Genuinely Christian

Tony Woodlief is writing on Christian writing again.

There is not redemption . . . without a fall, nor grace without sin. For O’Connor and other serious Christian writers, this reality led them to write books that would never be allowed on the shelves of a typical Christian bookstore.

This leads to an interesting possibility: that our local public library has more genuinely Christian literature — which is to say books that tell a truer story of the fall of man and his redemption by Christ — than most Christian booksellers.

In his follow-up post, he writes:

[B]ad Christian art cripples our compassionate imagination. When the bad guys practically have signs in a novel or movie labeling them as such, and the soon-to-be saved characters are similarly cordoned off, we lose sight of the wickedness that inhabits saints, and the despair that inhabits the hearts of the lost. Instead, we have our natural tribal mentality bolstered, that pernicious instinct that prompts us to think in terms of God’s saints on the one hand, and hell-bound heathens on the other, which is always accompanied by the delusion that we can spot them easily.

This second point is dead-on to use a cliché. But how does a writer or editor get away from this critique, especially as our world’s culture is being pornographified every year? Writers like Tony could be read as arguing for more vice in otherwise moral stories, even though he isn’t, but the preception and the reaction to it is the reason we have the art and stories we have today–mostly shallow and either sanitized or unsanitized.

What does the good stuff look like? It can’t be only literary or of high culture.

Old movie review: “Algiers”

Watched a few more of my renter’s crime movies this weekend, and I want to comment briefly on a couple of them.

I watched “They Made Me a Criminal,” with John Garfield. I had the idea this was considered some kind of classic, and maybe it is. But it did not impress me.

The acting was consistently over the top. The character arcs (Busby Berkeley directed it, and it bears all the psychological insight of his average musical) follow plot points, but don’t seem to proceed from any actual change in the characters. In other words, the characters change their behavior because “it’s time for them to change,” but it’s hard to say why they do that from their own perspective. Also present are The Dead End Kids, who fill the sort of place in the film that a rap artist would fill in a movie today (and about as effectively), and even Claude Raines, as the Inspector Jauvert-like detective, nearly mugs his teeth out.

I hated it.

Raines gave a much more subdued, and effective, performance in his most famous role, that of Capt. Renault in “Casablanca.” We all know “Casablanca.” A perfect, small, jewel of a film that tells a tight, heartfelt story that somehow seems inevitable, inescapable, unforgettable. It sits in your memory and colors all your experience forever after.

But are you familiar with the film that inspired the makers of “Casablanca?” A film that also inspired a thousand bad French dialect imitations, chief among which was “Pepe le Pew” in the Warner Brothers cartoons?

That movie was “Algiers,” with Charles Boyer and Hedy Lamar. I’d seen it in bits and pieces on TV years ago, but this was the first time I watched it from beginning to end, and I was completely enthralled.

Charles Boyer plays Pepe le Moko, a Parisian gangster who has fled to Algiers and is hiding in the native quarter called the Casbah, where the police dare not follow. He has made himself, for all practical purposes, king of the Casbah. He controls crime there, deals out justice, and enjoys the favors of a beautiful mistress (who seems to be a gypsy or something, though she was played by Sigrid Gurie, a Norwegian).

The French authorities are frustrated by their inability to lay hands on Pepe. Only Inspector Slimane (wonderfully played by Joseph Calleia), apparently a despised “half-caste,” understands Pepe’s essential weakness. Slimane is a patient man, and knows that he will catch Pepe, and even how he will do it.

Because he understands that Pepe cannot stay forever in the Casbah. That tortuous tangle of streets and stairways, where even the roads have walls, is in itself a kind of prison. Pepe’s confinement there is slowly, insidiously, driving him out of his mind. Driving him to forget his own safety. He looks out over the sea and dreams of Paris.

