Community

I don't think I have talked about it before on this blog, but here it is-- I love "Community." It's a show about a study group at Greendale Community College, composed of an ex-narcotics addict, a former high school football star, a single mom, a high school drop out, a falafel restaurant heir, an elderly kook, and a former lawyer, along with reoccurring supporting characters (Star-Burns, Senor Chang, etc.). The show chronicles their time at Greendale and all the TV-sitcom situations that they encounter.

The first season won me over with its quick banter, dialogue infused with pop culture references and sharp humor that I haven't seen rivaled anywhere save the late "Arrested Development." The show marvels in taboos and goes where most shows try but fail due to lack of comedic respect. With "Community," the characters are so funny that they know they're funny, something most shows don't allow their characters. And "Community" even references that it itself is a TV show, but only subtly. The script is unusually smart.

On a side note, I think the study group room has the potential to become a iconic location like that of the Cheers bar or Monk's Restaurant from Seinfeld.

All this to say, I have officially become a regular fan of a show, something that I have never done. I make sure that on Thursdays at 7pm central time, I am in front of a TV. Before, I have only watched shows on DVD. But this time, I feel like I'm mentally investing, I'm allowing myself to be part of a pop culture experiment. I have realized that I come to the TV set expecting to laugh, a high expectation for me, seeing as I rarely truly laugh at anything. But I find myself squealing with joy frequently. And hard. Which brings me to the Season 2 premiere.

Like I said, expectations were high for the Season 2 premiere. It would be the first episode I watched when it originally aired, linked with all the other "Community" fans watching at the same time. I told all my friends in the dorm that they had to watch it, that it was so funny, and we were all in Drew's dorm around the TV. But as we watched (and I was annoyed over and over by commercials), I saw that the writers were trying too hard. The quick banter was gone, and too much stuff was happening. Granted, they did have to deal with Brita's confession of love to Jeff, and his escape into the arms of Annie. But the fake wedding? Come on. That would be something that "Community" would make fun of if it were on another show. And I didn't like the move to Anthropology class, even with Betty White as the teacher. It felt forced, not to mention the cute bow tied on top of the episode's theme that was overtly spelled out. Come on Dan Harmon.

Suffice it to say, I was disappointed. But I still tuned in today (Thursday) for the second episode of the season. And my hope was restored. I saw that the dialogue was snappy again, full of esoteric references that I understood sometimes and others not, but I laughed at all of them anyway because I knew they were references. The jokes were fresh, and the actors seemed to find their characters again. My favorite line was (surprisingly) Peirce's attempt to make a gay joke about Jeff and his old colleague--"He's got a butt for Jeff's wiener." And after Troy, Annie, and Abed knocked out the janitor of the law firm's building, I laughed harder than I ever have when Troy was freaking out, jumping over the janitor in a severely feminine manner. "Community" had found it's stride again.

I don't know how long I will watch the show. At any hint of lameness, I'm gone faster than a frightened deer. But hopefully, maybe, I'll get to see this show all the way through.

If you want a taste of "Community," here's the best episode of the show so far, "Modern Warfare."

Worldview

What is my worldview?

I am white. I am a male. I am rich. I am an American. My home is not broken. I went to a private school. I am a Christian. I have no disabilities.

Being white and male, the two most privileged characteristics that a human could have, I don't know any of the hardships that people with those characteristics have known. I don't know what it was like to be treated less than human by being forced to drink out of different water fountains or go to different schools because of my race. I don't know what it's like to have business people think I do an inferior job because of my gender. I don't know what it's like for people to be suspicious of me when I go through airports. I am on the top looking down, and only now am I realizing that everyone isn't up here with me.

Also, my family is fortunate. First, my parents are still together, and neither of them have any addictions that pervasively affect the family. My dad isn't an alcoholic, my mom doesn't do drugs. We are fine. So I can't relate to people who have to work a full time job to pay for their college because their parents can't or won't pay for it for whatever reason. Furthermore, my dad makes a substantial amount of money. I have always had anything I wanted, any toy or food or clothing item--whatever I desired was within reach. I think this is how passion is lost, being able to have anything. In the book "The Outsiders," a bunch of affluent, white kids make up the gang called the Socs. One Soc tells a rival-gang member that "we're always going and going and going, and never asking where. Did you ever hear of having more than you wanted? So that you couldn't want anything else and then started looking for something else to want? It seems like we're always searching for something to satisfy us, and never finding it." These kids have everything they could ever want, and even that is not enough to satisfy the longing in their hearts. It seems that you lose your desire to live while you pursue the panacea for your discontentment.

Other characteristics of my worldview are my American citizenship and Christian affiliation. Christianity is the religion that most Americans claim as their own, making it the most popular religion in America-- the U2 of religions, one could say. I have never been persecuted for my beliefs, never been rejected on account of my religion on any level. This makes me wonder if it is, then, real Christianity that I am a part of, but I digress.

Furthermore, I have no physical or mental disabilities. I don't have down syndrome or autism, I'm not deaf or blind, I don't even have allergies. I have never known the pain of routinely taking medicine or receiving treatment for a disease. I don't know the suffering that comes with wanting to be able to participate, but being prohibited by an unearned condition.

Suffice it to say, I am blessed. I am the most privileged type of person in the world. So what do I do now, in trying to bring about change, hope, and relief? Most people rise from within a suffering society and become a voice for their people. My people have virtually no suffering. So I believe I am called to find a group in need and learn from them, joining their suffering and making it my own. I'm not saying I'm going to gouge my eyes out or break both my legs. I'm saying I will learn to empathize with a group whose worldview is one of suffering, such as the deaf community or the homeless community. If I don't have suffering in my life, I must go and find some and give my peace to them in exchange for a bit of suffering.

My Old Music

I'm not embarrassed about what music I used to listen to, mainly because of the feelings associated with the songs are so strong that it's hard to hate them. For example, "Then I Did" by Rascal Flatts pulls me back to middle school, for some reason Kristen Atkinson's house when we watched "The Grudge," but I didn't want to watch it, so I ended up in a room with Britney Daniels and some other people I don't remember, watching "Jersey Girl." This whole story was full of crappy movies and music, but the song somehow, for some reason gets to me and makes me nostalgic. Taylor Swift's "Teardrops on my Guitar" reminds me of a time in middle school when I was infatuated with Karlie Hatchett, and this song was her Myspace profile song. Okay, I feel a little shame about this one, but just because of Myspace. I remember wanting to be her boyfriend so badly that it hurt. God, I am embarrassed of who I was then. I hate who I was, namely because I didn't know who I was, I didn't even care for that matter. Acedia about an identity was what I had.

Nevertheless, back then, music affected me more than I think it ever has. I would stop whatever I was doing and sing with these crappy country songs at the top of my lungs. There's something to say for that.

August and Every Album After

Although I have a penchant for following bands that are new, I have been taken by Counting Crows, especially after listening to their debut album, "August and Everything After." Their sound appeals to me, obviously, but it's something more than that. Adam Duritz sings songs that affect me in ways that most other artists don't, or can't. Coupled with the sound of the band, they create an atmosphere that reaches the core of my soul and plops down on a couch. When I hear the first few words "The circus is falling down on its knees," I get sad and excited at the same time. I feel like I know the pain that Duritz sings of, but I don't feel like I know Duritz. I think this is a talented distinction created on their part. However, I feel like Maria is an old friend. Man, she is fascinating.

So, I'm going to give "Recovering the Satellites" a try, even though I've heard that their best is the debut. But I am hopeful. I thought about trying to listen to the album online, but after hearing the first few seconds of "Angels of the Silences," I knew I had to save it for a car ride, the best place to listen to a new album. That's where I listened to "Is This It?", with Drew and Jake alongside me; "Room on Fire" first made it to my ears through the scarlet assassin's speakers; and "August and Everything After" was heard in parts (thanks to Drew's mix), then fully there. All in all, I think listening to an album in a car is an unrivaled experience.

Thinking back, "Is This It?" was magical. That's the only way I can put it. I remember putting it in outside of the Barnes and Noble from which I bought it, and driving into the night with the title track playing. I felt so cool when I listened to it for the first few times. I felt awesome. Their coolness came through the speakers and settled into my bones. To this day, if I want to feel like a badass, I'll play the song "Is This It?" when I'm walking somewhere on campus.

