Author: Jakin Rintleman

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Opinions

Beauty And The Boycott

The way popular forms of media create and imitate culture has always been a point of contention amongst consumers with a religious eye. Yet it elicits an unexpectedly intimate sting when you find yourself at moral odds with art that you thought came from a trusted source. For the majority of Westernized culture, Disney is a synonym for family wholesomeness. My generation was raised on the The Little Mermaid, The Lion King, and Beauty and the Beast. Now, in order to tap into the financial potential of such a nostalgic era of filmmaking, Disney is releasing live-action remakes of these stories. Part of the appeal of such projects is the effect time has in the retelling of the familiar. However, the changes are not just technical. With LGBTQ+ representation in media growing more common, Disney’s decision to embrace this change in the live-action Beauty and the Beast has left some Christians angry. There have been public calls for boycotts, open letters to Hollywood asking for revisions, and a general sentiment of “I don’t understand why they needed to change the story I grew up with by making a character gay.” While I understand this stems from a place of genuine concern, I am convicted that not only is this kind of interaction with art unhelpful, but it is not a Christian way to engage with the world.

Disney has an agenda, but that agenda is parallel to what is becoming culturally acceptable. This has never not been the case. When Andy Griffith prayed at his family’s dinner table, America generally identified as Christian, so Disney films appealed to that same sense of morality. It was the culture, and they continue to act similarly today in an environment that is less conservative. Calling it an agenda, when their platform is inspired by the climate in which they create and release content, is similar to claiming that a pastor has a religious agenda when preaching on Sundays. While it is technically true, the label means very little. Certainly anyone can come in and listen, just as anyone can go see a film, but it would be ridiculous for a non-religious visitor to hear people affirming the existence God in such a place and attempt to boycott the church. They weren’t a part of the culture of the church in the first place, even if they are invited to be. You cannot disconnect an expression from the setting in which it was conceived and created simply because it is visible to you.

If you decide to boycott a film based on an honest representation of humanity, then you have missed the point of sharing in creative human expression. The basis of storytelling has always been the buildup of tension created by pain and conflict, a unique product of sin, that eventually results in some sort of resolving conclusion. This means that art is inherently tainted by the reality of sin nature the same way that humanity is. So avoiding a single work based on what you perceive to be morally incompatible is counterintuitive, unless you choose to remove yourself from engaging in art as a whole.

Whether or not homosexuality is a sin is not the issue. Art is meant to express the totality of the human experience and we cannot exclude an entire social group from being represented simply because their lifestyles do not align with another group’s moral convictions.  Watching movies is not something we should partake in to have our beliefs affirmed, but to exercise our capacity for empathy. After all, the ability to relate to others is a muscle, something that must be trained. If we are to be like Christ then we must engage with the world the way he did, while still acknowledging the failings of humanity. This is what expression is, a way to connect and revel in the unique emotional imprints of each one of us holds within us. When we respond to popular culture as if it’s surprising that it does not live up to personal moral convictions that we all fall short of daily, then we have forgotten that.

Everyone has the right to have stories told about them, no matter what. Don’t forget that when you go to the theater, read a book, or listen to music, that you are listening to the inner thoughts of someone’s personal expression, shared with you, not simply something to affirm you and your faith. It is a special vulnerability to experience this, treat it with care, and listen as Jesus would listen. The culture of the world will always be the world’s, and we are all a part of it. Whether or not you choose to see a film in which a gay character is portrayed positively, you are still called to interact with the world as an ambassador for Christ: with love and empathy.

Jakin is a senior communication major with a concentration in media arts and design.

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Arts Stories In Focus

Film Review: Get Out

We all have different thresholds for confrontation. For some, all they need are a few off-handed comments diminishing their favorite book or an uninformed insinuation that grains are the most important food group to go flying off the verbal handle. Yet for others, the benefit of the doubt will still remain intact even after the “local neighborhood chainsaw salesman” they let into the house has started swinging at them. “I’m sure it was just an accident.” It is in this relational ambiguity that Jordan Peele’s recently released film Get Out finds it’s home, and manages to unnerve the viewer in ways that are far deeper than its genre format may initially suggest. Paranoia runs rampant in the uncomfortable and the awkward, when people are just a few degrees away from understanding each other, but can’t quite connect. What people do to each other within this disconnect is what’s truly terrifying.

