As Act One wraps up its L.A. program for 2004, Lee and I had the privilege of hosting the Student/Alumni barbeque last night. A lovely evening, hopefully encouraging for this year's students.
And I got to visit with alumni I hadn't seen in a while, including Amy, who is turning into quite a good writer. Amy has also directed, and asked me about the short film I directed some years ago. She'd never seen it, and stayed late after the BBQ to watch it.
And boy, did it take me back.
It's a truism that half the people who come to Hollywood come wanting to be directors. "But what I really want to do is a direct" has become a t-shirt cliche. But directing is the hardest job in Hollywood, by far the hardest job to get, and the one with the least demand.
I stumbled into directing in a "Hey, why not?" manner. I saw an ad for the Directing Workshop for Women at the American Film Institute in the trades, thought it'd be cool to apply... and was accepted, unaware of how hard it was to get in, how often women had to apply multiple years to get in.
With no expectations, no preconceptions, I showed up for the program. And I was electrified. My first day on set as a director, even shooting the same sample scene as everyone else, I felt I knew exactly what to do. A visitor to my set couldn't believe it was my first day as a director, said he'd never seen a better run set. And as I drove home, I called our agent and said, "I've found what I want to do for the rest of my life!"
And off I went to make my short film, my director's reel that was supposed to get me work. I had amazing help and cooperation. And it turned out great. But there were a few problems.
You see, I was rather pregnant when I shot the film. And dealing with a newborn when I posted it. So I didn't exactly have the energy it takes for the arduous task of pursuing a directing career (esp. hard for women, who constituted all of 3% of the Guild-represented working directors last year). And that new baby crunched us in our home, so we needed to buy a new home, so we needed to focus on writing to pay for the new home....
And the directing career sort of faded into the distance.
We don't always get to do the things we want to do. We don't even always get to do the things we're specifically designed to do. John Milton's poem On His Blindness ("When I consider how my light is spent...") addresses this. Because Milton is going blind, he can no longer write, no longer do that which God has called him to do. He paints a dizzying picture of incredible activity all around him, all in service to God, activity which he cannot participate in. And closes with the zinger: They also serve who only stand and wait.
Watching my short film last night, after having not seen it in some years, brought it all back to me. It reawakened my intense desire to niggle over a shot list, to get out on a set, to call the shots, to see my vision become a reality.
But the realreality is that I will almost certainly not have the chance ever to direct again. Not this side of heaven. That directing is one of those things that I have to hope I will be allowed to do and to love in eternity, just one more thing on the list (like playing the piano, and ice skating).
We don't always get to do the things we want to do. Even the good things. Even the things we're good at. That's just a fact. And one that can be entirely within God's will. "They also serve who only stand and wait."
Don't get me wrong. I'm grateful, even humbled, to be a writer. I'm grateful to have been allowed to actually work as a writer, when so many can't. I'm grateful for the talents God has given me, the partner He has given me, the opportunities He has given me. I hope to continue a career as a writer, in God's grace, for the rest of my life. And if I get the opportunity to do so, that will be a wonderful, blessed thing. And it will be enough. Abundantly more than enough.
But still... what I really want to do is direct.
Friday, July 30, 2004
Tuesday, July 27, 2004
HOOKER CHIC IN THE FRONT PEW
Our pastor up at Bel Air Presbyterian has been giving a provocative series of sermons this month: "The Grace Series," in which he looks at each of the world's major religions and compares it to Christianity -- where we agree, where we disagree. He's been going out of his way to point out that we love the people even when we disagree, and to praise the things each religion does right (before, of course, wrapping the sermon back around to remind us that Jesus is the only Way).
This week he was talking about Islam. And as a little aside, he mentioned that though we would never put our women in burkas, some of us could learn a lot from Muslim traditions about dressing modestly.
He commented that he realized that the current fashion was, as he termed it, "The Classy Prostitute," but wouldn't it be great if Christian women dressed just a tad more modestly.
And, to my surprise, the congregation broke out in applause.
And, to my greater surprise, many of the women applauding were dressed in... well, let's just say clothes that might not pass muster for church in other parts of the country.
Let's take the woman in the pew in front of me. From the back I could see she was wearing three layers of what appeared to be spaghetti-strapped tank tops over a tight nylon skirt. And she was applauding away with everyone else.
So imagine how my jaw dropped when I saw her from the front after the service. One of those spaghetti-straps was actually a bra strap -- a strap to a push-up bra. And the various tank tops reached to, oh, maybe half an inch above her nipples.
I caught a friend of mine looking the same way. He caught my eye -- and without saying a word, we both howled with laughter.
And it made me wonder: Is it that hard to recognize ourselves? I mean, I understand when someone preaches about pride and we piously nod, all the while thinking, "Yes, there are others in the room who need to hear this." But shouldn't we recognize something as easy to spot as how we dress? Doesn't anyone look in the mirror anymore?
Or is it just California?
This week he was talking about Islam. And as a little aside, he mentioned that though we would never put our women in burkas, some of us could learn a lot from Muslim traditions about dressing modestly.
He commented that he realized that the current fashion was, as he termed it, "The Classy Prostitute," but wouldn't it be great if Christian women dressed just a tad more modestly.
And, to my surprise, the congregation broke out in applause.
And, to my greater surprise, many of the women applauding were dressed in... well, let's just say clothes that might not pass muster for church in other parts of the country.
Let's take the woman in the pew in front of me. From the back I could see she was wearing three layers of what appeared to be spaghetti-strapped tank tops over a tight nylon skirt. And she was applauding away with everyone else.
So imagine how my jaw dropped when I saw her from the front after the service. One of those spaghetti-straps was actually a bra strap -- a strap to a push-up bra. And the various tank tops reached to, oh, maybe half an inch above her nipples.
I caught a friend of mine looking the same way. He caught my eye -- and without saying a word, we both howled with laughter.
And it made me wonder: Is it that hard to recognize ourselves? I mean, I understand when someone preaches about pride and we piously nod, all the while thinking, "Yes, there are others in the room who need to hear this." But shouldn't we recognize something as easy to spot as how we dress? Doesn't anyone look in the mirror anymore?
Or is it just California?
Saturday, July 24, 2004
ACT ONE OR.....
This is Act One's big month here in L.A., and we're starting to wind down for the month. I've taught my three big classes so far (Choosing Your Story, Structure, and Writing with Style), and will participate in two more classes this week, plus having a part in two big dinners, all before the week ends.
The students seem fairly sharp. They ask good questions, most of them seem focused, there don't seem to be any troublemakers in the class, and so far no one's fallen asleep while I've been lecturing. Will they be writers? I don't know yet. I haven't read more than 3 pages from anyone, and that was just an exercise. So too early to tell.
But already I can contrast them deeply with my students at -- well, let's just say a major local university whose film school has a good reputation. I've been teaching a screenwriting workshop there since January, and am now teaching a rewriting class for the summer.
And in many ways, compared to working with Act One, it's been like eating dust.
There are bad writers in both groups. That isn't it. (Though the students in my university groups are working at the MFA level, so I'm a little more shocked when I see how bad they can be.) I think there's more going on that simple skill or craft.
My university students are writing scripts that, in some cases, I would hate to see on screen. Some are outright hostile or mocking toward Christianity. Some are morally bankrupt. (And to be fair, some are quite interesting.)
My job is to make these scripts better. And you know, I'm good at it. I was shocked at how well some of last quarter's scripts turned out. And I'm not being unduly immodest when I say the improvements wouldn't have happened without the input and guidance I gave them. (I took over for another teacher. I saw what he produced in his time with the same students. It sucked.)
But what am I improving? For what purpose? For whose glory? It bothers me.
So I feel a little jealous of my own time and abilities, on behalf of Act One. I would so much rather pour this time and effort into the students who stand a chance, not just to become rich and famous (oh that again), but to nudge the industry and the world closer to God. Frankly, I feel a little bit like a traitor to be handing out writing goodies outside the golden circle of Act One (and the Christian community in Hollywood at large).
I'm guessing the long-term answer to this dilemma is for Act One to become a year-round program. A degree-granting conservatory, for instance. With students year-round.
But that's a ways away. So in the meantime, please pray for the 2004 class of Act One as they wrap up their life-changing month, deal with the inevitable let-down that happens when something this momentous and all-consuming ends... and decide whether that voice calling them to Hollywood really is the voice of God.
