Theology "On the Beach" (1959)

Stanley Kramer’s haunting film On the Beach takes place in the aftermath of a world-wide nuclear war. It is early 1964, and the superpowers have unloaded their atomic arsenals against each other. For reasons that the film partially explains, only Australia has been spared. But the experts who understand global wind currents predict that deadly fallout will arrive within a few short months. The movie tells a story about life lived out under conditions that are, to say the least, historically unique: humanity’s complete self-destruction.

The first sequence of the film introduces its American main character, Captain Dwight Towers (Gregory Peck). The U.S.S. Sawfish, a submarine, has survived the war. The ship was at sea during the attacks and has now made its way to the only known safe spot in the world. Captain Towers has brought the Sawfish into port and soon places the ship and its crew under the command of the Royal Australian Navy. There is no more U.S. Navy.

The captain’s Australian liaison is Lieutenant Peter Holmes (Anthony Perkins), a young married man with an infant daughter. Holmes and his pretty wife, Mary (Donna Anderson), decide to introduce Captain Towers to Moira Davidson (Ava Gardner), a beautiful rich girl who spends most of her time going from one party to the next, always drinking too much. Who better to entertain the captain and help him to not dwell on his lost wife and children? A romantic relationship begins to develop. Nonetheless, Towers continues to speak of his family as though they are still alive and that he has a future with them.

Soon an Australian admiral decides that the Sawfish should go on a mission to the North Pacific to visit the West Coast of the United States. At least some scientists are convinced that the Arctic region may be a safe environment. Only a trip there will tell. But the expedition finds that radiation levels in the Arctic Ocean are extremely high. San Francisco shows no sign of life. And a random beeping in San Diego turns out to be nothing more than a telegraph machine attached to a string on a window shade blowing in the deadly breeze. There's not one reason for hope.

Utterly dejected, the crew returns to Australia to live out their last few days. One of them, a scientist named Julian Osborne (Fred Astaire), competes in a deadly car race and takes the checkered flag. Dwight, who now accepts the loss of his family, takes Moira to a fishing resort where they spend a romantic night together. Within days, people begin to experience radiation sickness, and the public lines up outside of hospitals to receive government-issue suicide pills.

Back at home, the Australian lieutenant finds his wife beside herself. Once he is able to calm her down, the two of them share a tender moment. The crew of the Sawfish votes to return to the United States. Captain Towers would prefer to stay in Australia and die in Moira’s arms. But following the path of duty to the bitter end, he sails away with his homesick men, going down with the ship as it were.

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To the extent that it takes up religious questions, On the Beach does so in an interesting way. There's a scene near the end—which, in this movie, means the conclusion of human history—that ironically portrays listless members of the Salvation Army conducting what amounts to an End-of-the-World service. (I'm guessing they didn't take up a collection). As if to suggest that humanity will never tire of its militaristic impulse, the band is heard to play “Onward Christian Soldiers.” Above the stage, strung between two poles is a huge banner that reads, “There is Still Time . . . Brother.” But the movie takes this appeal to prepare for the hereafter, and dramatically reinterprets it.

Before he boards the Sawfish for the last time, Captain Towers stands on the dock and holds Moira who tearfully says him, “There isn’t time. No time to love . . . nothing to remember . . . nothing worth remembering.” The message is clear: the Salvation Army’s banner appeals to a traditional religious understanding of reality that no longer commands assent. To temporal, sensual, truly-alive humanity, represented by all of the main characters, there’s no time for things like making love, sharing a meal, and delighting in children. Life, which means racing cars, going to the beach, drinking port, and growing old together, is no more. The emphatic ending of the movie shows the banner once more. This time the viewer knows its true meaning. Until a nuclear war breaks out, citizens of the world still have time to do whatever they can to try to prevent it. The unmistakable message of the film is that full-scale nuclear war will unspeakably and forever end the wonder of living. This, and not God, represents the good that human beings should treat as their ultimate concern. With the arrival of nuclear technology that has the potential to destroy human life, God has been upstaged. He no longer has the whole world in his hands. We do. And your brother? That's not your co-religionist, but every other person on the planet. Because of its unique dangers, the nuclear age requires the utmost in devotion and vigilance.

Using "Fight Club" to Teach Buddhism: 2nd of 2

This is the second of two posts about teaching Buddhism using the 1999 movie Fight Club. So if you haven't read the last entry here, you might want to take a look and then come back. I recently used this material in my Introduction to World Religions course at Amarillo College, and the class session went pretty well. To repeat, this approach is based on Fight Club: An Exploration of Buddhism, by Charley Reed. The article appeared in the online Journal of Religion and Film in October 2007.

