Here's my piece on the movie "Chocolat," less a review exactly and more an
essay on the under-message of the film--that spiritual discipline in itself
is a bad, repressive thing. My editor made a couple of good, clarifying
changes in this; at one point he said I was merely asserting something and a
reader might not go along, and I felt momentarily defensive ("It's *supposed*
to be my opinion!") then realized that this was a valuable editorial tip of
the "your slip is showing" kind. Recasting that graf made the point stronger.
The line I expected him to question was the phrase "this kind of thing is
Moon Maid talk to Americans." That just popped into my mind and I dont' know
where it came from, or what a Moon Maid is, but there it vividly was, a 50's
era space age green girl with antennae talking gibberish. I'm glad he kept
it. A line I couldn't work into the piece was "'Chocolat' says that keeping
Kosher is stupid and Ramadan is dumb."
Speaking of which, thank you to those who wrote from as far away as Israel to
correct with my advice, last post, that Orthodox Christians could use Kosher
symbols as a guide to Lenten foods. It turns out that things are a lot more
complicated than I made them appear, in my ignorance. For example, a food
with a "D" symbol might not contain dairy ingredients, but might have been
processed with equipment that also is used for foods containing dairy
products. A member of our parish, who grew up in Orthodox Judaism, says that
he believes the Kosher symbols to be pretty much of no use as a Lenten guide.
Back to reading those labels!
Today I'm busy on a piece to balance one Bp Spong has submitted about the
Resurrection (in case you were keeping score, I'm for it, he's against it).
Both should run on Tuesday. I just got home from giving 5 speeches in 3 days,
in Ann Arbor and Dallas. I met Norma McCorvey in Dallas, who was "Roe" of Roe
v. Wade, and she gave me a copy of her book about her conversion to Christ
and to the pro-life cause, "Won by Love." I highly recommend it. It's a heck
of a story all by itself, of course, but Norma has a gift for self-knowlege,
a writer's eye for details and a keen sense of humor, that make it a
fascinating read.
I saw some beautiful big black birds in Dallas that we don't have around
here--giant things with a blue sheen and bright yellow eyes, a wonderful long
tail like the train of a wedding gown. Wery graceful, high-stepping birds
with intelligent eyes. Turns out they're called "grackles." There should be a
term for that, when a name for something conveys exactly the opposite quality
of the thing itself. Like the opposite of onomatopoeia. Perhaps whoever
picked the name was jealous.
Warning: this review gives away the "plot", such as it is, of the movie. The
plot is not packed with surprises, though. The New Yorker says Chocolat "is
yet another complacent movie about the free spirits versus the squares; this
one commends the audience for favoring such dangerous things as eating,
dancing, friendships, sex, and riverboats."
***
Christians and Other Abstainers
Why those faithful who fast aren't simply chocolate soldiers
I've got an idea for a movie script guaranteed to win an Oscar. We'll call it
"Sizzle." See, there's a village in India where all the people think there's
something bad about eating beef. It's part of their religion, which says they
should repress their desires and hate pleasure.
Then this sexy young cowboy comes to town and opens up a grill. All day long
it's thick steaks frying, or maybe some tender filets, and sometimes he
dishes up a few racks of barbecued ribs.
Well, pretty soon the fragrance is drifting through the town, and the people
can't stand it. They try to resist, but one by one they sneak into the grill
and have a little taste. Imagine the closeups as their eyes water and a
little shiny trail of grease slides down their chins. Sure, they feel guilty,
but they just can't help it. The village leader thinks he's real holy and
rails and rants, but it's no use; that cowboy is so handsome and big-hearted
and friendly, everyone can see he's really the hero. He defies authority and
sets people free.
At the end there's this really funny scene where the stuck-up leader breaks
into the grill late one night, intending to destroy it, but instead he eats
hamburgers till he's sick. The next day, the holiest day of the year, the
local guru gives a speech about how they've been misunderstanding their
religion all along. All that really matters, he says, is embracing life to
the fullest. The movie ends with a big party where everybody chows down on
the juiciest steaks ever to kiss a grill.
