Just a Little Bit Longer... (again)

Review is taking longer than expected. In the meantime, check out this post at The B-Movie Catechism, which Snuffles is planning to comment on in a few days.

The Mass...in Sci Fi

Ever wonder what a Sci Fi Catholic Mass might look like? Well, our friend at The B-Movie Catechism has produced images that might give you an idea....

House on Haunted Hill

As yet another excuse for putting up a fast blog post so I can run off and deal with some important and exciting projects, I refer you to The B-Movie Catechism, where EegahInc has given his thoughts on the film House on Haunted Hill for his monthly film club.

In discussing the failed marriage at the movie's center, EegahInc says something interesting:

Maybe the Lorens could have avoided all this heartache by popping over to YourFriendlyDivorce.com where they have 10 helpful hints to make sure your marriage ends nicely. They include insightful tips like #3 Seek common goals with your spouse, #4 Learn to see things from your spouse's perspective, and #5 Have a parenting plan. "Let's face it: divorce is painful." the website explains, "But with proper planning and a desire to reach agreement, you and your spouse can achieve harmony, fairness and mutual respect." (Look, if you can't make your own smart aleck remark here, you're just being lazy.) [more...]

Yeah, I can come up with one of those. How about this: Hey, if you can have harmony, fairness, and mutual respect in your divorce, couldn't you, um, have it in your marriage? I mean, really.

B-Movie Catechist's Monthly Film Club: House on Haunted Hill

Oh, so it is just Old Man Smithers in a ghost costume.

House on Haunted Hill, directed by William Castle. Screenplay by Robb White. Starring Vincent Price, Carolyn Craig, and Richard Long. William Castle Productions, 1958. Not Rated.

Read other reviews here.

Watch it on Google Video.

This homework is overdue. Apologies to all concerned. What if I claim my dragon ate it?

It really is entertaining...as long as you don't think too hard. This month, the B-Movie Catechist has let the Film Club off easy with a low-budget classic starring Vincent Price as the possibly psychopathic millionaire Frederick Loren, who offers to give ten thousand dollars to five strangers--if they can survive a night in the House on Haunted Hill.

The characters are familiar and underdeveloped but comfortable B-movie types. Vincent Price is cold and sinister as Loren, yet he humanizes the role with numerous shows of emotion. His mutually nasty dialogue with his wife Annabelle (Carol Ohmart) nicely sets up the mood for the film and makes a fine example of tight scripting. Other characters include an alcoholic (Elisha Cook) convinced everyone will die at the hands of the house's ghosts, a gambling newspaper columnist (Julia Mitchum), and the obligatory attractive young woman (Carolyn Craig) and hunky young man (Richard Long). Rather than doing the obvious, sensible thing and sitting together in the living room, drinking and telling ghost stories, these various characters wander the house alone with loaded firearms and get themselves in trouble either through ineptitude or their own twisted, conniving plots, which backfire.

The movie makes a number of forgivable mistakes. Central to the film is an elaborate attempt to commit a "perfect murder," but this murderous scheme has so many holes in it, it would be remarkable if it did work. Additionally, the movie sets up certain things but doesn't follow through: for example, a character is "marked" for death by the ghosts early in the film, but this never amounts to anything. Furthermore, the film's ending is hokey in the extreme and entirely unbelievable, yet emotionally powerful nonetheless.

The movie's greatest sin, and the focus of this discussion, is a conceit of poorly written horror, one I've encountered numerous times: inexplicable events occur, yet at the end of the story, we are expected to believe that it was all just a trick and that the ghosts were fake, even though they could levitate, travel through locked doors, and make objects move on their own. Several inexplicable events occur in House on Haunted Hill, but we get only a weak naturalistic explanation at the movie's conclusion.

A good example of this sort of thing is Under the Ocean to the South Pole, Book 2 of the acclaimed Great Marvel series, a set of adventure books for boys considered classics and collectibles. In this novel, the indistinguishable Caucasian heroes Mark and Jack decide to travel to the south pole in a submarine with their Kindly Old Professor. During the course of the journey, Our Heroes encounter a ghost haunting the submarine. The ghost, we are told, is transparent and headless, but at the end of the novel, we learn the ghost was really just one of the crew members sleep-walking in his nightshirt. How many people do you know who sleep-walk transparent and headless?

Now, I grant that it's possible to do a lot of sneaky things with smoke and mirrors. Heck, David Copperfield made the Statue of Liberty disappear while simultaneously making himself appear charismatic and sexy. That's no mean feat. And let's not forget that freaky Bermuda Triangle special of his, which still gives me nightmares. But he's a special case; most people are not David Copperfield and can't pull of the things he pulls off. The brainless connivers in House on Haunted Hill certainly couldn't.

