The Jesus Chainsaw Massacre: An Opinion

[Note: This entry started out as a series of coments over on Evil Science Chick's blog. Check her out -- she rocks.]

Personally, if I want to watch a movie that makes me reflect on Jesus' life and death give me "The Last Temptation of Christ" anyday. Now, that said, a couple of opinions/observations. Let me just start by saying that I, in no uncertain terms, think The Passion of the Christ is overrated. To say the least. A perfect example of buzz coinciding with the current religio-vogue, resulting in a runaway blockbuster sprouting from what is, essentially, a skillfully made, artsy, subtitled, religious grindhouse film.

If Rob Zombie got religion, he'd make the same fuckin' movie.

Some folks claim that this brutally violent and astonishing bloody film is simply Mel Gibson's story of Christ as reflected by these modern, ultra-violent times. Sorry -- that's horse shit. "The Passion of the Christ" is really nothing new, as far as drama goes, nor as far as explicitly violent and gruesome content go. Gibson just revived an outmoded dramatic form for modern viewers, and hired wonderful cinematogrpahers and art directors to bring it to the screen.

Exceptionally gory passion plays were a long-standing tradition for hundreds of years, from the middle ages up until I believe the 1800s in parts of Europe. While ones depicting the crucifixion were typically only performed during the Lenten season, outrageously "grand guignol" style "deaths of the saints and martyrs" dramas were terribly popular for a VERY long time. This was partly due to clerical opposition to theatrical productions that weren't explictly theologically-oriented (so theater owners would have to stage them in order to keep business going), but also because the audiences were often familiar with the content and would get excited by the opportunity to see a staging of some ghastly death or other.

Many of the productions used to get waste and scraps from the local charnel houses for use in the productions. The stages would be piled with the innards of all sorts of animals and dripping with buckets of blood. It's the most basic of sensationalist theater, and was very popular with the lower classes and the poor for obvious reasons (pure spectacle, not much in the way of intellectualism, purely visceral/emotional appeal), although the "upper crust" were certainly happy to go slumming and take in one on occasion.

Now, as far as people saying that "the passion," as a Christian tradition, is specifically concerned with the suffering and death of Christ, and therefore Gibson was simply adhering to these traditions, well, OK. Sure. "The passion" is about the crucifixion, not the totality of Christ's purpose. But that's also my primary critique of the film's content (and of passion plays in general). They shoot really low, aim for the lowest common religious denominator, and run with it. They focus attention purely on the part of the story that inspires anger, fear, outrage, disgust, pity, etc. -- base emotional responses -- without addressing the higher purposes that are fulfiled by the crucifixion. Emotionally and viscerally engaging, but theologically hollow. I've always had a problem with people who have tremendous resources at their disposal not attempting to do something new, challenging, significant with them.

It's the same problem I have with George Fucking Lucas and his crappy new Star Wars films. All that money, and that's the best you can do? Lucas recycles B-grade, Flash Gordon style sci-fi narrative, and Gibson recycles archaic religious theatrical tracts. Both lob a bunch of cash at them to make them look great. The end results are serviceable and full of technical and artistic achievement, but ... dramatically? Has something new been created? Has something about us, about what we think and why we think it, or (in Gibson's case) about what we believe and why, been illuminated? Nuh uh.

To put it in a less religion-oriented context, imagine watching explicitly gory footage of a motorcycle crash. You get to see, in close-up and slo-mo, as the victim's head in caved in by a tree or wall or something. Then, graphic footage of his organs being surgically removed from his body, one after another, for two hours, at which point he finally convulses, coughs up copious amounts of blood, and dies. Nasty, right? Stop at this point, and it's just repulsive and exploitative.

But if you place it in the context of his organs then being used to save the lives of a bunch of people who would have died without those organs, his suffering and death attain meaning. Context is everything, PARTICULARLY in the story of Christ.

Ultimately, that's why I feel like "Passion of the Christ" is little more than a slasher film for the WWJD set. The context of Christ's sacrifice is ultimately far more significant than Gibson's Jerusalem: CSI-style portrayal of his betrayal, torture, and death, and yet he chose to ignore the message and the meaning in preference to the bloody spectacle.

Happy Easter.

Mood: Relaxing
Now Playing: Nada

Butch Dog Food

Oh ...



... man ...



... these ...



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... funny!



Mood: Amused
Now Playing: Jane Monheit, "Copme Dream With Me"

"... find the ones without the hoe-downs"

Each paycheck I tuck about $100 or so into a little "mad money" account I keep for myself. Sometimes it's just extra cash in case we come up a bit short due to unexpected expenses, other times it's for gadgets or trips or a nice dinner out or whatever. Luxuries.

Rather than spend the $200 I had managed to sock away for a new iPod Shuffle, I instead chose to spend it on tickets for the family to see Varakai here in Austin. Far better use of the money, I assure you. Best $200 I've spent in a very long time. And I'm sure I'll get the iPod one of these days. Just not this month.

This was my second Cirque du Soleil show (Christine and I saw Dralion in Washington D.C. with our dear friends Linda and Susan about 3 years back -- wonderful, wonderful, wonderful). And after seeing this one I can pretty much guarantee I'm sold for at least a few more of their shows (definitely want to see Zumanity in Vegas next time we're in town. I mean, that's Cirque with BOOBIES. What's not to like?).

So, 5 things I love about Cirque du Soleil:

1. Costumes that look like "Mad Max" as envisioned by Jean Paul Gautier.
2. Otherworldly French warbling and glossolalia is just so darn hummable once the show is over. (Okay, maybe not. But the music always makes me think of what Dead Can Dance would have sounded like had they decided to go techno. And that's cool.)
   
3. Contortionists. Pretty contortionists. Pretty contortionists who undoubtedly speak with a thick accent. Woof.
4. Clowns that actually make me laugh, as opposed to making me want to run from the tent screaming "Mommy! Scary clowns!"
5. The fact that I gasp in surprise, lean forward in fear and anticipation, or blurt out "Oh wow!" like a kid at their first fireworks display about 150 times during any performance, without the slightest hint of irony or sarcasm. If you know me, you know that for me moments without sarcasm are as rare as a decent bagel anywhere south of Jersey.
   

It was amazing to see this live with my kids. The whole experience is so overwhelming, so saturated, that they just sort of settled into this wide-eyed wonder after the first fifteen minutes. Of course, it was all happening after their typical 8:00 bedtime, so exhaustion was clearly a factor. That said, they did both make it most of the way through the show before finally just passing out.

It was funny. As I watched the end of the show I felt for a second that I was somehow cheating them by not waking them up for the finale. Cirque shows have this way of making me feel simple, unadulterated, child-like wonder, and I wanted to share every bit of that with them. And then it occurred to me that as an adult, experiences like Cirque are treasured because make me feel like a child again. But they, being children, feel like that All The Time. So, even though they slept through the last 15 minutes or so, they weren't really missing a thing.

It reminds me of a line said by Felicity Huffman's character Dana on the late, lamented, brilliant show Sports Night, when relating her wakening to the power of theater after seeing "The Lion King" on Broadway.

"The music began and I just started to cry. I don't know where it came from. It was like ... church. I didn't know we could do that. Did you know we could do that?"

Cirque du Soleil makes me feel exactly like that.

Mood: Happy
Now Playing: Poe, "Haunted"