his life as a hero and is under assault from a world that both fears him as much as it reveres him. He wants to do the right thing but has no idea what that might be. His adopted mother tells him essentially that regardless of the outcome, he needs to make a choice. And eventually, in sacrificing himself to stop Doomsday, he does and also gains a measure of selflessness and heroism he hasn't had up to that point.
Conversely, Batman is approaching the end of a long and (I assume) secretive war on crime that has left him bitter, resentful, and feeling powerless. As Alfred implies, Bruce Wayne has gone from a good man seeking to do good to someone mean and cruel. His being easily manipulated by Lex Luthor and subsequent plan to outright murder Superman are a clear extensions of this. This Batman is damaged goods at a time when he should be at the height of his mental prowess, and he finally comes back to himself by witnessing Superman's sacrifice.
These converging contrasts intrigue me for the storytelling possibilities they present. However, BvS falls short on delivering on these ideas by not allowing us to really connect with either hero in a meaningful way. It is as though Zack Snyder views these heroes as figures from a distance and expects the audience to do the same. I get that Snyder is trying to tell an epic along the lines of Beowulf or a Bible story, but that is the wrong approach to take in modern storytelling with characters who are facing personal struggles even if they have powers and abilities the rest of us don't. Modern audiences need the emotional connection to the characters that ancient epics, Bible stories, and fairy tales don't provide because the audience's values and expectations are different.
That isn't to say that I am calling for Zack Snyder's removal from handling the DC Cinematic Universe as some are currently petitioning for. Yes, he is limited as a filmmaker, but there are far more good things he has established in his DC films than bad. And, I am interested in how other filmmakers are going to build upon those things. Perhaps by the time the two Justice League films are made, he will have learned how to put some heart into his films and characters, or maybe (and this is the more likely) other directors will have laid the necessary groundwork with the individual films so that audiences can go into the team films already invested in the characters.
With all this said, is BvS worth going to see? Yes. It is an entertaining film from start to finish. Is it incredibly flawed? Yes, but they are flaws that I remain hopeful will be addressed with subsequent films. The super-hero film genre may be nearing the end of its course, but the fanboy in me really wants to see the DC characters receive the cinematic treatment they deserve. If anything, I would advise filmmakers to listen for the constructive criticism inside the cacophony of naysayers. Man of Steel and BvS have taken small, tentative steps in that right direction, but some bigger, more assured leaps need to be taken before the window of opportunity closes.
Note:Some of you may be wondering why I didn't mention anything about Jesse Eisenberg's performance as Lex Luthor (one of the more universally hated aspects of the film) or the appearance of the Flash.
In regards to Eisenberg, I am reserving judgment for two reasons: 1) Eisenberg is a good actor who usually makes good acting choices and 2) given the allusions to the coming of Darkseid, I am wondering if the Luthor we saw was so unhinged and out-of-character because of some influence similar to the visions Batman was having.
As for the Flash, the jury is still out on Ezra Miller, but I am not a fan of the man-bun. However, I did get chills at how his appearance was an homage to Crisis On Infinite Earths.
With the new year, I have challenged myself to a year long reading of the Bible. Following a schedule I found online, I read a passage (usually a chapter) from one of the books of the Bible and ruminate on it for the next twenty-four hours until it is time to read the next passage. So far, I have followed the schedule religiously (pun intended) and am currently making my way through Numbers.
I had not intended to write about my reading experiences, at least not until I had completed the year-long endeavor, but I find myself compelled to get some thoughts out. This feeling started when I read Genesis 22: 1 - 24, the chapter in which God instructs Abraham to take his son, Isaac, to Moriah and sacrifice him atop one of the mountains.
Before I get too far along, I should explain that my approach to this Bible examination is attempting to apply a strict Reader-Response standard of text examination in an effort to extrapolate some relevant meaning (for myself at least) that goes beyond the usual banal ideas most religious texts elicit. This approach first demands that the text be read singularly with no outside reference sources so that the interaction between the reader and the text remains as unencumbered as possible. This means I have not read what other people have had to say on the matter. My experience with the text and the meaning I derive from it is based solely on my own thoughts, feelings, and biases.
Also, in case anyone is wondering, the version of the Bible I am reading is the Holman Christian Standard Bible (Digital Text Edition).
