Category: Reviews
Review of Noah
My goal is simply to get you into the movie theater. Now that that’s out of the way, let’s get to it.
According to Genesis, Adam lived to be 930 years old. Noah was born only 126 years after Adam died. Noah was 600 years old when the flood occurred. Altogether, then, the flood occurred only 1656 years after creation, which was only 726 years after Adam–the first man–died. For me, when put that way, Darren Aronofsky had an immense task ahead of him.
They say the president has a difficult time telling the public about foreign policy because there is so much he can’t say. The same thing is true for any deliberate attempt to re-tell the story of Noah. Aronofsky’s challenge was not deciding whether to use the NIV or King James translation of the story, no. His challenge was to determine what Noah would’ve known–Noah, a man who again, as the story goes, was separated from Adam by a mere 126 years.
Are there parts of the movie that surprise and baffle the movie-goer? Yes. Does the film blatantly disregard the account of the flood preserved by the book of Genesis? Yes. Does the film comically address certain plot holes in the story that viewers would probably have forgiven if ignored? Yes. But the film does not miss the theme of the original story. That’s what makes it remarkable. I could try to summarize the movie and explain how it does this, but then I’d miss my mark, now wouldn’t I? You have to decide for yourself whether he accomplishes this feat.
Oh, and there is an amazing stop-motion creation sequence that is sure to please just about everyone with a soul that you will not find anywhere else. So kuddos to Aronofsky for including that.
In the end, forget every detail you think you know about the story except its “why”. Then fill your mouth the filmy, powdery texture of impossible-to-duplicate movie theater popcorn mixed with diet coke, and “Enjai ta picture show!”
Review of Eight Acres by A Mugwump
A difficult, challenging, and generally confusing collection of 3,000+ words–that is “Eight Acres.” The title and opening line prove to mislead the reader. Surprised by our being caught off-guard, we read on. The quick-to-read staccato dialogue encourages giving the story the benefit of the doubt, and before too long, we reach a full paragraph which acts as a barely legible legend to the story’s map and provides the basest of hopes that our travels will end safely. As we hit the first set of asterisks, we’re certain about only two things. It is war. The characters are pilots. We also are given a big clue that this Mugwump is attempting a post-modern writing style. This means that as we enter a WWII veteran named Jerry’s basement, we don’t get stuck on the question “Why?”, we simply read on.
The writing is decent enough that our curiosity begs us to give the story a chance. Continuing on, as the story jumps around, we quickly warm to the idea that, like building a jigsaw puzzle, we won’t see the picture until the end–at least that’s our hope.
As “Eight Acres” settles in, a distinct, though unconventional, picture begins to emerge. The picture gains even more clarity with the use of sparsely placed details which arrive just in time to prevent our motivation from completely diminishing.
In the end, “Eight Acres” is not light reading. It cannot be read quickly, and it does not hold the reader’s hand. But there is definitely a theme, and it is definitely one a child won’t understand. The question is will an adult?
Review of Blue Valentine, the Once NC-17 Ryan Gosling movie
Yesterday’s post didn’t command any likes. Instead, it garnered a lot of love. Thank you. The only way to get there is together.
****
Even though I’ve seen how it’s done, I’m always amazed that a man with a full head of hair can be made to look like a man who is balding, Ryan Gosling is no exception. Like Charlize Theron in Monster, here we have a very attractive celebrity turned bum. Seriously fellas, if your lady-friend is a bit too enamored with the man, press play on Derek Cianfrance’s divorce exposé.
Not a new film, gossip clearly deters many would be viewers. Even with foreknowledge that it is going to be an uncompromising look at a close-to-home trial, it’s impossible to prepare for Valentine’s authenticity. And that’s what places it ahead of its preteen Judd Apatow et al. peers.
Spanning love’s spectrum, the movie passes through the always interesting topics of 1. single men and women’s respective concerns about love and marriage, 2. our undeniable wish for love-at-first-sight to make the jump from fairy tale land to factical life, and 3. a holy-shit-I-thought-that-was-just-something-that-happened-to-me disintegration of a relationship with ease.
And now a note to the MPAA: get it together. You’re not protecting anything but your jobs. Drop the letter system. Increase the descriptions. And allow movie-makers the opportunity to tell stories that have some basis in this world, not distract them with PG-13 revenues.
