Recently I've found myself poring over my top 100 films list, looking for repeating patterns, similarities, and idiosyncrasies that might provide insight into my general artistic tastes. While I have yet to distill all of this info into something conclusive that fits with in a bloggable stereotype, I have divined one inevitable fact: I do love a good bromance. I don't mean bromance in the cop-out "let's be good friends" sense, but full-on bromance. I want my movies to earn their pun. So, as a way of beginning an analysis on man-love in movies, and as a way of telling Maine to suck it, I'd like to take a closer examination at the most relevant bromance in "history," as chronicled in a free-wheeling hippie musical. I'm talking, of course, about the unbridled love, passion, and implied sex between Jesus Christ and Judas, shown through Jesus Christ Superstar.
Oh shit yes. I'm going there. I'm going there hard.
Jesus Christ Superstar as a play is inherently subversive. It portrays Jesus's early followers and writhing penitents, desperate for some form of reward ("Christ you know I love you/Can't you see I waved/ I believe in you and God/so tell me that I'm saved"), while the people around him tell him to "keep them yelling in their devotion, but add a touch of hate." Meanwhile, Jesus staggers around, yelling that he's not the Son of God, while Mary Magdelene spends many a night with him, even if she can't please him. Take a look at this clip that very accurately captures the film's perspective of early Christianity: www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sa3yG1j_9pc
The 1973 film version, directed by Norman Jewison, takes the offensiveness even farther, however. For your viewing pleasure, I humbly submit this clip:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=jkje4FiH9Qc&feature=related
Let's just ignore the fact that Jesus seems to be inhabiting a love-cave with a barely-dressed harem of women dancing around him while Mary Magdelene rubs oil on his body. What's interesting here is Judas: watch him watching Mary. What's in his face, his eyes? That's right. Jealousy. He's not pissed that she's wasting her fine ointment; he's pissed that she's making moves on his man. If you think I'm reading too much into it, just wait for Jesus's reply: he tells Judas to stop bitching about the poor, and start worrying about him. Jesus says that he'll be leaving Judas soon, and he wants him to be alright. Then, they hold hands. No, not just hold hands: they full-on caress each other as Judas dissolves into tears. Please note that Mary Magdelene is very nearly grinding on Jesus the whole time, but Jesus only has eyes for Judas, and vice versa.
The whole film plays like this. Was this done with the express purpose of angering the religious right? While it's a nice ancillary benefit, I can't help but feel that it wasn't director Norman Jewison's primary objective. Consider this: if Judas were played like the straight (in every sense of the word), conventional villain, then Jesus's story is simply a tale of a traitor acting for money. That's been done. It has no real emotional heft or meaning. Add a bit of love into the equation. Suddenly, Judas isn't just some bad guy: he's torn between the man he loves and what he sees as the future of his country. The film shows Judas struggling with indecision, worried that the uprising that Christ is creating will bring Roman retaliation from which his homeland won't be able to recover. He loves Jesus, but is finally convinced that the people he love, including himself, need to suffer so that Israel can have a future. This bit of love turns a cliched villain story into a heart-wrenching parable of prioritizing the good of the majority over personal emotions.
Hence a bromance is born. I've only shown you the one clip, but the film is rife with significant glances and innuendos. Hell, it's not a bromance so much as a full-on romance. The film only earns that extra B because of its reluctance to be explicit. Maybe next time, Jesus. Maybe next time.
Am I going straight to hell, or do Jesus and Judas make the wrongwaysbusiness? Your choice, not mine.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Your Slice of Zen for the Day
Claude: I happen to think you're ridiculous.
Berger: I am, man, I am ridiculous. I'm totally ridiculous, I'm ludicrous. I don't wanna go over there and kill people and murder women and children.
Claude: You go ahead and be ridiculous, and I'll do what I have to do.
Hud: Who're you doing it for?
Claude: I'm doin' it for you, man.
Hud: Hey look, don't hand me that. If you're doing it for me, don't, because if the shoe was on the other foot, I wouldn't do it for you.
Berger: I am, man, I am ridiculous. I'm totally ridiculous, I'm ludicrous. I don't wanna go over there and kill people and murder women and children.
Claude: You go ahead and be ridiculous, and I'll do what I have to do.
Hud: Who're you doing it for?
Claude: I'm doin' it for you, man.
Hud: Hey look, don't hand me that. If you're doing it for me, don't, because if the shoe was on the other foot, I wouldn't do it for you.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Review: A Serious Man
A Serious Man (***1/2/****)
One moment, early on in A Serious Man, clued me into the kind of film I'd be watching. The film opens with a bizarre comic-violent prologue in Yiddish, and then skips, without warning, to a Minneapolis Hebrew School in the 70s while blaring Jefferson Airplane's "Somebody to Love." At this point, A Serious Man allowed its true form to be seen: The Coen brothers do love strange juxtapositions, and the film itself would turn out to be just that; a strange juxtaposition. Is it odd? Definitely. Is it funny? In a sort of cringe-inducing way, yes. Is it incomprehensible? Not quite, but it does its damnedest. Does it work? Mostly.
A Serious Man chronicles a period in the life of Larry Gopnik, a Jewish Physics professor struggling to make tenure. His home life begins to disintegrate: his wife asks for a divorce, she's having an affair with his friend, his children seem to be concealing things from him, and his deadbeat brother refuses to do anything but drain the cyst in his neck at odd hours of the day. At work, a student attempts to bribe him, and, when that fails, sue him for defamation. As his life falls apart, Larry searches for answers: first in himself, then from his loved ones, and finally, from his Rabbis. No one seems to know what the hell is going on, or any way to fix it.
