The Interpreter

Watched The Interpreter tonight. 

Directed by Sydney Pollack. 

Starring Nicole Kidman and Sean Penn. 

I loved it. 

                         *     *     *

I thought I'd share some words from the film. 

The scene is riveting.

The words are poetry.

                         *     *     *

We don't name the dead.  Everyone who loses somebody wants revenge on someone.  On God if they can't find anyone else. 

And in Africa, In Matobo, the Ku believe that the only way to end grief is to save a life.

If someone is murdered, a year of mourning ends with a ritual that we call 'the drowning man trial.'   

There's an all-night party beside the river.  At dawn, the killer is put in a boat.  He's taken out on the water.  He's bound so that he can't swim. 

The family of the dead then has to make a choice.  They can let him drown, or they can swim out and save him.

The Ku believe that if the family lets the killer drown, they'll have justice, but spend the rest of their lives in mourning.

But if they save him, if they admit that life isn't always just, that very act can take away their sorrow.

Vengeance is a lazy form of grief.

                         *     *     *

I've been thinking lately about a scene from a play I wrote five years ago:  End of the Line.  I thought I'd share it with you on this Valentine's Day.

                         *     *     *

In one of the final scenes, Maria has just broken up with her boyfriend.  She's at a bus station, not far from her sister's.  She's trying to get up the nerve to call and ask for help.  

She's just run into her old first-grade teacher, Mrs. Drayer.  They watch a young couple leave the station, arms around each other, smiling.  They've just made up.

DRAYER:  See what happens when you aren’t afraid to ask?

MARIA:  Yeah.

 

DRAYER:  Well, then.  Isn’t it about time you call your sister again on that little phone you have there?

 

MARIA:  Dixie's busy.  Her best friend's in town.  They're taking Candace to the Zoo –

 

DRAYER:  Think how much she'd enjoy having her favorite aunt go along.

 

MARIA:  They don’t want to hear about my problems.

 

DRAYER:  Talk to your sister after your niece has gone to bed.  She might be able to give you a fresh perspective on your young man.

 

MARIA:  Perhaps.

 

DRAYER:  What did you tell your sister?  When you called her?

 

MARIA:  I didn’t want to bother her.  She told me –

 

DRAYER:  You have to tell people you need help, Maria.  You find it easy to give.  Much harder to take.  Love demands as much as it gives.  Go on.  Call her. 

 

(MARIA gets out her cell phone.  Punches in the number.) 

 

DRAYER:  And don’t give up until she tells you she’s coming to get you.

 

MARIA:  Dixie?  Yeah, it's me.  ... Hey, I'm at the bus station on 49th and -- You can? ... Okay.  ...  See you in a few. 

 

(She looks over at DRAYER, who sits with her eyes closed.  Her hands rest in her lap.) 

 

MARIA:  Thank you.

 

(DRAYER looks over.  Smiles at her.  Takes her hands and covers them with her own.)

 

DRAYER:  You're welcome.  So while we’re waiting for your sister, how about joining me for my evening prayers?

 

(MARIA looks around cautiously, but DRAYER simply begins talking.)

 

DRAYER:  Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy Name, Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, On earth, as it is in heaven.

 

(MARIA joins in)

 

BOTH:  Give us this day our daily bread, And forgive us our trespasses, As we forgive those who trespass against us, And lead us not into temptation, But deliver us from evil.

 

(When Drayer is done, she rises and gives Maria a hug.  Yelp of a DOG in the background.)

 

MARIA: What was that?

 

DRAYER:  What?  Oh, that’s Zack.

 

MARIA: No, that prayer.  What do you think it means?

 

DRAYER:  Those people around you today?  Did you notice what they had to do to get help?

 

MARIA: They had to ask.

 

DRAYER:  Yeah.  (rising)  I've got to go.

Dangerous Hypocrisy: World Reactions

I couldn't help adding this to my blog.  I agree, completely.

                    ~ Steven

By Roberta Seid, PhD and Roz Rothstein

Westerners are agonizing about whether the twelve Danish cartoons of Mohammed showed unforgivable prejudice against Islam. Enraged Muslims in Europe, the Middle East and Asia are rampaging in protest against the cartoons, demanding apologies, boycotts, blood and even beheadings. But in all this, the real outrage is overlooked: the sheer hypocrisy of these reactions.

These angry Muslims demand that the world honor Islamic symbols and sensitivities, but adamantly refuse to grant the same to other religions. They don’t just draw satirical cartoons or limit their insults to words and discriminatory laws. They have intentionally and regularly desecrated and destroyed religious icons, holy sites and houses of worship sacred to other faiths. Yet the world, including progressive democracies whose core ideal is tolerance, has remained silent about these assaults on other religions.

