Film Journal 2024: Challengers
Directed by Luca Guadagnino

This is a bit of an assumption on my part, since I’ve only seen it once, but one of the biggest take aways from my initial viewing of Challengers is it definitely lingers as an experience and grows the more I think about the film, suggesting that this is bound to reward rewatches. More to the point, I find myself thinking about the film quite a bit.

Much or what I find myself thinking about are the technical elements. The film has such a feverish and pointed progression to its madness that some of its unique flourishes end up flying by without notice. The way it films the tennis matches, for example, shifting from different perspectives in order to keep us off balance. The film is far more cinematic than I expected as a whole. The way the film structures its story by jumping back and forth in time. The way the soundtrack and score leads different scenes.

The film is equally interesting on a dramatic front, with far more going on than first meets the eye. It’s balancing a three way power struggle, playing with who is the underdog and who has the power as the relational dynamics get more developed and entrenched. What’s clear is the film uses the tennis match as an allegory for the relational dynamics. What might be less obvious is the way these two things become an allegory for society and humanity at large. Here it hits close to home, daring us to confront the notion that this is, in fact, how life itself works.

And then there is simply the act of experiencing the film in the moment. The final 20 minutes or so are especially next level filmmaking. The intensity it manages to evoke, all of it earned, will have you leaning forward in your seats, and the way it lands its ending is nearly pitch perfect.

Film Journal 2024: Pratfall
Directed by Alex Andre

I guess the Before series has essentially come to define a whole genre. Another one of those films that easiest to describe as “Before, just with…”

Fill in the blanks with an unstable insomniac and a French tourist wandering and reflecting through the streets of New York City.

Loved the setting. Great visual presence. If the characters aren’t as iconic as the genre establishing romance that guides the day in the famed trilogy, they do have their own unique charms and interests.

Film Journal: The Moon and Back
Directed by Leah Bleich

Lots of wonderful and endearing dynamics at work here. It’s funny, sad quirky, charming, real, adventurous, relatable.

Setting it in an era where home movies were a thing and anyone could be a director by picking up that camcorder and getting creative without the aid of smartphone culture and technology helps to personalize the journey. Art meets life as part of a mutually engaged process, using the plot device of an unpublished script left behind by a dead father as a window into reflections on the power of memory to bring the past to life. Loved how they used it as a means of communication between father and daughter across the divide.

It definitely has that low key, no frills indie vibe, but as a debut it’s the creative vision that really shines.

With my recent shift in jobs, I’m still driving a school bus, and still driving for a private school (which, for my American friends, means religious/faith based school here in Manitoba). These things are the same.

I have seen a very real shifts though in location and the students. I have shifted from a rural setting to the city, and from most to not all Christian kids from a uniform background to driving a busload consisting of no less than 10 different ethnic backgrounds and 7 different religious expressions.

Which has been really interesting for me. Given that it is a private school, there is a certain degree of freedom I have in discussing matters of religion and faith that I wouldn’t have elswhere, only in this case I find myself engaging with a very real diversity of opinions and convictions and perspectives. I’ve been really appreciating learning from them while also challenging myself to think about the universality of such discussions and concerns. I’ve also been struck by how the students are not afraid to talk about religion at all. In fact, they seem genuinely interested in it.

This past week one such subject was the idea of heaven, or eternity. Strictly speaking, it’s a topic that requires some imagination, as we don’t really have good language for it. I was curious to see how this subject might translate in the midst of the diversity of those imaginations that make up my busload. Here there is both overlap and specific departures, but all pointing in a similar way to the problem of death.

Usng my own imagination, I might begin with this simple observation.
I thought about how we experience time from a finite perspective. So much so that it is common to think in terms of borrowed time, or the concept of making the best of the little time we have. This is the language that we have. Time begins. Time ends. And we experience this in the space between birth and death. To begin to imagine a universe with no beginning or no end, scientifically, philosophically or religiously, is a bit of an impossibility, because we don’t have language for it. It’s not something our brains can comprehend.