Make no mistake, this movie is not pleasant. Questions are not answered. But if you laugh at the saying, “Ignorance is bliss”, if you consider yourself a seeker, or if you’re the mother of a son and sometimes ask, “Are you sure you couldn’t have worked things out?” watch the movie. (It’s on Netflix.)
Review of The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman
Timeless and universal.
I have a rule. Well, Ecclesiastes has a rule that I believe is true. It goes like this: “There is nothing new under the sun.” When it comes to “get rich quick” or “relationship” books, it is impossible for me to not use this standard. If a book claims that it has come up with a new way to make money or keep a relationship strong, then, generally, I discard it promptly. I just simply refuse to believe that mankind’s soul has changed in any appreciable way in our existence. That being said, Chapman’s The Five Love Languages: How to Express Heartfelt Commitment to Your Mate is nothing new. And that is good.
The book’s largest flaw is that it is a book. It really could have been a flyer; I’m picturing a large picture representing perfect bliss overlayed by a few sentences at the bottom. The sentences being something like this:
People express and feel love in different ways. It seems that there are five ways. They include physical touch, quality time, acts of service, gifts, and words of affirmation. Try to speak your partner’s language(s).
Really, though, I’m proud to say that there is an even more fun way to help you figure out your love language(s). How I like to think about these five languages is via one language: song. Want to know which language is yours using songs? Then continue reading.
To start, if you think Kevin Costner defeats Errol Flynn in the battle of Robin Hood’s, we all know the only reason this happened is because Errol didn’t have Bryan Adams’ classic ballad “Everything I Do (I do it for you)” to accompany his swashbuckling sword fights. And your choosing Kevin means that your language is likely “Acts of Service.”
On the other hand, if everyone in the room but you noticed that you sat up during Moulin Rouge as Ewan McGregor belted out “My gift is my saw-ong…” in tribute to Elton John’s unforgettable “Your Song“, your language might just be “Words of Affirmation”.
If it is impossible not to feel warm all over when somebody tells a story about the summer of 1991, the summer during which you recall hearing Extreme’s “More Than Words” on every radio station across the nation as you drove to the west coast to greet Gulf War One’s returning victors, then you’re only hurting yourself if you don’t own up to “Physical Touch” being your love language.
Next, and admittedly a bit of a stretch (but then again, it isn’t my language, so I wouldn’t identify with it. Am I right Gary?), but if the only time you feel like someone really gets you is each year at Christmastime, specifically each time Eartha Kitt’s “Santa Baby” is played, then your love language is “Gifts”.
Lastly, if you can finish, “Eeeiiff eye-ee-eye-ee-eye (breath) shu-uld stay…” without hesitation, there can only be one conclusion. Your love language is “Quality Time”. (That Costner is receiving two shout-outs is beyond me. By the way Ma, he’s looking great once again in an upcoming action flick “3 Days to Kill”. Check out the trailer by clicking here.)
In the end, the book only takes a night to read. Not that you need to anymore. You’re welcome.
****
*Chapman, Gary D. The Five Love Languages. Chicago: Northfield Pub., 1992. Print.
Get A Free Blog Review
Last summer an entrepreneur, friend, and sometimes blogger told me, “If you blog daily for six months, you should have 1000 followers at the end of those six months.” Well, it’s been more than seven months of daily posts on Captain’s Log, and I’m sitting at 199. As is the case with most facts, this amuses me. Just the same, seeing that I am a part of the human race, and therefore partial to round numbers, I’m excited to amass follower number 200. And I’m shameless when it comes to getting what I want. So here’s what I’m offering: the blogger who follows me as number 200 will get a free review of their blog. That’s right. I’ll take some time between now and Monday to peruse your blog and then I’ll write the review for Monday’s post. You can trust that I will be sure to say nice things as well as true things. If you’re on the fence, think of it this way: in return for a simple click of a mouse, you’ll get exposure to 199 readers who possibly aren’t aware of your stuff. Heck, I might not be aware you exist.
This is a one time offer, and it is sure to go fast. A little book called “The Magic of Thinking Big” mentions that “everyone you know craves praise”. Well, I’m offering praise in exchange for bliss. Whatdya say?
****
Schwartz, David Joseph. The Magic of Thinking Big. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1959. Print.