All I'm asking for is another "Round Here" or "Raining in Baltimore." I'm not asking for another "Mr. Jones," because that song can't be matched. Oh, they get close with "Mrs. Potter's Lullaby" and "Hard Candy" and "Hangin Around," but "Mr. Jones" has the optimism of anonymity, the underdog attitude from having no one know about the band. It's wonderful.

If "Recovering The Satellites" goes well, I think the Counting Crows will have me in their grasp for good.

Taxi Driver

I have this pressure to think of "Taxi Driver" profoundly because it is Mihir's favorite film. I think, though, that because it is so old, I'm having trouble appreciating it. I seriously need to work on that.

"Taxi Driver" is the story of Travis Bickle, a war veteran with insomnia who capitalizes on that unfortunate illness by driving taxis during the night. The film shows the grittiness of New York--the hookers, the pimps, the dank streets. The cab drives through steam rising from the manhole covers and splashes into deep puddles of water. This film shows the dark parts of life.

Bickle sees Betsy, a gorgeous activist who is running a politician's campaign in a building with large windows through which Bickle can watch her. Travis is, as Betsy later calls him, "a walking contradiction"--he can simultaneously see Betsy's loneliness and discontent with the people around her, yet he doesn't have enough sense of what is socially acceptable, and takes her to a porno on a date. However, Travis is incredibly insightful. And when a young girl gets into his cab, only to be taken away by her pimp seconds later, he knows he has to do something.

I think the core of this film is found in the third act, in Travis' attempted and actual killings. At first, Travis tries to kill the presidential candidate. My only guess as to why is because earlier in the film, Travis suggests that the city should be cleaned up as he drives the candidate and his advisers to their destination, a chance cab selection. However, the candidate does nothing. So, out of anger, Travis goes and tries to kill him. I have another theory, however. After the porno, Betsy severs any hope of a relationship with Travis, an act that hurts him deeply. After he goes to the campaign headquarters and demands to see her, he is escorted out. Maybe he tries to kill the candidate out of anger towards Betsy, to eliminate the hard work she has put in or whatever. I think the former theory is right, because it has a second part.

After he tries to kill the man who was supposed to clean up the city, Travis decides to take matters into his own hands and do it himself. He is motivated by the enslavement of young Iris (played fearlessly by a young Jodi Foster), a 12 year old prostitute who has known many men and satisfied their abhorrent desires. Travis buys her but doesn't abuse her; instead, he asks her if she wants to escape, if she wants to get out and go to school and be a young girl. She laughs and says she can leave any time she wants, which both she and the audience know isn't true. She tells how her parents don't want her anymore, and if she were to leave she would have no where to go. Prostitution is her inescapable pit.

So for Iris, for himself, Travis blows the shit out of the pimp and his workers. But he does not go unscathed--he is shot and shot just like he does to his enemies. And he ends on the couch, his blood draining from his wounds, and he dies in the presence of Iris and her now-dead captors.

Or does he die? The following scenes show newspaper clippings depicting him as a hero, the taxi drivers in a diner, accepting Travis when before he was awkward and unsocial. The last scene is Travis driving his taxi with Betsy in the backseat, who seems to give him a second chance, due to his heroics. Is she interested in him because he proved to be a good guy, or because he gained celebrity?

Do I like this film? I don't know. Why should I? Because this character is interesting? Eh, he's all right. I think this film resonates with people like Travis Bickle--people unhappy with the way the world is now, people who will take action to change that world, and people with trauma lingering in their minds.

Editorial

I discussed the film with Mihir, and he said the film was not about the killings, that was just what happened. The film was about Bickle's loneliness. And that's why he loves the film, because he can relate to Travis. The film is about Travis' loneliness, and lonely people get that. People who aren't lonely miss it. Like I did.

Devil

I was home for the weekend. I'm not sure why I came home. It was convenient because Brock was driving back, but I didn't have any desire to go to homecoming, so I don't know why I went. Maybe to see Cassi and Cari and my family. Yeah, I think that's it. Anyway, at the football game, I talked with Weathers about films, and we decided to see "Devil" the next day. I wish we had theaters that charged $4 for the matinee.

As a whole, I liked the film. I thought the plot was creative and suspenseful (and the film held that suspense the whole way through), the twist was not expected, and the actors took their roles seriously when they could have easily leaned towards caricature. In short, five people get stuck in an elevator, and one is the Devil. We learn that these people have histories of deceit, violence, and theft, and that the devil brought them here to pay for their injustices. This film has several qualities that are similar to the first "Saw" film, but this film is not about pervasive gore and unending torture--this film is about the choices people make and how, even if it seems like you got away with it, there are always consequences.

Tak Fujimoto was the cinematographer for the film, and I am curious as to how he got the shots in the elevator. Did they build a larger elevator, or did they just manage with shooting one person and acting as if everyone else is in the elevator? Also, I thought the point-of-view shots were clues as to who the devil was, but I was mistaken; nevertheless, they were good shots.

I'm undecided as to whether I think this film is too preachy, if this film is up there with "Facing the Giants" and "Fireproof." Although it is a powerful message, it is spoon-fed to the audience. I'm not sure if I like that. Forgiveness is freeing.

Don't be scared, the mother tells her children, because if there is a devil, then that means there must be a God as well. What does this mean? That if bad exists, then we can know that it is bad because we have something that is the exact opposite of it? I just ran through a "what if bad is actually good and we've been wrong the whole time?" argument in my head, but I don't think I want to dive into that.

Overall, I enjoyed this film. It did what it intended, which was to maintain suspense and entertain the audiences. And, if it causes some to think more about the existence of supernatural beings, then it did more than it was supposed to. M. Night, I think your Dark Chronicles are are 1/1.

A Late Reflection

Choosing to abstain from Facebook and its nuances was the best decision I have ever made for myself, in light of my overly-curious personality and overly-nostalgic heart.

And whenever I'm feeling down, I found that one round of Joan Jett's "Bad Reputation" will cure any blues. At least for a while.

Lack of Closure

I think the problem is that there was no closure. God, I've got to stop thinking about her. This is unusual. Maybe because I'm home. Because I went to homecoming and remembered her. I'm listening to Fitzsimmons. If we could sit down together and say, look, we fell apart. It happened. We never thought it would, but it did. And I will always care about you, but it's time to let go. If we could peacefully dissolve into this nothingness deliberately, I think it would be better. But we didn't. We slipped away while we were looking in opposite directions. And now we will never have that face to face, because she is away, and I am away, and we will only cross paths at random activities where we will see each other and act like everything is fine when it is actually dying. It is dying, if not already dead. I feel like I'm losing oxygen. Fuck. Stop thinking about her. She doesn't want you anymore. Why is it so fucking hard for you to let go? There's something wrong with you.

People have said going home for the first time from college is a weird experience, as if everything has changed when you expected it to stay the same. As if your home is now at college, and the old home is foreign. I didn't experience that. When I came home it was like I had never left. Nothing had changed. People weren't different. Life was still within my knowledge. I think it's because I'm not choosing to allow ACU to be my home. It would hurt too much. If I allowed myself to let 3rd North, room 317 be my home, then I would be crushed when I have to move out at the end of this year. I'm intentionally refusing to make ACU my home because it would cause pain if I did.

Is this constant pain a result of the Fall? Does this incessant hurt come from being separated from God? I don't know. All I know is that I have lost my best friend. That I go to a college that I don't call home. That the friends I love are different. That I can't fucking let go of the past because it was the happiest time of my life. All right, I'll admit it--you were right. I can't let go. If I knew another way besides distracting myself so that I don't think about it until it's gone, I would have tried it. I can't let go. I guess I'm not mature enough, or strong enough, or manly enough, or wise enough to let it go. If wanting to know you is holding you in the past, then I am doing that. But I don't want to hold you here, or even stay here. I want to say goodbye. A real goodbye. If I could do that, if I could verbally tell you that I'm sad we're not close but things like that happen, I would find closure. I really would. If I could tell you that it's okay that we're done, that what we had was wonderful but couldn't last forever and wasn't meant to. If I could look at you and say "I love you," the phrase would be like the last page in the book of our time together, not sad, but slightly optimistic and understanding, and I could think of you without pain. It would be a final, all-encompassing memory, one of kindness and love, that would come to my mind whenever I think of you in the future. That's it. That's what I need. But it won't happen.