And yet, at the same time, if we compare an era when life expectancy was 40 with an era when life expectancy is 80, we can see how easily we shift our value systems accordingly to fit the potentiality that this given life span represents. We don’t decry that added 40 years, we shift our expectations of what a good life is. We see anything less than that expectant life span as lost potential and, on some level, a tragedy. Thus, it would seem natural to at least consider that our tendency to make finiteness a value in and if itself perhaps should be given pause. If 80 years is our present reality, it seems reasonable to conclude that it’s, at the very most, a contextualized reality.

This is one part of the equation. The other part of the equation relates to the quality of a life. It’s one thing to talk about length of years, It’s another thing to talk about the quality of those years. The reason we know the language of finiteness is because we experience decay, suffering and death. This is, then, the measure of a life according to our potential. The potential becomes the value. But what happens when we shift this measure from matters of quantity to the question of quality. What kind of life do we experience in the in-between space, and how does this become a measure of our value. Here things become far more complex.

In some sense, it is the collison point between expected life span and the quality of our experience that informs the push and pull of these values. This is how we arrive at the concept of potential as the driving value system that governs existence. Potential is driven by norms, and norms require context. Context is shaped by our experiences of the present. Thus, if experiencing finiteness as a measure of 80 years with a plethora of medicines, practices and tools that can alleviate sickness and suffering is our context, and this context has been normalized by our culture, then potential becomes an incredibly fluid and malleable notion. Especially when you begin to apply these norms to contexts that are not our own. This brings up numerous questions:
1. At what point do we deem the notion of our potential to have been exhausted?
2. How do we measure what we might call unrealized or unreached potential? Do we imagine this potential to have limits?
3. Is something like suffering deemed to be an enemy of potential only within the parameters of our constructed norms, or is it deemed simply to be an enemy of potential and thus something that needs to be done away with? The same question could apply to death. When we think of unrealized potential, do we imagine this only reaching so far? What is the aim of progress in this regard?
4. Can our concern for the present ever be detached from our assumptions about this unrealized potential?

Here is the thing. The language of finiteness depends on our experience of suffering, decay and death. This is what defines our reality as a “kind” of reality (one which experiences suffering, decay and death). All discussions of potential are held captive not onjy to this reality, but our context. Time as we know it exists only because of the existence of suffering, death and decay.

At the same time, life is defined by its potential. This potential exists in opposition to suffering, decay and death, even as it is also held captive by it. This becomes the working tension that we carry forward into discussions of the eternal or the infinite. In truth, and this is something that philosophy can demonstrate, for as long as our reality is defined by suffering, decay and death it cannot speak the language of eternal or infinite. It can only broaden the parameters, and as I reasoned above, there is no reason to believe that such broadening has a limit. To speak in terms of the eternal and the infinite requires one to imagine a different kind of reality altogether, one that requires a different language to be expressed. One defined by the absence of death.

If this is all true, then I think we can see how the language of finitensss tells us two essential things; First, death, suffering, and decay is in fact an enemy of life, not its definition. Second, the fact that we think in terms of potential tells us that in some way, shape or form, we understand that finiteness is not our primary language. We may have lost our mother tongue, but it nevertheless is still present in the ways that life continues to exist in opposition to death. Finiteness is not a value, it is a problem that needs a solution. The real awareness emerges when we consider that finiteness is not a problem that can ever be solved by simply broadening our parameters. We need a different reality to break in and not only transform our thinking and our language, but to redefine and change our experience. To give us a different context through which to measure the notion of potential.

Film Journal 2024: Late Night With The Devil

Directed by Cameron and Colin Cairnes

The irony of the present controversy regarding the filmmaker’s public admission over using AI, which is seen as an issue because of the way the question of AI has shaped the most recent strikes in Hollywood, is that this controversy exists over a film that is arguably about our ability to know what is real and what is not.

I don’t know. I get the larger issue. I get the role we as viewers play in terms of support. I also get our role as viewers play in supporting indie projects like this. To suggest this is morally complex, or morally ambiguous territory would be to understate the matter. However, simply taking the film for what it is, it’s also kind of interesting that the whole controversy adds some subversive subtext to the viewing experience.

Controversy aside, Late Night with the Devil is a uniquely imagined, and imaginative, journey into a bygone world, one where late night shows were event t.v., and where the late night wars were as real as the ripped jeans and tshirts that made up most of our wardrobe. The way the film brings this period to light was very well done, written into the practical set designs (more irony noted) in a way that accentuates the films creativity.