Like House on Haunted Hill, the world is full of strange happenings. Some of them certainly deserve naturalistic explanations: the last "true" ghost story I heard, for example, clearly involved a clanky furnace rather than a restless spirit. Other events are more difficult to explain: the 1995 phenomenon of Hindu statues drinking milk, for example, at first appears miraculous. This particular event has produced a small cottage industry of atheist debunking, and I admit that, though I was previously inclined to a supernatural explanation, the naturalistic ones make more sense the more I read about them.

Catholics are used to stories of miracles and visions and similar supernatural events. Some of these are folklore, some are medical phenomena with no known explanation, some are witnessed miracles, some are visions, and some are all in people's heads. The Church examines many claims of miracles and visions; when unable to determine they are hoaxes or doctrinally objectionable, she labels them "worthy of belief," which means the faithful can take them or leave them, but are not obligated to believe in them.

St. Louis de Montfort, in his The Secret of the Rosary, a collection of stories about the rosary, recommends that Christians approach pious legends with belief unless there's a good reason to do otherwise. Admittedly, my first approach to such stories is usually skepticism, especially when a tale is presented without names or dates. In the case of St. Louis de Montfort's book, I sometimes find the stories doctrinally questionable as well: in one of them, a bad king is allowed into Heaven because of his habit of wearing a rosary on his belt. To my mind, this should have won him the added charge of hypocrisy rather than a full pardon. Catholics should understand that medals, rosaries, and other sacramentals are useless unless the faithful strive to live up to what those trinkets represent: I have a Brown Scapular, a St. Benedict's Crucifix, a Miraculous Medal, and a blessed rosary on my person as I write this, but I understand these are worthless if I do not live the Gospel.

Similar thinking can be applied to those miracles and private revelations the Church considers worthy of belief. They are helpful to the faithful unless they become a hindrance or an obsession, at which point they can be safely discarded or minimized. I have at home a booklet (I'm not at home, so cannot make a proper citation) by a woman who claims to have had a private revelation from Jesus and the Virgin Mary while attending Mass. The content is essentially a commentary on the Mass describing the liturgy's supernatural benefits and inviting prayers and full participation from the faithful. Though I of course have no way of verifying the genuineness of the revelation, it is in tune with Catholic teaching, and I find it useful, so I give to it the form of natural (as opposed to supernatural), human faith appropriate for such things.

In addition to revelations with useful insights or inspiring messages, there are miracles which defy naturalistic explanation, including some Eucharistic and medical miracles. These too, unless satisfactorily debunked, deserve belief and can be helpful to the faithful. In many cases, miracle is a better explanation than Old Man Smithers in a ghost costume.

As an added note, sf writer John C. Wright, who converted to Christianity after a series of visions, once commented that his experiences are no help in times of doubt. It strikes me as likely that private revelations are ultimately of more use to the people who don't receive them than the people who do.

The Sci Fi Catholic's Rating for House on Haunted Hill:

Myth Level: Medium-Low (just, you know, not really)

Quality: Medium (some uneven scripting but a lot of fun)

Ethics/Religion: Medium-High (little objectionable; some revenge depicted positively, depending on how you want to look at it)

Discipline Update

Twelve and a half down, two and a half to go. You'll learn all about it soon.

And goodness gracious, I forgot to finish my post for the B-Movie Catechist's monthly film club. I better get it in gear on that one, too.

The Last of Santa and the Martians (for this year)

We have now made it an annual tradition to get stuck overnight in the airport at Denver. Last year, we got to do it with thousands of other people. This year, according to recent weather reports, we may get to do it twice. It isn't the hardship for us that it is for some people; we view it as a lark: this year, when we arrived in Denver and found our flight was cancelled and that we couldn't fly out until the next day, we did what any sensible travelers would do: we raided the airport bookstore and then retired to a restaurant and bar where we could have dinner and become mildly intoxicated before plopping down in an empty gate for a long winter's nap. Sleeping in a pile with a unicorn, dragon, and phoenix, with a goldfish bowl tucked under my arm, is really quite cozy and not at all uncomfortable. I rather enjoy the Denver airport: it's like a really expensive shopping mall with bad selection, but they don't run you out if you decide you want to sleep there.

Anyway, now that Christmas is behind us and we are beginning to pack for home, we take one last wistful look back and notice that some of our fellow bloggers have been writing of our favorite holiday movie, Santa Claus Conquers the Martians. In particular, please note the review at It Came from Allen's Brain, where you will find the film reinterpreted as a christological allegory, further proof that you can do that to anything if you strain your brain (or Allen's) hard enough. I haven't decided yet if I think it's a good idea to interpret everything as a story about Christ. Part of me thinks it's a lot like interpreting everything as a story about the bourgeoisie oppressing the proletariat or as a story about men oppressing women. It's really, really interesting--for about ten minutes.