The students seem fairly sharp. They ask good questions, most of them seem focused, there don't seem to be any troublemakers in the class, and so far no one's fallen asleep while I've been lecturing. Will they be writers? I don't know yet. I haven't read more than 3 pages from anyone, and that was just an exercise. So too early to tell.
But already I can contrast them deeply with my students at -- well, let's just say a major local university whose film school has a good reputation. I've been teaching a screenwriting workshop there since January, and am now teaching a rewriting class for the summer.
And in many ways, compared to working with Act One, it's been like eating dust.
There are bad writers in both groups. That isn't it. (Though the students in my university groups are working at the MFA level, so I'm a little more shocked when I see how bad they can be.) I think there's more going on that simple skill or craft.
My university students are writing scripts that, in some cases, I would hate to see on screen. Some are outright hostile or mocking toward Christianity. Some are morally bankrupt. (And to be fair, some are quite interesting.)
My job is to make these scripts better. And you know, I'm good at it. I was shocked at how well some of last quarter's scripts turned out. And I'm not being unduly immodest when I say the improvements wouldn't have happened without the input and guidance I gave them. (I took over for another teacher. I saw what he produced in his time with the same students. It sucked.)
But what am I improving? For what purpose? For whose glory? It bothers me.
So I feel a little jealous of my own time and abilities, on behalf of Act One. I would so much rather pour this time and effort into the students who stand a chance, not just to become rich and famous (oh that again), but to nudge the industry and the world closer to God. Frankly, I feel a little bit like a traitor to be handing out writing goodies outside the golden circle of Act One (and the Christian community in Hollywood at large).
I'm guessing the long-term answer to this dilemma is for Act One to become a year-round program. A degree-granting conservatory, for instance. With students year-round.
But that's a ways away. So in the meantime, please pray for the 2004 class of Act One as they wrap up their life-changing month, deal with the inevitable let-down that happens when something this momentous and all-consuming ends... and decide whether that voice calling them to Hollywood really is the voice of God.
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
HARRY POTTER ON BEING "RICH AND FAMOUS"
I was browsing through Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone a couple of days ago, and noticed something interesting near the end. And a random thought occurred to me that I thought I'd share with you. (Had I ever fully written the-book-that-was-not-to-be, this probably would have been a full-fledged essay. But for now, it's a random thought.)
Almost at the very end of the book, Dumbledore comments on the Sorcerer's Stone (an Americanization by the publisher of the original "Philosopher's Stone" -- the alchemical goodie with the power to change lead into gold, and to bestow on its keeper eternal life). He says, "You know, the Stone really was not such a wonderful thing. As much money and life as you could want! The two things human beings would choose above all -- the trouble is, humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things that are worst for them."
And for some reason, for the first time, my mind leapt over to I Kings 3, where God tells Solomon, basically, that he can ask for one thing and he'll get it. "Ask for whatever you want me to give you," God tells Solomon. Carte blanche. And Solomon, as we know, chooses wisdom. ("Discernment" in the translation I'm looking at right now.)
God likes this choice. And He comments, "Since you have asked for this and not for long life or wealth for yourself.... I will do what you have asked."
Isn't it interesting that God and Dumbledore seem to have the same opinion of the two things that, I have to say, I think most people would ask for. (And in fact, God does give Solomon long life and wealth as sort of a bonus -- and Solomon does not do particularly well with them...)
In today's world, the desire for long life and wealth often translates into the desire to be Rich and Famous. Fame, of course, ensures immortality, or so we would like to believe. And what is immortality if not long (looooooong) life?
Young Christians come to Hollywood all the time, and they're not allowed to say they want to be Rich and Famous. So they say they really just want to have a career that honors the Lord (but they don't leave room for the option that not having a career might be what honors the Lord). They say they want their movies to be made and seen widely, but not for the money, oh no never that -- really it's because it would further God's work in the world, and any money or power or fame that might accrue to them as a result, well, if it comes your way anyway, might as well say yes, right? They'll even say, as I heard quoted, that they want to win an Oscar so they "can be humble in front of a billion people."
But God makes it clear -- Rich and Famous may not be intrinsically bad. But it's not the best. And Dumbledore makes it pretty clear as well.
And if both of them agree on something... well, maybe we all better pay attention.
Almost at the very end of the book, Dumbledore comments on the Sorcerer's Stone (an Americanization by the publisher of the original "Philosopher's Stone" -- the alchemical goodie with the power to change lead into gold, and to bestow on its keeper eternal life). He says, "You know, the Stone really was not such a wonderful thing. As much money and life as you could want! The two things human beings would choose above all -- the trouble is, humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things that are worst for them."
And for some reason, for the first time, my mind leapt over to I Kings 3, where God tells Solomon, basically, that he can ask for one thing and he'll get it. "Ask for whatever you want me to give you," God tells Solomon. Carte blanche. And Solomon, as we know, chooses wisdom. ("Discernment" in the translation I'm looking at right now.)
God likes this choice. And He comments, "Since you have asked for this and not for long life or wealth for yourself.... I will do what you have asked."
Isn't it interesting that God and Dumbledore seem to have the same opinion of the two things that, I have to say, I think most people would ask for. (And in fact, God does give Solomon long life and wealth as sort of a bonus -- and Solomon does not do particularly well with them...)
In today's world, the desire for long life and wealth often translates into the desire to be Rich and Famous. Fame, of course, ensures immortality, or so we would like to believe. And what is immortality if not long (looooooong) life?
Young Christians come to Hollywood all the time, and they're not allowed to say they want to be Rich and Famous. So they say they really just want to have a career that honors the Lord (but they don't leave room for the option that not having a career might be what honors the Lord). They say they want their movies to be made and seen widely, but not for the money, oh no never that -- really it's because it would further God's work in the world, and any money or power or fame that might accrue to them as a result, well, if it comes your way anyway, might as well say yes, right? They'll even say, as I heard quoted, that they want to win an Oscar so they "can be humble in front of a billion people."
But God makes it clear -- Rich and Famous may not be intrinsically bad. But it's not the best. And Dumbledore makes it pretty clear as well.
And if both of them agree on something... well, maybe we all better pay attention.
Tuesday, July 20, 2004
BOOK THOUGHTS: THE DEVIL WEARS PRADA... AND FASHION THOUGHTS
Hoping to divert myself from the seemingly Titanic-like direction of my life lately, I was happy when my library hold for The Devil Wears Prada by Lauren Weisberger came up a few days ago.
The Devil Wears Prada is a roman a clef about the fashion industry. The author worked as assistant to editor Anna Wintour of Vogue -- and then quit to write a novel about the assistant to the boss from hell at a fashion magazine called "Runway."
And her boss, "Miranda Priestly," certainly is the boss from hell itself. She has her assistant order elaborate lunches, then tosses them and chews out the assistant because she already ate. She has her assistant get the new "Harry Potter" books for her daughters before the publication date, then insists they be messengered to Paris on a private plane (with no passengers) so the girls can find them when they wake up. She thinks of no one but herself, is rude to all and sundry, and barely remembers the assistant's name after a year.
I was expecting your basic "chick lit" novel, light and breezy, maybe with a zinger at the end, a la The Nanny Diaries, which broke my heart at the end. (I find it amazing, by the way, that all these chick lit books are recognizable by their covers -- they all have the same spider-webby, spindly type face for the title. Just an observation.)
Unfortunately, The Devil Wears Prada just isn't that well written. Ms. Weisberger (clearly well-connected, given the people listed in the acknowledgements) got herself a book deal based on the gossip-value of "Is Anna Wintour really that evil?" The prose is stodgy, the events repetitive. I'm usually not a fan of writing that involves long descriptions of clothes -- but here, of course, it was incredibly relevant, so that was okay. The ending was a disappointment -- Our heroine has done nothing to deserve a happy ending, in fact deserves to lose her boyfriend/best friend/love of her parents, given how horribly she's behaved toward them. Yet she does the "right" thing (not convincingly), all ends up happy, and she gets her dream job at the end as well. Undeservedly. (Or maybe life really is that way when you're that well connected.)
Nevertheless, I kept reading. Poorly written, yet hard to put down. What a combination.
