Movies

The Road

What happens when the world comes to an end, and you’re still here? As I watched the “The Road” last week, that seemed to be the question burning in my mind. The story never tells us why the world dies, it simply immerses us into a world where everything is dull grey. Trees, plants and all wildlife are dead. A few shell-shocked humans remain. To continue living means finding some old canned food that survived the end, or eating other survivors.

Into this dark and devastated world, a baby is born.

Is this a cruel joke? How can you raise a child in a world where everything is dead or dying?

This film was released in Knoxville during the Christmas films. While theaters were packed with audiences enjoying heart-warming, family inspiring films, a few of us stepped into the darkness of night to watch a bleak and anguished look at a father and son attempting to survive when all is lost. After the film, my friend who watched it with me suggested that I have a depressing taste in films.

On the surface, this film is depressing, horrific, and deeply disturbing. The cannibalism alone is enough to drive most folks away. Yet what I witnessed was an unexplainable hope. The father was determined to take his son South to the possibility of a better place. A deep, unexplained hope drives the action of the film. How can you have hope when everything is hopeless?

In a film where God seems to have abandoned his world, a transcendent hope shines into the heart of a small boy who is seeking to “keep the fire inside” alive (this hope might be compared to the film Children of Men). As I watched the film, I kept thinking of the dark struggle for many Europeans during the 14th century. Famine, crusade, raiders, revolts and the black plague devastated entire regions. Many people assumed God had plunged our world into judgement with no hope or respite. A “cult of death” sprung up as people became infatuated with the death that lurked around every corner. Instead of promoting repentance and righteousness, this dark century plunged many people into darker actions.

Hopelessness and suffering and struggle to survive can strip us of all that we call human. As Maslov’s hierarchy of needs are stripped down to the most basic needs physiological needs for existence, we may begin to look and act like every other animal, fighting, killing and eating to simply survive. How then does a father teach his son to “keep the fire inside” alive? And yet, again and again the father and the son discuss why they will not eat other humans and why they will not violate other humans and why they must continue to live with some sense of honor and moral restraint.

In this deep and unexplainable drive to live for a better day, I saw a glimmer of transcendent hope shine through. In the midst of the devastation of the 14th century, some people did cultivate hope, some people did not lose faith, some people discovered an unshakeable hope. This hope is not the articulation of hope in Christ and his resurrection, but it is an God-given pre-Christ hope that is still waiting to hear the reality of the Good News again.

In the middle of the film, the father and the son take refuge in an old abandoned church building. This broken down structure provides a moment of sanctuary in the midst of an arduous journey toward hope. I have met people who are walking on that road toward hope, fighting to preserve some sense of humanity while they face inner demons. I’ve known a couple who lost hope and are no longer here.

Just because a person makes good money and has nice things does not mean that they are free from battling that road of encroaching darkness. Like the broke down church, I, in my own brokenness, might give refuge, sanctuary to those around me. Thus I cannot watch a film like this outside of my own Christian faith.

A movie like “The Road” reminds me that there has already been a natural cataclysm, sending humanity on a downward spiral. And yet, God has not forsaken us. He enters into the cataclysm, the suffering, the darkness of human pain and sin. In Christ, the broken, sin-scarred, fatherless humanity has been taken up into God and redeemed. In that hope, I live and move. In that hope, I am called to join the action of my heavenly Father by extending grace and love and kindess in the midst of the messiness of human existence.

Spoiler: In the final moments of the film, the little boy has reached the Southeastern shore America and is walking down the coast. His father has died from the strugge of the journey. He is alone and trying to “keep the fire inside” alive. A man approaches him, and the boy holds up his pistol with one bullet. The man tells the boy, “I want to help you.”

A few moments later, the boy meets the man’s wife, children and pet dog. They welcome him into their family. The struggle to survive may not be over but the film ends with renewed hope as a new family ventures into a new world.

Popularity: 2% [?]

Clint Eastwood, like John Wayne, embodied the American icon. From the mysterious cowboys to the gun-toting Dirty Harry, many of his characters embodied traits that Americans readily identify: loners, anti-establishment, rebels, smart, pragmatic and intentional or unintentional redeemers of the downcast. In his recent, Gran Torino, Eastwood plays yet another loner, Walt Kowalski.

At the beginning of the film, his wife just died and he obviously has no relation with his children. Mr. Kowalski, as he prefers to be called, relates better to his dog than to other humans. He lives in a neighborhood that has gradually become home to a predominant minority Hmong population. His unflinching expletives and racial comments seem funny because they are so over the top, much like a Don Rickles performance.

Early in the film Kowalski gets caught up in a conflict with a gang that is harassing his neighbor. And in strange twist of events, this supposed racist becomes a savior for the Hmong family. Up to this point, Eastwood is playing the icon exactly according to the American mythic narrative.

We as a nation would just as soon keep to ourselves. We get in wars only when forced. We don’t want to be a part of some big global cooperative. We’d prefer to go it alone. And yet, we dream that we are really the world’s savior. Whether our mythic values are truly lived or not, Americans consistently reflect variations in our icons.

But then something odd happens. Kowalski is changed by the Hmong family. A Hmong shaman speaks the same words of wisdom that Kowalski’s priest has been trying to teach him. On multiple levels the family enters his life and begins to soften his heart and teach him how to life. Since he knows a lot more about dying.

Spoiler alert: As Walt softens, he can finally enter into relationship with other people including his priest. He is becoming more human. As he begins to live, he offers something Dirty Harry was incapable of offering. He loves. In his love, he is willing to die for the relationship, so that the Hmong family can really be helped instead of a temporary fix through an act of violence and vengeance.

In one act of sacrifice, Walt becomes father to the Hmong boy, judge to the gang, healer to the Hmong family and possibly even a prophet to his own family. Eastwood connects with the American icon but then challenges us to enter into relationship and to learn that sacrifice may open doors that power and violence cannot.

As I dream of what America could be, I am going to keep thinking about Walt Kowalski and the power of modeling the cross, laying down my life on behalf of those I love. And if I follow the rhythm of the gospel, this means loving my enemies as well as my friends.

Popularity: 8% [?]