Air Guitar Nation: The Apex of Civilization?

This review was first published on cinekklesia on September 22, 2007.

One of my first exposures to the world of competitive air guitar came on a 2004 business trip to Atlanta. I was on my flight, thumbing through the airline's magazine, when I saw a British journalist's article regarding the most recent Air Guitar World Championships in Oulu, Finland. Aah, but the journalist was not merely reporting; he was a participant, proudly representing his country in the relatively new (but increasingly popular) art form. I was fascinated. The competition's organizers had taken what some less-innovative minds might consider a mere "joke" and turned it into a full-fledged artistic discipline. If air guitar is not a joke, if it has established itself as an art form, then could it signal the apex of civilization as we know it? Have we finally reached the pinnacle of human achievement?

Enter Alexandra Lipsitz's Air Guitar Nation (2006), which doesn't answer such profound civilizational questions, but instead provides a helpful introduction to the trailblazing community of would-be rock legends. Specifically, the documentary focuses on the first air-guitar championships in the United States, a country which inexplicably had been missing from the international stage. After all, didn't the U.S. "invent" rock 'n' roll — and, by extension, air guitar? Why had Americans, a competitive lot if there ever was one, not packed their bags for Finland? The organizers of the U.S. competition were hoping to change that.

The two air-guitar maestros that take center stage in Lipsitz's work are David Jung (stage name: C-Diddy) and Dan Crane (a.k.a., Bjorn Turoque — Born to Rock, get it?!). Their rivalry serves as the primary narrative focus of Air Guitar Nation: Jung is the relatively laid-back, happy-go-lucky artist, while Crane is the more serious competitor, determined to take back the honor that he believes Jung undeservedly won at his expense. Along the way, we meet a variety of air guitarists, competition organizers, fans, family members, etc. At the end of the movie, we not only have a good introduction to the air-guitar community, but we just might have the urge to put on a metal album and take a stab at it ourselves.

So, is air guitar the apex of civilization? In one sense, it is. We seemingly have reached the point at which people can take an activity previously relegated to the privacy of one's home—and, more specifically, the privacy of one's bedroom—and perform it publicly, formally, and with artistic merit. It is also not an activity reserved for the rich. While some art forms require one to train for years and to purchase expensive supplies just for the privilege of participating (let alone achieving recognition), air guitar simply requires a little bit of practice and a cheap tape/CD player from a discount store. Think about it. What takes more time and money: playing Beethoven's Piano Concerto No.5 or performing an air-guitar rendition of Motörhead's "Ace of Spades" (featured in the movie)?

Naysayers, of course, would counter that air guitar actually showcases the decline of civilization: the further lowering of artistic standards, the perverse outcome of our seemingly insatiable democratization of culture. The years of training that one must devote to an art form is what makes that art form great; any punk can play air guitar, but only a few can tackle a concerto. As such, we have artistic canons, we have scholars and critics who tell us why something is important, valuable, or simply good. We have standards, and high standards are what make for advanced civilizations.

The naysayers are exhibiting a narrow aesthetic preference: a work that is difficult to perform and that is classified as cultured, refined, and high-brow is worthy of "civilized" praise. There is nothing wrong with this view, since anyone can define "civilization" in any way he/she chooses. However, I argue for a broader view, one that takes into account the socioeconomic conditions that allow for air guitar to develop as its own art form. Air guitar's mere existence actually evinces a healthy civilization: one that is thriving, full of vitality, creativity, and fun. One doesn't have to be a fan of air guitar in order to appreciate its social importance.

Since I'm writing in cinekklesia, I suspect that some readers may remain skeptical. Is air guitar not a waste of time? How does it bring glory to God? (These questions would be heightened by some stereotypical rock 'n' roll behavior portrayed in the movie—as air guitarists take after "real" rock heroes?—which include a little bit of profanity, nudity, and sacrilege.) However, we could ask the same question of Beethoven's Piano Concerto No. 5 (a piece which I love, by the way): what value does it truly have? Is it not ultimately a waste of time? If one takes a stark, all-or-nothing view of the world, believing that all of its components are fundamentally and irretrievably lost, then neither air guitar nor Beethoven concertos deserve our time and attention.

As such, I must conclude that air guitar is a sign of the apex of human civilization, as distinct from God's Kingdom. I do not find air guitar of intrinsic value, and I know that it very well could end up on the cosmic ash heap once the Eschaton arrives. Nevertheless, we should acknowledge how air guitar signals the vitality and fullness of a civilization in which ordinary people of modest means can participate meaningfully in their society's artistic life. Rock on.