Even still, even now, even though we fell apart.

You Are

I tried to follow a friend's blog, and in order to do that, I had to sign into my account. After I did that, my name and picture came up that I had assigned to it years earlier. It was my favorite picture of me and her. I think it's good that I'm referring to her as her instead of you. I was struck by the way she was pervasive in my life then. How happy I was with her. She meant everything to me. And now, it's nothing. We're nothing. How does that happen? I understand friends changing, but we weren't just friends. We had part of each others' hearts.

I think I loved her, but I didn't know it.

Things change. And people leave. And life doesn't fucking stop for anybody.






I guess the only way to let go is to not think about it until it's gone.

........

I think part of letting go is getting rid of things you held onto. I wrote this in May and have left it hanging in the draft section for months. I have dozens in the draft section that I can't rid myself of yet, but hopefully, this is the start.




You are "Eet" and "Samson" by Regina Spektor and "Landslide" by Fleetwood Mac.
You are 500 Days of Summer.
You are Amanda's house.
You are Lit Meet.
You are Concordia Lutheran.
You are jumping into pools.
You are cross country.
You are Garden State.
You are Lauren's gameroom.
You are Sky Creek golf course at sunrise.
You are Curious George.
You are T-Mobile.
You are Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close.
You are The Perks of Being a Wallflower.
You are Z.

Party, Alone

Now I know what it's like to be at a party and be alone. Everyone else is talking and socializing, but I'm a step behind them, sitting alone on the couch. I thought about leaving a while ago, but we are about to watch 180' south, a documentary that sounds interesting.

There are three pockets of people-a group watching a video on the couch in front of me; a large group is to my left talking in black accents; and a group behind me talking about people who smoke pot. I am alone on the couch, the lone eye watching the rythyms of the party, how it slowly dissolves into a friendly, intimate gathering.

Now I have allowed myself to engage in the party, moving to the other couch and watching the video on the computer. I feel more comfortable, less like I'm awkwardly sticking out.

I look over to the large group who has now migrated over to the cluster of couches by the TV. They are relaxing, one girl resting her head on her folded arm, leaning on the back of the couch.

We are now moving up to the girl's room to watch the movie, because they couldn't get the TV hooked up.

I feel like this is a twitter post. Nevertheless, I have now had the beneficial experience of being an outsider at a party, the one who everyone sees but no one notices. While I was still on the fringes, Brock made it a point to come talk to me. I assume he picked up on my awkwardness and didn't want me to feel out of place. It was very kind, and I appreciated it greatly.

Over the past several years, I have wondered why Brock and I haven't become friends. We are friends with all the same people. If two people were meant to be friends, I think Brock and I are the strongest candidates for that. I once asked Mihir what he thought about it. He said that maybe we are too similar, that we see so much of ourselves in each other. After all, we were both the church kid, we're both outgoing, we're both independent individuals. Maybe. Or maybe we just don't fit. Some people just aren't friends. I wish I understand it. But after tonight, I felt a genuine affection for Brock, as though I longed that we could be friends. Maybe we will. That would be the best.

Easy?

I can't stop thinking about the scene in "Easy A" when she visits the churches. It haunts me that much that we let down enough people for some of them to make a film in which they show our shortcomings. Are we, to the world, an empty confessional and an uncaring minister? Yes. How can we change this? How can we listen instead of speak? That scene makes me madder the more I think of it. She is the person that Christians should be excessively loving towards, someone hurting and in need of protection and a listening ear. But instead, the confessional is empty, as if God is not listening and/or doesn't care. So she storms out of the church, tripping on a Bible along the way, and probably won't come back. Infuriating and ironic--the one time American Church has someone walk through the doors of their own free will, they find no help whatsoever.

Art and Jesus

Today was the start of Summit, the four day event involving dozens of speakers held on the ACU campus. This year's theme is "Aliens and Light," and with ACU's decision to open their eyes to the rest of the world (a choice seen in chapel speeches, the selection of speakers for Summit, the Cornerstone speakers and lessons, etc.), I am sure that good things will come out of this event.

Tonight I listened to Richard Beck and Dan McGregor talk about art and Christianity in a discourse titled "Leaving Eden." They had two regions of the world associated with types of art--Eden was Christian art, and Babylon was secular art-- and one event that signified what Christianity and art should look like, called Redemption.

Eden was exemplified by Logos Bookstore, Family Christian Bookstore, Lifeway Christian Bookstore, or any other bookstore that has Christian art. You know the type--the painting of a horse's face with a scripture in the bottom left corner, or any of the Thomas Kinkade paintings that depict life as a blissful existence. What Beck and McGregor exposed was that Christian art is predominantly sentimental, in that it chooses to portray life without pain or suffering, which we will experience in heaven. While this has some good with those who need console and are suffering from pain that is appeased by this type of art, it shouldn't be our main source of art. It paints life as perfect and neglects the suffering that goes on in the world. McGregor correlated Christian art with how rarely church services focus on pain or lament. Also, McGregor talked about a time in his life when he was severely depressed, and how Christian music was the last thing he wanted to listen to, because it sounded like all the people had everything together, something he did not. Mainstream Christian art refuses to depict the badness that exists and ignorantly sticks its head in a tub of cotton candy and thinks that that is all there is.

However, Babylon isn't much better than Eden. Paintings were shown, by artists whom I cannot remember, that depicted utter loneliness--people floating in a void, naked, alone. One of the paintings was of one man floating with his head on fire. While Eden art only shows happiness, Babylon art only shows pain. Which, if one had to pick between the two, I'd probably pick the latter, because so much of life on Earth is pain, as if Babylon art is closer to real life.

Then, we saw Redemption, which is art that both shows suffering, yet also has a hope in it that does not leave audiences in despair. To be fair, some of these artworks are, by themselves, hopeless. But McGregor emphasized how important it is to look at an artist's body of work as a whole, what dominates the collection and how often they depict hope. This made me consider my films, and I was shocked to realize that there isn't much hope in them. Mostly I show people dying, people getting emotionally or physically hurt, and jaded people. What does that say about me? Maybe what's in my heart is overflowing not from my mouth, but through my lens.

Anyway, one idea that I hadn't understood was the ability for the Gospel to subvert art. How it does this is when, for example, an artist drowns a statue of Christ on the cross in his own urine, and Christians respond optimistically. They say, you may have meant to offend people, but this is one of the best depictions of the scandal of God becoming human I have ever seen. It shows what we are trying to say. Now, I respond hesitantly to this idea, because I have become weary of speakers taking a film clip and tying it into their lesson when it obviously wasn't intended for that purpose. Are they right to do that? I talked to Beck afterward, and he said that once a piece of art is formed, it can be interpreted many different ways, because there is no note at the bottom explicitly spelling out what the artist intended. Art is ambiguous. But I think that films are a little more specific in what they mean, save David Lynch films. They basically spell out what they are trying to say. I guess those films are bad art, if my definition of good art is that it contains ambiguity that leads to interpretation. Maybe speakers aren't wrong to take a film clip and use it to underscore their point--maybe they are using the Scriptures to subvert the world. I guess my problem is that I think it is always clear what the artist is trying to say, when that is not the case nearly as often as I think it is. But filmmakers are always trying to say something. Aren't they?

Nevertheless, I thought the discussion tonight was worthwhile and thought provoking. A great kickoff to Summit.

The Art of Crying

I ran into my RA, Alex, in the hall and he asked me where I was in "The Girl Who Played With Fire," which he knew I was reading because we had discussed it previously and I borrowed his copy. The topic drifted to Freshman Common Reading, and he told me how his freshman book, "The Same Kind of Different As Me," had made him bawl, just cry and cry uncontrollably. What this made me wonder is what type of person can cry? I can't cry while reading books, I don't cry in movies (save "Million Dollar Baby"), I can't tear up during personal stories. What is it with me?