I did find it interesting, in part, because Sabrina, my 7-year-old fashionista from time to time evinces an interest in being a fashion designer. She draws elaborate pictures of ballgowns. She walks through malls checking out clothes in store windows and giving each outfit a thumbs up or down. She critiques my every outfit. When I was teaching for Act One in Washington in May, she called me worriedly from L.A. asking: "Mom!... Are you dressing fashionably?"
Reading this book, I'm not crazy about even the idea of her even thinking about going into fashion. The superficial values. The gayness of it all. The spine-torturing, toe-congealing high heels. The anorexia. And oh yeah, the rejection.
But of course, many parents are not crazy about their kids going into the movie biz. (The superficial values. The gayness. The rejection.) And I spend a good amount of my time encouraging those very kids to do that very thing. So I guess it serves me right if Sabrina stays on her fashion route. (Maybe I'll be lucky. Maybe she'll choose option no. 2 instead: Rock Star.)
It's been a long time since I've had the budget or the body to dress in high style. And I have to say, I love beautiful clothes. I'll read Vogue or In Style while getting my hair cut, and sometimes the layouts just take my breath away.
I just wish that fashion didn't change. I hate finding a pair of shoes I absolutely love, knowing that even if I still love them, they'll be "out of style" in a year or two. Why can't we find the beautiful clothes, sure, but wear them regardless of fashion? Wear the ballgown to buy groceries. Why not? (Maybe we will in heaven?)
I have not had many fashion coups in my life -- but I sure remember one. We were visiting director Joel Schumacher on the set of The Client in New Orleans. What to wear to the set, I pondered. Especially for someone as fashion-conscious as Joel. Okay, here's what I wore (keep in mind, this is the early-to-mid-90s): An olive green silk shirt, tucked into tight black cuffed denim shorts, with a wide red leather belt (early 90s, early 90s) with a brushed steel buckle, and red suede cowboy boots (early 90s, I tell you!), with a black leather strappy-thingy wrapped around one of the ankles. And a vintage Mexican silver charm bracelet.
And when I walked on the set, Joel looked me up and down carefully, waved his hand and said, "I like this."
For someone like me, a moment of triumph. (For Gwyneth or Halle, a forgettable moment entirely.) I looked good and I knew it. A rare and lovely feeling.
So when I see Sabrina putting together an outfit with her (almost) infallible fashion sense.... or when I catch her staring at herself in the mirror and posing and smiling.... or when I tell her she looks beautiful and she beams and says, "I know"..... I understand just a tiny bit how she feels. And I marvel -- how could my daughter be so beautiful -- and so darn fashionable?!
But still... After reading The Devil Wears Prada... Does she have to go into fashion? Couldn't she just shop?
The Devil Wears Prada is a roman a clef about the fashion industry. The author worked as assistant to editor Anna Wintour of Vogue -- and then quit to write a novel about the assistant to the boss from hell at a fashion magazine called "Runway."
And her boss, "Miranda Priestly," certainly is the boss from hell itself. She has her assistant order elaborate lunches, then tosses them and chews out the assistant because she already ate. She has her assistant get the new "Harry Potter" books for her daughters before the publication date, then insists they be messengered to Paris on a private plane (with no passengers) so the girls can find them when they wake up. She thinks of no one but herself, is rude to all and sundry, and barely remembers the assistant's name after a year.
I was expecting your basic "chick lit" novel, light and breezy, maybe with a zinger at the end, a la The Nanny Diaries, which broke my heart at the end. (I find it amazing, by the way, that all these chick lit books are recognizable by their covers -- they all have the same spider-webby, spindly type face for the title. Just an observation.)
Unfortunately, The Devil Wears Prada just isn't that well written. Ms. Weisberger (clearly well-connected, given the people listed in the acknowledgements) got herself a book deal based on the gossip-value of "Is Anna Wintour really that evil?" The prose is stodgy, the events repetitive. I'm usually not a fan of writing that involves long descriptions of clothes -- but here, of course, it was incredibly relevant, so that was okay. The ending was a disappointment -- Our heroine has done nothing to deserve a happy ending, in fact deserves to lose her boyfriend/best friend/love of her parents, given how horribly she's behaved toward them. Yet she does the "right" thing (not convincingly), all ends up happy, and she gets her dream job at the end as well. Undeservedly. (Or maybe life really is that way when you're that well connected.)
Nevertheless, I kept reading. Poorly written, yet hard to put down. What a combination.
I did find it interesting, in part, because Sabrina, my 7-year-old fashionista from time to time evinces an interest in being a fashion designer. She draws elaborate pictures of ballgowns. She walks through malls checking out clothes in store windows and giving each outfit a thumbs up or down. She critiques my every outfit. When I was teaching for Act One in Washington in May, she called me worriedly from L.A. asking: "Mom!... Are you dressing fashionably?"
Reading this book, I'm not crazy about even the idea of her even thinking about going into fashion. The superficial values. The gayness of it all. The spine-torturing, toe-congealing high heels. The anorexia. And oh yeah, the rejection.
But of course, many parents are not crazy about their kids going into the movie biz. (The superficial values. The gayness. The rejection.) And I spend a good amount of my time encouraging those very kids to do that very thing. So I guess it serves me right if Sabrina stays on her fashion route. (Maybe I'll be lucky. Maybe she'll choose option no. 2 instead: Rock Star.)
It's been a long time since I've had the budget or the body to dress in high style. And I have to say, I love beautiful clothes. I'll read Vogue or In Style while getting my hair cut, and sometimes the layouts just take my breath away.
I just wish that fashion didn't change. I hate finding a pair of shoes I absolutely love, knowing that even if I still love them, they'll be "out of style" in a year or two. Why can't we find the beautiful clothes, sure, but wear them regardless of fashion? Wear the ballgown to buy groceries. Why not? (Maybe we will in heaven?)
I have not had many fashion coups in my life -- but I sure remember one. We were visiting director Joel Schumacher on the set of The Client in New Orleans. What to wear to the set, I pondered. Especially for someone as fashion-conscious as Joel. Okay, here's what I wore (keep in mind, this is the early-to-mid-90s): An olive green silk shirt, tucked into tight black cuffed denim shorts, with a wide red leather belt (early 90s, early 90s) with a brushed steel buckle, and red suede cowboy boots (early 90s, I tell you!), with a black leather strappy-thingy wrapped around one of the ankles. And a vintage Mexican silver charm bracelet.
And when I walked on the set, Joel looked me up and down carefully, waved his hand and said, "I like this."
For someone like me, a moment of triumph. (For Gwyneth or Halle, a forgettable moment entirely.) I looked good and I knew it. A rare and lovely feeling.
So when I see Sabrina putting together an outfit with her (almost) infallible fashion sense.... or when I catch her staring at herself in the mirror and posing and smiling.... or when I tell her she looks beautiful and she beams and says, "I know"..... I understand just a tiny bit how she feels. And I marvel -- how could my daughter be so beautiful -- and so darn fashionable?!
But still... After reading The Devil Wears Prada... Does she have to go into fashion? Couldn't she just shop?
Saturday, July 10, 2004
MOVIE THOUGHTS: SPIDER-MAN 2
I am about a week late chiming in with thoughts on Spider-Man 2, since it opened last weekend and we in fact saw it opening weekend. But the good news about that is that a week later, I find myself with something still to say about it.
Which I think belies the claim that Spidey 2 is nothing more than fast food, as is made in the snarky review by Barbara Nicolosi in her blog, with a well-argued thread of opposing comments attached thereto.
(And hey -- isn't a Quarter Pounder with Cheese exactly what hits the spot from time to time? A steady diet of it, of course not. But once in a while it's just the thing.)
Comic book movies are big, splashy things, painted in bright colors with broad brushstrokes. We stand far back to take them all in. The themes contained therein are also big -- when the themes are there at all (too often they're not).
Spider-Man wears its overall series theme on its sleeve: "With great power comes great responsibility." This is a valid, valuable theme for a movie to explore. And a Biblical one to boot: "From him to whom much is given, much shall be demanded."
Peter Parker begins to realize the truth of this theme in the first movie. But the sequel is not a mere restatement of the same theme, as Barbara claims in her blog. I see Spider-Man 2 as grappling with another Biblical theme: "Let this cup pass from me."
God gives us gifts. He gives us responsibilities -- callings, if you will -- commensurate with those gifts.
And sometimes we look at our gifts, our callings, our responsibilities, and we say, "Let me out of here!"
