A few weeks ago I read Zadie Smith’s essay, “Joy,” in the New York Review of Books. If you haven’t read it already, I highly recommend doing so. It’s a beautifully written, decidedly contemporary reflection on joy with a tone I suspect Millennial and Gen-X readers will particularly resonate with.
Lately I've been mulling over three films that all made my "Top 10 of 2012" list, but which I have not really written about in depth (until now). Over at Mere Orthodoxy I wrote two articles about these films that you can find by clicking on the titles below.
The subject of a "theology of food" is one I recently explored in a cover story for Biola Magazine: "Soul & Stomach." Though it's hard to cover such a massive topic in a four page article, I'm proud of how the piece turned out. For a more expansive treatment of the subject, check out my book when it comes out in 2013.
The Tree of Life, like Terrence Malick's other 4 films, is rich with layers of beauty and meaning, but its also stubbornly ambiguous at times and potentially maddening. It's not a film you can fully "get" on a first or second viewing, if at all, but that's not to say that it doesn't have intense and immediate pleasures and gifts to offer, if one is willing to receive.
as a lover of the Church and a believer in the biblical call to following Christ in community, my question is: How do we make the case for attending church? Rather than throw up our hands and declare the end of the local church, what can we do to re-articulate the kingdom dream of Christ, which involves us not just as individuals but as the church body?
As Christians, if we truly believe that each human is a precious being—that, as C.S. Lewis put it, “there is no mere mortal… Next to the Blessed Sacrament itself, your neighbor is the holiest object presented to your senses”—then shouldn’t we be seeking to truly know others rather than to simply “keep tabs on” them through short updates, photo albums, and wall posts?
Lights is a show about contemporary life. Small town, Texas life. Drenched in nostalgia, adolescent angst, and Midwestern truisms (Dairy Queen, sports radio, Applebees), the show bursts forth with quotidian drama. The Emmy-nominated, Peabody Award-winning show is elegant, mature American art, at once a soft spoken tone poem—recalling the literary Frontier of Willa Cather, Horton Foote or The Last Picture Show—and a tumultuous tableaux of soap opera with the kinetic Americana of Thomas Hart Benton or Aaron Copland.
What does it mean to package Christianity in a methodical manner so as to make it salient to as wide an audience as possible? What does Christianity lose when it becomes just one piece of a consumer transaction? These are questions that the brand managers of “cool Christianity” would do well to consider.
In America particularly, we are obsessed with the "next." We want to get something done and move on to the next thing. Perhaps this is why we consume media at such a breakneck speed and with such dizzying efficiency. But what does this do to our ability to 1) dwell on something for a long period of time, 2) discern what is worth thinking about and what isn't, and 3) value depth rather than breadth?
I recently wrote about hipster music trends for Relevant Magazine's "New Music Guide," which you can read in full (three pages worth!) here.
In Relevant magazine this month, there is a fascinating 14 page article ("Bringing 2020 Into Focus") in which experts weigh in on what to expect in the coming decade, in areas like the environment, social justice, politics, culture, faith and science. As the "expert" in the cultural arena, I was commissioned to forecast the trends and changes I think will be most significant in the next 10 years. To read the whole spread, click here. But below I've excerpted a few sentences from the 4 trends I highlight.
I wrote a new technology piece in Relevant magazine’s September/October issue, entitled “Short Attention Span Faith.” You can read the whole thing by clicking here, but here’s a short little excerpt.
Shane Claiborne is someone I’ve been following for quite some time—someone who I greatly admire and who I believe is an important, prophetic voice for the church today. If you've read his books or heard him speak, you know how provocative and compelling and fascinating he is. In my book on Christian hipster culture, Shane gets more than a few paragraphs mention.
In the next couple of weeks, I will be posting my "Best Films of the First Half" list, just as I did last year. High on the list will no doubt be Munyurangabo, a fictional film about post-genocide Rwanda that I saw at the City of Angels Film Festival earlier this year and which totally blew me away (watch the trailer here). I met the film's director, Lee Isaac Chung, after the screening and later had an in-depth interview with him for Christianity Today. You can read that interview here.
The late ’90s had “postmodern.” The first part of the 21st century introduced us to “emerging.” But over the last few years, there has been no bigger buzzword in Christianity than “missional.” It’s a word that has exploded into the popular vernacular of preachers, theologians and seminary professors. It has graced the covers of almost every major Christian publication. It has spawned books, seminars, conferences and endless blog debates. A growing number of congregations now describe themselves as “missional churches.” And proponents of the idea believe you and your church would do well to do the same. But what does it mean?