My sister has the same problem. I'm sure myriad people have it too. What type of person can cry? What is it that makes people cry? I guess it's something that touches the sensitive part of their heart, a story that finds the soft spot and gently pushes. I have two hypothesis about criers, but I think they are intertwined. First, criers know who they are. They are confident about their personality, their likes and dislikes, and whatever else makes up an identity. If you know who you are, certain things are going to upset you or motivate you or hurt you, because (I guess) things construct your identity. If a girl cries because Ryan Gosling wrote Rachel McAdams a letter every day while he was at war, then she knows that she thinks this is beautiful, or that she wants a man like that, or something else. Criers know themselves.

Secondly, and subsequently, criers are confident with crying. Whether its in public or private, the act of crying makes one vulnerable, for whatever reason. Someone who cries must be fine with showing the weakness that crying conveys. In our culture, crying is not strength. I wonder why. Crying shows that you care about something, so why is it weak to cry? I don't understand.

I wish I could cry, because it would mean I care about something deeply. Until then, I'll have to listen to others' stories about "The Same Kind of Different As Me" and "The Notebook" without empathy.

Easy A

While "The Town" represented film as art, "Easy A" represented film as life. Now, whenever films do this, the good ones are caricatures of real life, lest we fall into the trap of assuming that they do really happen. This film is not made from real life experiences; yet, in a way, it seems like it could have been.

I came away loving this film, namely because it is a feel good movie. It's job is to make you laugh, and then walk away with a warm aura around your head as you leave the theater, which it did, at least for me. I love Emma Stone, and I think she's the face for our generation in movie characters--sarcastic, rude, over the top, willing to do anything, and self-aware. Often she says that she is doing things because she's seen that that's how they've been done in movies. I didn't understand how her character, Olive, could be an outcast until the date scene, which I will explore later. Nevertheless, Emma Stone is great. Critics keep raving about her, saying that she's the next star, and maybe she is. She was wonderful. And Stanley Tucci, as Olive's dad, made me remember why I love him as an actor. He was funny, frank, and sincere.

The film is about a loner's journey from obscurity to infamy through the help of a rumor. Olive didn't want to tell her best friend (who gets on her nerves sometimes, one of the truest to life parts of this film) that she spent the whole weekend at home listening to a Natasha Bedingfield singing card, so she made up a story about a college boyfriend, and her best friend pieced together a one-night-stand that didn't happen. This conversation was overheard by the school bitch, Amanda Bynes' Marianne Bryant, the leader of the Christians at the school, who spreads this lie like wildfire. All of a sudden, Olive is noticed by everyone, and hated by the Christians.

Then, Olive is approached by Brandon, a homosexual who gets abused daily and wants things to change. He proposes that they fake do it, so he won't be bullied anymore. He doesn't want the friends or the fame--he just wants the pain to stop. Olive sees this, and decides to help. One of the most comical scenes in the film is Brandon and Olive pretending to have sex at a party, while everyone listens outside. Because of that, Olive becomes the school slut.

Instead of crying or whining about her plight, Olive takes the badass road and accepts the stereotype by sowing a red A onto all her new, skanky clothes. Then, more rejects come to her and ask for her help. How many people would be in this situation, I wondered as I watched. Olive saw the suffering and decided to help. I can't decide if I want to believe that this is what Jesus would want, because it's so twisted. But Olive is helping people stop hurting. And yet, she's letting everyone assume she's a whore. I don't know.

Anyway, I thought several things were interesting that the film understood to be true. Olive seeks help from a higher power by going to a Catholic church and confessing. The touching scene shows Olive admitting that everyone hates her, and she even is starting to hate herself. At the end of her confession, she pushes the tiny gate open and finds that there is no one in the box beside her, no priest listening to her. The filmmakers were trying to say that religion and/or God will let you down when you need them the most. Then, she goes to see a minister (Fred Armistan) who forces his beliefs on her by insisting that there is a hell. To make matters worse, Olive sees a picture frame on his desk with Marianne in it, showing that she is the minister's daughter. What does this whole situation say about Christians? That uppity, bitchy, rich groups call themselves Christians and refuse to relate to people but instead rape others with their beliefs and quarantine themselves from the rest of the world. God, if that is how the rest of the world sees Christians (or worse, how we really are), then somewhere, we fucked up.

Something else I thought was interesting was the Todd character. Olive has liked him since the 8th grade, but more or less forgot about him. He is the school mascot and works at the Lobster Shack, and is surprisingly nerdy. Maybe nerdy's not the right term--he's unique. He's kind of a loser in the way he talks and acts, but what's cool is that he doesn't care. He is who he is, and that's what he wants. I think because of this, Olive is attracted to him. She's an outsider herself, which we see on her date.

Olive is sitting alone in the cafeteria, and a guy comes over and starts conversation. He asks her on a date, while being funny and charming, and Olive is smiling radiantly because, despite her reputation, this doesn't happen a lot. Guys pay her to pretend that they had sex, but no guys have actually tried to get there for real. While at the table, we can see Olive's excitement as the boy walks away, a genuine moment in the film. Here's a girl, despite her reputation, and she doesn't feel special very often. However, the film mirrors real life because, after an awesome date proposal, the next scene is the couple on the date with nothing to say. Awkward as all get out, the two can't find anything to talk about. She babbles on about obscure topics with confusing enthusiasm, showing how a girl this pretty could have less than many friends. Then, to make matters worse, as they leave, the guy hands Olive a $200 gift card to Home Depot, showing that all this was for his social gain, not any interest in her. My heart broke at this, because you can see the disappointment in her eyes as he wonders what's wrong. Then he attempts to more or less rape her, and she runs off with a broken spirit. This scene is painful, but it is one of the most genuine and real scenes in the film.

I gained some new perspectives and reaffirmed some thoughts thanks to this film. First, the film solidified my rejection of popular Christianity and showed its harmful effects it has on the world. Second, I saw two individuals who didn't care that they were weird but were confident in being themselves, something I aspire to do. I guess I don't think there is any identity or vitality in mainstream America, and that's why I try to do different things. Because I want to live. Finally, I saw again that my generation is obsessed with sex (whose isn't), but we are probably the first to have our obsession backed by the mass media to such an overwhelming and gratuitous extent. Way to go guys.

The Town

What I can say about Ben Affleck's second film is that it is solid. I can't think of another word. The script was good, the actors weren't forced, the plot was convincing. Everything fell into place. This is a film that is good, but not memorable. I say that because it didn't grab my heart or make me change my ways. It was just a solid film.

I thought it was excellent how the plot worked Dougie into a relationship with Claire, seeing as though he robbed the bank that she worked at, and took her captive. In one scene, Claire is telling Doug about the whole situation, and how it haunts her. He says he's sorry, and she responds with "it's not your fault," the most ironic line I've heard in a film. What made it memorable was that we say that phrase all the time, and the writers of the script know that, so they exploited our conversations for his plot. However, it wasn't cheesy, and the actors played it normal.

I thought what worked for the film was the struggle within Doug of whether or not to tell Claire that he robbed the bank. The two get close throughout the film, yet in the back of his (and our) minds we know that they can only get as close as the space of the truth he won't tell her. She is falling for him hopelessly, and yet we know she will lose all those feelings if she finds out who he truly is. I related to this situation, because I can't tell my parents many of the things I do. And what's weird is that I want to. I want them to see who I am, but I know that they will pass judgment and/or make attempts to change me. They do not want anything less than a straight lipped, clean nosed, upstanding son. They can't see value in anything they don't take part in. I can't talk to my parents because I know they don't have any life experiences that I can relate to. They didn't "sow their wild oats," to overuse the cliche. They were too busy main-streaming the Christian crowd. Nothing I do can be shared to them, because they won't be able to relate. This is where I envy the character in "Easy A," because she could talk to her parents about her troubles and not worry about disdain. Granted, the characters were fictional, but there have to be parents out there like that, that understand their kids wild days because they had some of their own. And also, I know that what I'm doing is wild--it's just wild compared to the example I've been raised in.