With A Serious Man, the Coens have created a film that seems like an in-joke, but manifests itself as something more. Their film is a meditation on why bad things happen to good people. I found the film to be a biblical interpretation of sorts: The book of Job (in which God allows Satan to pimp-slap a righteous man to the ground in order to win a bet), liberally laced with the elements of the story of David and Bathsheba (which I won't expand upon, for spoiler-avoiding reasons, but if you know the story, you can guess the sort of things that happen). All of this is, of course, conjecture. Any attempt to fit some definite moral or theme to this film is like coming up with plots for the dreams you have: they don't exist while you're having them, but upon waking, you need continuity to make sense of the experience you just had.
The acting is solid across the board. Michael Stuhlbarg as Larry Gopnik, in particular, is quite effective. He manages to not sound whiny or annoying, which is quite the feat, considering his character's situation. Sari Lennick and Fred Melamed, as Gopnik's wife and her lover, respectively, also do wonders with their (relatively) small parts. Also worth noting is Richard Deakin's starkly beautiful cinematography: it's not showy, but creates a claustrophobic atmosphere, as if the world is slowly caving in on poor Mr. Gopnik.
There is one moment in the film that most people will see as being completely superfluous, or incomprehensible, or both. The scene in question concerns Rabbi Nachtner's story about the dentist finding inscriptions in his patient's teeth. I humbly submit this as scene as the thesis statement of the entire film: Nachtner's last (paraphrased) words? "Who knows why these things happen, but being good? It doesn't hurt."
One moment, early on in A Serious Man, clued me into the kind of film I'd be watching. The film opens with a bizarre comic-violent prologue in Yiddish, and then skips, without warning, to a Minneapolis Hebrew School in the 70s while blaring Jefferson Airplane's "Somebody to Love." At this point, A Serious Man allowed its true form to be seen: The Coen brothers do love strange juxtapositions, and the film itself would turn out to be just that; a strange juxtaposition. Is it odd? Definitely. Is it funny? In a sort of cringe-inducing way, yes. Is it incomprehensible? Not quite, but it does its damnedest. Does it work? Mostly.
A Serious Man chronicles a period in the life of Larry Gopnik, a Jewish Physics professor struggling to make tenure. His home life begins to disintegrate: his wife asks for a divorce, she's having an affair with his friend, his children seem to be concealing things from him, and his deadbeat brother refuses to do anything but drain the cyst in his neck at odd hours of the day. At work, a student attempts to bribe him, and, when that fails, sue him for defamation. As his life falls apart, Larry searches for answers: first in himself, then from his loved ones, and finally, from his Rabbis. No one seems to know what the hell is going on, or any way to fix it.
With A Serious Man, the Coens have created a film that seems like an in-joke, but manifests itself as something more. Their film is a meditation on why bad things happen to good people. I found the film to be a biblical interpretation of sorts: The book of Job (in which God allows Satan to pimp-slap a righteous man to the ground in order to win a bet), liberally laced with the elements of the story of David and Bathsheba (which I won't expand upon, for spoiler-avoiding reasons, but if you know the story, you can guess the sort of things that happen). All of this is, of course, conjecture. Any attempt to fit some definite moral or theme to this film is like coming up with plots for the dreams you have: they don't exist while you're having them, but upon waking, you need continuity to make sense of the experience you just had.
The acting is solid across the board. Michael Stuhlbarg as Larry Gopnik, in particular, is quite effective. He manages to not sound whiny or annoying, which is quite the feat, considering his character's situation. Sari Lennick and Fred Melamed, as Gopnik's wife and her lover, respectively, also do wonders with their (relatively) small parts. Also worth noting is Richard Deakin's starkly beautiful cinematography: it's not showy, but creates a claustrophobic atmosphere, as if the world is slowly caving in on poor Mr. Gopnik.
There is one moment in the film that most people will see as being completely superfluous, or incomprehensible, or both. The scene in question concerns Rabbi Nachtner's story about the dentist finding inscriptions in his patient's teeth. I humbly submit this as scene as the thesis statement of the entire film: Nachtner's last (paraphrased) words? "Who knows why these things happen, but being good? It doesn't hurt."
Your Slice of Zen for the Day
"It's impossible for words to describe what is necessary to those who do not know what horror means. Horror. Horror has a face, and you must make a friend of horror. Horror and moral terror are your friends. If they are not, then they are enemies to be truly feared."
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Your Slice of Zen for the Day
"Ten words exactly. After ten it's extra. You see, Daddy thinks of these things. If I had leprosy, there'd be a cable: 'Gee, kid, tough. Sincerely hope nose doesn't fall off. Love."
Monday, November 2, 2009
All Quiet on the Blogging Front
I know it's been awfully quiet around here of late--I was travelling this past weekend. I know the correct way to remedy this is to return with a double-barrelled blast of content, but I just don't think that's going to pan out for me today. Maybe I'm coming down with something. Oh well. More apologies. I'm sure y'all understand.
Your Slice of Zen for the Day
"I remember my mom when she was dying, she looked all shrunk up and grey. I asked her if she was afraid. She just shook her head. I was afraid to touch the death I seen in her. I couldn't find nothing beautiful or uplifting about her going back to God. I heard people talk about immortality, but I ain't seen it. I wondered how it would be like when I died, what it'd be like to know this breath now was the last one you was ever gonna draw. I just hope I can meet it the same way she did, with the same calm. 'Cause that's where it's hidden; the immortality I hadn't seen."
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