I went to a press screening of W, Oliver Stone's new George W. Bush biopic, last night in L.A. I do not want to say too much about the film itself or my assessment of it yet, but you can read my review on Christianity Today's movies website on Friday.
I will say that it was one of the most interesting movie-going experiences I've had in a long time. The theater was completely full, both with press and average filmgoers. Leonard Maltin was sitting a few rows ahead of me, which was cool. Typical of a West L.A. arthouse movie audience, the crowd was largely partisan towards the left. The first time Dubya (Josh Brolin) showed up on screen, the crowd roared with laughter.
It was a strange atmosphere, though, because I got the sense that this crowd expected Oliver Stone to really destroy George W. Bush--to offer the definitive demonizing portrayal that so many Bush-haters have longed for. They didn't get that, and yet they got a really amazing, complicated film. The crowd didn't know what to do with it. It reminded me of films where the audience forces itself to laugh--and laughs overly loud at the truly funny moments because that's what they thought they signed up for.
In any case, there were a few notable reactions from audience members when the final credits rolled. A few people booed, Leonard Maltin sat mesmerized, and the guy behind me said "I never thought I'd say this, but I was actually charmed by George W. Bush."
For me, it was a strangely therapeutic experience. But I'll go into that in my full review on Friday.
In the meantime, check out my new commentary on election year films, published yesterday on CT.
This Thursday is Thanksgiving—a day when we should wake up to the overwhelming goodness and bounty in our lives. It is a wonderful and much-needed occasion to reflect on what is good in the world: family, home, health, happiness, etc.
On this day we are often reminded that being “critical” or “cynical” does no one any good. As a critic by trade, I sometimes feel a little guilty around Thanksgiving. Life’s too short to go around criticizing things, right? Shouldn’t we be thankful for what is good in life rather than complain or criticize what is wrong? The world needs more positive thinking, after all.
But criticism gets a bad wrap when it is associated with cynicism or some other negative word. Sure, there are types of criticisms that are rooted in unhelpful, aggressively deconstructive attitudes. But other criticisms come from a constructive spirit of enrichment and appreciation. Some criticism, in other words, is meant to make the world better. I might even suggest that all criticism—when it is serious, well-informed, and nuanced—benefits humanity.
The world is a complex, overwhelming place. There is a whole lot of good and a whole lot of bad—an absolute glut that gets bigger by the day. Without questions and criticism, it would be unmanageable—or if not unmanageable, then at least unlivable.
Criticism is all about understanding, theorizing, making simple what is complex… It is plucking out and propelling the best of what is otherwise obscure. The purpose of criticism is to champion goodness, truth, and beauty and to criticize that which is bad, dishonest, or ugly (things that are, arguably, increasingly subjective).
I recently wrote an article on criticism for Relevant magazine in which I came to the defense of the much-maligned discipline/vocation. Here’s a brief excerpt:
[The job of a critic] should NOT be to try to keep people away from bad movies. Instead, we should try to keep people from missing the great movies. Sure, I enjoy writing scathing reviews of atrocious films (who doesn’t?), but I’d much rather write about a film that I love. It’ s fun to make a dent in the undeserving monstrosities, but it’s way more fulfilling to give some momentum to the deserving-yet-unknown little guy.
I think the food critic character in Ratatouille (a movie I highly recommend) puts it nicely in his final speech of the movie. He speaks for all critics, I think, when he says:
“In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face is that, in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is more meaningful than our criticism designating it so. But there are times when a critic truly risks something, and that is in the discovery and defense of the new.”
Indeed, the discovery and defense of something new—something true, beautiful, significant, progressive—is when the critic feels most validated. It’s when anyone feels most validated. Yes, it’s true that the cultural significance of “the critic” is waning. In our bottom-up, user-driven society, top-down suggestion is way less persuasive than peer-to-peer recommendations. We see through marketing and are suspicious of opinions—unless they are from people we trust. And yet to be someone that people trust (more than just your best friends and family) takes some devotion to the critical discipline. (read the rest of the article here...)
I’m not saying that all critics are valid or helpful, just that the idea of criticism is not something we should fear or view as inherently negative.
What we have to be thankful for is often brought to our mind, elucidated, and eloquently celebrated by the critical act. Far from something that is contrary to a positive, enriched outlook on life, criticism is an essential and invaluable affirmation of who we are as rationally-endowed, finely-tuned beings.