I should perhaps start my analysis by saying I do not take the stories in the Bible literally. The Bible as an historical primary source is at best incomplete, and it would be foolhardy for anyone to approach an examination of the Bible as such. Instead, I view the Bible, along with other religious texts, as noble failures to understand something too big for the human mind to fully comprehend. I don't mean to say there aren't lessons to be learned or knowledge to be gained from examining it or other religious texts. The Bible may not be historically reliable, but it is historically relevant in that it can be a tool to examine what we have been as a human race and, more importantly, what we need to be.
As for the story of Abraham and Isaac, the tale as presented in the Bible is pretty straight forward. The conventional interpretation is that God wanted to test Abraham's faith by commanding him to do something that would be abhorrent to him as a human being and as a father. Abraham passes the test, and God rewards him for his faith and obedience.
So, where do I begin with the many issues I have with this story as it is conventionally presented? I suppose at the forefront is the question what kind of God unnecessarily tests a devoted follower in such a heinous way. It is unbelievably cruel with the potential of causing lasting psychological damage for those involved. Besides, wouldn't an omnipotent God already know the limits of Abraham's faith? Therefore, what would be the point of such a test other than to simply satisfy some sadistic urge? To believe that God was merely testing Abraham is to believe that God views humans as His playthings, as though He is that proverbial child with the magnifying glass burning ants on the sidewalk.
I can't accept that. My own personal experience with the Higher Power won't allow it because my whole life I have known a God who, although mysterious, is kind and loving. My God is one you turn to for guidance and knowledge, not one who arbitrarily places hurt and despair in your path. What does it mean that Abraham was asked to sacrifice his son? What should I take from this story that has relevance and meaning to my life without completely obliterating my experiences up to this point?
In pondering this, I first came to the idea that perhaps the point is that Abraham needs to obtain some self knowledge, a better awareness of the strength of his own faith. An omnipotent God wouldn't need to know how faithful Abraham is, but He may have desired Abraham to reflect on himself and grow through a better understanding of his strengths and weaknesses.
This idea works better for me on one level as I have had very similar experiences in that regard. In my life, I have had to face certain hardships that require me to take a piercing look at myself in order to get through them. And, when I stop resisting and go through some honest self reflection, I always come out it with the following: knowledge I didn't have before, a feeling of personal growth, and often a course of action to take.
Perhaps this is what God intended for Abraham. Maybe Abraham needed to learn something about himself that God wanted him to know, that he could only learn by obeying God's command to kill his son.
Maybe. But, what knowledge does Abraham gain? That he is capable of putting his own son to death? What possible use could knowledge like that have? And, what about Isaac? He now knows that his father is willing to kill him upon God's command. I can't imagine the effect that would have on a child who looks to his father for love and protection. Although easier to swallow than the test-of-faith viewpoint, the search for self knowledge doesn't quite work for me either, so I kept digging.
It was then I decided to look at the story allegorically to see the characters and situations as symbols. In doing this, Abraham can become an Everyman figure, a stand-in for all of us. Isaac becomes an object of love and affection, something we would be afraid of losing. And the demand of a sacrifice - it becomes a situation we can't avoid that threatens to take away that very thing we love - just as Abraham cannot avoid the commands of God.
By taking this angle, I began to understand that the story was not about blind faith, but trust. What's the difference you might ask? Blind faith is devoid of reason and logic and implies a lack of choice. The idea that Abraham was unquestionably willing to kill his son is rooted in this notion of blind faith. God said for him to kill his son, and Abraham went about doing it.
Trust, on the other hand, requires reason and, most importantly, a conscious choice. One has to choose to trust. Abraham saw this horrible thing in his future and had to choose to put aside his own will and trust in God that things would work out for the best. In that same vein, we need to trust God enough to see us through our own fears and tribulations. When viewed like this, the Abraham and Isaac story has a much more powerful resonance for me.
Somewhere, I forget where, I once heard a legend about certain ancient warriors laughing when going into battle as a way to stave off their own fears as well as to confound their opponents. I saw this idea revisited in a Wonder Woman story from the early 1990s in which she gets marooned in outer space. Wonder Woman laughs as a spacecraft that she is literally holding together with her golden lasso gets jumpstarted into hyperspace and takes her and another stranded astronaut to the far reaches of outer space, unable to find their way home. The narrative, of course, set up the reason for her unconventional reaction as something the Amazon warriors did when they felt they were faced with certain death. So, this somewhat outlandish demonstration didn't come across as Princess Diana having completely lost her mind.