And it all comes to a head when he meets Gaby (Hedy Lamar), a gorgeous young woman from home who has come on holiday with her fiancé, a fat, unpleasant, but rich man whom she is marrying purely for his money. Pepe and Gaby see in each other the fulfillment of their mutual forbidden dreams.

There’s a scene at the end, when Pepe looks through a barred gate in the harbor and gets just a glimpse of Gaby on the ship’s deck, sailing away to her loveless marriage, and you see her through his eyes and it goes through your heart like a knife.

Old movies and old movie techniques can be ridiculous and dated, or sublime and timeless, depending on the skill and vision of the moviemakers. “Algiers” is a classic by any definition.

And no, he never says, “Come with me to the Casbah!”



Addendum:
Here’s a bit of trivia. Sigrid Gurie (refenced above), who played Pepe’s mistress, was the twin sister of Knut Haukelid, one of the leaders of the Norwegian resistance group that blew up the German heavy water operation at Vermork, Norway, thus denying important nuclear technology to the Nazis. Richard Harris’ character in the movie “Heroes of Telemark,” seems to have been based in part on Knut Haukelid.

On the Table Tonight

We’re having Toads in the Hole for supper tonight. It’s not an Irish dish, but it’s different than our usual fare, and I don’t like corned beef and cabbage. We bought some more or less traditional Irish soda bread over the weekend. That’s good stuff. I could eat that more often.

The last few years on St. Patrick’s Day, I’ve tried to talk myself into having a beer for the first time. This year, I won’t do that, but I did have my first beer back in January when I went to The Fresh Market, revealed my ID, and brought home a single can of Guinness Stout. I followed the directions by pouring it, chilled, into a cold glass. “A tiny plastic widget jets a stream of bubbles into the GUINNESS® beer when the can is opened. The result is black, white and beautiful,” according to the fans.

My experience varied.

I’m not sure what I expected, perhaps something that tasted more like barley and less like the spine-shuttering liquid in my chilly glass. I couldn’t drink more than half. Perhaps I should try Harp or even one of those sissy fruit beer I hear some men like, but I don’t plan to burn a path anywhere to find one. After all, what would St. Patrick do?

Six: The meme of the beastie

I’m back. Somewhat. To an extent.

I actually went back in to work Friday, for about six hours. But when I dragged myself home, I was too beat to post. Today I managed to stick it out for the whole eight hours, and I’m going to try to do a couple posts here, tired or not, because I’ve been piling up stuff I want to post about for the past week, and I’m going to explode if I don’t get some of it off my chest. And exploding will do my health no good.

To start with, Will at View From the Foothills has tagged Phil and me with a meme. Although telling you unimportant things about myself is hardly a departure in this space, I’ll go ahead and do it. The rules are as follows:

1. Link to the person that tagged you.

2. Post the rules on your blog.

3. Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself.

4. Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs.

5. Let each random person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website.

In honor of St. Patrick’s Day, I’ll start out my list on an Irish note, and let it blow where it lists from there.

1. Green is my least favorite color. Oh, I love the green of springtime, which can’t come soon enough for me, but when I contemplate the visual spectrum objectively, I pass over green. I don’t think I own any green clothing (lucky for me I’m not Irish). I think the reason comes from candy. In the Rules of Candy, at least from when I was a kid, green meant lime. And I hate lime. Red, on the other hand, could mean either strawberry or cherry, either of which pleases me. Nowadays you sometimes get green candy that’s apple flavored, but that’s a postmodern aberration. Apple candy ought to be colored yellow, like it says in the Bible.

2. I always resented the Irish as a boy. Partly because I hated green (see above). Partly because I couldn’t understand why the Irish deserved all this attention and Norwegians didn’t (you can say that there are a lot more Irish than Norwegians in this country, but you didn’t grow up in Kenyon, Minnesota). But when I grew to maturity, I discovered Irish music and was completely won over, to the extent of developing an Irish alter ego to narrate The Year of the Warrior. Since I got into Father Ailill’s skin, I’ve found myself occasionally thinking I am Irish, and having to remind myself I’m not.

