Cinematic Double Act (Part One)

So, on Saturday I decided to go to the cinema to see a couple of films. One of the advantages of having a Cineworld Unlimited card means I can see as many films as I want at the cinema every month for only £13.50. One of the disadvantages is feeling compelled to visit the cinema at least two or three times a month so I'm not wasting my money. In dry spells at the cinema, this feeling is going to be pretty common, I expect.

Well, this month I've already covered the cost of my card, by seeing Back to the Future (which was truly awesome to finally see on the big screen) the other week and by Saturday's trip to see two films, the experience of which I shall now share. If you are intent on avoiding spoilers, stop reading now. So, what did I go to see? 

Film number one was Buried, directed by Rodrigo Cortés and starring Ryan Reynolds in the role of Paul Conroy, an American truck driver working as a contractor in Iraq, who finds he has been buried alive with only a lighter and a mobile phone. The entire ninety minutes of the movie consists of Conroy trying to figure out why he is in the box and how to get out before he suffocates. The camera never cuts away to anything else. The closest thing to a glimpse of the world outside of the box is a video sent to the phone he is using. So, it’s a bit of an avant-garde film in that regard.

The film is clever, certainly; it manages to explore such themes as corporate corruption and political interests involved in hostage situations and the horrific impact these things can have on an innocent man—all from a box buried in the desert. Frankly, that is quite astounding and something not many films can attest to. I’m certainly impressed.

You’d be surprised how a film about a man stuck in a box for ninety minutes can possibly stay interesting, but Buried manages to do it, with a pretty gripping, albeit thoroughly depressing and disturbing, story. By using the phone that was left in the box with him, Paul learns about his captors and what they want—five million US dollars for his release (though they’ll settle for one million). He manages to contact the FBI, his employers, his kidnappers, and a crisis team set up to deal with situations like his, which leads to him being pulled in different directions by the competing interests of the various parties; the kidnappers demand that he make videos for them in order to ransom him, while the crisis team insist that he not cooperate with them and avoid contacting the media at all costs, so that they can “contain the situation”.

This brings the doctrine that “the United States government does not negotiate with terrorists”, arguably the primary theme of the movie, under the microscope, to be scrutinized from the perspective of the hostage, implying that such policies are divorced from the genuine human tragedy of the situation—why should Paul care about the high-minded politics of people in air-conditioned offices thousands of miles away? He just wants to be rescued so he can return safely to his family, as anyone in this situation would. If that means giving the criminals the money, then so be it. Furthermore, the corrupt policies of certain corporations, seeking to disavow themselves of any responsibility towards the predicament of their employees is also explored: towards the end of the film, Paul is contacted by his employer who informs him—yes, while he is buried in a box in the desert in Iraq and almost certain to die—that his employment with them was terminated that morning, prior to his kidnapping, due to “fraternising with a colleague”, meaning his current situation is not their responsibility. They will do nothing to help him and his family is not entitled to his life insurance money. He denies their allegations, but they insist they have evidence verifying it. Furthermore, the woman he is accused of fraternising with was also kidnapped by the same criminals and, conveniently, shot dead some time before this call, leaving her unable to either confirm or deny these allegations. His employers do not treat him as a human being in a genuinely horrific situation, but rather as a commodity, to be used and discarded as soon as he is no longer profitable to them.

So, the overarching theme of Buried, as far as I can tell, is the way in which people in hostage situations are dehumanised by the people responsible for dealing with them. For the government officials, Paul is a pawn in a game of chess with his criminal captors; though they have no desire to sacrifice him, they’re more concerned with winning the game than returning him home safely to his family. They will use him to get to their enemy, they will lie to him to ensure his cooperation, and they will allow him to die if doing so means the criminals are captured or killed. True, the government official Paul speaks to the most, Dan seems genuinely interested in rescuing him, but he still isn’t above lying to keep Paul’s hopes up that help is on the way and to thus keep him on his side.

The government officials in the film and their real-world counterparts no doubt subscribe to the principle that such actions must sometimes be taken in the interests of the greater good. I’m sure we’ve all heard words to the effect of, “some must be sacrificed if all are to be saved”. In fact, I’m fairly sure that most people, to some degree, actually agree with this philosophy. But what Buried does, in my opinion, is to ask us, how do we explain this to those who end up being sacrificed?

So what is my final verdict? Honestly, I appreciate the thematic content of the film. Cinematically, it is also very impressive, particularly in that it manages to create such suspense and tension without ever leaving the box, and Ryan Reynolds delivers an excellent performance. I would describe this as a “good” film, from a purely thematic and cinematic standpoint; however, I did not enjoy Buried. From start to finish, it was a depressing parade of hopes being dashed one by one, as Paul struggles, ultimately in futility, against his inevitable demise. Yes. Paul dies. In the box. He never escapes. Even after fighting off a snake that creeps inside through a crack, even after being told by his employers that he was conveniently fired earlier that day, leaving his family with no compensation and only seven hundred dollars of his personal savings to their name, even after satisfying the demands of the his captors (including filming himself cutting off his own finger), and even after swearing to his wife that help is on the way and he’ll be home safely soon, help ultimately fails to find him and he is left to suffocate and die under the sand pouring into his box.

