More Than One Lesson

One of the salient features of a particular kind of film marketed explicitly to evangelical Christians is the use of what Tyler Smith calls “the emblem.” Among other characteristics, it typifies what Tyler has classified under the umbrella of “Christian social drama” in his master’s thesis. Examples of this genre include movies like Fireproof, Courageous, War Room, God’s Not Dead, and Do You Believe. The form of the emblem varies from movie to movie, but consistently, there’s some monument or object that represents the characters’ commitment to family and faith.

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In this episode, Reed and Nathan reflect on 2016.

It’s easy to classify J.A. Bayona’s beautiful new film A Monster Calls as just another family movie about grief and sadness, like Bridge to Terabithia or Where the Wild Things Are. But, while those films are perfectly good, it would be wrong to do so. That would be too simple, and A Monster Calls is not a simple film. Quite the opposite, in fact, as on its surface it would seem to be about loss, but is at its heart about something much deeper, something more complex. This is a film about honesty, truth, and the often contradictory nature of both. Not exactly light material, and Bayona – directing from a script by Patrick Ness, adapting his own novel – chooses not to attempt an artificial lightness. Instead, he embraces the feelings of its main character; namely a deep sadness and a need for escape.

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In this minisode, Tyler and Josh discuss the Best Picture of 1957, David Lean’s The Bridge on the River Kwai.

Every dramatic writer understands the vitality of the three-act structure. The importance of rising action, character arcs, obstacles, conflict, and the eventual climax as key elements in effective emotional storytelling cannot be overstated. Many of the most beloved films have strictly adhered to this formula and, in doing so, provided their own arguments for why it has shown itself to be so sturdy over the years. For a writer or a director to attempt to subvert basic storytelling elements like this is to flirt with the potential confusion and alienation of his audience.

And yet there have been many filmmakers over the years that have come to understand the stylistic and emotional potential of unconventional storytelling. At the very least, this can serve the very practical function of forcing the audience to try to more actively engage in the film they’re watching, lest they lose track of the story thread. In reformatting even the most straightforward story, the filmmaker requires the audience to approach what could be very familiar material from a different angle, which can ultimately affect the thematic meaning they take from the film. However, to engage in non-linear storytelling simply for the sake of attempting something different is to run the risk of overcomplicating the story and frustrating the audience. Ultimately, if a filmmaker chooses to abandon more conventional narrative choices – such as the three-act structure and a chronological timeline – he must have a reason beyond simple novelty.

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In this special Christmas episode, Reed and Nathan discuss Joe Dante’s Gremlins.

In this episode, Tyler and Josh discuss the emerging genre of Christian Social Drama.

EPISODE BREAKDOWN
00:00:44- Intro, Bob Connally’s reviews, The Fear of God, Salty Cinema, Rogue One
00:03:55- Tyler’s paper
00:06:20- What is genre?
00:16:35- Christian Social Drama
01:07:10- Episode wrap-up

In this episode, Reed and Nathan discuss Joel Edgerton’s The Gift.

Gareth Edwards’ Rogue One is a worthy entry in the Star Wars saga. The first major motion picture to step outside the “episode” format, Rogue One feels appropriately like the scrappy cousin in a large, respected family. This is to its credit, as the Star Wars films are always at their most effective when they portray makeshift families and ragtag bands of misfits coming together in service of something greater than themselves. And given that the story is about what is essentially a suicide mission, Rogue One certainly fits in nicely with the larger themes of the series. In fact, it is really only in the film’s desperate desire to connect to the rest of the series – bridging the gap between Episodes III and IV – that it stumbles. Whenever it is telling its own story, though, the film is focused, poignant, and entertaining.

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Tom Ford had long been a highly successful fashion designer when in 2005, at the age of 43, he chose to start his own film production company. Four years later he made his directorial debut with the sorrowful character study A Single Man. While it’s no surprise the film was visually striking, what was most impressive was the subtlety, sensitivity, and focus on character that he displayed in his first feature.

Now, seven years later, Ford has made his second film, Nocturnal Animals. Given Ford’s background and ongoing career success in fashion, the fact that he was returning to the director’s chair after such a lengthy hiatus suggested that he wasn’t just making a movie to pay the bills or because filmmaking is just in his blood. He didn’t just have a story to tell, he had a story he needed to tell. At first, it is unclear as to why he or anyone else would want to tell this story (stories, really). But after a frankly bizarre opening credits sequence and the initial sense that the stories unfolding before us will be deeply unpleasant, Nocturnal Animals ultimately becomes an experience that gets into your head, under your skin, and that stays with you.

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