I loved the way the whole story was constructed to. We are being told the story through narration, which brings us through an opening 20 or so minutes which set the stage for the real concern- this particular episode of our main characters late night show, played to pitch perfect perfection by Jack Delroy, made in the midst of ratings concerns. What unfolds over the rest of the film is the unaired episode.

I did find myself wondering at points over the course of this film, whether the story actually ends up getting too complex for it’s own good. The set up I mentioned above seems simple enough. Where it goes with the story reaches much bigger and broader than that simple construct, offering layers of commentary on a few intersecting ideas. But then I found myself still ruminating over those complexities after I got home. This is where my appreciation for its thematic presence really started to grow, touching on everything from the wrestling with faith and doubt, exploring the nature of sin and its ability to colonize our lives, the trappings of capitalism, and even more intimate questions of identity and personhood.

Sure, its possible to experience and enjoy this simply on the level of a good horror film. Here I also think it delivers. It’s not jump scares, its more of a psychological fear that drives this one, inviting us to give ourselves over to the idea of a world where competing spiritual forces are infact very real, and then testing the lines of our cynicism and our doubts, exploring when and how we want to take things seriously. Perhaps most profoundly, these things don’t manifest simply as spirits in our imagination, but in the very real ways we operate in our specific socio-political realities, and in our relationships. This is where the arc of our main character becomes to fascinating to watch.

So many things to ponder here and to experience and to mull over. And it struck some legitimate notes of terror for me, both as a horror and as a commentary. Love that it takes a some big, imaginative swings, and on such a small budget. The controversy will be what it will be, and this film even has an opportunity to say something real about that. As a film though, I thought this one was effective and impressive.

Film Journal 2024: Problemista
Directed by Julio Torres

Impressive for the ways it celebrates the simple virtues of authenticity and creativity. It defies categories, telling its story in a way only it can. What makes this work as well as it does though is the ways the filmmaker actively invites us as viewers into the process. It never operates at our expense, but rather seems to want us as viewers to find our place in the unconventional nature of its storytelling approach, offering us real moments of relatability and humanity amidst the experimentation. The real world issues it is exploring never feel clouded or lost, but rather they given a fresh, and often fun lens for us to see them through.

For a film that is about immigration and the challenges of the American capitalist agenda, there is something powerfully endearing about this films ability to the simple art of being human. It is the developing relationship between the two main characters that becomes the films heart and soul, with the social and economic concerns functioning as the contextual backdrop, and on this front the film offers an unexpected emotional punch. It doesn’t just want a system challenged and/or deconstructed, it wants these humans to find healing and success. Watching them find this in each other, a most unlikely friendship and pairing, is the true joy of this story.

Reading Journal 2024: The Wood Between The Worlds: A Poetic Theology of the Cross
Author: Brian Zahnd

Beauty Will Save The World might still be where one should begin when diving into Zahnd. I contend it is his strongest and most important effort, and captures the essential conviction and thesis that runs through his larger body of work. The Wood Between the Worlds is more narrowed and specific, but proves to be one of his richest efforts.

Driving the book is the question of how something horrific becomes a symbol of the redemptive, how death becomes life, how the horrific becomes beautiful. Many want to rush past the cross, or leave it behind, precisely because of the way the cross has been used and understood within theological traditions. Zahnd wants to stop, just for a second, take a breathe, and to leave space for the cross to speak on its terms. Not to reject or impose what we might feel uncomfortable with or confused by, but to allow the cross to speak through what he calls the use of a theopoetic lens, which the different chapters assume and employ.

The book has a kind of linear movement, taking us through history and speaking to the present. It also delves into the different theological discussions surrounding the cross, particularly where it has to do with notions of atonement. As he does this, he gently challenges specific expressions on all sides by applying a grace filled use of ideas, art, writers, films, thinkers, histories, images. He never wants us to settle, rather he wants us to consider, and then reconsider again. And to allow the Spirit the space to speak in community, in our differences. From a theopoetic perspective, the key to this is keeping Christ at the center, and since Christ is love, keeping love at the center. As he contends, the cross sits at the climax of Christ’s story, and it is here that all ideas and all histories intersect in the person and ministry of Jesus. To embrace beauty, we must embrace the cross. To embrace life we must embrace the death, to embrace redemption we must embrace the horrific.

