Half Past Noon

There have been too many videos, not enough writing on HPN recently. To that end I’m laying down an HPN writing challenge: the first annual summer hitlist. How does it work? Simply write out what’s “in” and “out” in your world this summer.

As George Grant recently quoted on his blog, “When a thing ceases to be a subject of controversy, it ceases to be a subject of interest.” – William Hazlitt

Summer is a time for novelty. New music, new weather, new friends (this town clears out in the summers). So don’t fear the cutting edge – in can be as sophistic or esoteric, or not, as you like.

Here’s my first attempt:

I tend to be longsuffering with bad stories. It’s sad, I know. My “story filter” should allow me—even encourage me—to turn off terrible movies or put down awful books. But I don’t. I’m patient to a fault, which is just a self-complimentary way of saying, “I have to know how it ends!”

But what do you do when the ending fails to live up to the rest of the movie? Of course, this rarely ever happens; however, oddly enough, this is exactly how I’ve felt about the last two movies I’ve watched.

The first was Redbelt, David Mamet’s latest movie about a mixed martial arts fighting instructor. To begin, the dialogue in this movie is superb. It drives the plot forward, engagingly, all without giving away too much information too soon. And though the plot will feel familiar to anyone who’s watched Mamet’s earlier work, it’s still fresh: our hero is the lovable, down-and-out Mike Terry who’s fighting to watch out for his friends, uphold virtue, and convince his wife that he can be a provider.

To be fair, the ending doesn’t unravel the rest of the movie. If anything, it just doesn’t tie things up neatly enough. There are unanswered questions about characters, unresolved characters even, and the ending feels like it needed to be at least two-and-a-half minutes longer. I want to know what happened to the actor, I want to know what Terry will do next (it doesn’t feel like the end finishes his arc), and I want to know what happens with Emily Mortimer.

Still, I’m glad I watched it. If you haven’t, believe me, you could do worse.

In many ways The Visitor is perhaps the most compelling movie I’ve seen since I became infatuated with Hellboy II: The Golden Army. (High praise, eh?) Its plot is nothing groundbreaking (snarky old professor forced to learn how to live with and for others), but the dialogue is captivating. Richard Jenkins’s delivery is particularly compelling, even though he tends to speak slowly: in a way, he pushes you forward while still holding you back. Perfect, beautiful stuff.

But the movie’s climactic scene seems to unravel a few threads. It turns away from revealing character, revealing love, and spirals into an incredibly preachy monologue. “It’s not fair!” the professor yells at two disinterested bureaucrats. From there to the end, the movie undoes its good deeds: it breezily removes the UST that had dominated the screen for the last forty minutes, so breezily that you feel like you’re watching two lusty teenagers instead of two full-grown adults. (Is that real? Perhaps. But it destroys the flow of the film. Suddenly, what was about real love—self-sacrifice—dissolves into a rather unbelievable and unsatisfying moment of “passion.”)

Even the film’s closing scene, though touching, fails to satisfy. I was left wondering whether the Professor had learned anything at all, if he had really started a new way of life or had simply changed out his toys and scenery.

I won’t deny that I still enjoyed these films, but I have to admit that I’d rather a watch a terrible movie that ends well than a pretty good movie that doesn’t. The former type feels like a deathbed conversion, the kind that is undoubtedly a miracle and moves you to sing, “Hallelujah! Amen.” On the other hand, the latter—even while it has much to offer and teach—is like watching the end of the life of David, a man so full of hope and promise, who sees his family tear themselves apart and dies weak, out of touch with reality, noble and yet broken in a way that brings tears instead of song.

So. I have finally encountered “the rub” in N.T. Wright’s Surprised by Hope: the bit about economics.

Allow me a few “preface” points. First, I realize that this is not the heart of Wright’s argument. (I love this book very much and consider it lifechanging.) Second, what I have to say is a personal statement: please keep that in mind. Third, I am no expert in these matters. What I offer here is merely the best sense I can make of my own gleanings and meditations. Fourth, I make no claims to 100% sound logic or clear thinking. It’s late, I never really understood all those danged symbols, and the brain doesn’t work that straightly anyway. If you can point out my errors, miscalculations, or misjudgments, I will truly be most grateful.

To proceed, the quote:

The Cold War years enabled the United States to build up its persona as God’s answer to communism. Many conservative churches there still live by the belief that what’s good for America is good for God—with the result, for instance, that if their country needs to produce more acid rain in order to keep up car production, then God must be happy with it and anyone who talks about pollution or is disappointed that the president didn’t sign the Kyoto protocol is somehow anti-Christian or is simply producing a “baptized neosocialism,” as one reviewer accused me of. Rampant belief in the rapture lends strong support to this, as we saw earlier: Armageddon is coming, so who cares what state the planet is in? The irony is that those American churches that protest most vocally against the teaching of Darwinism in their schools are often, in the public policies, supporting a kind of economic Darwinism, the survival of the fittest in world markets and military power.
– N.T. Wright, Surprised by Hope, pages 219-220.