The Tri Kaya Doctrine

A major branch of world Buddhism--and certainly the one that is best known in the United States--is called Mahayana. The word means something like "the great vehicle." It's the inclusive branch of the religion. Mahayana is "great" at least because it includes many people who otherwise would not be Buddhist. Mahayana also refers to a better-than-you attitude towards Theraveda.

By contrast, Theravada Buddhism insists that to be Buddhist means to strictly follow the example set by Siddhartha Gautama, the man who came to be known as the Buddha. When you see a Buddhist monk with his head shaved and wearing what looks like a toga, think "Theraveda." When you remember that Phil Jackson, the coach of the Los Angeles Lakers, is a Buddhist, think "Mahayana."

One way for Christians to conceive of the distinction between Theraveda and Mahayana is to ask the question, "In what ways must a Christian be like Christ?" Jesus was a first-century Palestinian Jew who apparently worked as a carpenter until he began a public teaching and healing ministry that lasted for three years. At the end, he was arrested and charged by the authorities who had him executed. Throughout his life, Jesus lived in and observed the customs of Judaism, including synagogue worship and participation in major festivals in Jerusalem. He spoke Aramaic and could read the Jewish Scriptures in Hebrew. Jesus was baptized, once fasted for forty days, and washed the feet of his disciples. The particulars of his life go on and on. Question: how much must a person be just like Jesus in these and other particulars in order to truly be Christian? This is the sort of question that Buddhism has asked: how much must a person be like Siddhartha in order to be Buddhist? Theravada gives the conservative answer. Mahayana gives the liberal answer. My sense is that the relationship between Theravada and Mahayana is a little bit like the one between Roman Catholicism and Protestantism, sometimes debating and dismissing, but at other times complimenting and cooperating.

Within Mahayana there is a teaching called Tri Kaya, which means "three personalities." The term refers to the idea that the Buddha has three bodies: (1) the Nirmana Kaya, the "apparitional body" (2) the Sambhoga Kaya, the "state of perfect bliss" and (3) the Dharma Kaya, which is the body of "most excellent law" and, according to Reed, symbolizes "the enlightenment of Buddha nature." He also observes:

The connections between the doctrine and Fight Club are blunt: One can easily label Tyler as the Nirmana Kaya, Marla as the Sambhoga Kaya, and the narrator as the Dharma Kaya, but the actual meaning to the story of the film, once these connections are made, is what is more important.

Once a viewer looks through this lens, seeing Marla, Tyler, and the narrator as actually separate manifestations of one common thought, the movie really opens up to numerous possibilities. For one, if Tyler is the embodiment of Nirmana Kaya, then his leadership qualities in the film make a lot more sense, especially as a teacher for the narrator. In Buddhist teachings, the Nirmana Kaya is the idea of the historical Buddha, and is what is referenced when a particular person hopes to become more than just a bodhisattva, and has that internal characteristic about them. Also found in Buddhist teachings, is the idea that the Nirmana Kaya manifestation of the Buddha has compassion for all beings. In the film, Tyler too has compassion for all beings, wanting to free the "middle children of history," almost ignoring the narrator near the end of the film in order to flesh out the larger picture. The same holds true once seeing Marla as the Sambhoga Kaya. After this connection is established, one can then understand why, even though it appeared the narrator had nothing but distaste for Marla, both he and Tyler had romantic feelings for her. In Buddhist teachings, it is Sambhog Gakaya which is needed in order to achieve Nirmana Kaya, which ties directly to Marla being the catalyst for the narrator being forced to manifest Tyler.

The core "body" in Mahayana Buddhism is the Dharma Kaya, which is a constant, enlightened presence in the world which gives rise to the other manifestations of Buddha. In the movie, the narrator is the one tangible character who is sustained throughout, in almost every part of the movie from beginning to end. Dharma Kaya is also seen as the "pure" and "flawless" manifestation of the Buddha. While it may appear that the narrator is the opposite of that idea of Dharma Kaya, it is the conscience of the narrator that causes him to risk his life in order to save his city and nation from a terrorist attack, . . . and his new found self control allows Jack to provide meaning and prospective to his journey.

Tilakkhana

In addition to illustrating Tri Kaya, Fight Club can also be used to help students understand what Zen Buddhism (a branch of Mahayana) calls "The Three Characteristics of Existence." These are:

1. anicca, which means "change." Reed points out that the big change at the beginning of Fight Club involves the destruction of Jack's apartment, which explodes while he's away. Virtually nothing is left. Humans typically want for our worlds to arrive at an ideal state and then stay that way. Anicca is the word that reminds us that life never works like that.

2. dukkha, which means "suffering" or "pain." One doesn't have to watch Fight Club for very long to figure out that it's all about every kind of pain. The Buddha taught that to live is to suffer (the First Noble Truth). This includes physical pain. But the concept of dukkha includes what many people regard as something worse: emotional or psychical pain. Consider that many counselees say that they would rather be physically beaten than be verbally, emotionally abused. Jack encounters and endures big doses of all sorts of pain and suffering.