For another, much more subversive take on the movie, check out the review at The B-Movie Catechism. EegahInc has given the film a twisted yet somehow convincing reading. According to him, the movie isn't about Jesus, but about bad parenting. What he seems to be saying, and he has a good case, is that the movie's basic moral sucks. Maybe curing children's TV addiction by giving them more toys isn't the solution. Those Martian parents should have kicked them out of the life pod and made them play outside instead.

Your One-Stop Catholic Shop for All Things "The Golden Compass"

Okay, people, it's gotten out of hand. I mean, it's a movie for cripes' sake. Not the apocalypse. Not the collapse of Western Civilization. A movie. Probably a sucky movie. I want to make sure we all have that clear.

But in case you just can't get enough The Golden Compass, we at The Sci Fi Catholic are here to indulge your rabid tastes, because that's what we do. I'm giving Lucky a break and presenting you with your Monday news, which today is All Pullman, All the Time.

YOUR COMPLETE(?) THE GOLDEN COMPASS READING LIST:

Update: Some corrections and additions.

New Mega-Update: We have a movie review!

The Sci Fi Catholic: First, in case you missed it, I hastily put up my thoughts on the books and the upcoming movie, which you can read here. Over at With a Grain of Salt, Peter has written me a congratulations for actually reading the books before talking about them, which is more than he can say for a number of Catholic bloggers. It's probably only fair to point out that I read them about five years ago before I was even Catholic. I did not grab them up and slog through them just for this movie. I would be quite impressed if anyone actually power-read the whole trilogy just to write a blog post before the movie gets here.

Keith Strohm: Keith Strohm of From the Shattered Drum has a good post on why these novels are poor and on why they do not make a good starting point for a discussion of religion.

The USCCB: There exists an "official" Catholic review of the film by Harry Forbes and John Mulderig, who write for Catholic News Service. Their review will appear on the official United States Conference of Catholic Bishops website. Readers are encouraged to remember that this review is not an authoritative statement from the bishops and is open to criticism (and come to think of it, would be open to criticism even if it were an authoritative statement from the bishops). As usual with speculative fiction films, the reviewers are unfamiliar with the source material. They glibly pass over the anti-Christian and anti-clerical themes and give little account to what is almost certain to appear in the sequels, such as greater anti-religious content and a sexual encounter between minors. They rate the movie AII--Adults and Adolescents.

(Previously, I incorrectly stated that the reviewers were completely unaware of what is likely to exist in the sequels, but I was incorrect; they acknowledged that the film director has said they would be "less watered down.")

American Papist: Thomas Peters, an energetic and thoughtful Catholic blogger, every once in a while discusses science fiction or fantasy and I usually disagree with him (unlike approximately half the Catholic blogosphere, he does not consider himself a fanboy). Though sf isn't the focus of his blog, he has followed developments on the Golden Compass front quite closely. He offers sharp and thoughtful criticism of the review by Forbes and Mulderig. He encourages "resisting the lure" of the upcoming movie.

Amy Wellborn and American Papist: Peters also presents comments on this little item from Amy Wellborn. Apparently, New Line Cinema is encouraged by Forbes and Mulderig's positive review and would like to advertise the films in Catholic publications. Before you shout, "Conspiracy!" remember that New Line is a business and wants to make money, and if they think they can get more money (and perhaps derail a potential boycott) by advertising in Catholic publications, they're going to do it. I see nothing underhanded here; I do, however, see something quite savvy, and I hope Catholic newspaper publishers are wise enough to say, "Thank you, but no." And while we're at it, can we take the advertisements off the back of the bulletin? I think Jesus would kick over some tables and dole out a whuppin' if he saw those.

For another account of New Line's attempt to advertise with Catholic publishers, see this article from Catholic News Agency.

Amy Wellborn: I have never written a real book review of His Dark Materials because I read them before this blog existed, but Amy Wellborn reviewed them some years back, and you can read her review here. It's good.

FilmChat: Peter Chattaway, Orthodox Christian, has an extensive interview with Philip Pullman, in which Pullman explains his thinking on religion:

I don't expect Christians to see God as a metaphor, but that's what he is. Perhaps it might be clearer to call him a character in fiction, and a very interesting one too: one of the greatest and most complex villains of all - savage, petty, boastful and jealous, and yet capable of moments of tenderness and extremes of arbitrary affection - for David, for example. But he's not real, any more than Hamlet or Mr Pickwick are real. They are real in the context of their stories, but you won't find them in the phone book.

MTV Movie Blog: MTV obviously is not one of my frequent haunts, but Director Chris Weitz has given an interview on the upcoming movie. He says that people who are boycotting the film don't want to "engage" with "the very subtle philosophical and theological ideas in 'His Dark Materials.'" Problem is, these books contain nothing subtle. They are quite overt, and their philosophical and theological ideas are childish, petulant, and mixed with a number of cheap shots like the poor hygiene of all the priests Pullman depicts. Pullman himself, though sometimes more thoughtful and gracious, from time to time proves just as petulant in interviews.