I don't want to read one more student's bad script, I don't want to make the drive to school one more time, I don't want to pay one more bill, I don't want to set up one more playdate, I don't want to deal with one more deadline, I don't want to bake one more batch of brownies, I don't want to answer the phone and deal with one more person asking me to answer their question, do them a favor, hear them out, solve their problem. I don't wanna do it, do you hear me!
That's the crux of Peter Parker's problem in Spidey 2. But the consequences are much larger if Peter shirks his responsibilities than if I shirk mine. (Or are they?)
As Peter comes, once again, to take on the mantle (or the red Spidey suit) of responsibility, I can follow his journey and, once again, pick up my own. And that makes Spidey 2 more than "just" a comic book movie.
Quibbles? Sure. I thought his angst went on a bit too long, too repetitively. I can buy his web-slinging dysfunction as being caused by his self-doubts, but why would those doubts happen to occur mid-swing? And I do wonder why they felt they needed to expose his identity to pretty much everyone in one movie....
But these are quibbles indeed in a movie that leaves one with much to chew on even a week later. More than fast food: A healthy meal. One I am happy to take my kids to.
And let's just stop a moment to marvel at Alfred Molina's performance: Let's face it, villains in most comic books movies are snarling cardboard, ready to twirl their moustaches if only they had them. But what a lovely performance Mr. Molina gave! The effort not to become evil. And his great death (actors love great deaths!): "I don't want to die a monster."
Beautiful work. And again, a parallel to Peter Parker's theme: Even the villain is able to reclaim just a beat of accepting the responsibility that comes with what he originally set out to do.
Oh, and there's some special effects, too. Here and there. And worth the price of admission alone!
Maybe fast food is the wrong metaphor here. I think Spider-Man 2 is really like a box of cereal that looks to be full of marshmallows and all sorts of junk, but really provides you with your minimum daily requirement of all sorts of good stuff.
Bottom line: If you like summer movies, you'll love Spidey. (But you already knew that, 'cause you saw it last weekend too, didn't you?)
Which I think belies the claim that Spidey 2 is nothing more than fast food, as is made in the snarky review by Barbara Nicolosi in her blog, with a well-argued thread of opposing comments attached thereto.
(And hey -- isn't a Quarter Pounder with Cheese exactly what hits the spot from time to time? A steady diet of it, of course not. But once in a while it's just the thing.)
Comic book movies are big, splashy things, painted in bright colors with broad brushstrokes. We stand far back to take them all in. The themes contained therein are also big -- when the themes are there at all (too often they're not).
Spider-Man wears its overall series theme on its sleeve: "With great power comes great responsibility." This is a valid, valuable theme for a movie to explore. And a Biblical one to boot: "From him to whom much is given, much shall be demanded."
Peter Parker begins to realize the truth of this theme in the first movie. But the sequel is not a mere restatement of the same theme, as Barbara claims in her blog. I see Spider-Man 2 as grappling with another Biblical theme: "Let this cup pass from me."
God gives us gifts. He gives us responsibilities -- callings, if you will -- commensurate with those gifts.
And sometimes we look at our gifts, our callings, our responsibilities, and we say, "Let me out of here!"
I don't want to read one more student's bad script, I don't want to make the drive to school one more time, I don't want to pay one more bill, I don't want to set up one more playdate, I don't want to deal with one more deadline, I don't want to bake one more batch of brownies, I don't want to answer the phone and deal with one more person asking me to answer their question, do them a favor, hear them out, solve their problem. I don't wanna do it, do you hear me!
That's the crux of Peter Parker's problem in Spidey 2. But the consequences are much larger if Peter shirks his responsibilities than if I shirk mine. (Or are they?)
As Peter comes, once again, to take on the mantle (or the red Spidey suit) of responsibility, I can follow his journey and, once again, pick up my own. And that makes Spidey 2 more than "just" a comic book movie.
Quibbles? Sure. I thought his angst went on a bit too long, too repetitively. I can buy his web-slinging dysfunction as being caused by his self-doubts, but why would those doubts happen to occur mid-swing? And I do wonder why they felt they needed to expose his identity to pretty much everyone in one movie....
But these are quibbles indeed in a movie that leaves one with much to chew on even a week later. More than fast food: A healthy meal. One I am happy to take my kids to.
And let's just stop a moment to marvel at Alfred Molina's performance: Let's face it, villains in most comic books movies are snarling cardboard, ready to twirl their moustaches if only they had them. But what a lovely performance Mr. Molina gave! The effort not to become evil. And his great death (actors love great deaths!): "I don't want to die a monster."
Beautiful work. And again, a parallel to Peter Parker's theme: Even the villain is able to reclaim just a beat of accepting the responsibility that comes with what he originally set out to do.
Oh, and there's some special effects, too. Here and there. And worth the price of admission alone!
Maybe fast food is the wrong metaphor here. I think Spider-Man 2 is really like a box of cereal that looks to be full of marshmallows and all sorts of junk, but really provides you with your minimum daily requirement of all sorts of good stuff.
Bottom line: If you like summer movies, you'll love Spidey. (But you already knew that, 'cause you saw it last weekend too, didn't you?)
Thursday, July 08, 2004
TV THOUGHTS: THE AMAZING RACE 5
Yes, the title does say "5" -- this is the fifth season of the best reality show you've probably never watched.
I can't tell you how excited we are that The Amazing Race is finally back on the air! It in fact got cancelled last year... and then it won the Emmy for best reality show. And then, amazingly, it got picked up again.
We love this show. Teams of two are sent around the world, following clues, and on each leg of their trip, they have to perform weird/exciting/difficult/fun/scary/intriguing tasks. On most legs, the team that comes in last is eliminated.
I was hooked on this show from the very first episode, where they took the contestants to Victoria Falls (and, having written Livingstone's discovery of the Falls in our script Hell or High Water, we recognized the clue's reference to "the smoke that thunders," knew immediately where they had to go, and felt pretty darn smart about it, thank you very much!).
They've gone to the Taj Mahal and the Eiffel Tower. They've tossed the caber in Scotland and herded goats in Switzerland. They've crawled through the Paris sewers and waded through a temple devoted to rats in India (nothing in the show has made me want to step foot in India for the rest of my life). They've gone to every continent (except Antarctica).
And on the way, the contestants fight -- or they treat each other well. They're too stupid to live, walking right past clues -- or they're incredibly ingenious. For instance, the flamingly gay and totally relaxed pair dubbed the "Cha-cha-chas" by the other contestants -- when trying to find some location in Singapore, instead of running around like the proverbial chicken, which the other contestants were all doing, they strolled into the lobby of a 5-star hotel and asked the concierge for help! Or the air traffic controllers who, when they had to find an airport in a strange city, instead of asking strangers on the street for directions, looked up in the sky and followed planes making their approach!
You must see this show. I don't know anyone who's seen it and hasn't found it fascinating.
Unfortunately, it's now at 10:00 (formerly it was at 8:00). So we have to tape it for our kids to see it. (They love it, too.)
Tuesdays at 10:00 on CBS. You've only missed one episode, so you'll catch up in a flash. Or come on over to our place -- we taped this week's episode so our kids can watch it, and we haven't gotten to it yet. And we won't mind a bit watching it a second time.
The Amazing Race. Be there or... oh, you know.
I can't tell you how excited we are that The Amazing Race is finally back on the air! It in fact got cancelled last year... and then it won the Emmy for best reality show. And then, amazingly, it got picked up again.
We love this show. Teams of two are sent around the world, following clues, and on each leg of their trip, they have to perform weird/exciting/difficult/fun/scary/intriguing tasks. On most legs, the team that comes in last is eliminated.
I was hooked on this show from the very first episode, where they took the contestants to Victoria Falls (and, having written Livingstone's discovery of the Falls in our script Hell or High Water, we recognized the clue's reference to "the smoke that thunders," knew immediately where they had to go, and felt pretty darn smart about it, thank you very much!).
They've gone to the Taj Mahal and the Eiffel Tower. They've tossed the caber in Scotland and herded goats in Switzerland. They've crawled through the Paris sewers and waded through a temple devoted to rats in India (nothing in the show has made me want to step foot in India for the rest of my life). They've gone to every continent (except Antarctica).
