Some of the Best

This time of year, many writers are putting together a “best films of 2007” list. I would like to get in on the action, but it would be a little impractical for me to try to list the best films that have come out, since I have seen so few of them. Instead, this is the “best films Aaron has seen in 2007.” Thanks in no small part to the Quincy Movie Nights, there have been plenty of good films to consider. After much thought, I have chosen a trifecta of winners to share the title.



The first of these films, Juno, is still playing in theaters. Jason Reitman’s story of a pregnant high school student - a sort of wise fool surrounded by adults who do not always get it - began as a limited release, but quickly moved to theaters everywhere. And it is easy to see why. The audience with which I saw it was laughing out loud and clearly enjoying the humorous moments; but when the film got serious, you could have heard a pin drop. The story is well written, with several neat turns and reversals; it is well acted, with a first rate performance by Ellen Page in the title role; it is beautifully shot; and it has a quality musical score. Finally, the film is grounded on solid philosophical and moral principles. It does not bill itself as “pro-life” or “family-friendly” and does not assault its viewer with kitch messages. Indeed, the film is very much a creature of the modern age, frankly acknowledging the reality of family life in 21st century America. But it is also a film that understands and speaks to the fundamental importance of human dignity, the value of parenting and the importance of committed relationships.



In America (2003) is the story of a modern Irish family moving to New York City and struggling along with financial and family issues. Normally a film with that description would not pique my interest; it sounds like it would either be pathetically cheesy or terribly depressing. But as Nathan (not exactly the house optimist) explained, “this is a feel-good movie I can get behind.” Unlike most films of the feel-good genre, In America is neither predictable nor poorly acted; instead, it is a highly believable story. (This is probably due, in large part, to the fact that the script was written by a real family, based on their actual experience.) In addition, the story is artfully constructed, with several thoughtful sub-themes weaving through the story of the family’s struggles.



Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004) can be a confusing film. But fear not; the confusion is artfully handled, complementing the story, instead of leaving the viewer woefully confused. Michel Gondry’s story of love, loss and memory, like Juno and In America, avoids the formulaic, with several enjoyable plot turns and a nice interweaving of the main plot line and a subplot. Though I have only seen the film once, I have little doubt that a second viewing would reveal a wealth of carefully thought out details. But in addition to its narrative qualities (which are many), Eternal Sunshine is a beautiful piece of art. Much of the story is set in the world of memory and Gondry has done an excellent job of imaging what that might look like. (Thankfully, this does not include massive amounts of computer animation that tax the viewer’s suspended disbelief.)

There were any number of honorable mentions, but their ranks are far too many to actually mention them. Perhaps another blog post...

A Strangely Usual Experience

Today as I was walking home from the metro station something happened that I suppose may seem quite strange to some people. At least I gathered that from the stares I got from a confused passerby. You see on my route home for the last few months there has been this rusty oddly shaped piece of what must have been some sort of bolt in the same spot on the sidewalk, just siting there staring at me. I have wanted to photograph it ever since I first saw it, and even more so now that I has withstood the test of time for so long without being fastened to anything. Well today I had my camera, and by chance I actually remembered that I had it with me so I stopped to get a picture. Unfortunately my camera was out of batteries, thus I was unsuccessful. Nonetheless there I was standing with a camera in the middle of the sidewalk trying to take a picture of a rusty bolt.

I think it was the well dressed commuter, staring at me from across the street that caused me to pause and wonder how I had come to this point. Upon reflection, this was really just one small occurance in a long fascination that I have with rusted metal. I know that it sounds strange, but let me explain myself.

First of all aesthetically I just really like color. That attraction I can't quite explain, but the rich interplay between red and orange that spring out of a velvet like dark brown background seems both soft and harsh all at once.

