On Che and Church

I've been traveling a lot lately, so I haven't had time to post any new movie reviews (hopefully, this will change come next week). In the meantime, check out the debate that's been going on regarding Rhett Davis' review of The Motorcycle Diaries. I haven't seen this movie yet, since I want to read the book first (yes, I can be a stickler that way); however, that didn't stop me from diving into the fray!

Good Night, and Good Luck: Idolatry and National Commitment

This review was published originally on cinekklesia on December 10, 2005.

Several years ago, I saw the political theorist Tom Palmer give a presentation at Duke University. He made a simple, yet telling, analogy between his vision of the good society and the act of driving. In most cases, driving is a relatively free, unstructured experience. Sure, there are some basic rules to follow regarding speed limits, stop lights, and the like; nevertheless, the millions of people on the road every day are relatively independent: they each have their own destinations, their own plans, their own preferences. In one sense, driving is a rather mesmerizing social experience: with just a few simple rules, millions go about their daily lives and largely leave their fellow travelers alone.

So it should be with the good society, Palmer believes. There is no need for a centralized bureaucracy telling people where to go, how to work, and with whom to interact. We just need a few basic rules and a method for holding accountable the rule breakers; otherwise, people can be left to their own devices. Theoretically, the United States was founded on such a thin, decentralized view of the good life. How, then, have things gone so horribly awry?

George Clooney's Good Night, and Good Luck (2005) doesn't tackle this question directly, but its snapshot of the anti-communist fervor of 1950s America sheds some light on how political movements so easily disrupt the live-and-let-live ethos that traditionally has served us well. Clooney documents Senator Joseph McCarthy's hunt for communists from the perspective of broadcast journalist Edward R. Murrow (David Strathairn), who, while working for CBS, sought to expose the intimidation and thuggery that characterized McCarthy's crusade. On an aesthetic level, I found Clooney's movie largely enjoyable, especially since he chose to film in an exquisite black-and-white, which allowed for a play of shadow and contrast that is hard to achieve with color. Unfortunately, the movie's momentum slowed to a lackluster level near the end, and that proved disappointing (especially since I had heard good things about this film).

In terms of content and theme, Clooney's intent is clear. While communism and radical Islam are very different movements in very different epochs, they both managed to create a climate of fear and suspicion in these United States. Clooney is warning us not to fall into the trap of hysteria, which allows powerful members of any society to target "suspicious," unpopular segments. If the Soviet-backed communist was Public Enemy No. 1 during the Cold War, then the Islamic terrorist is the poster boy for the U.S.'s new raison d'etre, the new explanation for "why we fight."

What Clooney does not address is the root problem behind our response to both communism and radical Islam: the lingering desire to construct a "national purpose." In regards to both threats, we demonstrated an inability to treat them as mere security problems to be dealt with by the state (a state that we "hired," after all, through the ballot box). We moved beyond the utilitarian realm and began seeing both communism and radical Islam as infringements on our national identity, our "way of life." Once Americans began to perceive the threats in personal terms ("Why do they hate us?"), it then became easier for agents of the state—politicians, soldiers, bureaucrats—to portray themselves as our protectors. McCarthy was not merely the "Junior Senator from Wisconsin"; he wanted us to perceive him as a man on a mission, saving his American brethren from a threat that the urban elite failed to take seriously.

In the case of 9/11, we did not treat Al-Qaeda as a group to be fought with professionalism and cool precision. Rather, we allowed our emotions to get the better of us. We took the attacks on a personal, rather than ideological or geo-political, level, thus allowing the state to assume a paternalistic—as opposed to utilitarian—role. This partially explains the current expansion in the size and scope of government, both militarily and domestically. Rather than see 9/11 as a failure of the state—as a reason to fire some officials, eradicate some agencies, and overhaul our intelligence gathering—we have allowed our representatives to pour even more money down the same old drain.

Sometimes, I feel nostalgic for the 1990's, those halcyon days between the end of the Cold War and 9/11, when the Soviet Union was a fading memory and radical Islam did not dominate our political discourse, when the United States lacked a national purpose (other than allowing citizens to follow their own individual pursuits), when it seemed that we shared Tom Palmer's sentiments about what makes a good society. Sure, there were some who fretted America's lack of a rallying project; more importantly, however, there were also those who derided such fretting, who appreciated the benefits of living in a society that allowed people, for the most part, to go their own way.

So what's so bad about a "national purpose"? Simply put, it leads to idolatry. When we do not treat the state as simply a utilitarian device, when we identify too heavily with the nation-state on a personal level, when it becomes the entity "higher than the self" that gives us purpose and meaning, then we have blurred (nay, extinguished) the line between God and Caesar (Mt. 22:15-22), and our allegiance becomes corrupted.

While the Soviet Union was certainly a hegemonic threat and while radical Islam has proven deadly, Americans—Christian and otherwise—would do well to examine such global phenomena with care and nuance. Rather than jump on the bandwagon of those who promise to protect us (so long as we swear our allegiance to their cause), and rather than follow any project that promises to glorify the nation-state (at the expense of the One who truly deserves such glory), we would do well to step back, take a deep breath, and see where our commitments truly reside. After all, it is the Christian's responsibility to make sure that he/she never mistakes Caesar for God.

Word Wars: What's Wrong with Obsession?