Review of A Fly Went By by Mike McClintock and Fritz Siebel
In the classic children’s book A Fly Went By, Mike McClintock harnesses the The Great War’s lesson and with perfect eloquence tells a story that frees children from fear. With Fritz Siebel’s poignant illustrations as the glue holding a child’s gaze, McClintock’s repetitious prose etches its way into a young listener’s mind. The story is simple: a boy sees a fly go by, and asks him, “Why?” We soon find out that the fly ran from the frog. But the frog isn’t chasing the fly; he “ran from the cat, who ran from the dog.” The boy continues his search for the thing behind all the running, and in perfect metaphor to life, it turns out that a man was the first to run, and he ran from sounds of unknown origin. The chain reaction resulting in all the characters running in fear thus began. We soon discover, though, that these sounds were caused by “a sheep with an old tin can.”
Like any toddler whose parents read this book to them, apparently I had the big finale memorized before I knew how to read. It wasn’t until after college, though, that in reading the book to a nephew I realized the lesson that stamped itself on my person. Have no fear. “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” Be brave. These sentiments and more are captured within McClintock’s fun little book. It is a sure winner for parents who are looking for ways to teach their children a timeless truth–without the children knowing class is in session. A life without fear is a life worth living and a gift worth giving. Give children freedom from fear. Share with them the story of a boy who “sat by the lake, and looked at the sky.”
****
McClintock, Marshall, and Fritz Siebel. A Fly Went by. [New York]: Beginner, 1958. Print.
Review of Their Eyes Were Watching God, by Zora Neale Hurston
Push through the first chapter.
Anyone who has worked through Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights knows how rewarding sticking with a book can be. Zora Neale Hurston’s classic Their Eyes Were Watching God is nowhere near as difficult, but the eventually transparent phonetic spelling of the dialect along with the introduction of several female characters does make for a slow opening. Push through the first chapter.
We are quickly introduced to Janie and her life in the deep south. From the start we are told about Tea Cake, who is apparently the man Janie loves after two less-than-successful marriages. Hurston uses the familiar start-with-an-intriguing-end-then-tell-how-it-came-to-be formula, and–as usual–it works well.
The book reeks of female-empowerment, which can be off-putting at times, but upon completion, the reader discovers that that notion was ancillary to Hurston’s sure message.
I’ve always assumed that good books are considered good for a reason. (I say this to emphasize that I’m a half-full reader when it comes to highly recommended books.) For me, what separates a book from other artwork, is the work that’s required to intake it. Reading is interactive, to say the least, and unlike other art-forms, the power of a book rarely fades. Add to this perspective the notion that there really aren’t that many eternal truths, instead just a few that require a steady river of reminding, and it is clear why this novel resonates with readers of all backgrounds.
The setting, characters, and drama are all believable and compelling. Janie’s concluding wisdom conceals any would-be flaws. It is a lesson as old as time, but as refreshing as sweet tea just poured into a glass of crushed ice on a sweltering summer afternoon. Maybe you’re looking to read something new. If so, be sure to check out Hurston’s classic.
****
Hurston, Zora Neale. Their Eyes Were Watching God. New York: Perennial Classics, 1998.
Review of Killing Season starring Bobby D. and Johnny T.
The previews looked like someone had re-tooled Hopkins and Baldwin’s 1997 thiller The Edge. Two elderly-ish men trying to survive, and possibly kill each other in the woods. But what we have here is something new. It is at once a simple action flick–kinda B-movie action at that–and a portrayal of one of the most challenging commandments Jesus of Nazareth issued.
The film begins with scenes of the not-so-familiar Bosnian war. We are shown images of genocide which would be striking if they weren’t nauseatingly familiar. Like Shutter Island before it, we are then shown that even the good guys sometimes commit atrocities. While in Bosnia we think we see Travolta killed. Moments later we are introduced to DeNiro’s character and discover he has taken to hunting in the woods…with a camera instead of a gun. Nothing surprising here.
The fact is nothing too surprising happens for the next hour or so of the film. There is a game of cat and mouse that seems to drag on and on with no point. But then something magical happens–the point appears.
Movies which improve with their run-time are few and far between. I grew up on the idea that most movies can be recognized for what they are in the first minute. This one is a rare exception to that rule.
Now Ma–before you think that you’re ready for this film, allow me to offer a word of caution. There are two surprisingly gruesome scenes that even caught me off-guard. So, just ask me about the movie next time you call and I’ll tell you what is so neat about it.