[1] I am not an economist. To be honest, I’ve disliked economics for a long time, despite the fact that my father taught it to me in high school. (Sorry, Dad. I love you, I promise.)

[2] My father (the economist) taught me long ago that just because a person gets one thing right, doesn’t mean that they’re white as bleach.

[3] The common accusation against conservative Christians is this: they have fallen to the temptation of dualism (that is, thinking merely in terms of “right” and “left”). This is true. Far too often human beings are lazy in their discernment and thinking. Instead of weighing every issue, they side with what is familiar, what rings true. (Is this ideal? Of course not. I won’t even claim it’s inexcusable. However, it is inevitable. No one person can weigh every single issue fairly and come out with a fair answer. We should do our best, of course, but it means we ought to be fair in our condemnation of others who fail in this manner. “Judge not, lest ye be judged.”)

[4] I’d like to suggest that Wright (and possibly others who follow/parallelize his critique) misjudges “conservative churches.” Now, given that he is more experienced with the broader world than I, I admit that it could simply be a case of “being sheltered.” That said, the “conservative churches” that I have been a part of do not fit into Wright’s description. My parents taught me from an early age that “Republican” did not equal “white knight in shining armor.” They may have disliked Bill Clinton, but they did not consider Bob Dole an ideal candidate. And while they did oppose the Kyoto Protocol, they did so not merely because left-wing environmentalists like David Suzuki promoted it; rather, they opposed it because its science was far from certain.

[5] May I level a modest accusation? I will, with or without your permission. I believe that Wright unfairly implies that those who oppose the Kyoto Protocol are close-minded. And I believe that similar unfair implications often lie behind attacks on “capitalism” and the “free market.” Is the “free market” abused? Most definitely. But may I also remind you that many other good things—including the written word, non-totalitarian government, and even (*gasp*) the church—have been similarly abused?

[6] My primary point (resting, perhaps in a muddle fashion, on the previous points) is this: I believe that conservatism is often unfairly condemned. Is it perfect? Of course not. Any conservative worth his or her salt would admit that immediately. And I’m not upset that Wright or others may have problems with conservatism in general. After all, if we conservatives cannot listen to criticism, then we are indeed close-minded.

[7] I believe there is good to be found in the writings of F.A. Hayek, Henry Hazlitt, and Gary North. I also believe that any who treats those writings as solid, unshakeable gospel is a fool. (And I know for a fact that the “free market economists” I know would never do such a thing.) Furthermore, I believe there is much good in “free market economics” to be gleaned, and I’m rather tired of hearing it maligned. Is capitalism perfect? Of course not. No system is, nor ever will be. That’s the beauty of humanity: it can never be systematized.

[8] As I wrote earlier, these points may be muddled. I am not a philosopher, a theologian, or an economist. I am merely a layman, trying to sort this out and make some sense of how these theories can actually be lived out in this world. As such, I’m not looking for a label or to label anyone else. I merely ask, “Can someone please stand up and tell me that there is something worth saving in ‘free market’ economics?” Because until Cavanaugh, Wright, or someone else is willing to do so, I can’t listen to them: they’re merely making the same mistake they accuse others of making.

I have a soft spot in my heart for conspiracy films. But I’m not sure why, because they always let me down. The trailer awakens my hunger for action mixed with a thought-provoking story, I convince myself that this time will be different than the last, and then two hours later, I leave the theater apologizing to my wife for yet another terrible movie.

(I should note here that I consider the Bourne movies—all three of them—exceptions to this rule.)

If you haven’t already guessed, I consider The International to be a colossal disappointment. Perhaps I should have known that going in, but can you blame me for hoping? Here we have an intelligence operative trying to take down an evil bank that hopes to prosper off the rebellions and wars of third world nations. Which means that in the end, the said evil bank should be crushed, right?

Wrong.

In essence, The International tries to do Andrew Niccol’s Lord of War all over again. “Corruption is insurmountable,” it says. “Break one of us, and another sleazy banker, politician, or special agent will take our place and continue our soul-sucking activities.” Blah, blah, blah. We’ve heard that before. Lots. We don’t need another movie to tell us what we already know, thank you very much.

Perhaps the most offensive part of this film is its non-ending. Owen’s character (INTERPOL agent Louis Salinger) isn’t even given the dignity of an anti-hero. He’s a failure, a lost cause. Nothing he can do can stop the bank, or the corruption, or the warfare. There’s a slim hope that his forcibly alienated partner (played by Naomi Watts) may one day make a small dent. But definitely not enough to turn the tide. Which means that you’ve just spent two hours of your life watching a movie that says, “Hey, true change is impossible.” *yawn*

I will say, however, that it was satisfying to see the Guggenheim riddled with bullet-holes. That, if nothing else, was fun.