3. anatta, which refers to the concept of "no permanent self." As viewers of Fight Club eventually find out, a major theme of the film is identity. Anatta says that, in spite of my perceptions and desires, there is no permanent, immortal person, no enduring spirit. To think that a person, who once never existed and will someday be dead, has a unified, permanent existence is a little like thinking a car has such an existence. If the car is without its engine, or its tires and wheels, or without an interior, would it still be that car? What if you take the body off of the chassis? Is one or the other, or both, that car? And in that case, would the car have become two? What constitutes the car's permanent identity? At what point did it become a car? How much does it have to decay and come apart before it is no longer considered a car and ceases to exist as such? You could (and should) ask the same question about a human being who supposedly has a singular, permanent identity.

Using "Fight Club" to Teach Buddhism: 1st of 2

Good teachers are always looking for new ways to effectively communicate their subjects. They want to use the best methods possible in order to engage their students in the material. The more memorable, the better. Over the past five years, I've taught ten or more sections of courses like Old Testament, New Testament, Life of Paul, and Introduction to World Religions. But I can tell you that I'm far from the teacher I want to be. I haven't gotten it all figured out.

Recently, I came across an article by Charley Reed published in the online Journal of Religion and Film. Reed's work led me to start thinking about using clips from the 1999 film Fight Club as way of exploring Buddhism in class. It's an interesting possibility to me. And, in fact, one of the movie's leading actors actually hinted at the connection back when the film was still in production. According to an interview article in Premiere Magazine, Edward Norton remarked, "In Buddhism there's Nirvana and then there's Samsara, the world of confusion and disharmony. That world is our testing ground, where we have the experiences that help us become enlightened. . . . Fight Club . . . is kind of that idea: You're challenging yourself to break out of the world."

Anyway, I think this way into the subject is something my students would like. At the same time, the project does have its pitfalls. I'm thinking especially about how Fight Club just happens to be one of the most violent and profane R-rated films out there. A classroom full of college students is a mixture of personal and religious sensibilities that a movie like this might trample on. People who are uncomfortable or upset about something are not really available at that point to learn something else. So I think that when using a movie, especially one like this, it's important for the instructor to (1) issue some sort of non-endorsement disclaimer and (2) carefully edit the clips that are used in class. That said, here's what I've put together so far:

Fight Club begins with the main character played by Edward Norton. Ironically, viewers never learn this character's name. In most discussions of the movie, he's usually referred to as "Jack" so I'm going with that. Jack has it all, or so it would seem. He's a young man, with a corporate job and a stylish apartment on one of the upper floors of a city high-rise. There's only one problem. Jack personifies the empty person who is controlled by fadish, mudane American consumerism. As Reed describes him, he's "a person who values the material wealth of his life more than his actual life and as a result of the blandness of his existence, finds himself constantly lying awake at night."

The First Noble Truth

So Jack goes to a doctor, asking for something, anything that will get him over his insomnia. The doctor refuses to prescribe a drug, assures him that he's not going to die, and mentions that Jack should get more exercise. And then, Jack announces the first of the Buddha's Four Noble Truths: "I'm in pain!" This is the truth about human life from beginning to end: dukkha. To live is to suffer, said the Buddha.

Samsara and Reincarnation

The doctor suggests that Jack should look in on testicular cancer support meetings. That's real pain, he says. So Jack goes. And there he begins to sympathize with the pathetic men at the meeting. He even cries. As a result, he's able to sleep soundly again. In time, Jack becomes addicted to his visits to support meetings for all sorts of victims. Seeing, hearing, and sympathizing with people in real pain is his chosen path of therapy. Of course, he hasn't solved his own problems. He's only seen the greater pain of others. In a sense, he has simply discovered samsara, an idea that Buddhism inherited from Hinduism. Samsara expresses the notion that life is a circle from which we cannot (or do not) escape. Because of the failure to escape samsara, individuals are reincarnated many times over. Leaving one of the support meetings, Jack narrates, "Every night I died, and every night I was reborn." Samsara. Reincarnation.

At that point, Jack's method is derailed by the appearance of Marla Singer (played by Helena Bonham Carter). Like him, she's a faker who comes to all the meetings because, as she says, they're "cheaper than a movie and there's free coffee." Disturbed by the presence of another impostor, Jack finds that, once again, he can no longer sleep. (The previous sections--on the First Noble Truth, Samsara, and Reincarnation--correspond to chapters 3-5 of the Fight Club DVD. These chapters contain a minimum of vulgar language, and no violence or nudity).