The image of Wonder Woman laughing as she zooms away to an uncertain fate resonated with me in ways I didn't realize until years later. Obviously, there is the fact that the reaction is something I hadn't seen in a mainstream comic before. I mean, Batman and Superman always faced whatever dangers were presented to them with a level of stoicism that bordered on pathological denial of reality. But, in this instance, a major character unmistakably shows fear and, more importantly, chooses an expression for that fear that is empowering. Essentially, Wonder Woman acknowledges that she is afraid and in doing so manages to reclaim her bravery.
With her upcoming appearance in Batman Vs. Superman as well as a major solo film in the works, Wonder Woman is about to be in the spotlight more so than she has ever been in the past. And, so I have begun to seriously reflect on my years of reading her comic. The fact of the matter is that while the Flash is my favorite comic book super hero, I have actually been reading Wonder Woman much longer than I have Flash, and I have seen the character through some major ups and downs over the years.
The outer space story some might call one of her downs. It was at a time that the book was in a major transition with a writer (William Messner-Loebs) who seemed to be struggling with how to write stories for the premier super-heroine of comics. This was where readers got to see Wonder Woman, a royal princess and Justice League member, working in a food fast restaurant and sleeping on a couch. All in an effort, I guess, to make her more down-to-earth and accessible to the regular reader.
Art by Paris Cullins, Wonder Woman (Vol. 2), Issue No. 66
Needless to say, that didn't go over well with long-time fans, and Loebs soon adjusted the scope of his stories to better fit the epic quality readers wanted in their Wonder Woman adventures. That is probably why Princess Diana found herself stranded in the middle of outer space with no apparent way home - as powerful as she is (arguably second in power only to Superman in the DC super hero hierarchy), Wonder Woman does not possess the ability to travel unaided to the farthest reaches of space like Superman does. So, she was lost in space and facing an array of alien threats indigenous to the DC Universe.
Being a somewhat wonky time for Wonder Woman, this storyline stands out to me for the rather original, yet fitting way Messner-Loebs has Diana react to her rather dismal situation. As I stated before, she reacts to unknown danger, not only danger for herself but for the Russian astronaut she is desperately trying to protect, and almost certain death with laughter. And, within the context, she does so without seeming crazy or callous. Just the opposite as a matter of fact.
How powerful is that? To be able to look straight on at your own demise and greet it with the universal proclamation of happiness. It speaks to the indomitable spirit we humans cherish so much in those we idolize. And, it shows us that though we may not be in control of anything around us, we can still choose how we react to the situation presented to us by fate.
On a more personal level, I find I have begun at times to rely on humor when faced with scary or dire circumstances, especially in situations in which I clearly have no control and am totally at the mercy of chance and fate. This first manifested itself a few years ago when I went on a roller coaster for the first time in many years and found that my adult sensibilities had made me keenly aware of my own mortality in a way I hadn't been as a teenager. So, in short, I was on this roller coaster, going higher and higher up into the open air, and feeling my anxiety increase the farther we went.
Feeling unsafe, exposed, afraid I was going to fall to my death at any moment, I was suddenly aware of my lack of control, my inability to do anything should something go horribly wrong, and a small giggle escaped my lips. Amidst the continuous click-click-click as the roller coaster rose to the first steep drop, I started to laugh heartily and incautiously. I'm sure I couldn't be heard above the hoots and excited screams of my fellow passengers, but it felt like my laughter was the only thing around me, the only thing happening.
And, as I continued laughing, an ease came over me, and I was no longer anxious or afraid. The following thought sang in my mind: "If I die, I die. Nothing I can do about it, so I might as well enjoy this awesome ride."
When the first drop came, I exalted in the speed and the queasy feeling of gravity yanking me back down towards the earth. I laughed through that and continued laughing as we looped and circled our way back to the loading house. When all was finished, I bounded out of my seat with exhilaration and, most importantly, happiness. Not just happiness resulting from the adrenaline rush brought on by speed and thrill, but happiness, as I came to realize, from choosing my reaction to something that scared me. And, as a result, I reclaimed my courage.
Later, I made the connection to the old Wonder Woman story I had read as a teenager. I don't know if on some unconscious level that story had come back to me while I was on the roller coaster, but the parallels are very clear. And the lesson was there and has continued to be with me to this very day.
Years ago, I worked at a video store...back when people had to lead barbaric lives and actually leave their homes to get their entertainment. One of my co-workers was a young college-age woman who worked at the store during the summers when she wasn't attending a strict Christian college. I say "strict" because she told me the college made incoming freshmen sign pledges that they wouldn't watch any films rated 'R' or beyond.