Frank threw down a friendly gauntlet earlier which I’m reluctant to pick up for several reasons: 1) protectionism is a label applied by its enemies to a scatter shot group of economic theories; 2) the question on the table requires lots of back-story and a bibliography way too long to appear on such a fey little webzine like HPN; and most importantly, 3) I’m not even a protectionist, by the common definition.

Nevertheless, here are my 8 theses, naked and unsubstantiated as they may be. A real discussion of all this would require picking up volumes of Friedman, Adam Smith, William Cavanaugh, and G.K. Chesterton, among others.

I.
Protectionism can = selfish nationalism. I’m sure there are plenty of economic jingoists who proudly hold to protectionism. But that’s not anything I wish to defend. I much prefer the “localist” label. So…

II.
Localism stands against globalism, which isn’t to say that it is not concerned over the plight of other peoples. Rather, localism makes the case that globalism is actually one of the great oppressive forces in the modern world. Globalism wishes to provide products and services for the cheapest cost that “The Market” can offer. If a Chinese factory can produce G.I. Joes for one-quarter the cost of a domestic toy manufacturuing plant, guess who wins out? In 1965, manufacturing made up 53% of the American economy. As of 2004, that number is just 9%. So first, from the American point of view, globalism has made us utterly dependent on countless foreign industries to continue to exist. We are no longer self-sufficient. If a foreign power felt emboldened enough to completely shut down its exports to the US (e.g. if the UAE enacted an oil embargo), we would be in a desperate condition. Globalism has fueled almost limitless growth in the first-world, but at a tremendous cost to both the first-world and the third-world.

III.
Localism, even in its most “protectionist” forms, is not against trade between nations. It is not against the idea of imports. And it is certainly not mercantilism—not by a long shot.

IV.
Positively defined, localism prioritizes community rather than growth.

V.
Localism manifests itself in a number of different movements, including agrarianism and New Urbanism. It stands against modernity and its ugly bastard children: suburbanism/urban rot, strip malls, industrial agriculture, corporatism, Washington D.C., and iPods. It stands for urban renewal (read: parish life), regional architecture, small businesses, local and seasonal agriculture, city councils, and the local symphony. Localism doesn’t believe that economic hegemony (i.e. having a McDonalds on every street corner from St Louis to Turin to Bangkok) is healthy for a society. Localism disapproves of putting the liveihoods of a third-world village entirely at the disposal of a first-world corporation.

VI.
Localism emphasizes that in a global economy, the winners are the US corporations who can cut costs and the corrupt foreign leaders who offer up their laborers at unimaginably cheap rates. The losers are the third- and second-world poor. Even worse, when third-world villages are conscripted into the global economy, they become dependent on the “mercy” of their foreign employer. If the first-world corporation closes down production in the village, the workers are even worse off than before.

VII.
Localism believes that just rulers should protect the weak against the powerful. Some might argue that tariffs are a good way to do this. Others might advocate an alternative. See Phillip Blond.

VIII.
Localism is skeptical of the Babelesque goals of globalism. Christian localists often point out the religious dimensions of economic globalist rhetoric. Cavanaugh has an excellent article on this, as well.

Have fun with all this. My neck is on the chopping block.

To listen to: Hazards of Love, The Decemberists // No Line On the Horizon, U2

The Decemberists have dabbled in prog-rock/rock-opera several times already. This new album promises to develop the band’s symphonic talents even more. Colin Malloy’s lyrics are some of the most playful out there; he actually seems to enjoy working with the English language, as opposed to most twee-pop and even Indie artists for whom words appear to be more of a chore than a delight. Here’s hoping he hasn’t lost his touch.

As for Bono’s bloated ego… let’s just say I really do pray that this album works. The single didn’t capture me, but I usually like the more hidden songs on each U2 release anyway (e.g. “In a Little While,” “Love Is Blindness,” or “Running to Stand Still”). Still, they disappointed me last time, and I’m waiting for a convincing reason to believe that Bono’s skill is at least half as large as his self-appreciation.

To read: The Myth of Religous Violence Secular Ideology, William Cavanaugh // Back to Blood, Tom Wolfe

Cavanaugh has never written an uninteresting or unprovocative book. Which is something that can be said of only a handful of living theologians. This is a must-read.

I like Wolfe, I really do. But some of his literary quirks are like Mick Jagger’s lips: they just aren’t as flattering on an old man. I admit I haven’t read I Am Charlotte Simmons, so maybe my condemnation is unmerited. Wolfe’s style doesn’t seem to have matured all that much, certainly not in his novels. So, for all the good will earned from New Journalism, I’ll probably ignore Back to Blood unless friends insist otherwise.