Jack's Koan

About that time, on one of his business trips Jack expresses something that sounds very much like a Zen Buddhist koan. A koan is a paradoxical question used in order to break up tired old patterns of thinking and open up the mind. One example of a koan goes like this: A man hangs over a precipice by this teeth, which are clenched in the branch of a tree. His hands are full and his feet cannot reach the edge. A friend leans over and asks him, "What is Zen?" What answer would you give? (Warren Matthews, World Religions 6th ed., 2010, p. 126). In the airport, Jack asks himself: "If you wake up in a different time in a different place, could you wake up as a different person?" It is no accident that, at this point in his life, Jack meets up with Tyler Durden (Brad Pitt). Tyler is this completely self-assured nonconformist who, like the Buddha, rejects the importance of material possessions. (This section corresponds to chapter 8 of the DVD which is mild in content).

Fight Club as the Eightfold Path

Soon, Jack and his new friend, Tyler, begin Fight Club. It's a series of clandestine meetings where disenfranchised young men have brutal, bloody fist fights. In one scene, Tyler describes the members of Fight Club and the source of their rage: they are all "slaves with white collars . . . the middle children of history." They have "no purpose or place. . . no Great War, no Great Depression. Our great war's a spiritual war, our Great Depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off." Without an interpretive key to all of this, Fight Club might seem like mindless brutality to go along with a mindless existence. Why not? Alternately, the club can be seen as the last of the Four Noble Truths.

First, said the Buddha, to live is to suffer.

Second, our suffering is the result of our craving, our thirst for life itself and for permanence. Such desire is always, invariably frustrated (and frustrating!) because we're all marching towards death, and nothing ever stays the same.

But, said the Buddha, if one eliminates such craving, he would in effect eliminate suffering. This is the third noble truth.

The fourth and last noble truth is that one can defuse desire by following the Eightfold Path. Among the English translations, one finds variations. But here's a typical version of the path:

1. Right Understanding
2. Right Thought
3. Right Speech
4. Right Action
5. Right Livelihood
6. Right Effort
7. Right Mindfulness
8. Right Concentration

Notice the connection to the number of Fight Club rules announced by the Brad Pitt character, Tyler Durden:

The first rule of Fight Club is, You do not talk about Fight Club
The second rule of Fight Club is, You do not talk about Fight Club.
The third rule of Fight Club: Someone yells "Stop" the fight is over.
Fourth rule: only two guys to a fight.
Fifth rule: one fight at a time fellas.
Sixth rule: No shirts, no shoes.
Seventh Rule: Fights will go on as long as they have to.
And the Eighth and final Rule : If this is your first night at Fight Club, . . . you have to fight.

As Reed says, "there is not a literal translation of the eightfold path in Fight Club." On the other hand, it's obvious that the number of rules could just as easily have been five or seven or ten. Clearly, then, the values and the fighting of the club represent the commitments and activities demanded by the Buddha's Eightfold Path. This is why the viewer should try to look past the film's violence, which is common, often graphic, and sometimes comical. It is a depiction of what it means to be a disciplined Buddhist. Jack makes little progress, though. Going down the list in order, Reed describes him like this:

"He is unable to understand Tyler's thinking,unable to think for himself, he minces his words in discussing Tyler, does not participate fully in Fight Club or its later form in Project Mayhem, does not fully accept the sacrificial aspect of his living situation, does not put the effort to rid himself of his worldly possessions, and of course, keeps the two divisions of his personality, the narrator part and the Tyler part separate."

This is the root of Jack's prolonged suffering throughout the film. (This section relates to Fight Club, chapter 15, which includes lots of violence and some profanity).

Okay, more later. Till then, feel free to add your comments. Tell me what you think.

Day the World Ended (1955)

I promise. This post has absolutely nothing to do with the previous one. I'm not poking fun. Not being deliberately ironic. It just happened like this.

On his way to becoming Hollywood’s king of low-budget movies, in 1955 a young Roger Corman produced and directed Day the World Ended. It was one of his earliest films. Dozens more would follow in the years to come. But in his 1998 memoir, Corman remarks that it was this movie that established him as a director in the science fiction genre (p. 31).

The film’s opening title card announces, What you are about to see may never happen. . . . but to this anxious age in which we live, it presents a fearsome warning. . . . Our Story begins with . . . . THE END!