The film centers on Chris Washington, played by Daniel Kaluuya, who is black, and his girlfriend Rose Armitage, played by Allison Williams, who is white. Chris knows this shouldn’t be a big deal in modern society, but the desire to preface a relationship in such a way is often culturally expected even though distinguishing between “interracial relationships” and whatever painful phrase indicates a “same race relationship” can lead to strange confrontations. So when he leaves the city to visit his girlfriend’s family for the first time, he is prepared for the worst. While they are not nearly the prejudiced suburban family that he imagined living deep in the woods, he can’t help but feel that they interact with him in a way that’s quietly unsettling. When the groundskeeper and maid start behaving oddly, Chris begins to think that the family has planned something sinister for him.

It is incredibly difficult to talk about this movie to people who haven’t seen it. No matter how much you gush about its impeccable pacing, tremendous performances, and witty writing, it can’t be proven until it is seen. This film is bonkers, yet it manages to restrain itself and worm its way into your mind with silent, subconscious tension. It’s brilliant, and worth seeing if you have even the tiniest of stakes in the cinematic landscape of the modern world.

Get Out is delightfully clever, and from the film’s first moments it is clear that you are in the hands of a methodically constructed work of fiction. It knows its audience is intelligent, and treats them in kind, which is a refreshing experience from a low-budget horror film. When the pieces of the plot start fitting together and you think you are getting ahead of the story, characters will chime in to explain that they’ve made the same connections, just to remind you that the movie knows what it’s doing. This is usually the result when a brilliant writer and director are working in tandem, and in this case, both are Jordan Peele. While Peele showcased some of his directorial prowess on his often brilliant sketch show Key and Peele, this film proves that he can easily translate his skills to long-form drama while still keeping an air of wit and comic relief that is more than welcome when the tension starts growing unbearable. There has never been such an organic balance between dread and humor in a movie of this kind, and it is a genuinely wonderful experience to feel tonal balance shift back and forth with ease.

This movie is weird, sincerely odd, and it’s all the better for it. It is tightly plotted, scripted, directed, shot, marketed (but please avoid the trailer if you can), and is easily a masterwork of genre filmmaking. Go see this movie, you will not regret it. And if somehow you do, find a friend to talk it over with because part of Get Out’s design is that it is meant to be discussed, parsed, and obsessed over. If you have any desire to watch a movie from a perspective you haven’t experienced before and come out a changed person, albeit with a slight aversion to lacrosse sticks, hypnotism, and deer, you will not be disappointed.

 

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Stories In Focus

Film Review: Split

It is horrifying how much of our growth is the product of pain. Even more terrifying is the fact that an M. Night Shyamalan movie in 2017 was something that made me dwell deeply on the subtle ways that my experiences have shaped my personality and being. It’s important that you understand how viscerally this offends me, in order to understand the significance of any praise this movie deserves. The director of Lady in the Water, The Last Airbender, and After Earth, shouldn’t be able to convince a child to sympathize with a bunny dying of rabbit cancer in her mother’s fluffy, tear-soaked arms. And yet, I find myself uttering the impossible, with Split, Shyamalan has made another great film.

Split follows Casey (Anya Taylor-Joy), an unexpectedly capable teenage heroine. She doesn’t have friends, she sulks in corners while the cool kids celebrate their sweet 16’s. Casey is the kind of person you want to have around when a deranged man (specifically James McAvoy) kidnaps you and your acquaintances and locks you all in a ten by ten cell deep underground. When this happens to Casey and her acquaintances, they learn that their abductor is afflicted with Dissociative Identity Disorder and that each one of his twenty three unique personalities has a different idea of what to do with them. This is when Casey learns what lengths she will go to in order to escape.