To watch: Sunshine Cleaning // The Brothers Bloom

I first saw the trailer for Amy Adams’ new movie several months ago, and loved it. Then, after Frank posted it on HPN a while back, I realized I’d forgotten about it completely. Maybe it’ll just be another ultimately clichéd indie-flick like Little Miss Sunshine. But I’m willing to trust the watchability of Ms. Blunt, Ms. Adams, and Mr. Arkin. Plus, I need to see a good movie with Frank, since a viewing of Slumdog Millionaire didn’t work out.

I loved Rian Johnson’s first film, Brick. You could tell he really loved film noir, and that was enough to win me over, even without the surprisingly good plotting, as well as the Chandler-esque dialogue. So on account of that previous success, there’s good reason to put faith into his upcoming film (not to mention the all star cast). But sophomore acts often fall flat. And while Johnson was able to reproduce the feel of an old Howard Hawks noir, this new film looks completely different. From the trailer, it almost appears like he’s reworking the old classic, Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. If he pulls it off, I’ll be elated.

First, read each comic book twice. On your initial reading, you needn’t bother to try and capture every little detail. Soak up the story instead, letting the excited kid inside of you race through the panels simply to find out what happens. Then, when you go back for round two, you’ll have the luxury of pausing over each frame. Not only will you notice more (since you now know what to look for), but you’ll enjoy both readings immensely.

Second, start at the beginning: don’t try to break into the middle of the story. (Trust me, it doesn’t work, and it’ll spoil your future Hellboy reading.) Mignola is a deliberate writer who unveils the Hellboy myth slowly, story by story. Ignoring his chronology would be like reading The Two Towers without first reading The Fellowship of the Ring. Why would you want to do that to yourself?

Third, always remember what you’ve read before. Nearly every story stands on its own, but when you read the tales in light of everything else that came before, details and layers will come to light. Characters who appeared briefly at first will be given pivotal scenes. Stories you once considered “throw-aways” turn out to be integral to the overarching plot. Until the series is finished, it’s unlikely anyone will be able to truly judge these stories.

Fourth, pay attention to what is said about Hellboy and what he is told to do. He always does and proves the opposite.

Fifth, have fun. Enjoy the monsters. Laugh whenever Hellboy says, “Crap” or “Son of a –” (it happens a lot). It’s a comic book, for Pete’s sake. If you can’t follow the previous steps and enjoy yourself at the same time, then practice some more and learn how.

The Obama administration has a new personality heading its promotional materials.

I’ve just begun N.T. Wright’s Surprised by Hope, and though I’m only three chapters in, I’m ready to recommend this book as enthusiastically as it was first recommended to me. Most of my reflections inspired by the book, however, have little to do with eschatology or life after death. Thanks to my recent fascination with Hellboy and other “big” stories, I keep thinking about how Wright’s insights apply to storytelling.

(The following is one such reflection that was helped along by Davey.)

I’ve always found Pan’s Labyrinth unsatisfying, and I know why: because the movie ends in death. While the little girl is “restored” to her place as princess in a grand kingdom, her restoration is anything but real: it’s ghostly and spiritual. As the little girl’s spirit ascends a throne under the earth, her body is left in the arms of a weeping Spanish woman whose wail guides the moviewatchers into the credits.

Fairy tales, as Davey pointed out, work chiefly as exhortations—matured parables, if you will. This does not mean that the message rules over the story, but merely that it must work within and through the story. Thus, Andersen’s “The Ugly Duckling” looks forward to a resurrection that does indeed come when the outcast is reborn as a beautiful swan. (The fairy tales of George MacDonald, as well as the writings of Lewis and Tolkien follow this same example.) Indeed, resurrection is a key element of the fairy tale genre: without it, there is no satisfaction.

Of course, it is possible (as Davey pointed out) to have a tragic fairy tale, like Andersen’s “The Little Mermaid.” However, tragic fairy tales only work if the protagonist’s wishes and desires are inappropriate. The Little Mermaid is punished for wanting what she ought not to want, just as Hamlet is punished for seeking only after revenge.

Pan’s Labyrinth, though a beautiful film, falls into neither of these categories. The little girl does everything she should (with the exception of awakening the great eyeball-in-hands monster), and yet her final end is the opposite of resurrection: she dies, not to live again, but to reign among the dead. It’s an unconvincing end, particularly with the last shot of the weeping woman, because death without the hope of resurrection promises and achieves nothing.

Coming this Spring from Canon Press. Pretty cool, eh? The magnificent cover design is by Rachel Hoffmann, and the real thing will be available through various online bookstores (and maybe even some old-fashioned ones).

Please excuse me while I go and scream some more.