Next we see an example of that now-familiar stock footage of an atomic explosion, and we hear the narrator, Chet Huntley. His voice has been modified to sound tinny with a bit of reverb, a convention that signals to the viewer that these words come from the Bible. (The same thing turns up in the Jule Miller evangelistic film strips). The narration interprets the nuclear holocaust with words taken from 2 Peter 3:10 according to the King James Version: . . . and the elements shall melt with fervent heat, the earth also and the works that are therein shall be burned up. (Note: This passage is often cited as biblical proof that Christian eschatology expects the fiery destruction of the created order. Few people are aware that this verse includes a notoriously difficult textual problem. In fact, the KJV rendering quoted above is not an accurate English translation of the autograph of Second Peter. In all likelihood, the original document said that the earth and everything in it would be “revealed” or “found,” not “burned up.” For a discussion of the questions raised by the various extant Greek manuscripts, see Bruce M. Metzger, A Textual Commentary on the Greek New Testament. 2d ed. [Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 1994], 636-37).

As survivors of World War III emerge through the smoke, the narrator tells us, “Man has done his best to destroy himself. But there is a force more powerful than man. And in his infinite wisdom, he has spared a few.” Those few soon begin showing up at the home of Jim Maddison (Paul Birch). Maddison and his daughter, Louise (Lori Nelson, pictured below) are safe, at least for the time being. Their house is in a valley protected by high winds, and by hills all around that contain lead-ore. Jim, a veteran of the U.S Navy, had long suspected that the worst would eventually happen. Ten years before it did, he carefully chose where he would live and stocked everything he would need in order for his family to survive. The lovely Louise has a fiancé, but we soon discover that he is among the victims.

The survivors who take refuge at the Maddison’s include a small-time crook Tony Lamont (Touch Conners, before he became Mike Conners of Mannix fame) and his girlfriend, an aging stripper named Ruby (Adele Jergens). A geologist named Rick (Richard Denning), who carries on his shoulders a man named Radek (Paul Dubov), follows them. Nearly dead, it seems, Radek has a bad case of radiation poisoning. Finally, a crusty old gold prospector, Pete (Raymond Hatton) shows up with his burro, Diablo, in tow. Thrown together by circumstance, the group spends the next several weeks waiting for the radiation to dissipate. Everyone stays inside for the most part, except for Radek who often wanders out at night and whose high roentgen count leads Jim and Rick to wonder why he’s still alive.

Eventually, they discover that Radek is some sort of partial mutant who kills and eats contaminated game during his nighttime ventures. As Rick describes things, Radek has survived because he’s the victim of “an entirely-new set of laws that we know nothing about.” But soon, Radek the hunter becomes prey. Stalking the valley is a full-blown mutant, actually Paul Blaisdell wearing one of the cheapest, most-pathetic monster suits in cinematic history. Soon after this monster with the huge head, bird beak, three eyes, and a 34-inch waist kills Radek, some of the other characters begin to kill off themselves or each other. Having grown impatient, Pete climbs out of the valley and onto the radioactive ridge. Tony, with his sights now set on Louise, stabs the jealous Ruby and throws her body off a cliff.

But Tony isn’t the only one interested in Louise. With the monster psychically calling to her, she wanders into the woods. When Rick discovers that she’s not in the house, he goes looking and finds her in a pond just out of the reach of the mutant, which seems to be afraid of the water. When Rick fires his rifle at the mutant, he discovers that it’s bullet proof, and he is also forced to take refuge in the pond. Just then, it begins to rain for the first time since the war. Immediately the monster begins to cringe, and it quickly dies. Louise tells Rick that, for some strange reason, she feels sorry for the mutant. And since it “spoke” only to her, viewers are left wondering if the monster was in fact Louise’s fiancé! (Usually, the man turning into a monster is something that happens after the wedding, right?). At any rate, as Rick and Louise return to the house, Tony plans to kill Rick so that he can have the girl for himself. At the last moment though, Jim, lying on the couch with a fatal case of radiation poisoning, pulls a hidden pistol and kills Tony. Afterwards, Rick, Louise, and Jim try to make sense of everything that’s recently happened. Jim says of the monster, That thing was created to live in a poisoned world. The rain came, and it was pure. Louise: Man created it, but God destroyed it. He brought the rain and the fresh air. Moments later, Jim dies, leaving only Rick and Louise. The final scene shows the couple healthy and smiling as they hike out of the valley arm-in-arm.

Of all the nuclear-war films that have been made, it would be hard to find one that is more explicitly religious than Day the World Ended. As my synopsis indicates, while the story acknowledges that humans are responsible for the event that brings them to near extinction, it also firmly places this event under the sovereign power of the God of the Christian Bible. Likewise, the end clearly asserts that humanity’s ability to survive and even flourish in a newly-cleansed world is also the result of the providential care of this God. To underscore all of this, midway through, the movie includes a Bible reading. In the previous scene, Jim and Rick wander through the woods. The men are perplexed by Radek’s strange behavior and by the question of what the fallout might have done to the environment. Jim asks his new friend, “What can we do, Rick?” An earlier scene revealed that Rick’s brother, who was instantly killed in the nuclear attack, was planning to become a minister. Rick replies to Jim’s question, My brother believed that the Bible gave strength and revealed a plan for everything. Jim responds, Then I hope I find it before I lose my mind. Back at his home, Jim holds a Bible and reads to the group:

. . . for I am with thee to save thee and to deliver thee, saith the Lord. And I will deliver thee out of the hand of the wicked, and I will redeem thee out of the hand of the terrible (Jeremiah 15:20b-21).