The rest of you, proceed at your own risk. It’s no Saw, but it still isn’t for the faint of heart. Too bad really, because it’s message is so full of heart.
Review of The Canterbury Tales, by Geoffrey Chaucer
Like the British accent today, Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales charms at first, but in the end sounds ridiculous. Buh-dumh-ching! Really, though, the book is just too old. Reading it under the tutelage of a doctoral professor of Middle Earth (or is it middle-English?) is the only way to do it, and even then it is slow going at best.
After finding out that the rape that appalled you was supposed to be funny, you’ll find yourself being chided for laughing at the next rape–because that one was not funny. The entire collection is a roller-coaster of meanings and double meanings, which all need to be explained step by step. They need to be explained not because they were written in another language, no, middle-English is actually the first version of English we are told; the reason they need to be explained is because life was so very different back in the 14th century. Well, no, that’s not right either. Or is it? Wait, what’s going on?
After three months of reading and studying, I am still not convinced why I should value so highly a work that requires so much explanation. Does the Mona Lisa require explanation? The pyramids of Giza? Plus, the apparent result of fully investing oneself in Chaucer’s genius leads only to wanting to sleep with the man. While intriguing to some, I can’t get there from here.
This review might have become more a review of the course or the way the Tales were presented than the Tales themselves. Oh well. While there were enjoyable moments, for any reader that hasn’t skipped reading books written in the last 700 years since the Tales, there was nothing new.
In the end, The Canterbury Tales may have been new in their day, but the serious reader need not feel guilty for skipping this seminal work.
Review of Mere Christianity, by C. S. Lewis
The back cover C. S. Lewis’ Mere Christianity has the word “Religion” printed in the upper left corner. This should be the first clue as to who the publishers thought Lewis’ audience would be. Mere Christianity, which is mostly the printed version of several radio talks Lewis gave, does little more than preach to the choir. Granted, every writer or speaker must choose a target audience. And in this book, Lewis chooses Christians. Throughout the 192-page book, concepts familiar to Christians and lay-theologians abound. Lewis’ voice is clear and his intent, noble. When it comes to religion, though, results seem to be more important than intent, and here is where we begin to question Lewis’ work.
At every turn Lewis remarks, “If this is useful, use it. If not, skip it.” It’s all very heart-warming until we stop and consider the repercussions of failure. As a Christian, Lewis relentlessly forces the reader to acknowledge the unpleasant parts of Christianity, most notably–though he never addresses it outright–an afterlife in hell. We find it disconcerting that a book would be geared towards those who have already avoided this hell. We can’t but think of Sunday school stories of Jesus seeking out the sinners, not the saints. Instead of mirroring this trend, Mere Christianity decides to tackle such high-brow concepts as the nature of God, the Trinity, Jesus, predestination, usury and more. In fact, he offers commentary on such a breadth of topics that it would be impossible for him to come out squeaky clean. Take the following example. At one point Lewis tries his hand at explaining why Christianity hasn’t fared better throughout history, assuming it is true. He writes:
You will find this again and again about anything that is really Christian: everyone is attracted by bits of it and wants to pick out those bits and leave the rest. That is why we do not get much further: and that is why people who are fighting for quite opposite things can both say they are fighting for Christianity (81).
With this assessment Lewis opens the door to debating why Christianity hasn’t/doesn’t/isn’t (fill in the blank). Our own unending curiosity already led us to an answer that even Lewis can’t top. To be specific, in his own attempt at clarity Tolstoy infects his readers with idea that Christianity has continually missed the mark because, as a religion, it harmonizes that which was never intended to be harmonized.
And herein lies our most pointed criticism of Lewis’ “beloved” classic. Our problem with his enterprise comes after reading many of his eloquent metaphors which do kind of make sense. A man of his skill should have recognized his limitations. A man of his skill should have recognized the problem as it stood in front of him, and stands in front of us today.
C. S. Lewis can’t offer us salvation.
Christianity can’t offer us salvation.
There is only one man who can offer salvation–and his name is Jesus.
In the end, Mere Christianity is nothing more than another misguided, divisive attempt to unite a religion seemingly set on a path of unending fragmentation.
****
Lewis, C. S. Mere Christianity: Comprising The Case for Christianity, Christian Behaviour, and Beyond Personality. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1996. Print.
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