Why was there no effective protest when the Taliban destroyed pre-Islamic masterpieces, including the almost 2000-year-old 165-foot statue of Buddha? Where was the outrage when Muslims destroyed churches in Indonesia, Pakistan, India, Thailand, Iraq and Sudan, and 175 Nigerian churches in 2004?[1] Where was the indignation when armed Palestinian Muslim terrorists forced their way into the Church of the Nativity in 2002 for 38 days and shot bullet holes in the walls and used the pages of Christian holy books as toilet paper?[2] Why was there no outcry when Palestinian Muslims repeatedly attacked Jewish holy sites, such as Rachel’s Tomb, or when they destroyed Joseph’s Tomb, burned its prayer books, Bibles and religious articles and converted the age- old Jewish holy site into a mosque? Why was the world silent between 1948 and 1967 when Jordanian Muslims destroyed all 57 of Jerusalem’s ancient Jewish temples, libraries and yeshivas and used the sacred stones for urinals and sidewalks?

The world has been strangely silent, too, when Muslims have gone beyond attacking holy symbols and have persecuted and murdered men, women and children for the crime of not being Muslim. The Laskar Jihad movement of Indonesia has killed 5,000 Christians and made a half-million of them homeless. In Egypt, Copts are persecuted and dozens in el- Kusheh were killed in January 2000 alone. Muslim youth rampaged in Nigeria in 2002 and killed 100 Christians and injured 200 others.[3]

How can Muslims demand that their sensibilities be respected when they assault other religions and don’t even begin soul-searching to rethink their own intolerance and religious prejudices? Why aren’t Western democracies consistently denouncing this violent behavior? Is it because they have double standards and believe Islam must be treated differently than Christianity, Judaism, Buddhism and other religions? Is it because they have become so secular that they see no reason to defend or protect the historic religions of the West? Or is it because they are intimidated by the threats of violence against them if they speak out? Do they fear they will share the fate of the brutally murdered Theodore Van Gogh or the fate of Salman Rushdie who was forced into hiding after a fatwa was issued that condemned his novel and called for his execution.

But something far more profound and ominous has been exposed by the cartoon incident.

The radical Muslim message is clear: We can insult your religions. We can desecrate and destroy your holy places and kill your co-religionists, but you cannot do something as trivial as publishing satirical drawings of our sacred symbols. Only our religion should be honored and respected. The world must defer to our rules and sensitivities. If you violate them, we will erupt in riots and violence and call for your deaths.

In short, the incident has laid bare radical Islam’s impassioned battle to dominate the West and impose Islamist values and a radical Islamist world order. They are trying to get us to respect Islam according to their rules not through persuasion but through intimidation and violence. Those who do not obey will be subject to a savagery and rage that radical Muslims will unapologetically justify in the name of Allah and Mohammed. Anti-Western governments like Iran and Syria and radical Islamists will cynically fan the flames.

We are face-to-face not just with hypocrisy, but also with radical Islamists' stark bid for religious dominance. Let us hope that democracies and moderate Muslims have the clarity, self-confidenceand strength to win this battle of the 21st century.

                   *     *     *

And then there's this, from Lee Ann Womack.  Nice counterpoint.

"I Hope You Dance"

I hope you never lose your sense of wonder
You get your fill to eat
But always keep that hunger
May you never take one single breath for granted
God forbid love ever leave you empty handed

I hope you still feel small
When you stand by the ocean
Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens
Promise me you'll give faith a fighting chance

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
I hope you dance
I hope you dance

I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance
Never settle for the path of least resistance
Living might mean taking chances
But they're worth taking
Lovin' might be a mistake
But it's worth making

Don't let some hell bent heart
Leave you bitter
When you come close to selling out
Reconsider
Give the heavens above
More than just a passing glance.

                   *     *     *

Sources for the above article:

[1] http://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2003/002/36.82. html and http://www.asianews.it/view.php? l=en&art=4609

[2] “’Greedy Monsters’ Ruled Church,” <> Times, May 15 2002, p. 1

[3] http://jmm.aaa.net.au/articles/10429.htm

Roberta Seid, PhD is a historian.  Roz Rothsein is the National Director for StandWithUs.

email: info@standwithus.com

310-836-6140

http://www.standwithus.com

Deep Focus

A still taken on the way home from Phoenix.

Beautiful country, Arizona.

                         *     *     *

A brief update on Discount Kid.

I've shelved it.  Now is not the right time.  