This raises a number of unanswered questions. Why has Jim made his way to the end of Jeremiah 15? Who does he assume that “the wicked” and “the terrible” might be? What sorts of applications is the viewer expected make? My last question leads back to Lou Rusoff, the author of the screenplay. But it’s really not that complicated. According to the story, Jim just happens to have found and read a passage that promises him—or at least his descendants through Louise—eventual rescue from radioactive monsters and nuclear fallout, not to mention Tony. Yes, it is a greeting-card understanding of the Bible. It’s also a very popular approach in Christian history and American culture.

In these ways, then, Day the World Ended assumes the existence and benevolent care of the God of the Christian Bible. Consequently, in this movie although humanity is responsible for World War III and the near extinction of life on Earth, the providence of God ensures that there are survivors. It also provides for a natural cleansing of the planet so that survivors then have the prospect of repopulating the world.

Some Sources:

Corman, Roger. How I Made a Hundred Movies in Hollywood and Never Lost a Dime. New York: Da Capo Press, 1998.

Kaufman, Gordon D. “Nuclear Eschatology and the Study of Religion,” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 51 (March 1983): 3-14.

Metzger, Bruce M. A Textual Commentary on the Greek New Testament. 2d ed., Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 1994.

Seven Days in May (1964)

I've been trying to work on a number of different historical projects lately. I know, I really should focus on just one. But I get distracted. Anyway, one of those projects has to do with feature films of the Cold War era. Here's a review of one of my favorites so far. Spoiler Alert! The first half of what follows is a full synopsis:

Seven Days in May Directed by John Frankenheimer
Novel by Fletcher Knebel and Charles W. Bailey II
Screenplay by Rod Serling
Seven Arts Productions and Joel Productions
118 minutes

Seven Days in May begins with a riot in front of the White House. It's the late 1960s and U.S. President Jordan Lyman (Fredric March) has recently signed a nuclear disarmament treaty with the Soviet Union. Now, demonstrators for and against the treaty are coming to blows. The populace is afraid. The military-industrial complex feels betrayed. And the president’s approval rating has sunk to 29 percent.

In one of the opening scenes, the president talks with a sympathetic friend, Senator Raymond Clark (Edmond O’Brien). He explains his reason for making the pact. Sure, the U.S. could have maintained “a nice, cushy feeling that we’ve got a bomb for every one of theirs. But . . . there’d have come one day when they’d have blown us up, or we’d have blown them up.”

President Lyman’s most forceful opponent is Air Force General James Mattoon Scott (Burt Lancaster). The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Scott is a highly decorated war hero who never misses a chance to denounce the new treaty. In one scene, he tells a congressional panel, “There’s not a single piece of paper in history that’s ever served as a deterrent to a Pearl Harbor.” The next day, at a televised rally with thousands of veterans cheering him on, he rails against “the cynics, the one-worlders, the intellectual dilettantes,” those who believe that “patriotism is old-fashioned” and that “love of country is out-dated.”

Scott’s aide at the Pentagon is Marine Colonel “Jiggs” Casey (Kirk Douglas). Casey admires Scott and shares his mistrust of the Soviets. But unlike the outspoken general, Casey stays clear of any public criticism of the administration. A series of clues leads Casey to an uneasy suspicion about his boss, and he requests a meeting with the president. At the White House, Casey reports what he has recently seen and heard. Finally, when President Lyman presses him to speak candidly, the colonel tells him, “I’m suggesting, Mr. President, there’s a military plot to take over the government.”

The president regards the conspiracy theory as possible, and he calls together a small group of trusted aides and officials, including Casey, to investigate. Casey approaches Scott’s former mistress, Eleanor Holbrook (Ava Gardner). Though he is genuinely attracted to her, he visits Holbrook at her apartment in order to find out what she knows about the general. Casey leaves with a stack of love letters written by Scott, letters that can be used against him. The rest of the team discovers that General Scott is, in fact, planning a coup. The scheme is impressive. Scott has set up a clandestine military base near El Paso where unknowing troops are training for seizure. A scheduled alert exercise in a few days will serve as the pretext for mobilizing the military and isolating the president. The armed forces will commandeer nation-wide communications, including the television networks. Almost all of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and a key member of the Senate, Frederick Prentice (Whit Bissell), are in on the plan. A popular television newsman, Harold McPherson (Hugh Marlowe) will manage the media in the replacement government.