This review was published originally on cinekklesia on December 1, 2005.

My wife, the sociologist, occasionally reminds me that when we examine labels and definitions, we need to find out not only what those labels and definitions are, but who initiates and/or perpetuates them. If our knowledge is socially mediated (or, in a more extreme sense, socially constructed), then it is helpful to know who is trying to get us to believe what. While it is true that the mere fact that a particular person or group is advancing an idea should not automatically invalidate that idea, it is nevertheless helpful to examine the person's/group's overall perspective. Where are they coming from? Do they have an overall agenda? Does the idea fit neatly (perhaps too neatly) into that agenda?

This may seem like an odd way to begin a review of a documentary about competitive Scrabble, but as we shall see, the way we label and define the characters in this film are not necessarily "objectively" determined, but socially mediated.

At one level, Eric Chaikin and Julian Petrillo's Word Wars (2004) would fall into the "freak show" category of documentaries. Such films give viewers a glimpse into unusual subcultures that they normally would not encounter, essentially providing an opportunity to gawk at—and mock—"weird" people with disturbing habits, unsophisticated tastes, and quirky obsessions. Other documentaries that fall into this vein are Errol Morris' Fast, Cheap & Out of Control, an examination of four men who are experts (nay, geniuses) at their respective crafts but who may lack a "healthy" or "balanced" worldview, and Roger Nygard's Trekkies, which needs no elaboration. While all three of these films are intelligent and entertaining, we, the viewers, must admit that at least two of them (Word Wars and Trekkies) allow us to play the part of snickering voyeur, to feel superior to the poor saps who, for the most part, have wasted their lives on "worthless" pursuits.

Word Wars tracks the lives of four competitive Scrabble players—Joe, Joel, Marlon, and Matt—who spend much of the year traveling to various tournaments across the country and who all want to become the next national champion. (One of the players, Joe, already won the coveted title in a previous year.) They come from widely disparate backgrounds, but they all share an acute ability to memorize long, obscure words and to figure out wildly complicated anagrams. They are all nationally ranked, and as such, know each other from all of their tournament play (we also see that their relationships fall into the "love-hate" variety).

Now, you might be sitting there, thinking to yourself: "Well, I usually win the Scrabble game at my family's annual Christmas gathering. I'm also really good at crosswords. Maybe I should quit my gig as an orthopaedic surgeon and join the Scrabble circuit where there's real money to be made." Alas, if only life were that simple. Unfortunately, the most that anybody can make at a single Scrabble tournament is $25,000 — and that's for the national champion! As we see in Word Wars, the best players usually can make only a few hundred dollars at any given tournament; after subtracting travel costs, we see that the Scrabble circuit is not the steadiest way to make a living.

This brings up the underlying question of Chaikin and Petrillo's documentary: How do these guys live? Joe is the only one who has a steady job; we see him practicing with flashcards as he drives to work. It is not terribly clear how Joel and Matt get money (sympathetic relatives, perhaps?), though it is clear that their material possessions are few (by U.S. standards). (Their homes are also very messy — there's not much time for cleaning when the next tournament is just days away!). Marlon lives with his mother in inner-city Baltimore; she clearly takes care of his lodging, though it is not clear whether she also funds his tournament travel and prodigious pot habit.

Regardless of how "professional" Scrabble players live, Word Wars makes it obvious for what they live. Here comes the "freak show" element. These men (and others like them) have an intellectual and emotional attachment to the game that goes beyond that of the general public (who would just see Scrabble as an occasional pursuit, solely for the purpose of fun and camaraderie); they are, in short, "obsessed." If these men had dedicated the same amount of time and energy to a more lucrative endeavor, they would have been sitting pretty by now. However, they have chosen to dedicate their lives to Scrabble, and their obsession has put them in the social category of "losers."

This, of course, is what we're supposed to believe. No "sane" person would dedicate his/her life to a board game, right? Sure, there are some people who can make it big in parlor pursuits, but most of us have to strive for contentment with our "day jobs" and relegate fun to the realm of "free time" — that is, if we want to build a career, own nice things, and contribute to a 401(k).

Our society's use of the term "obsession" implies that the obsessed party could be doing something better with his/her time. However, while this implication holds strong social weight, it is not necessarily true. It is completely possible that Joe, Joel, Marlon, and Matt have tapped into a plane of consciousness that is higher than that occupied by the pedestrian hordes. Perhaps the orthopaedic surgeon should quit his/her profession and seek a more profound life on the Scrabble circuit. Perhaps the career, the possessions, the 401(k) are obstructions that prevent us from living a pure, unmediated life. Perhaps all we really need is a sleeping bag, a change of clothes, and a Scrabble set — at which point, we finally will be happy.

This may seem ludicrous, but just tweak my words ever so slightly, and you'll see that this theme of acceptable (nay, moral) obsession is entirely consistent with the New Testament. The Biblical passages exhorting us to give up everything for the One True God (e.g., Mt. 13:44-6, Mk. 10:17-31 Ph. 3:1-11), are numerous and yet, easily glossed over by our culture. While by no means an explicitly theological movie, Word Wars still illustrates, albeit indirectly, a theological truth: the only valuable pursuit for a Christian is, in fact, an obsessive pursuit of Jesus. Everything else is mere C₃ H₄ A₁ F₄ F₄.