Eventually, when the time is right, I'll pick it up again.

                         *     *     *

The best part of the Temescal experience was the group of filmmakers I met who have remained committed to working with me.  

We've begun to develop a new film project -- Service Interrupted.  My executive producer assures me that she can raise the money to produce it.

More about that later, as I build the screenplay.

                         *     *     *

Ever since I decided to begin directing again, my life has sped up.

                         *     *     *

One of the most significant things I learned in Temescal?  That I should follow my own directing instincts.  In preparing to direct the Kid, I listened to people who hadn't actually directed anything themselves.  Bad idea.

My experience as a theater director taught me a lot.  Every time I apply those lessons to filmmaking, I've found success.

When it comes to building a team, my experience has proved invaluable.  I just need to believe in myself.

For example, before I directed my first major theatre production, The Music Man (Steubenville 1992), I spent almost a year in preparation.  I researched the technical side of theater, I talked to other directors, and I read voraciously about the best directors -- their methods techniques.

After Temescal, I decided that to approach my film directing career in the same way.

                         *     *     *

Currently, I'm working my way through Print the Legend:  The Life and Times of John Ford by Scott Eyman (John Hopkins UP 1999).

I like the way Ford approached directing. 

                         *     *     *

"People ask me about John Ford's genius," wrote Madge Bellamy near the end of her life.  "I don't think it lay in his direction of individual scenes; it lay in his panoramic view of the whole picture--his ability to achieve artistic unity.  The timing, the emphasis, his grasp of the whole drama constituted his art" (82).

Ford's quixotic, increasingly evasive personality made him afraid to reveal anything about himself.  On the other hand, artistry requires the expression of an inner personality.  It would be years before Ford achieved sufficient self-confidence as a man and artist to make the films he wanted to make, all of the time (93).

                         *     *     *

Movie Tip:  If you decide to view Ron Howard's Cinderella Man, do yourself a favor. 

Fast-forward to 00:25:00, and press PLAY.  If you do this, you'll love the movie. 

No, seriously.  No one needs to see the first 25 minutes.  Why the editor didn't get this?  I have no idea.

                         *     *     *

Ford was already avoiding the accepted industrial style of shooting entire scenes in long master shots, then moving in for medium shots and close-ups and dumping all the footage in the lap of the editor to cut as they saw fit.

Rather, he would shoot only those portions of a given shot that he needed for the scene as he mentally formulated it.  This severely limited editing choices,and meant that Ford had to be right the first time....

Said Charles G. Clarke, "What I did not realize then was that John Ford edited his picture as he directed it, and that his casual manner was only a cover for the actual planning and thought that lay behind his direction all along" (98).

 "The quality of universality in pictures is in itself a pitfall, for the director who strives too hard to represent humanity by rubbing down the rough edges of racial and personal traits is likely to make his work drab and colorless.  The picture likely to attain great and wide success must have its theme of universal appeal, but its people vivid."

Ford's broad Irish humor is indispensable as seasoning, but insufficiently varied to sustain an entire film by itself (112).

                         *     *     *

"I am a silent picture man," Ford would say as an old man.  "Pictures, not words, should tell the story" (113)

                         *     *     *

In one area, they were in explicit agreement, for Merian Cooper's view of America and its history replicated Ford's:  "He believes," wrote Gilbert Seldes of Cooper, "that by concentrating on the life of a few individuals, a single family perhaps, the character and tradition, the habits of life and the sufferings, the accidents and the adventures of a race can be embodied" (139).

                         *     *     *

With Stagecoach, Ford found the subject that meshed perfectly with his calm style.  Ford had been experimenting with two- and three-plane composition for some time, often holding sharp focus throughout, and his collaboration with Gregg Toland on The Long Journey Home and The Grapes of Wrath would extend the style still further.  But Stagecoach was a more integrated example--one of the reasons Orson Welles looked so intensively at the film before embarking on Citizen Kane.

It was a style particularly suited both to Ford's aesthetic and emotional sensibilities--meditative compositions in depth, usually medium shots, with the characters reacting to each other within the shot.  It gave the actors more to work with, and the studio less.  From this point, Ford's camera would be predominately still, so that when he did move it--the sudden quick pan to the Indians on the cliff, the furious tracking shots during the attack--the simple fact of the movement would add excitement to the scene (206).

                         *     *     *

Ford chose now to unleash a fully developed directorial personality:  picturesque, ample, meditative, self-assured films of history and longing composed with what John Wayne would call Ford's "simplicity of delivery."  His characters would go about their business with a mournful weight, befitting the grandeur of the stage on which they were playing.