Split is the kind of movie that seethes and boils silently beneath your skin. It is equal parts innovative and quaint, restrained and madcap, sentimental and malevolent. There is a carefully teetering balance between schlock and drama that is always threatening to tip too far in one direction, but the moment of failure never comes. It serves as a testament to the values of careful direction and fine-tuned performances that this story manages to take such overused elements of modern horror and allow them to ferment, creating an atmosphere of distrust that lingers long after the screen goes dark. The cinematography enhances this even more, knowing how to hide pertinent visual information until the sheer frustration of the viewer seems to telekinetically influence the camera to move. This film is secure in its tone and its content in a really encouraging, and honestly invigorating, way. It’s not always masterful, but Split never lets the tension droop. Every scene is just efficient enough to move you onto the next before things get too uncomfortable, and not too soon to be accused of backing down from its subject matter.

James McAvoy is the primary reason Split works at all, and deserves all the praise he is being adorned with by pundits. There is an inherent challenge in taking on a role that requires one to inhabit what are essentially twenty three different people, each with their distinct sets of mental, physical, and spiritual characteristics. It is an even greater challenge still, to do so deftly. Somehow, he manages to do so. He’s so good in fact, that you when you see him contort his body and mind between many personalities in a single scene, you can catch of glimpse of someone deeply in love with their craft.

With Split, Shyamalan manages to take a premise that’s campy, unempathetic, voyeuristic, shoved into the Osh Kosh overalls of modern filmmaking that is the PG-13 horror/thriller, and mold it into something with surprising thematic coherence. It’s incredibly refreshing to watch a film in this muddled genre actually have something important to say about human psychology, interaction, and trauma. If you were wondering why I haven’t mentioned the trademark Shyamalan twist yet, I’ll just say that if you’ve kept up with his filmography, you’re in for a treat. It’s nice to have you back M. Night.

 

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Reviews Stories In Focus

SPOT Review: Consistency Carries the Show

The advertising campaign for this year’s SPOT show was unique and intriguing, with figures in fluorescent morphsuits prancing about the chapel stage, promising excitement and hilarity throughout Homecoming week. This excitement culminated during SPOT, Houghton’s own comedy and variety show. Yet, any semblance of anticipation for the show was marred by the fifty minute wait the audience endured before the event. Still, despite technical difficulties, delightful roars of applause echoed through the chapel as the projector booted up, signalling the occasion would continue on as planned. Fall SPOT 2015 turned out to be one of the most consistent SPOTs yet.

SPOT by Christian BighamThis year’s SPOT hosts Meagan Palm  and Breanne Smithley carried out their hosting duties diligently over the course of the show. Though there wasn’t a consistent theme connecting their between-act dialogues, , they were probably the most successful hosts the college has had in a few years. Their material was light and quite funny, garnering significant laughs from the audience. Whether they were blending Dorito-ketchup milkshakes, dressing up as elderly women, or inventing Christian curse words, they remained a staple of good natured humor that kept the crowd interested and entertained amidst grapefruit jokes and “so-bad-they’re-good” puns.

Houghton’s recurring Weekly Update and Thank You Notes segments both had appearances on Saturday night, and the material was only moderately humorous. The continuing focus on Sodexo policy and Houghton dating life are to be expected at this point, but there was a noticeable absence of fresh ideas. Between school-specific Tinder  gags and references to our food supplier’s contract expiring, there was little material that the crowd felt fully comfortable laughing with, the exception being Pam announcing a run for presidency. The Thank You Notes section was well-intentioned and Jackson Wheeler and Garret Kirkpatrick ad-libbed playfully in-between readings, but overall the segment was more derivative than funny.

SPOT1Video submissions this semester were well crafted and engaging. Music majors made a claim to personhood and relatability in a short film that playfully addressed stereotypes. Intramural teams dubbed over themselves in a hilarious Bad Lip Reading-style segment, and Roommate Confessions interviewed roommates acting as caricatured versions of each other.  Each video successfully mined cheerful reactions from the crowd.