I digress. The film had several shining moments, of which I will discuss two. The first is a scene where Jim meets Claire and Doug at a cafe. We know that Claire saw Jim's tattoo on the back of his neck during the robbery. If she sees it here, everything's done for. The scene was tense, and I found myself extremely drawn in. The second scene is when Claire and Doug talk on the phone with police in her apartment. Doug can see them, and we see that Claire is lying to Doug, but she doesn't know he knows. I felt a sinking in my heart, because I know Doug was feeling the same thing. Then, she lets him know that she still loves him and wants to protect him through code, something that the audience is in on. It was executed perfectly.

Overall, good film, one worth watching, but not buying.

Inland Empire, Kinda

"Inland Empire" was not a film that inspired me to be a filmmaker because it told me something. No, the film had me guessing and confused about its basic plot. However, the film inspired me to make films like it because it deconstructs the traditional film narrative and, instead, creates a completely different way to make, view, and discuss films.

There are only two ways films are told. One is from the reliable narrator, where the images shown on the screen are completely trusted and go together to construct a cohesive storyline. The film goes in chronological order, save flashbacks. In that type of narrative, people interact, life goes from A to B, and in the end, themes are obvious. This is most common, probably 95% of all films are told this way.

The second type of film is an unreliable narrator (I borrowed this term, but I don't remember where from). This story shows images and scenes, but they do not necessarily go in chronological order, or have the same significance. What I mean by that is shown in "Mulholland Dr.," a later Lynch film. In it, one story is told, then later another story is told with similar characters. The audience isn't told the distinction, or which one is real, if both are real, or what. Since David Lynch is basically the only director who tells stories in this way (excluding Christopher Nolan with "Memento")I would like to give credit to him by naming this narrative the Lychian narrative.

This Lynchian narrative is when the filmmaker hands you scenes like puzzle pieces and allows you, the audience, to construct the bigger picture. I love this way of telling stories, because the audience has to mentally participate in order to understand the story (or at least, partly understand). The traditional method merely lets audiences absorb their story because it comes already assembled. With Lynchian narratives, the audience must accept the labor of constructing the full picture with the scenes that they receive. This way, the audience remembers the film long after it is over. If you have to concentrate and focus on what a film is trying to say, you will think about it more than if the film is just told to you.

That is why I want to make Lynchian narrative films. When I begin, most likely I will be compared to Lynch, many saying I'm just ripping him off. But I think he has discovered a way of telling stories that no one else has tapped into yet. He's definitely ahead of his time, and he's been doing it for 40 years.

ASL

I think I might have found my passion.

I have always wanted to learn American Sign Language. I don't know what it is about it; maybe the fact that you don't speak, or that you can communicate with people that the majority of other people cannot; whatever it is, I love ASL. I remember the first time I wanted to take ASL. I was at the Point Guard College basketball camp, eating lunch in the cafeteria. I saw in the corner a girl trying to buy something at the school store. She was deaf, and the cashier didn't speak ASL. I remember the confusion and awkwardness I saw them feel when they couldn't understand each other but wanted to. At that moment, I decided I wanted to learn sign language. I haven't thought about that moment in 3 years.

FWC offered a sign language class, and I desperately wanted to take it, but my schedule didn't work out. So since my junior year (when the FWC class started), I've tried to learn ASL through a classroom setting. One day a few weeks ago, I randomly had the desire to learn ASL again, so I emailed Laura Waldron, the teacher of the ASL class and a sponsor on the Thailand trip, and asked her what the best way to learn the language would be. She responded that books are good, but that cities normally have classes for ASL 1, so I should look around. I checked online and found that Abilene was offering an ASL course! So after a voicemail and a returned phone call, I decided that I would check it out, because it looked like I could do it.

The class meets six times at the Chavez South Park Recreation Center on Cherry and 8th. I was reading "Follow Me To Freedom" this afternoon, and I got to a section where Shane Claiborne discusses carbon awareness. I thought what the hell, I've got time, I can ride my bike there. So I grabbed my backpack and an extra shirt (us sweaters have to be prepared) and headed into the sunset.

The ride down was easy, and I got to see the streets of Abilene from a closer and slower perspective. I rode through a few neighborhoods until I found the Chavez Center, which is tucked in a neighborhood like an elementary school. I locked my bike to the bike rack and walked inside. There was a gym where middle-aged men were playing volleyball, several classrooms, and an office--a modest building. I stopped by the office after changing shirts, signed up for the class, and walked down the hall to the classroom. The receptionist in the office told me we had to have at least 3 people in the class for it to exist, and only one person was signed up. I hoped more people would go as I grabbed "Freedom" and began to read.

People began to trickle in: a boy and a girl who looked my age, an older woman, and a family of an elderly couple, a teenage girl, two young boys, a tiny girl, and a handicapped boy in a wheel chair. I immediately realized that the family was taking the class so everyone will be able to communicate with the young boy in the wheelchair, and my heart went out to them. The teacher came in and began to speak, and it was apparent she was deaf. She signed everything she said, I assume out of habit, a practice that will help me, if not learn the language faster, empathize with people who are deaf.

The class was short, because we didn't have text books and it seemed like Kat, the teacher, was a little overwhelmed. So we learned our sign language A,B,Cs and how to say "My name is ____." As I walked outside to my bike, I found that the back tire was completely deflated. I didn't understand at the time how severe it was and thought I could ride home on it, when Kat offered me a ride home. She had a Dodge Ram, so I threw it in the bed and hopped in.

Kat and I talked the whole way to Mabee. As we talked, I tried to speak slower and enunciate better, so she could read my lips. When I spoke, Kat would have to take her eyes of the road and focus on my lips. But she did most of the talking. She told me she has taught the class for 8 or 9 years, that she works for the Deaf Action Center and has worked there for 19 years. She has 3 kids, all deaf, which sucks, she said, because when they wander away she has to run and chase them down instead of calling their name (which she said she does anyway). She told me that there are only 50 or so deaf people in Abilene (I don't know how she knows that), and that they are mostly older. She has one friend her age who's deaf, but they never have time to hang out because she has to be with her kids. No social life, she said. She told me about a clinic in Florida that provides its own translator for deaf people, which is a big help. She said that going to doctors is hard because you have to higher your own translator, which is expensive.

I told her a little about myself, and by that time we were on Campus Court. I hopped out, grabbed my bike, said thanks, and locked up the bike. The whole time I was in class and then on the car ride home, I was thinking about sign language. My interest in it is high. But more than that, the deaf community is marginalized. Think about it. If a deaf person goes to ACU, they are screwed because teachers, speakers, anyone who is presenting anything don't have interpreters. Their only hope is to sit close and read the speaker's lips. Furthermore, I can't even imagine being deaf. You miss out on so much, on the sound of, well, everything. If I couldn't hear Julian Casablancas' voice, I don't know what I would do.

So what I'm thinking is that I can get involved with the deaf community here. If that means finding a school for deaf kids and tutoring, or baby-sitting Kat's kids, or something else, I would be fine with it. For some reason, I like the idea of being able to talk to people that others can't. They are the outcasts of society, ones overlooked because of something that wasn't their fault. Maybe this is how I can follow Jesus.

Cornerstone Paper Pt. 1

We have to write a paper for our Cornerstone class about change. Luckily I've thought a lot about that subject. Here's what I wrote.

Prompt:• To what degree have your relationships begun changing—with parents and siblings, with a boyfriend or girlfriend, with friends back home?

It was on a car ride to a Dave Matthews concert that I understood the changing nature of relationships.

Most people's high school experience sucked. Mine, on the other hand, was one of the best times of my life. As a freshman, I developed deep relationships with upperclassmen, primarily ones in the grade above me. Attending a small private school allowed us to participate in multiple activities together, such as tennis, academic competitions, and even classes. I created relationships with people that I thought were going to remain in my life forever. I remember, during the summer after my freshman year, my group of friends held a water gun war that ended up with everyone jumping in the pool fully clothed. When I think of happiness, I picture those times. I didn't understand that it wouldn't last forever.