3. In my opinion, the most beautiful woman to show up on the scene in my lifetime was the tragic Swedish-American actress Inger Stevens. She had all the standard attributes of the ice princess, the untouchable blonde Hitchcock heroine, but she also had big blue eyes and dimples. I never watch “Hang ‘Em High” (because the gallows scenes are too harrowing for me) but when I watch “Five Card Stud,” it ain’t for Dean Martin.

4. I used to be able to recite Francis Thompson’s “The Hound of Heaven” from memory. I still remember most of it, but there are gaps.

5. I’ve never met anyone famous, that I’m aware of. I’ve had contact with a few people of some note by e-mail.

6. I was co-winner of the New York C. S. Lewis Society’s Screwtape competition back around 1975. The challenge was to write a new Screwtape letter. I shared the prize (which consisted of publication in the newsletter, nothing more) with Jennifer Swift, who is, I believe, like me a minor Fantasy writer now. My letter was better than hers.

As is my wont, I shall not tag anyone else with this meme. If you want to carry it on on your own blog, be my guest.

Person’s a Person or Something Like That

Last weekend, the movie adaptation of Dr. Seuss’ Horton Hears a Who opened. It looks like a fun my girls will enjoy.

You might think the essence of the story affirms life at all stages, but I’ve read that Dr. Seuss and his widow always disapproved of the signature phrase, “A person’s a person, no matter how small,” being used as a pro-life message. A few years ago, a biographer discussed the matter on a book show in Australia:

Amanda Smith (of Book Talk): And then, also, the anti-abortion lobby in the United States has used a line from Horton Hears a Who, the line that says, ‘A person’s a person, no matter how small.’ Would that have been in accord with Seuss’s intended meaning?

Philip Nel (author of Dr Seuss – American Icon): Absolutely not. In fact, during his lifetime Seuss threatened to sue an anti-abortion group unless they took that off their stationery and they did take it off their stationery but it’s still used. I’ve still seen propaganda in recent years from pro-life groups that have adopted Horton’s line, ‘A person’s a person, no matter how small.’ It’s one of the ways in which Seuss has been misappropriated. He would not agree with that.

I don’t remember the book clearly, but I wonder if this story is larger or beyond Dr. Seuss’ intentions. Once a story is published, it’s out of the author’s hands, is it not? An author may have written something with themes he doesn’t fully agree with, stumbling on truths he does not recognize.

St. Patrick, a Sinner

For this day, a special St. Patrick’s Day because it falls between Palm Sunday and Easter, here is a part of Patrick’s confession (also found here). The real man behind the day is here:

I, Patrick, a sinner, a most simple countryman, the least of all the faithful and most contemptible to many, had for father the deacon Calpurnius, son of the late Potitus, a presbyter, of the settlement of Bannaven Taburniae; he had a small villa nearby where I was taken captive. I was at that time about sixteen years of age. I did not, indeed, know the true God; and I was taken into captivity in Ireland with many thousands of people, according to our deserts, for quite drawn away from God, we did not keep his precepts, nor were we obedient to our presbyters who used to remind us of our salvation. And the Lord brought down on us the fury of his being and scattered us among many nations, even to the ends of the earth, where I, in my smallness, am now to be found among foreigners.

And there the Lord opened my mind to an awareness of my unbelief, in order that, even so late, I might remember my transgressions and turn with all my heart to the Lord my God, who had regard for my insignificance and pitied my youth and ignorance. And he watched over me before I knew him, and before I learned sense or even distinguished between good and evil, and he protected me, and consoled me as a father would his son.