At first, President Lyman intends to derail the conspiracy by exposing it. But General Scott’s team, well organized and determined, prevents the president from assembling the evidence he needs in order to make his case to the public. Then he learns that Scott has rescheduled the alert for late Saturday night, instead of Sunday morning. With time running out, the president phones the Pentagon and demands to see the general immediately. At the White House, Lyman confronts Scott, accuses him of treason, and demands his resignation. The general first denies the plan and then defends his motives. As he leaves, the president vows to fight him.

The next day as the president holds a televised press conference, he receives word that a key piece of evidence exposing the junta has been discovered. Soon, he reports that members of the Joint Chiefs have tendered their resignations. On hearing the news, General Scott tells his driver to take him home.

The film ends with President Lyman speaking to the nation. He declares that in spite of the negative national mood, “the whisperers, the detractors, the violent men are wrong.” The United States is still a strong nation, “strong enough to be a peacemaker.” It is still a proud nation, “proud enough to be patient.” He concludes with the rousing prophecy that “we will see a day when on this earth all men will walk out of the long tunnels of tyranny into the bright sunshine of freedom.” As he leaves the podium, the press corps stands and applauds.

One of the truly great movies depicting the Cold War, Seven Days in May captures so well what seems to have been its cultural context, the attitudes and the atmosphere in America at the time. In 1960, Nixon and Lodge, who nearly won the election, had used a slogan that could have been part of the script: “They Understand What Peace Demands.” Two years later, in October 1962, the Cuban missile crisis heightened the nation’s awareness that both the U.S. and the Soviet Union possessed a large arsenal of incredibly powerful nuclear weapons, and that even an accidental first strike would likely result in retaliation leading to full escalation. In 1964, the year the film was released, such fears were the basis of a clever response to a slogan used by the Republican presidential nominee. The Barry Goldwater campaign declared, “In Your Heart You Know He’s Right.” Supporters of Lyndon Johnson responded with, “In Your Heart You Know He Might.”

More than that, the film also editorializes by presenting a vision of the sort of Americans who can guide the nation to survival and even prosperity. The film “takes a side” in a vital debate during the Cold War. But it also attempts to make room for the opposing side. For example, during his televised press conference, President Lyman assures his hearers of their right to dissent. Viewers overhear him say:

Americans traditionally and historically have given vent to their views. On the date that this government does anything arbitrarily to stifle those views, it will have to change form. It will cease to be a democracy. And I can state quite frankly that this day will not come.

Earlier, when he faces off with the general, the president never suggests that his opponent’s militaristic views have no merit. Although he disagrees with Scott, Lyman does not debate the general’s position. What he objects to is Scott’s attempt to circumvent American rules and procedures. When General Scott professes “an abiding concern about the survival of this country,” President Lyman responds:

Then, by God, run for office! . . . You want to defend the United States of America. Then defend it using the tools it supplies you with, the Constitution. You ask for a mandate, General, from a ballot box. You don’t steal it after midnight, when the country has its back turned.

Colonel Casey, a third alternative, personifies a hawkish position that at the same time defends duly elected civilian authority. When the president meets with the colonel at the White House, he asks him what he thinks about General Scott’s militaristic views. Casey answers:

I agree with General Scott, Sir. I think we’re being played for suckers. I think it’s really your business, yours and the Senate. You did it and they agreed. So, well, I don’t see how we in the military can question it. I mean, we can question it, but we can’t fight it. . . . We shouldn’t anyway.

From the vantage point of the film, Lyman and Casey are ideal Americans. They are strong enough to act responsibly and to show respect even while they believe that they are in the right and that others are wrong. Seven Days in May seems to assume that strength and purity of character combined with uniquely-American institutions will always generate a way for the United States to prevail. Thus, the film reflects and encourages the values of that religion or folk philosophy that has been called "Americanism."

Sources

Farber, David, and Bailey, Beth. Columbia Guide to America in the 1960s. New York: Columbia University Press, 2003.

The Internet Movie Database. “Seven Days in May (1964).” http://www.imdb.com/ title/tt0058576/

The Meaning of Shutter Island

Okay, so the other night Michele and I watched the movie Shutter Island. Maybe you've seen it. If not, you probably saw the promos. The film was released back in February of this year. It was directed by the legendary Martin Scorsese and stars Leonardo DiCaprio, an actor who routinely turns in great performances, with no exception here.

Afterwards, I went to see some of the online discussion. What I found was a big disappointment. Not that I went looking for very long, but of the reviews I did come across none of them talked about the political dimension of this film. Why not? (spoiler alert!)

For those who haven't (yet) seen this movie, here's one reviewer's quick take on how it begins: Two U.S. marshals, Teddy Daniels and Chuck Aule, are summoned to a remote and barren island off the coast of Massachusetts to investigate the mysterious disappearance of a murderess from the island’s fortress-like hospital for the criminally insane.