My freshman, sophomore, and junior years of high school kept me ignorantly blissful, because I was surrounded by a community of friends who loved being with each other. However, the end of my junior year brought graduation for most of my friends. This was okay with me, because the majority of them chose to go to college here at ACU. I thought life would go on as it had for the past three years, with us being as close as chocolate chips and cookie dough. It didn't. During their first semester, I heard that my friends weren't exclusively hanging out together, but meeting new people and creating new groups. I couldn't believe this. Why did they not want to be together? Why were they turning into different people? What happened? During my senior year, I witnessed vicariously through my friends how lives diverge. Charlie, the main character of the novel "The Perks of Being a Wallflower," communicated this divergence when he said "...things change. And friends leave. And life doesn't stop for anybody" (Chbosky).

My senior year ended. Summer came and went. And then I headed off to start school at ACU. Seven other kids from my high school chose to come to ACU as well, and several of them I had been really close with growing up. However, as the weeks have gone by here, we don't hang out. We only see each other sporadically, walking across campus, at chapel, or in the Bean. Our interactions are always heart-warming, as if we are still the people we used to be, even though we no longer are. I only considered this occurrence when I was driving to a Dave Matthews concert in Dallas with a friend, one of the guys from my old group in the grade above me.

It was really late, everything pitch black outside as the world rushed by our windows. It seems that times like that are when people allow themselves to be vulnerable with each other, when they are outside typical or expected situations. My friend and I were discussing his first year of college, and I admitted that it had hurt me that the group didn't hang out anymore. I assumed that they didn't like each other anymore and they were letting go of their past. He was understanding as we talked. Then, I suddenly related his experience to my own. I don't hang out with the people that came from my high school, but I that doesn't mean I hate them. I still consider them good friends. But our preferred activities, our living locations, our schedules have caused us to meet new people and thus, start living different lives. It's as though our high school made us do the same activities, but in college, we have the freedom to choose from exponentially more options. Nevertheless, my friends and I just drifted apart--there were no harsh words exchanged, no anger, just a gradual dissolve. We could go get lunch and have a great time. We just don't. It's the changing nature of relationships.

My mom speaks sometimes about a friend she had growing up. She said they would have the best times, that some of her greatest memories were when they were together. A few months ago, my mom said her friend was at a wedding she went to. I asked if she and her old friend talked, if they reconnected and spent the night chatting away. “No,” she said. I didn’t understand. “We haven’t seen each other in, oh, 10 years.” I could never understand what happened. Now I do.

Loneliness and Discontent

Am I not lonely anymore? I guess not. Or am I? I don't know. I don't feel that loneliness that I prayed to God to take away. I have guys I can hang out with, I can go to lunch with so I don't sit by myself even if I like it. But I don't relate to these guys. They are who I used to be. I'm not like them anymore. So their black-and-white morals now alienate me when they would have before included me. I'm not like them.

Is loneliness having someone to eat with but not someone who you can tell things to? Is loneliness knowing that we are only friends because we all need friends, and we are the most similar? Is loneliness knowing that you do not belong with the people you are with?

Is everyone lonely?

I think so.

Why is that?

Is loneliness a product of the Fall? Can we no longer truly know one another until the return of Christ, and in that time, we will relearn how to share who we are and how to accept what others are sharing? Or will we even not know how to know others in heaven, when our tears are wiped away and we're singing to the Lamb?

God, what is this loneliness inside me that never goes away. You can't be the answer. You're too cliched. You're too advertised. You aren't real, at least the way I've been told you are before. I think you exist at Whataburger at 3am, or outside 7-11 with Heather. But I don't believe you exist in church, because the members act like they own you. They act like everyone is on the same path, that the Christian road is wide and entertaining, and the way is easy. Fuck that. I don't see how so many average people can know Christ. They know Him yet they do nothing. Do they know Him, then? Do I know Him? I don't know. I don't know. I've fallen asleep with the rest of the world, and we see Jesus in their dreams, buying us things and keeping us safe on the road, because that's all we want from Him and that's what He wants for us. I want to die for Jesus, because I think that's what He requires. But no one dies for Jesus here. We just pray for his kingdom to come as we eat our lunch.

Here's a prayer--
God, if you're there, I wish you'd show me. Show me if you exist in the places that I think abuse you. Show me where you are, because I don't think you're where they say you are. Capture my heart again, because you had it once. You really did. At least, the idea of you did. I guess that's not the same thing. I wanted the love, but I didn't want to give it. I just wanted to take it. So take my heart and give it to the least of these, the ones who need it more than I do. Help me stay awake, cuz I'm falling asleep in perfect blue buildings.

TOMS Idea

I'm trying to take more risks, because I think they will be rewarded in the line of work I want to do. Take Stephen Speilberg--he walked onto Universal Studios in a suit and went to a cubicle and acted like he worked there. It eventually lead to something, I'm not sure what (that last part is probably critical to the story). Anyway, I'm trying to be like that. To reject my fear and grab opportunities where ever I can find them.

That leads me to today. The founder of TOMS shoes, Blake Mycoskie, spoke at our chapel today. Big event, Moody was packed. As he spoke about how giving was at the heart of his business and how it produces success, I hatched an idea. After he spoke, I ran back to my dorm and typed up this letter.

Dear Blake,
My name is Ben Weaver, and I'm a student at Abilene Christian University, where you just spoke at our chapel. You're talk made me think a lot, about the nature of giving and how, if it is at the root of whatever you do, crazy stuff will happen. I am majoring in Multimedia (which is the closest thing this school has to Film Production), and your talk made me consider the industry I'm planning to enter into, about what it is at its core. Essentially, movies are giving, the sharing of stories and people and events from one person to another. But it seems that the giving that filmmakers do is only for their profit. They exploit audiences for our desire to be entertained and receive a huge income. But what if there was a film that changed the way Hollywood shared its stories?

My idea is to make a documentary about TOMS shoes. Not a small video clip played on a web site or before a TV show; I'm talking playing in the theater beside the next George Clooney thriller or the new Sarah Jessica Parker romantic comedy. Never mind giving audiences a quality film to enjoy, but this documentary will give audiences the one thing they otherwise cannot experience--a chance to watch a complete shoe drop. As a TOMS customer, I love the concept of giving a shoe to someone who needs it. But I soon forgot about the thrill of doing good for someone else because I had no mental reminders (save the actual pair of shoes). I didn't get to put the shoes on the feet of the kids. Most people can't. But if we make a documentary showing the experience, both customers and non-customers will be able to see the smiling child that you said changed your life.

But the film comes with a twist--the film is only made if we give 50 percent of the ticket sales to the production and distribution of TOMS shoes. Let's put this in perspective. You guys are about to give away your 1,000,000 pair of shoes next week. If we make this film and only 1/4 of the people who bought a pair go to see the film, that would be 250,000 people. For argument's sake, say that half of a ticket costs $4. TOMS would bring in $1,000,000. But that's not what's going to happen--everyone loves TOMS, so they'll get everyone and their mom to go see the film. Let's compare it to the 8th top grossing film of last year, "The Blind Side." The film sold 27,796,809 tickets. If we sold that many tickets, it would be an income of around $55,600,000. This would not count the numerous other ways that a film makes money. That's insane.

But why do this? Isn't the idea of giving a child shoes enough? Well Blake, you talked about sustainability today, doing something that will last and turn and continue. If we make a documentary with this 1/2 income mindset, we could change the reasons why people go to the movies. Before, we go to be entertained, to be temporarily taken out of the world we live in that so often hurts and breaks us. But if we make this film, people will go not to be entertained, but to help. To love. To give. That is the deepest and greatest reason to go to movies, to do anything. This film would be in direct line with the ideology of your shoe company.

If you decide you want to talk more about this idea, my cell phone number is 8177292944, and you have my email. If not, then just know your talk made me rethink the ways I can influence the world through the work I want to do.

For that, and for everything, thanks,
Ben Weaver
(I wrote my email address here.)

After I typed it, I ran to find if he had already left, trying to chase him down from one building to the next, when I finally found that he was speaking in Hart Auditorium. I raced over there and sat in on the Q & A that was for COBA students. After he finished, he signed autographs for 10 minutes then made his way up the stairs to the exit of the room, which is at the back. I was standing in the hallway leading to the door, letter in hand. I called out "Blake!" He looked over. I said "if you want an idea that will earn $55 million for your company and change the film industry, read this. If not, throw it away." I placed it in his hand, and he more or less laughed at me. I assume he gets that a lot. After I handed it to him, I walked away and didn't look back.