Therefore, indeed, I cannot keep silent, nor would it be proper, so many favours and graces has the Lord deigned to bestow on me in the land of my captivity. For after chastisement from God, and recognizing him, our way to repay him is to exalt him and confess his wonders before every nation under heaven:

For there is no other God, nor ever was before, nor shall be hereafter, but God the Father, unbegotten and without beginning, in whom all things began, whose are all things, as we have been taught; and his son Jesus Christ, who manifestly always existed with the Father, before the beginning of time in the spirit with the Father, indescribably begotten before all things, and all things visible and invisible were made by him. He was made man, conquered death and was received into Heaven, to the Father who gave him all power over every name in Heaven and on Earth and in Hell, so that every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord and God, in whom we believe. And we look to his imminent coming again, the judge of the living and the dead, who will render to each according to his deeds. And he poured out his Holy Spirit on us in abundance, the gift and pledge of immortality, which makes the believers and the obedient into sons of God and co-heirs of Christ who is revealed, and we worship one God in the Trinity of holy name.

He himself said through the prophet: “Call upon me in the day of trouble; I will deliver you, and you shall glorify me [Psalm 50:15].” And again: “It is right to reveal and publish abroad the works of God.”

I am imperfect in many things, nevertheless I want my brethren and kinsfolk to know my nature so that they may be able to perceive my soul’s desire.

Read on

The Thin Man by Dashiell Hammett

Do the really good detectives ever retire? I doubt it. They’re always pulled back into a crime case by circumstances or fans of their past work. That’s what happened with Nick Charles, who had managed to marry a gorgeous woman with tons of money. He didn’t need detective work to pay the bills. He had a few accounts to manage, some stocks to buy, and some martinis to drink. So he didn’t want to get involved with the murder of the secretary of a man for whom he once worked. But I doubt he could turn off his curiosity or sense of justice any more than he could stop observing the world like a detective. Even when he was sharing a cheap champagne at a speakeasy with a man he had sent up the river several years ago and a small fight broke out, he couldn’t help notice that the more-or-less-former thug still led with his right. It was that mistake which the two men had agree allowed Nick to bag the thug back when they were on opposite sides of the law.

The Thin Man is a great crime novel. It’s very funny in parts, and if you have seen the movie series based on Nick and Nora Charles, both movie and book characters are alike in the sexy wit that has appealed to many readers and viewers for decades. This is Hammett’s last novel, and it’s recommended.

‘Reading must not become a dangerous sport’

The Paris Book Fair has opened, and some people are unhappy about it. Israel’s President Shimon Peres delivered opening remarks. “‘Those who want to burn books, boycott wisdom, prevent reflection, block freedom, condemn themselves to blindness, ignorance, to lack of reflection, loss of freedom,’ Peres said in his only reference to the boycott,” according to this AP story which has an error in its opening line. It reports there is “a boycott by some Arab nations upset that it honors Arab writers.” That should be honoring Israeli writers.

Fair organizer Serge Eyrolles said, “Reading must not become a dangerous sport,” even though I think it always has been–that is intellectually and spiritually dangerous. How many people have had their lives changed by reading a book? How many readers have had their eyes opened? And the reverse, how many have been blinded by the lies within books? The library, the bookstore can be dangerous places for ungrounded readers tossed back and forth by the waves of competing ideas.

No Debate? I’ll Sue

John Coleman, the man who gave us The Weather Channel, says if global warming advocates will not stand for a debate with credible scientists who oppose their theory, then he’ll sue Al Gore for financial fraud.

“Since we can’t get a debate, I thought perhaps if we had a legal challenge and went into a court of law, where it was our scientists and their scientists, and all the legal proceedings with the discovery and all their documents from both sides and scientific testimony from both sides, we could finally get a good solid debate on the issue,” Coleman said. “I’m confident that the advocates of ‘no significant effect from carbon dioxide’ would win the case.”

Coleman has been critical of the climate change hype you see everywhere and how his cable channel, now owned by someone else, has encouraged the hype. “In December 2006, The Weather Channel’s Heidi Cullen argued on her blog that weathercasters who had doubts about human influence on global warming should be punished with decertification by the American Meteorological Society,” according to the Business & Media Institute.