For Ford, America and democracy grew out of the encounter between wilderness and civilization, and Monument Valley would be the meeting ground for the palpable and the possible.  The complexity of the pictures he was about to make meant that John Ford's themes were, at long last, the full equal of him images (208).

                         *     *     *

One of my professors once told me that my background reminded her of Ford's film How Green Was My Valley.

I could certainly direct a remake of the film.

                         *     *     *

Criticisms about the film being an inaccurate depiction of a mining town are irrelevant; it is life seen through the eyes of a child.  Although it is narrated by a man, the characters are drawn with the broad strokes of an awestruck boy, bathed in the golden glow of an adult's remembrance of his childhood.

And it is one of the most cogent statements of one of Ford's deepest themes:  the way that time's flow destroys the old ways, which must die in order for the future to take hold.  Ianto stands up at the dinner table and says that if manners prevent him from speaking against injustice, then he will be without manners, and we understand both his anger and the pain of his father's loss of control of his sons, his house, and his life.

Working with material that was inescapably dour, Ford turned it into a masterpiece about the tenacity and universiality of family feelings (242).

Knee Surgery

That's my friend Glendon Yoder and his family. 

 

Phoenix, AZ.  The Yoder backyard at Christmas. 

 

I've claimed them as my extended family.

 

I knew Glendon and Deb before they were married.  I provided the music at their wedding.

 

And I'm thinking about them all tonight.

 

I imagine they're worried, because this morning Glendon had knee surgery.  

 

So I'm sending out my best wishes for his swift recovery.

 

                         *     *     *

 

And I'm wishing Ashley (far right) a happy birthday!  Glendon's right proud of her.

 

                         *     *     *

 

This past Sunday morning, at PMC's farewell service for its founding leader (Jim Brennaman), Erin Dufault-Hunter reflected on the meaning of leadership. 

 

I'm publishing an edited version of her speech below.

 

                         *     *     *

 

Jim treads where few pastors dare to follow: into a world of the not-so-serious, into—why not just say it?—the goofy. He shows us that humor has its place in the Kingdom alongside calls for justice and peace.

 

Freedom to laugh makes Jim a shepherd who truly seeks the good of his sheep—he does not require us to stroke his ego. Jim’s lack of pretension provides safe ground for our own experiments in faith.

 

Jim is indeed someone you invite to your parties, and you don’t have to worry who else will be in attendance. He will be approachable and gracious, even to friends who find our Christian faith offensive.

 

But his respect for others doesn’t mean he is milquetoast. Jim is comfortable in his own skin, in convictions that have been hard-won and purchased through his consistent pursuit of truth.

 

Jim’s thoughtfulness and formidable smarts kept many of us here.  In this self-effacing wedding of laughter, and honest, intellectual engagement, we found a fellow traveler.  A leader we deeply respect and on whom we call when troubled.

 

While other pastors might shy away from a congregation so overly educated and under-intimidated by formal authority, Jim invited us to dream, to work with him for the mission of this church.

 

Part of Jim’s personal joy is in the pursuit of his intellectual life. In this congregation,he encourages us to “talk back”—to engage God ourselves, to discern by the Spirit our own journey and our collective calling.  

 

Jim trusts that iron sharpens iron and that imperfections and silliness allow for the glory of God to shine through his earthen vessel. All of this gives him a creative authority that empowers others rather than enslaving or crushing them.

 

Jim is one we can call when we are suffering or caught in despair.  He unashamedly weeps as he shares our personal sadness and struggles—be it the loss of our child, the suicide of our fiancé, the death of our parent, or the burden of chronic depression.  Jim's tears are accompanied by hope in the story of a compassionate God. 

 

Jim doesn't try to make us believe or act in certain ways.  Instead, he encourages us to sense the presence of God, wherever we are in our journey.  And if we cannot perceive Christ’s light ourselves, he holds on to that hope for us.

 

Jim’s self-effacing nature drew many of us to this congregation.  He has remained willing to let others lead, to address the questions of even the most antagonistic atheist, and to let our disagreements with him or with his theology stand as they are.

 

Jim is reluctant to be the "star" of the worship service, or the "real" leader of our congregation—he makes us work out our own salvation.

 

In asking for our aid, while refusing to do too much for us as our pastor, he has nudged us forward, making us more than we would ever have dreamed possible.

 

                                                                       ~ Erin Dufault-Hunter

 

Now do you understand why I climb out of bed on Sunday morning and drive 30 minutes to Pasadena? 

 

Any group that supports this kind of life philosophy has my vote.