Noah: Neither/Nor

On March 29th, Matt Walsh wrote a wedgie-twisting diatribe on Aronofsky's Noah, describing the film as "the most insipid, absurd, unimaginative, clumsily contrived piece of anti-Christian filmmaking to come along since, well, probably just last week."

And Brett McCracken roundly praised it: "Most importantly I believe the film — which ends up being an epic somewhere between Tolkien’s The Two Towers and Shakespeare’s Hamlet — retains the theological themes of the Noah story, powerfully bringing to life a 'second Eden' tale that highlights both the justice and mercy of the Creator, a God of grace and second chances."

Neither/nor.

Darren Aronofsky's Noah is not a flimsy, foppish anti-biblical attack on bull-pig-pseudo-Christian America, nor is it a great flower of Western culture. It is a somewhat interesting exploration of the Noahic themes that yet struggles to portray a convincing interpersonal conflict.

But let us first clarify something very pertinent if we are to avoid Walshian troubles.

Noah's success as a work of art is the only relevant plane on which it may be evaluated. The rest is observation and commentary, valuable to a point, but not ... well ... all that relevant in judging a film ... at which point I inadvertently stumble into a quote by Kierkegaard: "Anyone who is something, and is something essentially, possesses 'eo ipso,' the claim to be recognized for exactly this special thing, and for nothing more or less." (The Crisis and a Crisis in the Life of an Actress)

For instance, if you found Noah offensive, this may be because you misunderstand the presuppositions of the movie theater. When one enters a playhouse or a movie theater, it is with the expectation that he is going to see a play or a movie, respectively. He is going to see a good story. On less frequent occasions, he may see a political, historical, or religious documentary.

However, Noah is not advertised as a documentary. It is advertised as an epic story that postures a man named Noah as its central figure. In no fashion is the film represented as "the biblical tale" or "the literal, word-by-word retelling of the flood story with fancy moving pictures". The lack of boundaries from preexisting material allows the story to be what it is, and this is true of any film. At the same time, those boundaries allow a certain depth by implied allusion, but that's another story. ;)

As a fictional story in the form of a movie, Noah proffers some worthy considerations, some new perspectives that invigorate the perceived dustiness of the OT story. As Brett McCracken posed:

• What was the mindset of Noah (who, apart from Gen. 9:25-27, never actually speaks in the biblical narrative) during this crazy episode in his life? What did his family think? What were the interactions between Noah and the wicked population doomed for destruction? Did Noah have a relationship with his grandfather Methuselah (Anthony Hopkins)? The film explores all of this in the spirit of midrashic interpretation, and takes the story far beyond the source material. Some of it works and some of it doesn’t, but (as far as I can tell) none of it directly contradicts anything in the biblical account. 

Unfortunately, there is contradiction. And I say "unfortunately" not for any other reason than that the introduction of a wifeless Ham is indeed "unimaginative". Were the story of Noah wholly new to us, the conflict perhaps may have worked. But as this story is woven so deeply into the fabric of the Western imagination, we see Aronofsky's manipulation as irresponsible in light of the artistic tradition. It appears that the director could not sufficiently develop the themes offered from centuries of paintings, sculpture, stained glass, and oral tradition, and thus sought to embellish a tale of such a magnitude that it renders significant alteration laughable if not incredibly pretentious.

There are certain departures in the film that are very interesting, but they find their origin in a profuse mythological structure: the Nephilim/rock angels, the wicked men/industrialists, the dramatic visions of "death by water".

Another very interesting departure is Noah's psychosis regarding the destruction of humanity, including his own grandchildren. This too could have more effectively provided a profound insight were his psychosis not so sudden in onset and not so drawn-out as to bore the viewer. The complexities of such a psychomachia were also obscured by their external consequences: Emma Watson all freaked out, Noah's wife in a tearful rage, Shem getting violent.

Overall, the film has an unfinished feeling to it, some major mashwork in the plot that brings it to its knees. However, we are certain of what the film is -- a colorful but limping depiction of an ancient myth -- and what it is not -- a bible-school-friendly reenactment or a primordial Hamlet.