However, more than the color what really attracts me to rusted metal is the decay. The way that we encounter pieces of rusted metal in every day life is as a set of man-made forms that have begun to fall apart. Slowly being eaten away, rusty metal is a long slow death that surrounds us. A reminder of our mortality and the passing nature of creation, especially man's creation, is a worthwhile thing in itself. Yet, I do believe that there is more to the beauty of rust than simply a morbid preoccupation. Something special happens when someone takes that decaying form and removes it from the normal context of experience. This removal can be taking a photograph, or placing the object on display, or even just looking intently at the thing. When photographed the thing becomes more than it once was. Rather than simply an object which is moving past it's usefulness, the piece of metal is now an invitation to reflection. And not simply a reflection on decay and impermanence, but more so, a reflection on that uniquely human capacity to discover lasting truths in the passing world. As the beings that create art we are elevating our surroundings to an intangible plane. The capacity for this act is what I find the most beautiful about the rusty bolt lying on the side of Michigan avenue (and also, one of the most promising aspects of the challenges that we face today with the definition of the term "art".)

Love and Jokes

It has been intriguing gathering reactions to our April Fool’s Day joke. Some seem to have found the idea of a Quincy Dating Central, which we added to our house website, both relevant and absurd enough to be funny. And on the other side of the spectrum, some seem to have found it distasteful that someone would joke in such a manner, about something so serious, making light of the difficulties that face the modern single Christian in a culture such as ours, etc. And certainly, there were those that didn’t realize it was April 1st, and moreover were unable to see the humor in it, and supposed we actually intended to set ourselves up as so great that traditional rules don’t apply, that women should pursue us and submit to the embarrassment of completing an online application for the ‘privilege’ of dating one of us. And perhaps, no one’s actual reaction could be identified completely with one of these here described, but I have no doubt that these elements are familiar.

As far as jokes go, I’ll readily admit this one was a little more risky. There is much bound up in such matters as dating, much indeed, and it’s different for everyone. But given the risk, why make such a joke?

One of the themes that has been emerging in my mind, and in discussions I’ve had with others, is that we Christians (Catholic’s especially) tend to be a little up tight about matters vocational, especially when it comes to dating. When you add the confusion of looking for love in a sinful world and of experiencing that loneliness so typical of the human condition, it’s easy to get out of sorts. If I like so and so, and it doesn’t work out, I’m quick to grow discouraged, or to hold on to my disappointments as if God were not really in the details. I’ve heard no call to the religious life, I might think, and I’ve always desired to marry and start a family, and here I am living a life I didn’t plan, unmarried and growing older. After a while, and perhaps it’s always been this way, the whole business starts to feel pretty serious. And there are other concerns: One must not get too attached too quickly. One must be extra careful not to hurt anyone’s feelings. One must follow enough of the traditional etiquette, but not too much. One must be assertive, but not overbearing. And on, and on, and on. So it’s all very complicated and difficult, and given the stakes, it’s risky, and very, very serious.

But it seems to me that only fear could make it this serious. Only a lack of hope in God’s providence could keep me so concerned, so desperate to tread lightly that I would be unable to laugh about it all. The reality is that God is in control, and male-female relationships are hilarious. There’s such a splendid comedy in the awkwardness of dating, and not dating. At the heart of romance, I would suggest, is a very good joke.

And I think the comedy is essential, in part because on the other side is tragedy. Love that would be free to grow, to flourish and pour itself forth in the sublimity of the gift, is love that must suffer. We can see this clearly entering Holy Week, meditating upon the sacrifice of our Lord, the suffering that he takes on for our sake. We will die with Christ, so that we will share in his Life. Some of us will do (or are already doing) this in marriage, in act of giving our lives for a spouse, and for the children of such a gift. Other of us may experience this in a different way, as singles for the kingdom of God. And to each there is a season, and likewise a time for laughing and for crying.

So if the Quincy Dating Central joke was a poor one, it was at least an effort. We long to love openly, to be vulnerable before the Mystery. We tried to mock our own pride with a faux role-reversal and technological approach to an un-technological problem, a strange and clumsy reflection of the beauty of awkward singleness. I think we hoped that somehow, we might all take ourselves a little less seriously for it, and that maybe, rather than presenting obstacles to openness, greater openness might be encouraged.

Yesterday's Cavlin & Hobbes seems fitting (hat-tip to Aaron for finding it):