Religion at the movies …

Having not seen “The Golden Compass”, I am not in a position to offer informed comment on whether the movie serves to denigrate the Catholic Church. However, I happened to be an avid reader of the Narnia Chronicles in my youth and did not once construe the story as having any underlying religious bent, especially one seeking the subliminal conversion of non-believers to Christianity (i.e. neo-evangelism). In brief, I simply saw the texts as being imaginative and well-crafted stories of fiction.

With respect to Hollywood, I am in partial agreement with the assertion that the industry reflects reality, albeit an exceptionally warped version of the same. Examples would include the countless action blockbusters depicting Muslims, Middle Easterners and African Americans as stereotyped caricatures, perhaps with a view to allaying the inherent bigotry of an insular audience that derives comfort from having gross generalisations of minority groups re-enforced in the popular media. In the aftermath of 9/11, for example, I vividly recall having watched numerous American and UK programs in which the Islamic call to prayer was used to the same effect as the John Williams Jaws theme, namely to generate a sense of fear and menace.

Whilst I believe the statement “Hollywood needs Christianity” - as asserted by various Christian spokespersons - to be nothing short of preposterous, a lesson in morality, cultural sensitivity and social responsibility is long overdue. For example, consider the movie 'Black Hawk Down', directed by Ridley Scott which is gripping, intense and beautifully shot. It is also replete with historical inaccuracy and, at best, is a stunning misrepresentation of what happened in Somalia. Although the US entered Somalia in 1992 with the best of intentions, the overall military operations were characterised by intelligence failures, partisan deployments and the belief, held to this day, that you can bomb a nation into peace and prosperity. Instead of lessening the conflict between competing warlords, the US actually enhanced it by backing clan chiefs Mohamed Farah Aideed and Ali Mahdi against others of their kind.

Americans generally hold a black and white view of the world, such that movies addressing ‘grey’ or contentious topics serve to confuse and are hence regarded as morally ambiguous (e.g. Syriana, Munich and Brokeback Mountain). Indeed, the American movie producer Michael Class even saw it fit to launch the “American Values Award for Music and Television” some years back. In doing so, Class misses an indescribably important point, that just because a movie deals with a confronting, difficult and provocative subject, it is not automatically rendered immoral.

Further, the fact remains that the history of the Catholic Church will invariably prove a ample reservoir of inspiration for any person seeking to pen a story on the dehumanising effects of being force-fed dogma by an authoritarian and oppressive regime. Rather unsurprisingly, it is precisely this type of story with which a great many children relate and/or identify, albeit under the proviso that the under-age protagonists use intelligence, imagination and, above all else, free will to overcome the odds stacked against their favour. At day’s end, children, moreso than any other demographic, are expected to categorically accept the teachings of supposedly well-meaning guardians and elders. Should they then be taught through various mediums, entertainment included, to exercise critical thought before accepting blanket assertions, I fail to see the supposed harm caused as a result.

NYE 2008 …

Having completed work at approximately 4pm on the afternoon of 31 December 2007, I found myself perilously close to catching a train home immediately thereafter. Had I done so, this would have marked a clear departure from a promise made to various friends to attend a private function at a Kent St apartment.

Only two (2) months ago, I successfully completed the administration over my late friend’s estate with the assistance of the family’s solicitor. Few could’ve wished for a better result, as his apartment was purchased by a small consortium of friends under the proviso that a portion of rental proceeds would bequeath to a charity of his family’s preference. Nonetheless, I continued to feel as if something in me had changed irrevocably … and not necessarily for the better.

As with most men, I happen to hold a slight aversion to doctors and generally shy away from ‘professional’ assistance absent a major medical catastrophe. In remarking on symptoms, it’s likely that I was in acute depression as activities ordinarily deemed pleasurable no longer interested me. In the quiet moments preceding sleep, I could still smell the traces of disinfectant that greeted me upon having first walked into my late friend’s apartment following his suicide. It’s not merely him that I mourned for, but also his late wife and the children that would’ve inevitably followed in due course had not providence dealt them both an unplayable hand.

Although I continued with life’s ‘routine motions’ in much the same vein as before, precious little time was afforded to friends, family or even myself. It’s as if my conscience had been purged of all emotion, whereby I could logically ‘deduct’ the love and affection held for others but was rendered impotent in demonstrating the same through either words or action. In having lived the life of a societal hermit for some six (6) months, absent the customary log cabin in the mountains and surplus military garb that one finds in a disposal store, I came disturbingly close to losing several friends owing to my seeming apathy.

For me, NYE 2008 proved a saving grace of sorts. Upon having made my way to the Kent St apartment, I was immediately greeted by several dozen friends – some I’ve known for over 15 years, others less than 6 months. In each instance, the welcome was warm, heartfelt and bristling with the good natured cheer and playful jostling that only true friends can deliver. As the night progressed, I found myself mixing drinks, temporarily manning the all important BBQ, and listening to an instrumental duet played on two steel-string acoustic guitars.

The fireworks were of no interest, nor the crowds lining the streets. However, the sight of friends wishing one another well, enquiring about one another’s lives, loves and dreams, mock threatening one another with crude glow-stick nunchukas, and contemplating whether a middle-class man could ever be Batman proved captivating beyond words. Within the space of a few short hours, I came to realise that the camaraderie, good spirits and affectionate disposition of those before me was not confined to the moment, being the few hours preceding and following the advent of 2008. Rather, it happened to be a staple feature of a dozen or so close-knit friends who, through the vagaries of chance and coincidence, have come to know, appreciate and love one another over time.

Whilst no single friend can ever be replaced, the fact remains that those we love often hold the same or similar characteristics that makes each so exceptional. Armed with this knowledge, I can perhaps draw some comfort from the observation that the memory of those that have passed can live on in those that remain.