Some will no doubt argue that a last minute rescue, on the very brink of death, would defeat the entire purpose of the film. It would be an unrealistic fairytale ending that would undermine the themes of the movie and vindicate the government officials that are one of the guilty parties in this situation. Paul must die, they would say, or we will forgive the government officials for treating him as nothing more than a pawn and forget that his employers fired him, ostensibly for nothing more than becoming a financial liability to them. But how do I know anyone would say this? Because I’m one of those people, and that is precisely what I think.

No, I didn’t like this film, I have no intention of ever seeing it again, and I do not recommend it to anyone who wants to go to the cinema to have a good time watching an enjoyable film. But I appreciate Buried for what it is trying to do, which I think it does very well. This is not a film that is meant to be enjoyed; it is a film that is meant to make the audience think.

Anyways, I shall talk about the second film I saw on Saturday, Alpha & Omega in a later post. This one is long enough as it is.

The Problem with Labels…

The purpose of language is to communicate. Words have meaning, which enable us to share ideas and experiences with each other effectively. What you’re reading right now is an example of this very phenomenon of communication; you are able to understand what I’m saying because you can read, you understand the English language, and the words and phraseology you’re reading have meaning, which both you and I understand. That’s the key. It is our shared understanding of the language—what words and phrases mean—that enables this communication. Without it, this would all be meaningless symbols on a page to you.

In general, communication through language works reasonably well, but I’m fairly sure both you and I have had experiences where we have failed to understand what another person means when they say something. How often do we hear the words “that’s not what I meant”? In my experience, this happens quite often, but it’s usually very easily corrected by a simple clarification. Usually.

However, when it comes to the labels that people apply to themselves and to others, describing either their political or their religious views, effective communication can be extremely difficult. When someone identifies as a “Christian”, without any further qualification, there is very little I can safely assume about them. They could be a fire and brimstone fundamentalist, who believes every word of the Bible is literally true and that anyone who doesn’t accept Christ (no matter how good they are otherwise) is going to burn forever in hell; they could be an exceedingly liberal Christian, who doesn’t think that the Bible is inerrant, who doesn’t even believe in hell, and may not even think that Jesus was divine; or they could be absolutely anything in between. The word “Christian” is so vague and can apply to such a huge range of beliefs of such varying extremity, that it tells us almost nothing. Unfortunately, not many people seem to realise this and are happy to identify themselves by the label “Christian”, without any further qualification, and expect other people to know exactly what they mean. And yet, these people get upset when somebody points out something bad that “Christians” have been doing. For instance, some will tell you that it was the “Catholics”—not “Christians”—who were responsible for the Crusades, or that people who commit violent crimes in the name of their religion, or those who are just generally horrible to others for religious reasons are “not true Christians”. If I only had a penny for every time I’ve heard somebody say something like that…

This is the problem with labels. People use them to mean something specific, but it’s often very unclear what they actually mean. If you’re trying to communicate with someone about a particular issue and you don’t define the terms you’re using, it’s very easy to just end up talking past each other. For instance, when I use the word “liberal”, I’m pretty sure I mean something very different to what Bill O’Reilly means when he uses it. From my perspective, through a pretty well-studied understanding of liberalism rooted in its philosophical origins, its history, and its modern usage, liberalism is nothing more and nothing less than the political manifestation of the principles of individual liberty, whereby government action should be aimed at increasing the amount of freedom that people have as far as possible or practical. Yet, if you listen to folks like O’Reilly or any of the other commentators on the American political right, you’d be absolutely convinced that liberals are out to take away everyone’s freedom. Indeed, for many of these folks, “liberalism”, “left-wing”, and “socialism” are interchangeable… and they don’t even really seem to understand what any of these terms actually mean, nor do they care how people who actually identify with these labels define them.

How can you communicate with someone about matters of politics or religion if the label you wish to identify with means something completely different to them than it does to you? It’s not necessarily impossible, of course; but where it can be done, it sure is difficult and very time consuming, requiring us to sometimes set labels aside and just focus on what we actually think, to explain what you believe and why, as the hosts on The Atheist Experience tend to ask their callers to do. Unfortunately, the advantage of a label is also it’s curse; it’s simple, it saves time, and removes the need for an extended explanation, which makes it perfect for people who are too intellectually lazy to want to bother with really understanding what it is that people actually believe when it is so much simpler to just put a label on them and assume you know everything you need to know.

That said, I do use labels; it is simply impractical to try to communicate without them, and I think most people, even the most well-informed and intellectual among us, do. However, when people don’t understand what I mean when I use labels, I will try to clarify as best as I can.

Let the world tremble.

So, I've finally joined the blogosphere. I don't know where this will lead (if anywhere), but the plan is to use this blog as a place to collect and share many of the thoughts I have running around in my head. Don't expect any topic in particular; this will probably be where I write about anything that's on my mind.

Assuming I remember I've got it...