And on the way, the contestants fight -- or they treat each other well. They're too stupid to live, walking right past clues -- or they're incredibly ingenious. For instance, the flamingly gay and totally relaxed pair dubbed the "Cha-cha-chas" by the other contestants -- when trying to find some location in Singapore, instead of running around like the proverbial chicken, which the other contestants were all doing, they strolled into the lobby of a 5-star hotel and asked the concierge for help! Or the air traffic controllers who, when they had to find an airport in a strange city, instead of asking strangers on the street for directions, looked up in the sky and followed planes making their approach!
You must see this show. I don't know anyone who's seen it and hasn't found it fascinating.
Unfortunately, it's now at 10:00 (formerly it was at 8:00). So we have to tape it for our kids to see it. (They love it, too.)
Tuesdays at 10:00 on CBS. You've only missed one episode, so you'll catch up in a flash. Or come on over to our place -- we taped this week's episode so our kids can watch it, and we haven't gotten to it yet. And we won't mind a bit watching it a second time.
The Amazing Race. Be there or... oh, you know.
Wednesday, July 07, 2004
IT'S WORKING!
For several days, Blogger has been down. It's been saying that my posts were publishing, when I could see darned well that they weren't.
Well, we're back! I'm so excited, you have no idea. Nothing like writing something and sending it out into the void and realizing that no one will ever see it!
(Gee... sort of like writing screenplays... hmmmmm.)
Well, we're back! I'm so excited, you have no idea. Nothing like writing something and sending it out into the void and realizing that no one will ever see it!
(Gee... sort of like writing screenplays... hmmmmm.)
Tuesday, July 06, 2004
BOOK THOUGHTS: LOOKING FOR GOD IN HARRY POTTER
Okay, let's start with full disclosure. I am predisposed to like Looking for God in Harry Potter because the author, John Granger, after posting some provocative thoughts on this blog, offered to send me a free copy.
But were I not such a pushover for free stuff (let's face it, no one sends $15,000 gift bags to writers), I would still love this book. As do many others, as evidenced by the 5-star rating given the book on amazon, where the commenters are, by their own account, not all Christians.
Looking for God in Harry Potter is a well thought-out, well-reasoned and well-written answer to the people (read: "idiots") who believe Harry Potter is a threat to all good Christian children everywhere.
John's personal story, which he details in the introduction to the book, is instructive. The Christian father of 7 home-schooled kids, with no TV in the house, initially read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone only to point out to his daughter why she could not read it.
And as he read it, he realized (drawing on his background as a Latin and Greek major who studied a Great Books curriculum in college) that "these stories resonate with the Great Story for which we are all designed" -- that is, the Christ story.
John's book is a treat for all Harry fans (and skeptics). He deals head on with the use of magic in the books, pointing out that the type of magic consistently used throughout is the opposite of that used by occultists. He looks at Harry's consistency with Christian doctrine in the areas of the conflict of good and evil, the mystery of death, and the role of choice (=free will) in the characters' journeys.
He also looks at Harry's hero's journey (as a writer who teaches the hero myth in my screenplay structure classes, I particularly appreciated this chapter), as well as the characters' reflection of Jesus' dual nature as God and man.
The most fun stuff comes in the chapters discussing the hidden Christian symbolism used throughout the book and the hidden meanings of the characters' names. Maybe John stretches a bit far here and there in this section -- but my guess (again, as a writer who spends an inordinate amount of time researching and choosing character names) is that easily 80% of his thoughts do indeed reflect Ms. Rowling's intent.
John then discusses each of the HP books in order, providing a road map to seeing the Christian themes and content in each. And he ends with a chapter predicting the future events of the series -- and I have to say, much as I love the book, I deeply hope he is wrong about some of his predictions! (Read the book and see what I mean -- no spoilers here!)
Altogether a fun read, a helpful read ("Just what makes you think it's okay for a Christian to read those Harry Potter books anyway? Aren't they all about satanism?"), and a smart read. And it just came out last month, so you can be the first on your block to read it!
(But let me just take a moment to self-piteously rant: How can all these books about HP get published when mine was rejected for legal reasons involving copyright fears? (I'm not making excuses -- it was the publisher's lawyer who told me this.) Was I just too ahead of the curve? Sob. Self-pity. Okay, rant over.)
Back to the heart of the matter: If you are a Harry Potter fan, grab this book! C'mon -- go click on amazon -- what are you waiting for?!
But were I not such a pushover for free stuff (let's face it, no one sends $15,000 gift bags to writers), I would still love this book. As do many others, as evidenced by the 5-star rating given the book on amazon, where the commenters are, by their own account, not all Christians.
Looking for God in Harry Potter is a well thought-out, well-reasoned and well-written answer to the people (read: "idiots") who believe Harry Potter is a threat to all good Christian children everywhere.
John's personal story, which he details in the introduction to the book, is instructive. The Christian father of 7 home-schooled kids, with no TV in the house, initially read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone only to point out to his daughter why she could not read it.
And as he read it, he realized (drawing on his background as a Latin and Greek major who studied a Great Books curriculum in college) that "these stories resonate with the Great Story for which we are all designed" -- that is, the Christ story.
John's book is a treat for all Harry fans (and skeptics). He deals head on with the use of magic in the books, pointing out that the type of magic consistently used throughout is the opposite of that used by occultists. He looks at Harry's consistency with Christian doctrine in the areas of the conflict of good and evil, the mystery of death, and the role of choice (=free will) in the characters' journeys.
He also looks at Harry's hero's journey (as a writer who teaches the hero myth in my screenplay structure classes, I particularly appreciated this chapter), as well as the characters' reflection of Jesus' dual nature as God and man.
The most fun stuff comes in the chapters discussing the hidden Christian symbolism used throughout the book and the hidden meanings of the characters' names. Maybe John stretches a bit far here and there in this section -- but my guess (again, as a writer who spends an inordinate amount of time researching and choosing character names) is that easily 80% of his thoughts do indeed reflect Ms. Rowling's intent.
John then discusses each of the HP books in order, providing a road map to seeing the Christian themes and content in each. And he ends with a chapter predicting the future events of the series -- and I have to say, much as I love the book, I deeply hope he is wrong about some of his predictions! (Read the book and see what I mean -- no spoilers here!)
Altogether a fun read, a helpful read ("Just what makes you think it's okay for a Christian to read those Harry Potter books anyway? Aren't they all about satanism?"), and a smart read. And it just came out last month, so you can be the first on your block to read it!
(But let me just take a moment to self-piteously rant: How can all these books about HP get published when mine was rejected for legal reasons involving copyright fears? (I'm not making excuses -- it was the publisher's lawyer who told me this.) Was I just too ahead of the curve? Sob. Self-pity. Okay, rant over.)
Back to the heart of the matter: If you are a Harry Potter fan, grab this book! C'mon -- go click on amazon -- what are you waiting for?!
Monday, July 05, 2004
RITUAL
The 4th of July has never been one of my favorite holidays. It's not the enforced patriotism -- though at times that has bugged me. I think it's because what we're celebrating doesn't jibe nicely with the means of celebration.
Christmas and Easter and Passover -- what we're celebrating is abundantly clear. And even with the noise surrounding Christmas -- presents and Santa and trees and "holiday parties" -- we know the truth underneath the celebration.
Valentine's Day, Mother's Day, Father's Day -- though all seem a product of the greeting-card industry, at least the pretext of the holiday is clear, and the celebrations match. And I'm fine with the holidays where hardly anyone even pretends to honor the original purpose (Labor Day, anyone?).
But the 4th of July falls in a netherworld for me. The purpose is clear: We're celebrating the birthday of America. But how does eating barbecue and watching fireworks commemorate that? The celebration doesn't match the reason, somehow.
So this Sunday, facing the murk of June gloom extended into July, I got up to face the 4th of July with a rather grumpy attitude, resenting every bit of the ritual I was about to be forced into.
First -- off to church. Not usual to have church on the 4th, and for us, not usual to have to go to 2 services. But the kids were singing in church (along w/ the other Vacation Bible School kids), and Cory even had a solo, so off we went.
The first service -- the "traditional" service -- was, to be blunt, a bore. Virtually every hymn to God was replaced with a hymn to America, which, in the context of a worship service, I find a bit disturbing. "America the Beautiful." "My Country, 'Tis of Thee." Not the music I would choose to worship God.