As for Russell Crowe's performance: fairly compelling. Fairly. He is proof that it is possible to be a well-skilled actor while completely lacking discrimination. It may be that this record will mar his oeuvre as it has his ethos.

Regardless, I think that the film is worth watching as long as you fast-forward a bit through the arduous annoyance of life on the ark during the flood.

Flamme, Citron, Fear of Death

Flame and Citron (2008) (or Flammen og Citronen, if you prefer) is a film about 2 Danish Resistance fighters in Nazi-occupied Europe.

In the main, they are sent on assassination missions, eliminating prominent Danish Nazi collaborators -- mostly military figures. When a female Nazi is involved, Flamme must clean up after Citronen's failure of emotional resolve. Hard times.

Viewing the film, few of us would even wince at the death of a Nazi colonel or SS officer. Most of us would sit still, applying a grim sense of justice to the scene, happy that an enemy to humanity had been neutralized.

We do not fault Flammen and Citronen. We do not fault Flammen for his anger, his frightful impetuousness, his coldness of execution, for he sacrifices his more human capacities for the sake of others, for the sake of those who suffer. Even for an uncertain future, he sacrifices sweetness and light for blood and death and danger.

We do not fault Citronen. His wife and child are poor and hungry, but we only reproach him a little. Indeed, his wife takes up with another man because Citronen is never home, always away in hiding or on the warpath. But he is noble enough to say, "Take care of my wife and child."

Why do they fight? Why kill? We all know. We have heard the stories, seen the dream-like horrors. We do not forget. We have hated the Nazis in our turn. We do not forget. We have seen the tortured, corpse-like human bodies shuffling in the cold. We have seen the corpses. We do not forget.

Those who survive hold on to the flame, the torch of indignation, of sorrow, of love, of despair, of newfound hope, of wisdom hard-won. We have heard them. We have listened attentively. We do not forget.


We forget.


There is a deeper horror that even as I write surfaces once more, insidious, in our minds.

And how do we meet this horror? With swift relentless unfailing justice toward a real and present monstrosity? Or with diplomacy and statecraft. Do we treat with hell?

We treat with hell.


We forget.


We have swallowed the lie that words can win the day. I believe they can. But someone must be listening.

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., was willing to be arrested, abused, killed for the cause of a better life for African Americans -- not for their lives en masse, but for equal rights as citizens. Not for clothing, not for food, not for water, not for shelter, not for life and breath -- for equal rights as citizens.

Our glorious generation has achieved a complacent sidewalk counselorship. Yes, we are those on the sidelines who watch and say a few words, impotently waving our signs, hiding behind a false piety that says "Prayer is all you need!" without proaction. We treat with hell.

We say that "We are the pro-life generation!" with cries and shouts and smiles and free concerts in Washington, D.C.. But we care only -- really -- for our own lives. We are pro-life in that regard. Our rationalizations are petty and false. We say that we act in this way in the name of "compassion" and "charity," that we are the "peaceful" demonstrators amongst the carnage.

When compassion means sloth, when charity equates to a failure of love in a failure to act for the prevention of murder (and thus the salvation of the would-be murderer), there is no peace. When the mills grind day after day as we plod -- we asses, we dumb chattel -- along the sideline begging our betters -- yes! for they are cold, and we are lukewarm -- to please obey natural and divine law, there can be no peace. There is no peace. There is no peace. There is no peace.

And to pretend to Culture in such a world?!

If the wars are not fought -- if we do not at least stand firm in peaceful civil disobedience: blocking entries, closing down buildings with whatever measures necessary -- then there will be nothing left when the self-loathing of the West has wreaked its havoc upon the last child in the womb (or out).

We fear death. We do not see it, and so we avoid its screeching call for justice. We avoid. We wimper.


There is no peace. There is no peace. Awaken.





Addendum: I do not advocate the murder of abortionists.