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Getting to the Very Art of the Matter

For the last few weeks, we’ve been talking about seeing problematic or challenging movies. Not so much about how to decide whether you see them, but rather how to process them when you see them. Last week, I told you about some of the tools we use to handle the films we see—everything from praying beforehand to talking afterward to taking notes right in the middle.

The post triggered Kevin to write back, wondering whether this note-taking was spoiling an integral part of the movie-viewing experience—and whether something might be getting lost in the process. He wrote:

But what about receiving films as art? If you're taking notes and always trying to keep yourself from getting sucked into the film, then you're not really experiencing it as art, are you? If, for example, you watch The Passion of the Christ and are continually taking notes at each crack of the whip, are you able to really understand the story? Yes, there are horrific images in that film, but they serve a purpose. If you're always keeping the story at arms length, aren't you preventing it from really working in you? Just some thoughts.

filmprojector.jpgAnd great thoughts they are. The answer is … maybe. There’s no way for me to know for sure, Kevin. But I can tell you this: When I reviewed Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close last year, my notebook got a little damp from all the tears I shed. Frankly, if I was any more involved in the story, I might’ve needed a tissue box.

But the overarching premise of the question is an important one: Where and when does the quality of a film factor into what you see and, if you do, how you should engage with it?

It’s a gigantic question—one that would really require a book, not a blog post, to fully process. But that doesn’t mean we can’t blast through at least two major points.

1. Art is important. In the second post of this series, I suggested that everything around us is touched by God, and that goes for the movies we make and see, too. Granted, they may be bad or problematic. But because we’re God’s creation, we can’t help but reflect a bit of Him in what we ourselves create, even (and often) unknowingly.

I’d argue that part of that reflection can be found in the quality of a given work. God, as we know, is the best artist or author there is. And when we create something—a book, a blog post, a movie—we indirectly pay homage to the One who created us. The better and more beautiful a piece of work is, the more clearly it reflects the One from whom all beauty and goodness radiates. And here’s another important truth: He always deserves our best. After all, He gave all of us our talents—even those who haven’t found Him yet. It’d be a sin not to use them, and use them as effectively as we can.

But this isn’t to say that the “better” the art, the more pleasing to God it is. Why not? Because …

2. Purpose is important, too. LK, commenting on my blog entry last week, made a very cogent point by bringing up a great quote from G.K. Chesterton, who just so happens to be one of my favorite authors: “Sometimes the best part of a painting is the frame … without the frame of Scripture it isnt art its garbage.”

Here’s the exact wording of the passage that I think LK is most likely remembering:

It is impossible to be an artist and not care for laws and limits. Art is limitation; the essence of every picture is the frame. If you draw a giraffe, you must draw him with a long neck. If in your bold creative way you hold yourself free to draw a giraffe with a short neck, you will really find that you are not free to draw a giraffe.  

In other words, art to be art requires a boundary. Giraffes must have long necks in order to be giraffes. If you draw a giraffe with a short neck, it isn’t a giraffe at all, but something else.

So what, then, is art? An act of creation—one (as we’ve said) that inherently reflects our own Creator. But what if we deny that Creator in our art? What if we ignore the boundaries and shed the frame? We’ve got a mess on our hands, that’s what. And while it’s not possible to hide God’s reflection entirely, it is possible to hide it enough so it’s not worth our while to try to hunt for it. A film, however well made, has to have a good heart to it—one that somehow points back to God and all that He is.

Now, let’s call a time-out and acknowledge that few of Hollywood’s great artists are intentionally trying to reflect our Creator. Some might laugh heartily at the very thought. But even if they don’t know God, many of these artists unintentionally point to Him by showcasing the truth and beauty for which He so perfectly embodies.

Let me offer an example or two: The Tree of Life, last year’s artsiest entrant in the Oscar derby, is an explicit rumination of faith. It was built, in some ways, to fit in the frame—even as it challenges some of what we think about God. Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close, on the other hand, is not a religious movie at all. But we see in it a beautiful example of a mother and father’s love for their son, reflecting our Father’s own love for us. It doesn’t need a frame to work as a movie … but when you wrap it with that frame, it doesn’t fight it: In fact, it becomes a more powerful film. The frame gives it extra dimension that raises it to another level.

Both films boast some difficult moments, of course. And neither is a must-see movie. No film fits that definition, at least not in terms of bettering one’s life or deepening one’s relationship with God. Movies don’t “save.” Only God does that.

But they can move us. And, ideally, a movie’s art and heart must work together.

And that’s why there are some (not all, but some) very nice, sometimes overtly Christian movies that leave me a little cold. Their art just doesn’t resonate with me. Their frames may be great, but the painting inside feel a little trite. A little blocky. Conversely, I can appreciate a well-crafted secular film. But unless it gives me something to embrace—something that I find somehow reflects the image of God, I walk away feeling numb or sad or even outraged. It’s art without the frame, and as such it feels useless.

When a beautifully crafted movie fits the frame, that’s when I walk away challenged or inspired or moved. That’s when I feel not just its technical excellence, but the hand of God hidden behind it, working on me. And maybe working on others, too.

This post is the fourth in a series. Feel free to click on these related posts:

Don’t Watch. But If You Do …

Sorting Out the Good, the Bad and the Excellent

How Come They Get to Watch Bad Movies and I Don’t?

It Didn’t Really Bother Me at All

The Series Is Dead: Long Live the Series!