The quality of musical performance at an event like SPOT can be incredibly varied in terms of general talent portrayed, but this semester music was the highlight of the show. Two surprisingly charming Taylor Swift parodies lined the roster, while piano, bagpipes, harp, and drum instrumentals roused the crowd and instilled an overall atmosphere of excitement. The Houghton Singers closed out the night admirably with a cover of Pharrell William’s Happy in their finely tuned acapella brilliance.

This year’s Homecoming SPOT saw a mostly pleasing selection of comedic, video, and musical acts that scored genuine laughs with the crowd, hopefully marking a return to consistency for the show. If Pam is truly running for presidential office, she’s going to have one heck of a following.

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Reviews Stories In Focus

Blast From The Past: Lost in Translation Review

Hotels are neutralizing. They exist as these in-between purgatorial vacation places, where you can pretend to live without the nagging burdens of modern life. You have a pool now, and a maid, and endless patterned hallways to explore, all filled with people who are only temporarily living in this halfway home for the well-off with you. Anything can happen in a hotel. You are a new person, in a new place where nobody knows you. This is the timeless in-between space that Lost in Translation takes place in and pulls its acerbic wit and quiet energy from, creating a nuanced, contemplative experience that dazzles with its emotional subtleties.

Lost_in_Translation_posterThe story of Lost in Translation is fundamentally simple. Bob Harris (Bill Murray) is an American film actor who has lived to see his glory days come and pass, along with the happiness of his marriage. His career is no longer defined by his skill as a performer, but by his marketability as a face that people remember fondly. He now finds himself in Tokyo starring in an ad campaign for a pronounced whiskey brand, away from home, surrounded by a language he doesn’t understand, on the verge of a mid-life crisis. Charlotte (Scarlett Johansson) is a recent college grad and the young wife of an up-and-coming photographer, tagging along on his job trip, caught between imposing existential and marital quandaries. Two wandering souls searching for meaning in a westernized, urban landscape. Their meeting place? A smoke-filled, burgundy-carpeted hotel lounge, overlooking the city with poetic, restrained arrogance. After glances grow into larger interactions, they discover that maybe the best way to find yourself in a culture that is not your own, is to be lost in it with someone else.

It feels typical, soapy, even expected, but despite any attempt to make it sound like the tagline for Nicholas Sparks’ most recent cinematic offering, there should be no detraction from the quiet brilliance of Sophia Coppola’s vision of hopeful melancholy. Coppola has a deft understanding of film; from her drifting cinematography, to the subtle acting cues that shape the atmosphere of the film, everything is near-perfect. Yet the true beauty of the movie is in its narrative execution, in its ability to take the familiar and the occasionally cringe-inducing aspects of life and roll them into intricate character interactions that shine in their small moments and large alike.

Murray and Johansson are both tastefully, even impeccably cast. Murray bounces off of Johansson with a romantic charm that would be considered creepy if the film were in less capable hands. Yet their age difference is never an issue. If anything, it adds significantly to the spirit of what a hotel is: a timeless, ageless crossroads for people searching for fulfillment away from the comforts of home. This theme is crucial to understanding who these people are and why they would be vulnerable enough to approach one another in the first place. There is a youthful zeal to Bob’s antics, a sense of wonderment in Charlotte’s longing for purpose, and together they’re delightful in their tragic meeting. Despite the joy that they experience in their first quiet conversations at the hotel bar or in their escapades through the arcades of downtown Tokyo, there is always a knowing look of loss in their eyes. To each other, they are like beautiful relapses away from normal, and they both know that soon they will return to their homes and spouses again, and re-adjust. These things are never stated, only read. Read in the quaint eyebrow shifts, the mumbled trailing-off of loving sentences, the aching, intimate glances in the midst of open-mic karaoke. These are the moments that make Lost in Translation feel whole.

Lost in Translation speaks to a wistful transience, captured in its brittle, contemplative story of hotel guests transitioning from facelessness to fleeting connection. Just as a brief hotel stay, the experience exists in its own place, separated and distinct from the world, yet still familiar. And in the end, we must go home.