I don't think anything will come of it. He has probably had hundreds of people come up to him with the same idea. But, I don't know. It was worth a shot. Better than living, not knowing what could have been.

Funny The Way It Is

I went to a Dave Matthews Band concert last night at the Superpages Center. It was really fun. I don't say that it was the best show I've ever been to, or that I loved it, because neither of those things are true. Yes, it was great to hear Dave live, but his music doesn't make my heart rise and roll and turn and spin like other bands do. I don't have an emotional attachment to his music, although I like some of his songs very much. As he and his band repeatedly played solos through every song, I honestly got bored. More than once I forgot what song he was playing because it went on for so long.

Despite this, I don't regret going to the concert. I got to hang out with Blaine, Sam, Mihir, and Cameron, which was great. And the music was amazing, it really was, it just didn't cut to my heart like something like "Landslide," "Round Here," or even "Hard To Explain." But it was a great experience-I have never smelled so much marijuana in my life. Every third inhale or so was filled with the scent of that much beloved plant being burned. Dave himself was obviously baked.

Hearing "#41" live was excellent. I wish he would have played either "Grey Street" or "The Idea of You," but you can't have everything. He played so many good songs that I can't complain.

Here is the set list, although I don't think it's in the right order.

1. The Last Stop
2. Big Eyed Fish
3. Granny
4. Shake Me Like a Monkey
5. Baby Blue
6. Why I Am
7. Everyday
8. Lie in Our Graves
9. Seven
10. You and Me
11. Write a Song
12. Jimi Thing
13. Cornbread
14. Spaceman
15. #41
16. Encore:
16. Some Devil
17. Ants Marching

(We only stayed through the first Encore, "Ants Marching." I don't know if they played the other song or not.)

Overall, I had a good time. It was fun, but not mind-blowing. Give me a break--I wasn't in high school in 1994.

Script-Writing Block

I have such a difficult time when I try to come up with an idea for a film for filmfest. I can't think of anything worth saying, anything worth making. I would like to have someone write a script, and I shoot it. I'm good at making it. I'm not good at coming up with the idea.

Requiem For A Dream

All I could say as I watched "Requiem For A Dream" was oh my god, in agony. Oh my god.
All they wanted was happiness. All they wanted was a simple feeling, a place in life where everything is all right. Sarah wanted to be loved. Harry wanted those closest to him to be happy. Marion wanted a fashion shop. Tyrone wanted his mother's love. The four characters in this film wanted the state of life I live in and take for granted. God. And they were so close. Harry saw Marion in a red dress on the dock. It was just outside his window. But he got distracted when it was within reach, and then he could no longer take hold of the one thing he wanted more than anything.

I hesitate to say this is a good film, but I know that it is one. This film is not meant to be enjoyed, it is meant to be a warning. Mihir said that this film is perfect for showing anyone what addiction is like. While it made me cringe and cry out, it showed me the devastating effects that drugs and the subsequent addiction to them have on people. Good people. Normal people. People who only want to be happy. In the end, that's what everyone wants. Drugs are not some weird thing that dirty people do for malicious purposes. Essentially, they just want to not feel like shit. They want to be happy.

The heart of the story is found in the scene where Harry visits his mother and finds out she has been prescribed speed. In it, Sarah reveals why she wants to be on television.

Sarah: " I'm somebody now, Harry. Everybody likes me. Soon, millions of people will see me and they'll all like me. I'll tell them about you, and your father, how good he was to us. Remember? It's a reason to get up in the morning. It's a reason to lose weight, to fit in the red dress. It's a reason to smile. It makes tomorrow all right. What have I got Harry, hm? Why should I even make the bed, or wash the dishes? I do them, but why should I? I'm alone. Your father's gone, you're gone. I got no one to care for. What have I got, Harry? I'm lonely. I'm old. "
Harry: "You got friends, Ma."
Sarah: "Ah, it's not the same. They don't need me. I like the way I feel. I like thinking about the red dress and the television and you and your father. Now when I get the sun, I smile."

I have never had my heart break more than it did in this film. Sarah just wanted to be loved, to have people who needed her presence in their lives. She wanted purpose. And my heart broke because I saw her try to find her purpose in something that let her down. And Marion! She wanted to design fashion, but she succumbed to prostitution to feed her drug addiction. She is a good girl! But she got hooked onto something that wouldn't let her have a normal life. And now she has a jaded look in her eyes, the twinkle is gone, and she curls up on the couch after a night of sexual abuse with her panacea in her hand, a drug that will be gone in no time.

This film is important because it tells audiences how the other half lives, how the drugs actually affect you. It's not mysterious anymore--"Requiem For A Dream" feeds the truth to us by way of a syringe in our veins, direct and quickly working.

Cornerstone Pt. 3/Life Thoughts

Today has been a good day because of four situations--the Cornerstone lecture, seeing Mary DeLaughter, seeing Jonathan Storment, and my 9:30 class tomorrow got canceled.

First off, the Cornerstone class. Dr. Jeanene Reese was the speaker this week, and her title was "Decisions, Decisions, Decisions." And as she spoke, I noticed that she is a very good orator. She tells a story with skill I haven't seen paralleled in a while. She doesn't lean on charisma; she believes in the power of what she is speaking, and that's rare. She told the story of how her husband died in a freak accident, and how she dealt with it. I was riveted. On the screen behind her, she showed pictures of herself and her husband before he died, and as I looked at her face, I felt like I was looking at someone who was completely happy. Maybe she was photogenic, but I got the impression from her speech that she loved this man deeply. She loved their lives together, the things they did, the people they associated with. They were going to be missionaries. They were going to start a family. Their whole life was ready to begin.

And then it happened. She woke one morning to the sound of friends frantically calling for her, and she drove to the site where her husband had died and cried in the arms of two men who smelled of the smoke that had enveloped the life of her spouse. She told us this story with such confidence that she wasn't afraid to let us see her vulnerability. She lost her love. And her planned life was gone.

She told us, then, that she had a choice to make. She had to choose how she was going to make choices. Sounds repetitive, I know, but she made sense of it. She said that she could either succumb to doing what she wanted (which she didn't tell us what that was), or she could give glory to God, even in these dire circumstances. She chose the latter. Then, Reese listed four ways that she was going to change her thinking, but they were so Christian-cliched that I can't remember them. What I remember is an interesting phrase that she repeated several times. She said that we need to be "students of our own minds."

What does that mean, to be students of our own minds? Reese said it means to consider why we do things, what causes us to do them. She then told us a story of a time when she protected a younger woman from a troupe of baboons, using spiritual, motherly, and educational learning. These different types of learning caused her to act a certain way, in this case the right way.

What I want to consider is the act of separating one from oneself. If we are to be students of our own minds, we have to think of our minds as an independent object and evaluate it in that way. For example, I often take a book to the Bean when I know I'm going to sit alone. Why is that? Well, one reason is because I like reading that book. Another and more important reason is that if I sit by myself with nothing physically occupying my attention, I will be looked on by others as "lonely" or "without friends," so people will come and sit with me. They are acting out of kindness, yes, but it makes the whole situation awkward. So, I bring a book with me.

What I just did was take a situation and dissected it to see its mental stimuli. We do according to what we think. And Dr. Reese wants us to consider the thoughts behind the actions, the ideas that tend to go unexamined. Because if we don't, we will end up as adults who have no idea why they work at their job, why they have a family, why they go to church; and the results will never be positive.

........

The next good thing that happened was that I saw Mary. I met Mary at Lit Meet my junior year through Amanda. She and I sat in the foyer of the Bible building and discussed our lives for a good chunk of time--she told me how she had almost put school off for a year in order to be a part of The Simple Way, the community in Philadelphia of which Shane Claiborne is a part. From that, we became friends. I would see her whenever I was at ACU or she visited Ft. Worth with Amanda.