The second service -- the "contemporary" service -- woke me up a bit. Tipping their hat to the perceived need to play a "patriotic" song, the worship band ripped into a blistering version of "Born in the USA." Tore the roof off the place. Everyone on their feet. Ritual and anti-ritual fused into one. (And then -- appropriately, back to real worship music.)
Yes, I agreed with a pastor's wife on the way out, we do go to the coolest church in L.A.
But my grumpiness threatened to return as we headed straight to our community's 4th of July parade. It's your normal small town 4th of July parade -- bands, homemade floats, antique cars, a few horses, and the like -- but turned on its head (this is L.A. after all), with faded celebrities riding those antique cars (Steve Guttenberg, Gaven McLeod, with "Love Boat" helpfully pasted on the side of his aquacar).
It's a big hassle going to the parade, frankly. You have to go at least a day ahead of time with your folding chairs to claim your spot, and tie your chairs to a tree or newspaper stand to make sure no one moves them. Last year, someone stole them.
Then you have to park blocks and blocks away 'cause they close the roads early, and walk your kids till they complain that their feet hurt and can you please carry them even though they're almost as tall as you are, and then you get to your seat and it's too sunny, and they're charging $3.00 for a stale piece of Domino's Pizza, and everyone's buying stupid 3-foot long plastic bugles that make more sound than the Marine Corps drum corps passing in the street in front of you....
All in all, a Ritual I could do without. Could someone please invite us to a barbecue, anything so we don't have to hassle with the parade again?... But when I suggest doing something else -- "No, Mom! We have to go to the parade!"
Okay. So we go. And you know, the weather's nice, and the kids are excited, and I spring for $1 so they can buy those "party snaps" that you throw on the ground and they make a tiny explosion, and it's worth $10 to watch them have fun with those, and we see some school friends riding on floats, and Sabrina pets every one of the "Patriotic Pups" to walk within her reach, and no horses poop in front of us, and the local "Oom Pa-Pa Band" (comprised of everyone within the community who ever played in a band, with 8-year-old clarinet players marching next to 90-year-old sax players) actually sounds pretty terrific.
Next... The block party. A neighborhood Ritual. I hate it. The neighbors I really like don't tend to go, so I have no one to talk to, and I don't wanna compete in the "My-potluck-dish-is-better-than-yours" competition. (Hey. I could compete. I just don't want to. Just making that clear.)
Let's skip the block party this year, I start to say. To meet with pure shock from Cory. No! We have to go to the block party! The horror of missing it! You'd think I'd announced we were canceling Christmas.
I have laryngitis, so I have an easy out: I literally can't talk to anyone. So Lee heads off with the kids to make a token appearance... And they stay for 3 hours at a 2 hour party. Wow. Who knew.
The day of Ritual isn't over yet, though. This time it's Lee -- do we have to go to the fireworks? he asks. Yes, I sigh. We do.
We've had some bad experiences at the local fireworks. The time we sat too close and smoke and ashes rained down on us and Cory was sick for a week. The time the police wouldn't let us turn left out of the parking lot and we ended up being forced miles out of our way and got caught in legendary beach traffic and it took us over an hour to get home.
But off we go. Parking blocks away. Sitting on concrete steps with no blanket. Listening to those blasted 3-foot plastic horns some more ('cause we certainly can't hear the "real" entertainment going on at the football field, which is already packed to the gills.) And the fireworks are late and the kids are getting cranky after their long day.
And then the fireworks start. Hundreds of people gasp in unison: Ooh! Aah! And Sabrina's face is lit up in red and green and blue, and she looks as if she's never seen anything more magical in her life. And the fireworks rain in golden waterfalls, and spin in blistering white pinwheels, and explode into the biggest purple popcorn balls I've ever seen, and we have to tip our heads back to see them all overhead. And Cory keeps up a running commentary and starts to name the types of explosions (just like I did when I was a kid -- "turkey feathers," I suddenly remember, was one of my fireworks names).
And as I sit there with a spellbound Sabrina on my lap, I decide that maybe having the ritual is enough, even if I'm not all that sure what it's supposed to represent. Maybe my kids, with their insistence on doing the exact same thing every year, have glommed onto something I, in my superior adult wisdom, just didn't get.
Maybe the point, in a post-9/11 world, is that we can do the same thing every year. That we can trust that the parade and the block party and the fireworks will go on, and that we will be there to partake. That, even though everything -- everything! -- changes, some things at least have the semblance of remaining the same.
And so I relax and enjoy the fireworks. Ritual for ritual's sake is, maybe, not such a bad thing after all.
America, America,
God mend thine every flaw,
Confirm thy soul with self-control,
Thy liberty with law.
Christmas and Easter and Passover -- what we're celebrating is abundantly clear. And even with the noise surrounding Christmas -- presents and Santa and trees and "holiday parties" -- we know the truth underneath the celebration.
Valentine's Day, Mother's Day, Father's Day -- though all seem a product of the greeting-card industry, at least the pretext of the holiday is clear, and the celebrations match. And I'm fine with the holidays where hardly anyone even pretends to honor the original purpose (Labor Day, anyone?).
But the 4th of July falls in a netherworld for me. The purpose is clear: We're celebrating the birthday of America. But how does eating barbecue and watching fireworks commemorate that? The celebration doesn't match the reason, somehow.
So this Sunday, facing the murk of June gloom extended into July, I got up to face the 4th of July with a rather grumpy attitude, resenting every bit of the ritual I was about to be forced into.
First -- off to church. Not usual to have church on the 4th, and for us, not usual to have to go to 2 services. But the kids were singing in church (along w/ the other Vacation Bible School kids), and Cory even had a solo, so off we went.
The first service -- the "traditional" service -- was, to be blunt, a bore. Virtually every hymn to God was replaced with a hymn to America, which, in the context of a worship service, I find a bit disturbing. "America the Beautiful." "My Country, 'Tis of Thee." Not the music I would choose to worship God.
The second service -- the "contemporary" service -- woke me up a bit. Tipping their hat to the perceived need to play a "patriotic" song, the worship band ripped into a blistering version of "Born in the USA." Tore the roof off the place. Everyone on their feet. Ritual and anti-ritual fused into one. (And then -- appropriately, back to real worship music.)
Yes, I agreed with a pastor's wife on the way out, we do go to the coolest church in L.A.
But my grumpiness threatened to return as we headed straight to our community's 4th of July parade. It's your normal small town 4th of July parade -- bands, homemade floats, antique cars, a few horses, and the like -- but turned on its head (this is L.A. after all), with faded celebrities riding those antique cars (Steve Guttenberg, Gaven McLeod, with "Love Boat" helpfully pasted on the side of his aquacar).
It's a big hassle going to the parade, frankly. You have to go at least a day ahead of time with your folding chairs to claim your spot, and tie your chairs to a tree or newspaper stand to make sure no one moves them. Last year, someone stole them.
Then you have to park blocks and blocks away 'cause they close the roads early, and walk your kids till they complain that their feet hurt and can you please carry them even though they're almost as tall as you are, and then you get to your seat and it's too sunny, and they're charging $3.00 for a stale piece of Domino's Pizza, and everyone's buying stupid 3-foot long plastic bugles that make more sound than the Marine Corps drum corps passing in the street in front of you....
All in all, a Ritual I could do without. Could someone please invite us to a barbecue, anything so we don't have to hassle with the parade again?... But when I suggest doing something else -- "No, Mom! We have to go to the parade!"
Okay. So we go. And you know, the weather's nice, and the kids are excited, and I spring for $1 so they can buy those "party snaps" that you throw on the ground and they make a tiny explosion, and it's worth $10 to watch them have fun with those, and we see some school friends riding on floats, and Sabrina pets every one of the "Patriotic Pups" to walk within her reach, and no horses poop in front of us, and the local "Oom Pa-Pa Band" (comprised of everyone within the community who ever played in a band, with 8-year-old clarinet players marching next to 90-year-old sax players) actually sounds pretty terrific.
Next... The block party. A neighborhood Ritual. I hate it. The neighbors I really like don't tend to go, so I have no one to talk to, and I don't wanna compete in the "My-potluck-dish-is-better-than-yours" competition. (Hey. I could compete. I just don't want to. Just making that clear.)
Let's skip the block party this year, I start to say. To meet with pure shock from Cory. No! We have to go to the block party! The horror of missing it! You'd think I'd announced we were canceling Christmas.