Film Journal 2024: King Arthur
Directed by Simon Cellan Jones

Simple, straightforward, perhaps a bit safe. When the formula works though, it works. And this true story ultimately manages to hit the right notes when it comes to its feel good, inspiring tale.

Film Journal 2024: Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire
Directed by Gil Kenan

The follow up to Afterlife, and this is not something I thought I would be saying a few years ago, has big shoes to fill. One of the great, unexpected delights of Afterlife was its minimalist and intimate approach. It allowed the film to take some of the scattered themes from the original franchise films and weave it into a poetic exploration of life, death, loss and newness. The slight stumbles in its obligatory third act did not overshadow its strengths, leaving a film that was fun, endearing, funny and meaningful.

This follow up tries on a larger size shoe, trading in the ambiguities of the first films imagining of the relationship between science and belief with a film that almost seems to reverse engineer its insights. Here the demigods of our mythologies are made to be real (and dangerous entities) while the spirit world they belong to is relegated to the field of quantum science. The film asks good questions- what is it like to become a ghost, or for a ghost to move on- questions that in the context of this film form its emotional core. And the story even offers an easy pitch to give these questions a fitting and meaningful conclusion. The bigness of the film, however, gets in the way of landing these themes and turning this story from relatively entertaining to emotionally impacting. Perhaps even more of its struggle comes from some of its beats feeling more like a retread than a natural progression.

Still, I’m all in on the new family, and whatever the film loses by trying on those bigger sized shoes is kept afloat by their chemistry and their authenticity. There were enough moments that garnered a smile and a laugh to remind me of why this latest iteration still works. There is a nice thread too, established in a singular scene in which we see both the retired and aged ghostbuster and the young, 15 year old prodigee, being left behind, watching the iconic symbol drive by without them, where we are looking in at the same questions from two different vantage points. This is where the film is at its finest, and these two stars, young and old, are the best parts of Frozen Empire by far. Thankfully we get a good dose of them in the first half of the film.

The story too had potential, for as big as it tries to go. The whole connection between worlds thing was interesting, and there is a young ghost who is given some complex things to work with regarding the plot. It just felt like too much, with the film rushing to catch up to it’s own plot progression at times, and sacrificing certain character moments in the process. It also seems like the film needed to go darker than it does for its central threat to really translate.

I’d be perfectly okay with coming back to this world. I suspect that the novelty of that nostalgic factor will wear off by this point for some audience members. In that case, if they are able to double down on telling fresh, and smaller, stories moving forward I feel like this could find some continued success.

Film Journal 2024: Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire
Directed by Adam Wingard

This is a long ways from where we started. Takes all of about 5 seconds for this thing to hit the ground running, not to mention some bizarre tonal shifts that yank the viewer left and right in the first 5 minutes. Whatever whiplash this might give you, it does manage fo find its rhythm, using it to play up the monster mashup ×100 by the end.

It is dumb, but I think if you are a fan of this particular kind of Godzilla/Kong movie, which fits most readily in line with its predecessor (and even then, ratches things up), you should have a good time.

The middle part of the film is the strongest, having assembled the cast of characters, given us a decent dose of the monsters, and then engaging in some world building. Once it hits the back half the story gets cranked up into overdrive and the plot essentially fades away in favor of the climactic showdown we all know is coming.

This is probably the most ambitious of the bunch on an idea front. It lacks the atmosphere of Godzilla, the cinematic presence of Kong and the thematic push of King of Monsters. Even the sheer spectacle of Godzilla versus Kong seemed to feel more substantive in its world building and a bit more urgent in terms of the threats (I mean, it was literally Kong versus Godzilla, so The New Empire wasn’t going to top that). But a step down still has its entertainment value, especially when it’s made for Imax, and this at least knows what it’s going for in terms of silly fun.

If you aren’t a fan of this kind of Godzilla/Kong movie, and especially if you think this one would make you bitter releasing on the heels of the most recent international iteration, then rest assured, you’ll probably hate this.