I got a phone call from a number I didn't recognize, so I called it back, and when the person on the other end picked up, I immediately knew who it was. I hope Mary was surprised that I knew her by her voice. She told me that we had almost been in school a whole month and we hadn't seen each other, and that needed to change. So we met outside the library, where she didn't recognize me at first because of my long hair and glasses. I have a feeling that is going to happen a lot when I go home, which I don't want, but I'll have to deal with because I like my look. Anyway, we stood outside the library for a solid half-hour and talked. We caught up on our lives, talked about scraping ashes, water, and cow poop on the floor of a mud hut to keep it clean (Mary studied in Africa last semester), and enjoyed knowing that we were friends. Mary commented that before, we had only been friends through Amanda, which was fine. But now we have the chance to be friends on our own. That seems like a truer friendship. I felt completely comfortable around her, which is a good thing. I think that is the identifier of a good friend. She's so cool.

........

After that, I ran into J-Storm (a nickname that, I learned, Rick calls him. Who knew?) in the foyer of the campus center. We went several places, the campus store, the library, the walkway in front of the Bible building, and we talked as we went. I learned that Jonathan has a tentative lesson plan all the way until December. I want to know how he comes up with an individual lesson, whether he randomly studies a passage from the section he has planned and constructs something from that, or if he has a schedule of every verse and every Sunday.

But as we walked, we talked about normal things, we had a normal conversation. It was as if I was talking to Aaron, and it was surreal when I stepped back and considered that I was hanging out with my preacher. I wonder what Jonathan must be going through, being young and heading a church. I wonder how it is to speak to people much older than he, who have had more life experiences than he has. He must pray often, because if he is just going off his knowledge he won't last very long. I assume he works very hard and prays frequently.

I found out that he loves "Community," so we might watch an episode together or something and hang out. Again, I feel like I'm in a unique situation to have a minister so close to my age. I wonder what will become of this.

........

And my Psych class got canceled, which sucks, but it also means that I can sleep in. Oh, but wait, I have to get B-Roll of kids walking to school. Shoot me.

Overall, good day.

Mulholland Drive

A friend I was watching the film with commented that "Mulholland Drive" puts him in a trance every time he watches it. I realized that I, too, was in a trance while watching the film, and even as the plot turned and my comprehension faded, I knew that I was watching rare excellence in the art of film.

Throughout the beginning of the film, I marveled at the confidence director David Lynch had in pacing his film so slowly. His film made me consider every other film, and it makes them seem like they rush through their scenes, they rush to show you what's happening. I can only explain Lynch's ability as age-nurtured skill. Scenes weave in and out without having any connection to one another, but I wasn't worried that they wouldn't match up in the end--I assumed that everything would be put in it's right place, and I guess the method of the scenes lulled me into intellectual apathy.

I thought at first that Betty was overacted, but now I think that caricature was played perfectly. Now, I think Naomi Watts is a talented actress, namely because she played two distinct characters that had no chance of being confused.

But. I must comment about the song sung at the "Silencio" club, the one sung in Spanish. It was beautiful. I found my heart longing for the note the woman would sing in the way that I long to hear someone I care about say my name. It was wonderful. And I am proud of myself because I knew while watching that that scene was important. I gave myself several pats on the back.

I am in awe of Lynch's use of symbolism (the color blue), because it adds another level to this complex film, making it better than the average film noir. The American Dream is not real, says Lynch. Hollywood lies. Life is not better there, on movie sets, in the world directors made long ago that we all think exists. And all the while, he shows us this through the life of an actress who tried to make it big but got jealous of another actress, had her killed, and couldn't handle both the guilt of murder and failure, so she kills herself after her cocaine-created dreamworld wears off. Brilliant.

I can't communicate the greatness of this film. Maybe because it's so great. Maybe that's the mark of greatness--not being able to tell every reason why it's great, but that it just is.

Plasticity

Today in Psychology we learned about plasticity of the brain, where the brain can relearn, reassign, and adapt when part of it gets damaged or removed. I think there is such a thing as plasticity in relationships. People replace others in their lives when they move, go to college, die, etc. Maybe they don't replace the person entirely, just the need to see them on a regular basis. I don't know.

"Things happen. People change. And the world doesn't stop for anybody."

Rage

I just watched "Rage," and I like it. I'd like to watch it again, to make a chart of the characters and write down quotes they say, because there is much to consider.

It is an interesting character study, never taking place anywhere except in front of a blue screen (except the final shot). That is an experiment, a shift from conventional filmmaking, where locations are essential. But this film does not take place on screen--it takes place in your mind. Dozens of people die, but you never see it. You hear it, and your imagination constructs the scene while there is only a character to look at on screen.

Also, the characters audiences encounter are very intriguing, how they change over the course of the film. Namely Minx, played by Jude Law. Initially, Minx speaks with an accent and says that "the only things important in life are money and fame." I wrote her off as materialistic, lacking depth, and dumb. But later in the film, Minx drops the accent and shows audiences that Minx is a character, a puppet that is used to obtain the things she says are important. At her core, she is kind, sensitive, and insecure. Sally Potter created a very interesting character.

Also, the designer Merlin and his antithesis Mona Carvell create an noteworthy debate with their opposite views on fashion. On the one hand, Merlin says that fashion is beauty, is art, is something to be treasured. Conversely, Carvell says that "fashion is not an art form. If it's anything at all, it's pornography, to which millions are addicted. Hopelessly addicted." She then talks about how women shop, how they look at clothes with a look of lust and desire. It's a convincing argument.

Very quickly, you get to make judgments about the people in this story, about their character and who they are. Lettuce is so confused and lacking structure or family, and you can see the vulnerability in her huge eyes as she cries in front of the camera. Vijah becomes corrupted by his dream of fame. Anita has a revelation about God and that every person is loved by Him. Miss Roth realizes that her company is acting in an immoral way, so she protests against her own company and their policies. The characters are what drive this film, and they become real because the filmmakers never stray from their device.

I really like this film for what it tried to do. It strayed from normalcy to create a unique film through its style, and it is full of rich characters who push their vitality through the screen and into the minds of viewers.

Love Me If You Dare

Never have I hated two characters more than I do Julien and Sophie. Good god. I hate them.

I just watched the French film "Jeux D'Enfants," or "Love Me If You Dare" in English. Yes, it's the cheesiest title you've ever heard. Before I watched the film, I had already thought about how I was going to defend the film to whoever hears about me watching this film. "Oh, yeah, it's a cheesy title, but it's such an interesting plot for a film." And it is. But oh my sweet death, it is a terrible film.

The plot is this--a boy and girl have a tin box, and whoever possesses the box gets to dare the other to do whatever they want. And the other person always does it, which I don't understand, especially towards the end. But it starts out with small stuff as kids (relatively): pulling the table cloth onto the floor at a wedding, saying dirty words in class, peeing in front of the principal. But it gets progressively worse. Sophie dares Julien to have sex with a girl just to get her earrings. Julien does it, and in the process forces the girl to miss a test and subsequently fail it. Another dare is that they both slap Igor, the gym teacher, whenever they see him. They just keep doing it, over and over, until they see him crying, and then they stop.

That's what I don't understand. These two people do whatever they are dared, no matter who it hurts, no matter whose lives are disturbed. Julien chooses Sophie over his father. At one point, the couple dare each other not to see one another for ten years. They actually do it, and in that span they both get married to different people, Julien has kids, and they construct different lives. But after ten years to the day, Julien is mailed the tin box and goes to Sophie's house. The place is in shambles, as if a burglar had been there. But get this--Sophie had done the damage, called the police right as Julien got there, and dared him to outrun them. And as he runs in his car, a voice over narration tells the audience that the game with Sophie is better than anything, even life.

The game has a strange ending, to say the least. The two decide to have themselves buried alive in concrete, as one final dare that they can both do together. As the cement rises in this deep pit, the two kiss and hold one another, until they are solidified in the ground. Why in the world? I don't understand. And then, it seems as if the filmmaker's show an alternate ending, during the movie. It shows two old people misbehaving in a retirement center, doing things that identify them as Julien and Sophie. So does this mean that they didn't actually get buried, that it was all a fake? Or does this mean that by being buried alive together, they got to somehow grow old together? I have no idea.

I gathered that this film was trying to say that love is worth any cost, whether that is someone else's feelings, your own sanity, or even life. And that is why I hate this movie. It was filmed well, had good construction, and I wanted so badly to love these characters. But there is no way. If two people loved each other and expressed it by doing things like this, I would have them legally separated for the good of humanity.