The Eyes of Tammy Faye: A Lesson in Grace

This review was published originally on cinekklesia on September 8, 2007.

It is, perhaps, fitting (maybe even poetic) that Tammy Faye Messner and Jerry Falwell passed away so close to each other. They were two giants of the age of televangelism, a distinct phenomenon in Christian history in which the Gospel—and a whole bunch of other, less savory, messages—have been preached to millions of viewers around the world. At one level, detached scholars may look back on our period and note the importance of televangelism; love it or hate it, one cannot deny its important position within Christian history. On the other hand, the whole phenomenon is prone to a tackiness—and sometimes a meanness—that seem unfit for Our Lord and Savior.

Enter Fenton Bailey and Randy Barbato's The Eyes of Tammy Faye (2000), a fascinating, informative, and surprisingly sympathetic portrayal of perhaps the quintessential figure of televangelism. Tammy Faye Bakker (who became Tammy Faye Messner upon remarriage) and husband Jim ran the PTL (Praise the Lord) program, which achieved notoriety in the 1980s for its immense success followed by an equally immense fall due to financial and sexual scandal. The documentary provides lots of interesting tidbits about Jim and Tammy: how they met in Bible college, their early life as itinerant preachers, their shaky start in television, and how PTL developed a niche as a friendly alternative to the more dour, fire-and-brimstone televangelists. We also learn that Tammy Faye went out on a limb as one of the first within the Evangelical tent to embrace those with HIV/AIDS (back when it was known almost exclusively as a "gay man's disease").

Nevertheless, with success often comes excess, and PTL was no exception. Jim and Tammy's empire was huge, with the most visible symbol being Heritage USA, a theme park designed as a Christian parallel to the Disney properties. Near the end of PTL's run, there were some financial, um, problems that forced the Bakkers to work overtime at raising money in order to keep the operation afloat. We also learn that Tammy Faye was abusing meds just to keep her wits about her. Oh, and there was that messy little one-night stand between Jim Bakker and Jessica Hahn. All-in-all, Jim and Tammy's saga ended with a giant thud, as their entire operation imploded from the weight of corruption and adultery.

(By the way, it is very important to note that throughout the documentary, Tammy Faye consistently defended PTL and felt that external actors were out to slander the operation. It is also crucial to note that Jerry Falwell comes across very poorly in the movie, portrayed as a disingenuous vulture, pouncing on the Bakker empire—his rivals—at its weakest moment. Of course, caution would dictate that we remember that the documentary is told largely from Tammy Faye's perspective.)

I remember the field day that journalists and comedians had when the multiple scandals broke. Hypocrisy is, of course, the easiest fodder for critics, and Tammy Faye's personal aesthetic didn't help her cause. The impression that people formed of Tammy Faye—that she was a Christianized version of a "ditzy blonde" with an outlandish lifestyle and shockingly excessive make-up—came to symbolize something hideously wrong with televangelism: namely, its tackiness and corruption. When a group of Christians decided to enter the world of multimedia entertainment, it seemed that they fell prey to all of that world's vices (which forces us to ask: to what extent can Christians enter any secular sphere without becoming sullied?).

Yet, The Eyes of Tammy Faye is about a lot more than the scandal that sent Jim Bakker to prison and Tammy Faye into social and cultural exile. When I first heard about the documentary, I got the impression that it would be a cheeky depiction, full of sarcastic tones and ironic references. It is actually a very compassionate and respectful portrait of a woman who had experienced the whole gamut of human emotion, who had suffered tragedy and humiliation, but who nevertheless persevered with grace and dignity.

In the latter days of her life, after PTL and before her struggle against cancer, Tammy Faye attempted to get back into the entertainment world with varying degrees of success. She continued trying to deal with the emotional effects of PTL's downfall, and one suspects that she knew full well her status as the butt of many a joke in popular culture. However, she also exhibited a grace and compassion that was both admirable and disarming. For example, the documentarians interviewed a journalist who had written a book about PTL's downfall, and they actually had him meet with Tammy Faye on camera. Even though she vigorously challenged his book's claims, she also signed one or two copies (how's that for "no hard feelings?"). Tammy Faye also remained very respectful of Jim Bakker, despite his infidelity and the subsequent divorce; that, too, should provide us with a positive example of how to interact with those who have done us harm.

I'm glad that I watched The Eyes of Tammy Faye. Do I still think that she had a tacky aesthetic? Of course. Do I still look at televangelism with a wary eye? Absolutely. However, Bailey and Barbato have done the world a service by giving us a fuller, more holistic portrait of a woman who learned the meaning of grace and who maintained her faith during the tough times. In that sense, Tammy Faye has taught us all a valuable lesson.