You probably recognize this as the plot of the Oscar-nominated film,
"Chocolat." Like "Chocolat," my imaginary film has one fatal flaw: it is
stupendously ignorant of the spiritual tradition of the community it's
presuming to chastise. Now, films that set out to criticize an unfamiliar
faith might well tread cautiously, moving with appropriate hesitation and
humility, if not respect. But not so "Chocolat." As in my blockbuster,
"Sizzle," towering ignorance combines with invincible self-righteousness to
form an impenetrable shield of condescension.
"Chocolat" blunders into a small French village in the spring of 1959 without
a clue as to the meaning and power of Lenten sacrifice. It would not have
taken exhaustive research to discover that Lent is a period of grieving for
the ways humans mess up the world and hurt each other. It is a time that
Christians turn inward and ask in the quiet of their hearts, "How have I been
part of the problem?" In admitting these faults to God in the presence of a
priest they gain profound peace and release, and the power to change their
lives.
Since many of these sins are due to lack of self-control--lashing out at
someone in anger, stealing something on an impulse--Christians do exercises
to gain self-control, much as a weightlifter hoists barbells. Delicious
things that might be enjoyed at any time are set aside for a few weeks, to
make the willpower muscle stronger. Resisting chocolate today can help you
resist an angry outburst tomorrow.
This simple concept is totally lost on the makers of "Chocolat." They're not
alone; spiritual self-denial in any form is Moon Maid talk to Americans. Why
is it so hard for us to understand the concept of spiritual discipline? The
practice is present in some form in every world religion, yet we can fathom
nothing but bigger, faster, fatter, more. Throughout the ages a universal
principle has persisted that the person who seeks to enter the vast presence
of God must do so by making himself smaller. Yet in America, dessert comes on
a plate big enough for four. And America religion better follow suit, and
promise a good time for all, all the time.
It's not just Hollywood that teaches this message. As our political leaders
fret over the economy, we're told our financial well-being has come to hang
on something called "consumer confidence," otherwise known as indulging our
will to spend. Many of us went to see "Chocolat" at a mall, then walked out
into a land of tantalizing wonderments, each begging for a chance to fondle
our plastic. Spending has become a near patriotic duty. Why hold back from
desire? Why practice any self-restraint? Delicious indulgence is what makes
the world—but especially the economy--go round.
Yet just about any major religion gives the opposite advice. Self-discipline
is a universal, even though the details of, and rationale for, these
self-limitations vary widely. The Hindu does not eat beef and the Orthodox
Jew does not eat pork, but they have different reasons. The Orthodox
Christian does not eat either one during Lent, with yet another rationale,
then returns to both with gusto on Easter. People of various faiths practice
differing disciplines with different goals, but everyone recognizes their
value.
Is any spiritual force treated positively in "Chocolat"? Mayan culture
provides a shadowy, seductive background for the chocolatier's magic, but
this is a tourist's fuzzy, romantic view. Our tolerant, compassionate
filmmakers probably wouldn't be comfortable with the demands of Mayan
spirituality, which went far beyond voluntary, temporary self-denial. A
person--man, woman, or child--would be painted blue, then laid on an altar.
Four priests would restrain him while the fifth swiftly sliced open his chest
and pulled out the still-beating heart, smearing the blood on an idol.
So it wasn't all chocolatey self-indulgence with the Mayans. When you have
human sacrifice as the central act of worship, it's unlikely that the
preceding sermon is marked by flower-power giddiness.
It's a bizarre touch that the narrator of "Chocolat" specifies at both the
beginning and the end of the film that the evil thing that had to be
destroyed was the town's "tranquilite." Who wants tranquility? Can't we have
more noise, more flashing lights, more TVs in the checkout line, more tinny
radios in the gas pumps? Why are there so few blazing tabloids and garish
cereal boxes? When I click the remote around the channels, why don't I see
more people shouting and arguing? What's wrong with the world? Too much darn
tranquility.
Could this cinematic rejection of tranquility possibly be an intentional
allusion? The height of ancient Christian mysticism is called "hesychasm,"
that is, "stillness"–a peace laced with awe at beholding the Almighty. In the
presence of that overflowing love there is a tranquility that passes all
understanding.
But that's not what a hip person would want, someone who wants to be free and
to defy authority. What you want, buddy, is to pack another slab of chocolate
cheesecake onto those rolling hips. C'mon–it's the American way.
*******************************
Frederica Mathewes-Green
www.frederica.com