I have laryngitis, so I have an easy out: I literally can't talk to anyone. So Lee heads off with the kids to make a token appearance... And they stay for 3 hours at a 2 hour party. Wow. Who knew.
The day of Ritual isn't over yet, though. This time it's Lee -- do we have to go to the fireworks? he asks. Yes, I sigh. We do.
We've had some bad experiences at the local fireworks. The time we sat too close and smoke and ashes rained down on us and Cory was sick for a week. The time the police wouldn't let us turn left out of the parking lot and we ended up being forced miles out of our way and got caught in legendary beach traffic and it took us over an hour to get home.
But off we go. Parking blocks away. Sitting on concrete steps with no blanket. Listening to those blasted 3-foot plastic horns some more ('cause we certainly can't hear the "real" entertainment going on at the football field, which is already packed to the gills.) And the fireworks are late and the kids are getting cranky after their long day.
And then the fireworks start. Hundreds of people gasp in unison: Ooh! Aah! And Sabrina's face is lit up in red and green and blue, and she looks as if she's never seen anything more magical in her life. And the fireworks rain in golden waterfalls, and spin in blistering white pinwheels, and explode into the biggest purple popcorn balls I've ever seen, and we have to tip our heads back to see them all overhead. And Cory keeps up a running commentary and starts to name the types of explosions (just like I did when I was a kid -- "turkey feathers," I suddenly remember, was one of my fireworks names).
And as I sit there with a spellbound Sabrina on my lap, I decide that maybe having the ritual is enough, even if I'm not all that sure what it's supposed to represent. Maybe my kids, with their insistence on doing the exact same thing every year, have glommed onto something I, in my superior adult wisdom, just didn't get.
Maybe the point, in a post-9/11 world, is that we can do the same thing every year. That we can trust that the parade and the block party and the fireworks will go on, and that we will be there to partake. That, even though everything -- everything! -- changes, some things at least have the semblance of remaining the same.
And so I relax and enjoy the fireworks. Ritual for ritual's sake is, maybe, not such a bad thing after all.
America, America,
God mend thine every flaw,
Confirm thy soul with self-control,
Thy liberty with law.
Sunday, July 04, 2004
IF I HAVE NOT CHARITY....
Quite some months back, I was somehow in a discussion of how Christians can best meet non-Christians in the Industry (by which, of course, we mean the entertainment industry), for the purposes of evangelism (or as we probably euphemistically called it, "outreach").
Lots of ideas came up. And I had an idea too: Get genuinely involved in the charities supported by Industry folks, so as to be working alongside them rather than wanting something from them.
My suggestion landed on the floor with a thud. No one even waited to see the dust rise off it. The discussion moved onward as if I hadn't spoken.
And I thought, once again: Why do Christians (at least in L.A.) not volunteer for charity work?
The answer appears easy: We do do charity work -- but only for our own charities.
This has been bugging me for a while, as I watch the attitudes of the (predominantly non-Christian) moms at my kids' school.
Most of these moms do some kind of volunteer work. Some of the really rich ones, who haven't held a paying job certainly since their wedding day, spend easily 30 hours a week or more in volunteer work.
They volunteer at hospitals. At after-school programs. With their community Women's Clubs. And they raise money. Boy, do they raise money. For pediatric AIDS. For museums. For inner-city training programs. For breast cancer. You name it, these women have put together the fundraiser for it.
And when they sit down at their charity tables, Christians are conspiciously absent.
So, not bothering to think a step past the obvious, not bothering to wonder "Hmmm, I wonder what other charities are out there that the Christians volunteer for," these woman all reach the same conclusion: Christians don't work for charities.
It's a fair (if false) conclusion. Because, like the parallel universe of Christian music, we have evolved a parallel universe of Christian charities. And that's where all our time, talent and money go. Churches. Bible translation. Campus ministries. Overseas missions.
All good causes, of course. All in need of volunteers and money. But invisible to the non-believing eye. As if a light was being hidden under a basket.
Do we really need to establish our "own" feed-the-hungry program, our "own" fight-pornography program? Can't we team up with people who are already doing it? Wouldn't it be mind-blowing to those non-believers if suddenly they realized they shared the same cause as a bunch of Christians?
Some years back, our church was supporting an inner-city after-school program that (shocking!) was not founded or run by Christians. A large, vocal contingent arose demanding that we remove all funding and support. A huge fight ensued. I don't even remember the outcome, so disgusted was I by the mere existence of the fight.
So I was very happy to learn that, this year, our church's chosen "mission project" for Vacation Bible School was going to be the Special Olympics. (Good reasons for it: This is an Olympics year; the VBS program chosen was Olympics-themed; and Rafer Johnson, the 1960 decathlon gold medalist and spokesman with the Special Olympics, is an elder at our church and would come talk to the kids.)
I was then very sad to hear that there was, again, quite a fight to get this approved. Give "mission" money to mentally disabled young people competing in sports? What's "Christian" about that?!
The nay-sayers lost this time, I'm happy to say. Because the choice of Special Olympics as our mission gave me something to chat about with our neighbor, who is Jewish.
She was out jogging as I was loading the kids into the car for VBS. She came up to say hi, a wary eye looking over my VBS get-up: The bright-colored VBS t-shirt. The matching VBS name tag hanging around my neck. The pen (also hanging around my neck) declaring "I'm on God's team!" She had that "Just-what-cult-have-you-gotten-involved-with?" look in her eye.
We chatted, I tried to explain where we were going ("it's sort of like Hebrew school, but only for one week and in English"). And then I mentioned, "And we're all bringing in donations of money and used sporting equipment to benefit the Special Olympics." And she relaxed. Suddenly I was talking about something she could understand. Something she could respect.
And a little bridge was built.
Lots of ideas came up. And I had an idea too: Get genuinely involved in the charities supported by Industry folks, so as to be working alongside them rather than wanting something from them.
My suggestion landed on the floor with a thud. No one even waited to see the dust rise off it. The discussion moved onward as if I hadn't spoken.
And I thought, once again: Why do Christians (at least in L.A.) not volunteer for charity work?
The answer appears easy: We do do charity work -- but only for our own charities.
This has been bugging me for a while, as I watch the attitudes of the (predominantly non-Christian) moms at my kids' school.
Most of these moms do some kind of volunteer work. Some of the really rich ones, who haven't held a paying job certainly since their wedding day, spend easily 30 hours a week or more in volunteer work.
They volunteer at hospitals. At after-school programs. With their community Women's Clubs. And they raise money. Boy, do they raise money. For pediatric AIDS. For museums. For inner-city training programs. For breast cancer. You name it, these women have put together the fundraiser for it.
And when they sit down at their charity tables, Christians are conspiciously absent.
So, not bothering to think a step past the obvious, not bothering to wonder "Hmmm, I wonder what other charities are out there that the Christians volunteer for," these woman all reach the same conclusion: Christians don't work for charities.
It's a fair (if false) conclusion. Because, like the parallel universe of Christian music, we have evolved a parallel universe of Christian charities. And that's where all our time, talent and money go. Churches. Bible translation. Campus ministries. Overseas missions.
All good causes, of course. All in need of volunteers and money. But invisible to the non-believing eye. As if a light was being hidden under a basket.
Do we really need to establish our "own" feed-the-hungry program, our "own" fight-pornography program? Can't we team up with people who are already doing it? Wouldn't it be mind-blowing to those non-believers if suddenly they realized they shared the same cause as a bunch of Christians?
Some years back, our church was supporting an inner-city after-school program that (shocking!) was not founded or run by Christians. A large, vocal contingent arose demanding that we remove all funding and support. A huge fight ensued. I don't even remember the outcome, so disgusted was I by the mere existence of the fight.
So I was very happy to learn that, this year, our church's chosen "mission project" for Vacation Bible School was going to be the Special Olympics. (Good reasons for it: This is an Olympics year; the VBS program chosen was Olympics-themed; and Rafer Johnson, the 1960 decathlon gold medalist and spokesman with the Special Olympics, is an elder at our church and would come talk to the kids.)
I was then very sad to hear that there was, again, quite a fight to get this approved. Give "mission" money to mentally disabled young people competing in sports? What's "Christian" about that?!
The nay-sayers lost this time, I'm happy to say. Because the choice of Special Olympics as our mission gave me something to chat about with our neighbor, who is Jewish.