The Lives of Others: The Constancy of Choice

This review was published originally on cinekklesia on September 1, 2007.

If I remember correctly, I initially encountered Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck's The Lives of Others (2006) when looking at the list of last year's Oscar nominations. It was nominated for—and eventually won—the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language film. I dutifully put it on my Netflix queue, where it sat many months prior to its official DVD release. It was well worth the wait.

The Lives of Others takes place in the former East Germany of the 1980s, when the state ruled supreme, supported by the infamous Stasi (an internal security agency). The movie specifically focuses on the plight of writers and artists, who essentially had three choices: (1) escape into exile (a risky proposition), (2) speak out against the regime (an equally, if not more, risky proposition), or (3) "get along" with the authorities so as to be able to continue writing, acting, directing, etc.

Donnersmarck presents us with Georg Dreyman (Sebastian Koch), a playwright who has chosen (at least initially) the third option. He's not necessarily happy with the East German regime, and he feels that its treatment of dissident artists is too harsh; nevertheless, for all practical purposes, he toes the line so that he can keep writing. On the other side is Hauptmann Gerd Wiesler (Ulrich Mühe), a hard-line veteran of the Stasi, who suspects Dreyman of subversion and proceeds to have his apartment completely bugged.

Much of the movie shows Dreyman and Wiesler leading parallel, yet intimately connected, lives. Wiesler spends hours sitting in his secret compound, listening to countless details of Dreyman's life: passionate disputes, mundane conversations, sexual encounters. Donnersmarck presents us with a snapshot of how a totalitarian society keeps a lid on its citizens: it not only controls the information that ordinary people consume, but it also keeps tabs on what "subversives" (or potential subversives) are thinking and feeling.

Yet, even in a society as lockstep as the former East Germany, people can (and do) find ways to resist. We see a change in both Dreyman and (more interestingly) Wiesler. After a personal tragedy, Dreyman begins to question whether his accommodation with the state is worth it, especially as he sees the repression that his friends suffer. Wiesler, after hours of eavesdropping into Dreyman's life, begins to feel some sympathy for the writer — not necessarily (or overtly) resulting from ideological conversion, but rather, from simple compassion. Though it is not clear where in Wiesler's psyche resides such sympathy (since he initially is presented as a cold, hard-line Stasi agent), we nevertheless start to see him breaking protocol and "covering" for Dreyman as the writer becomes more politically active.

Besides its wonderful writing and acting, The Lives of Others does what every great movie should do: present old themes in fresh, creative ways. Besides the questions of individualism (and individual privacy) versus state control that Donnersmarck raises, the director forces us to think (again) about the role of choice in morally difficult circumstances. The former East Germany is simply an extreme case of people having to decide whether (a) they like the status quo and actively support it, (b) they don't like it but don't take any action, (c) they don't like it and try to leave, or (d) they don't like it but stay and try to resist.

These options are always available to us at any moment in time — and we don't have to live in a totalitarian regime in order to pursue them. Even in a situation as seemingly benign as an ordinary, everyday job, there exists a status quo and the choice of whether to challenge it or not. If we find it morally problematic, then we have to decide whether to take action or to maintain a low profile and collect the next paycheck. The reality, of course, is that we probably encounter many situations in our everyday lives (not just at work) with which we have moral disagreement but with which we learn to tolerate. Rocking the proverbial boat, after all, comes with consequences — the least of which is the time and effort it takes to resist.

So, at what point does someone take a stand? This, of course, varies between individuals, but a person has to reach a point—consciously or unconsciously—at which the moral question supersedes all others. In other words, the person sees his/her reputation, financial security, and even physical safety as taking a back seat to the moral question. That question becomes the most important thing and maybe the only important thing. For Dreyman, his personal tragedy becomes the moment at which he recognizes both the moral bankruptcy of accommodation and the practical futility of trying to please East Germany's fickle and corrupt cultural overlords.

One thing that we cannot claim is to have no choice. We always have a choice, regardless of how difficult and unpleasant our options may be. As such, at any moment in time, we are doing exactly what we want to do—within our material constraints—whether we care to admit it or not. If we choose to remain in a morally problematic situation or to continue dealing with morally bankrupt people, then we have stated implicitly that we value other things (like financial security) more highly. This may make us feel bad, but we nevertheless should admit to it and either change our ways or learn to live with ourselves.

The questions of morality and resistance are, of course, only a part of Donnersmarck's well-crafted, multi-layered film. I highly recommend The Lives of Others to anybody who cares about complex, sophisticated—yet accessible—filmmaking.