As the story unfolds, viewers encounter a common narrative device: the difference between perception and reality. Things aren't as they seem, which raises the challenge of distinguishing the two.

But here's what I found really strange about most of the interpretations and reviews that I read about this movie. To a one, they all considered Shutter Island a psychological study of the main character. I saw it much more as a political allegory.

Why? Well, for one thing, at least three characters on Shutter Island make references to things like atomic weapons and the House Un-American Activities Committee. Not to mention that at an earlier time in his life, the main character had been one of the American soldiers who liberated the concentration camp at Dachau. Several other related parts of Shutter Island convinced me that this story isn't so much a "psychological thriller" about Teddy Daniels, the main character. Instead, it's more like a parable about the craze-inducing responsibility of being the United States of America, the world's superpower.

For example, why is it significant that the main character was a U.S. soldier in WWII, one who liberated a death camp no less? Sounds like American guilt to me. . . . Sure we got involved in the War. But that was only after Pearl Harbor dragged us in kicking and screaming. By then it was way too late for millions of European Jews. And it wasn't like we hadn't heard news about their plight. We just didn't want to believe it.

The good news, of course, is that we--the good guys with right on our side--successfully ended the war, . . . by dropping atomic bombs on two cities. But we would make up for any sins of omission or commission, we told ourselves. Or at least we could prevent those sorts of ugly things from happening again. How? By becoming vigilant. So vigilant, in fact, that at one point in the 1950s we were more than ready to see a Communist behind every tree. Of course, almost all of these people protested that they weren't Communists. But what would you expect them to say?

At the end of the film, Teddy Daniels, the DiCaprio character with a history he barely knows, has a question: Which would be worse? To live as a monster, or die as a good man? That's the question that won't leave the U.S. alone. Even when America exercises its power with the best of intentions--and our intentions are never so pure as that--it's not uncommon for many thousands of people inside and outside this country to experience our actions as nothing short of monstrous. The movie insinuates that if your American patriotism reacts with thoughts like: "But what about our commitment to international freedom and liberty?" and "What about all of the good that we do?" then you're Teddy Daniels, the man who knows only one part of his story, only one side of his identity.

But what other alternative is there, except for the monster to cease to exist? The ending of the movie insinuates that that is exactly what will happen in the future. The moral order, the law of sowing and reaping will eventually neutralize the United States.

Did anyone else see the film this way? Or should I be committed to the island?

The Spirituality of Stephen King

The other night, Michele and I watched "The Green Mile" on DVD. It's not among my favorite films. But she had never seen it before, was intrigued, and had picked it up along with some other movies at the library.

Just as it got rolling, I warned Michele about the three execution scenes, the second one being especially graphic and ugly and painfully-long. We hid our eyes and fast-forwarded through some of it. I've seen some rougher movies and documentaries. But for some reason, the depictions of hyper sadism in this one just really get to me.

Anyway, this time around I was remembering that, like "The Shawshank Redemption," this movie originates with Stephen King. And, again like Shawshank, "The Green Mile" is loaded with spiritual themes like redemption, retribution, the innocent suffering for the guilty, and on and on it goes. These story lines seem to take "principalities and powers" a lot more seriously than do most other contemporary films. And, in the Green Mile you even have a messiah figure whose initials are J.C.

So my off-handed question is, Why do we always hear about Stephen King as a writer of horror? Or is that merely his pop-culture and surface persona, the most obvious facet of his fiction obscuring the other facets? I also wonder, Are there any writers or discussions out there that deal with the "spirituality" of Stephen King? Also, what about his own religion, formative and current? It seems to be fairly rich and nuanced.

Any help? Thoughts?

Go See "Cinderella Man"

The AMC Entertainment group is doing something unusual. Last Friday, they began issuing a money-back guarantee to anyone who'd pay for a ticket to see the movie Cinderella Man.

For whatever set of reasons (none of them good), this movie just hasn't had many goers. Ironically, Michele and I went to see it the night it opened. We both enjoyed it.

As a film about boxing, it's not going to surpass Rocky. As a movie about the Great Depression, and that tells a true story, it does much the same thing that Seabiscuit does.

One of the best parts of this one: the supporting-actor performance by Paul Giamatti. Terrific! Something I didn't like: it runs nearly two-and-a-half hours. I think that it could easily have been ten minutes shorter and just as good otherwise.

Anyway, it seems that the people who head up AMC thought the same thing that Michele and I have been thinking for the last few weeks: "I can't believe this one hasn't caught on! It deserves to."

So, if you haven't gone (and it sounds like that's likely), go see Cinderella Man. My wife and I and AMC all think you'll like it.