She was out jogging as I was loading the kids into the car for VBS. She came up to say hi, a wary eye looking over my VBS get-up: The bright-colored VBS t-shirt. The matching VBS name tag hanging around my neck. The pen (also hanging around my neck) declaring "I'm on God's team!" She had that "Just-what-cult-have-you-gotten-involved-with?" look in her eye.
We chatted, I tried to explain where we were going ("it's sort of like Hebrew school, but only for one week and in English"). And then I mentioned, "And we're all bringing in donations of money and used sporting equipment to benefit the Special Olympics." And she relaxed. Suddenly I was talking about something she could understand. Something she could respect.
And a little bridge was built.
Friday, July 02, 2004
VACATION BIBLE SCHOOL
Many thanks to those of you who have been visiting this site while I have been distracted for the last week or so. I appreciate your patience, and I'm back from the twin perils of (a) finishing a script and (b) Vacation Bible School....
Having grown up very much outside the church, VBS is the kind of thing I probably would have scoffed at in my oh-so-wise high school and college days.... The predetermined curriculum! The hokey songs! Turning children into little robots!
But you know, I've been volunteering at VBS (courtesy of my children, who outright begged) for several years now... and I actually think there are things that are rather cool about it.
For the past week, about 250 kids have been showing up at Bel Air Presbyterian every morning. About 100 volunteers shuffle them from class to crafts to snack to recreation to music and back to class again. Today, the last day, the kids will put on a 45 minute show of yes, admittedly hokey songs, and they'll head home with their "Son Games" t-shirts, their crafts, and all their classwork.
And the volunteers -- we will finally sit down, beg for foot rubs and margaritas, and try to shake the nasty cold that one inevitably gets when surrounded by 250 kids for a week.
But it will all have been worth it. Because....
--The kids will come home having memorized five Bible verses each (with the "address"). And everyone works hard to memorize, because you get a sticker next to your name for each verse, and somehow that is an incredible motivation. (Can someone explain that to me?)
--The kids sit around singing hokey VBS songs instead of what they hear on Radio Disney.
--The volunteers are not just moms. At our church, many teenagers volunteer, especially guys. How great is it for a 10-year-old boy to see these cool high-schoolers take time out of their summer to volunteer, to see that it's cool to be a Christian at an age when most boys have dropped out of church!
I even had one 5th grade boy, Austin, come up to me to talk about he can't wait till next year when he starts middle school, because he's so excited about volunteering for VBS, and how he plans to work alongside his mom in whatever area she volunteers for, because it will be so cool.... wow.
--Somehow, we are inundated with boys at VBS! The combined 4th/5th grade class is something like 75% boys! Again, this comes just as most boys start to worry that church isn't cool, or start to place higher priority on Sunday baseball games and the like. I look at friends' Sunday school classes, and by the end of grade school, they're lucky to have 3 boys left in a class of 20. Not here.
--My kids get to be surrounded by other Christian kids. Especially Cory, not the most spiritual kid in the world. While he's making his gold-aluminum-foil "Olympic" medal that says "When in doubt, take him out," at least he's standing next to his more godly friend Max (whose medal reads "God's Olympics -- The last shall be first"). We need the good influence around here, believe me!
--So many church programs declare themselves to be "outreach," but we all know they're not. Well, at Bel Air, VBS really is an outreach program. Close to half the kids at VBS are not church kids -- they're neighborhood kids whose parents see a really cheap place to dump their kids for one week of summer. Or they're kids who went to preschool there even though their parents only go to church on Easter (half Sabrina's preschool class is up at VBS this week). Or they're friends of church kids.
As a non-church kid, I went to Sunday school with a friend in about 4th grade for several weeks, until my dad strongly influenced me to stop. But I remember those few weeks in Sunday school. And some of these non-church kids will remember their week in VBS, and know a little something more about God.
--And the last reason VBS is cool... the most personal reason for me: For a week, I have volunteered in an area in which I absolutely suck: crafts. It's one thing to volunteer to teach at Act One, where I'm working in a field of expertise and I get lots of strokes and everyone looks up to me. But it's much healthier, frankly, for me to not know how to start a lanyard, to be relegated to counting out unpainted yo-yos, cutting masking tape, pouring glue, and washing paint brushes... all those tasks that "anyone" can do, all with no strokes other than Sabrina yelling "Mommymommymommymommy!" when she comes in the room.
Somehow I think I'm chalking up a few more brownie points in heaven for this than for anything I've ever done for Act One.
So that's why VBS was worth it. And now I'm ready for my foot rub and my margarita.
Having grown up very much outside the church, VBS is the kind of thing I probably would have scoffed at in my oh-so-wise high school and college days.... The predetermined curriculum! The hokey songs! Turning children into little robots!
But you know, I've been volunteering at VBS (courtesy of my children, who outright begged) for several years now... and I actually think there are things that are rather cool about it.
For the past week, about 250 kids have been showing up at Bel Air Presbyterian every morning. About 100 volunteers shuffle them from class to crafts to snack to recreation to music and back to class again. Today, the last day, the kids will put on a 45 minute show of yes, admittedly hokey songs, and they'll head home with their "Son Games" t-shirts, their crafts, and all their classwork.
And the volunteers -- we will finally sit down, beg for foot rubs and margaritas, and try to shake the nasty cold that one inevitably gets when surrounded by 250 kids for a week.
But it will all have been worth it. Because....
--The kids will come home having memorized five Bible verses each (with the "address"). And everyone works hard to memorize, because you get a sticker next to your name for each verse, and somehow that is an incredible motivation. (Can someone explain that to me?)
--The kids sit around singing hokey VBS songs instead of what they hear on Radio Disney.
--The volunteers are not just moms. At our church, many teenagers volunteer, especially guys. How great is it for a 10-year-old boy to see these cool high-schoolers take time out of their summer to volunteer, to see that it's cool to be a Christian at an age when most boys have dropped out of church!
I even had one 5th grade boy, Austin, come up to me to talk about he can't wait till next year when he starts middle school, because he's so excited about volunteering for VBS, and how he plans to work alongside his mom in whatever area she volunteers for, because it will be so cool.... wow.
--Somehow, we are inundated with boys at VBS! The combined 4th/5th grade class is something like 75% boys! Again, this comes just as most boys start to worry that church isn't cool, or start to place higher priority on Sunday baseball games and the like. I look at friends' Sunday school classes, and by the end of grade school, they're lucky to have 3 boys left in a class of 20. Not here.
--My kids get to be surrounded by other Christian kids. Especially Cory, not the most spiritual kid in the world. While he's making his gold-aluminum-foil "Olympic" medal that says "When in doubt, take him out," at least he's standing next to his more godly friend Max (whose medal reads "God's Olympics -- The last shall be first"). We need the good influence around here, believe me!
--So many church programs declare themselves to be "outreach," but we all know they're not. Well, at Bel Air, VBS really is an outreach program. Close to half the kids at VBS are not church kids -- they're neighborhood kids whose parents see a really cheap place to dump their kids for one week of summer. Or they're kids who went to preschool there even though their parents only go to church on Easter (half Sabrina's preschool class is up at VBS this week). Or they're friends of church kids.
As a non-church kid, I went to Sunday school with a friend in about 4th grade for several weeks, until my dad strongly influenced me to stop. But I remember those few weeks in Sunday school. And some of these non-church kids will remember their week in VBS, and know a little something more about God.
--And the last reason VBS is cool... the most personal reason for me: For a week, I have volunteered in an area in which I absolutely suck: crafts. It's one thing to volunteer to teach at Act One, where I'm working in a field of expertise and I get lots of strokes and everyone looks up to me. But it's much healthier, frankly, for me to not know how to start a lanyard, to be relegated to counting out unpainted yo-yos, cutting masking tape, pouring glue, and washing paint brushes... all those tasks that "anyone" can do, all with no strokes other than Sabrina yelling "Mommymommymommymommy!" when she comes in the room.
Somehow I think I'm chalking up a few more brownie points in heaven for this than for anything I've ever done for Act One.
So that's why VBS was worth it. And now I'm ready for my foot rub and my margarita.
HARRY POTTER AND THE HALF BLOOD PRINCE
We're guessing the HBP is Neville. Or a brand new character, I suppose. (Ms. Rowling has already said it's not Harry or Voldemort...)
Anyone else got any thoughts?
Anyone else got any thoughts?
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