Nevermind the fact that the college had no reasonable way to enforce this policy, and should a student be caught watching these evil 'R' movies, I'm sure no one was expelled as that would mean the loss of tuition. Still, this co-worker, being a devout, obedient Christian, took the pledge seriously and would not watch any rated-R movies. This obviously made working with her very interesting as she was limited in her film knowledge - a serious detriment when working at a video store. And, forget about even touching the porno tapes, not even to simply put them back on the shelves when returned to the store.
Of course, this begs the question why she was working at a video store in the first place, but that's another issue altogether.
After closing one night, we got into a discussion along with another co-worker about her college's ban on R-rated films. She firmly held that it was a Christian's duty to avoid sin and temptation, which included the avoidance of hearing the foul language and seeing the excessive violence and nudity in films.
"That's all well and good," I remember saying to her. "But, staying away from R-rated films alone isn't going to help with that."
Our discussion then veered into how the rating system worked and how the arbitrary and political nature of the rating process made a film's designation as PG, PG-13, etc. barely a reliable suggestion of its content let alone provide a viable guideline on which to base any belief or policy. I advocated for an analytical approach via research to educate oneself on a movie's content, rather than dismiss it outright due to the rating that some unknown group of individuals had assigned it. And, offending her a little, I called her college's No R-movies policy a prime example of "bureaucratic lazy-mindedness" that "stifled critical thinking in an effort to spur mindless adherence to a prescribed dogma rather than a true exploration of spirituality and faith."
Yeah, I wasn't very diplomatic as a young man.
The movie I brought up as support for my ideas was Dead Man Walking. Rated R due to a brief scene of violence, which included rape and murder, the film takes a long, hard look at the death penalty through the eyes of Sister Helen Prejean, a Catholic nun in Louisiana. Although the film does ultimately side against the death penalty, it does so by unflinchingly and respectfully considering the nature of violent crime and the effects it has on the families of the victims. It also provides one of the most positive and compelling portraits of a Christian I have ever seen on film.
In Sister Helen, I got to experience a rare film first: at the height of the conflict, as she stands in a prison just hours before the execution of the young man she is counseling and facing the coldly calculated process of government-sponsored killing, she goes to the bathroom and prays. No big speech. No scenes of her barging into some room to confront her adversaries. She simply finds some privacy and quietly prays for strength to get through the experience and do what is right.
This scene is the culmination of Sister Helen's journey through a minefield of conflict among political ideologies, religious beliefs, and genuine suffering with only her faith and desire to follow the example of Jesus to guide her. Sister Helen never has a huge epiphany or validation of her faith, but she does find the strength she asks for and is rewarded by being able to see the humanity in an individual whose past actions would label him as a soulless animal.
More importantly, through Sister Helen, the film shows that love doesn't take sides or withhold itself from one in favor of another. Sister Helen is able to have genuine love for Matthew Poncelet, the young man sentenced to die for his violent actions, as well for the families suffering tremendous pain from the loss of their children. And, through her, a small glimmer of hope emerges, at least for one of the fathers, of possibly finding a way through the hatred and finally to some peace.
Dead Man Walking accomplishes all this without offering tidy answers to very complicated questions or simple resolutions to dire problems. The film doesn't merely say that killing is wrong. Instead, it examines the real causes and ramifications of violence. And, it suggests that spiritual healing is possible in time through love and support.
The idea that a college would bar its students from seeing such a powerful film that embraces some core Christian values simply because of its rating baffles me to no end. The point I tried to make to my co-worker was that Dead Man Walking could inspire rich discussion among Christian college students about what it means to live by Christian ideals in the modern world, a major theme explored in the movie. And, I expressed my dismay that a college, an institution for learning, would deny its students that opportunity.
It was all to no avail. At least at that time. She was more interested in an easy road of mindless obedience with no expectation of rational thought or critical thinking. No doubt the simple and empty platitudes offered by films like God's Not Dead and Heaven Is For Real would be more appealing to her and those like her. Those movies provide quick, nice little answers to questions about the existence of God and the afterlife. They don't require any deep thought and certainly don't leave room for the messiness of discussion and debate. And, above all, they don't suggest that living the principles of a faith, particularly the Christian faith, requires diligence and hard work and sometimes risks.
But, those two movies are rated PG. So that must make them good films.