The B-Movie Catechism: The B-Movie Catechism obviously is one of my frequent haunts, and EegahInc there gives an extensive commentary on Weitz's interview. He points out that, in the interview, Weitz admits to reducing some of the anti-religious themes of the novel, but might make them more overt in the sequels. In doing so, however, Weitz would only be following the pattern of the books: in the first novel, the anti-religious themes are less explicit, and the series could still go in a number of directions with ultimately either a positive or negative view of religion. Only in the second novel does the anti-religious preaching begin to overwhelm the storyline. EegahInc also gives some of the most sensible statements I've seen regarding the boycott: everyone has the right to choose to give money to the studio or to refrain from giving that money.

Newsweek: According to Newsweek,

[The movie] hasn't been scrubbed of religion, either. While references to "the church" are gone from the film, no one over four feet tall could mistake the Magisterium for anything but an oppressive theocracy. Accusations of "heresy" abound. Buildings often resemble cathedrals [presumably Gothic churches--we all know "cathedral" is not an architectural term, right?]. At one point, Kidman's character, the diabolical Mrs. Coulter, alludes to the story of original sin to justify a ghoulish purification rite that separates children from their daemons.

Sounds to me as if the anti-religious content is still present in the movie, and still as brainless as it is in the books. When's the last time you witnessed Christians performing weird experiments on children to cut their souls off?

The Catholic League: If you've been reading this and asking, "What boycott are you talking about?" you should know that the Catholic League has called for Catholics to boycott the film. I encourage all my readers to think carefully about whether or not they wish to see the movie. I do not feel I can support the boycott myself, for one simple reason: I am going to write a review of the film, and in order to do so I must buy a ticket and attend the theater. I suppose I could claim I'm some sort of special exception, but I am only an amateur reviewer, so I think seeing the movie while supporting a boycott would swiftly open me to just charges of hypocrisy.

Philip Pullman: Subtle and thoughtful man that he is, Philip Pullman has responded to the boycott by calling Bill Donohue and other members of the Catholic League "nitwits," as discussed by David Byers with Times Online.

In an interview with Newsweek, Philip Pullman says, "To regard it as this Donohue man has said--that I'm a militant atheist, and my intention is to convert people--how the hell does he know that?" Well, maybe he read this interview, Mr. Pullman, with Thirdway, in which you called certain Christian doctrines "such howling nonsense," though in the same interview you admitted you might be an agnostic. Whatever you are, to get the impression of you as a militant atheist, one would only have to read your novels. And as for the "militant" part, here's another quote from the same interview: "I’m amazed by the gall of Christians. You think that nobody can possibly be decent unless they’ve got the idea from God or something. Absolute bloody rubbish!"

Not quite correct: the Christian claim is that everyone's desire to be decent ultimately derives from God and is present in us as what is called "Natural Law." The Christian objection to atheism is not that atheists are incapable of decency, but that in atheist philosophy the desire for decency has no ultimate source and therefore no ultimate authority; without this authority, society has no basis for condemning an individual for being indecent. Philip Pullman demonstrates this nicely in The Amber Spyglass. One moment, he is killing the Authority, and the next moment, he is setting up an absolute moral standard, yet the standard he sets up has no basis other than sentiment.

According to Julian Joyce with the BBC, Pullman has claimed, "I am a storyteller. If I wanted to send a message, I would have written a sermon." To that, I can only reply by asking, "Then why are there so many sermons in these novels?"

John C. Wright: As sharp-tongued and talented as he is, the formerly atheist and now Christian sf writer, John C. Wright, might be called the Anti-Pullman, just as Pullman is sometimes called the Anti-Lewis. John C. Wright is most displeased with Pullman for answering his critics. As Wright puts it, "I answered a critic once: it was a foolish thing to do, and I lost honor for doing it." He also goes on to say that Pullman is dishonest for claiming he does not preach in his novels. In an angry (yet always eloquent) rush, Wright points out exactly how sermonizing destroys these books. I highly recommend reading Wright's discussion.

Christianity Today: Also recommended is Jeffrey Overstreet's thoughtful, intelligent, and most importantly, calm discussion, "Fear Not the Compass," with Christianity Today Movies.com. He suggests, wisely, that banning the books makes them alluring to children. He indicates, and I wholly agree, that thoughtful reading is usually preferable to avoiding books because of controversial content.

Jimmy Akin: "Philip Pullman is a liar."

Had enough?

B-Movie Catechist's Monthly Film Club: Creature from the Haunted Sea

And two thirds of the way through the movie, the monster shows up.

I'm nearly speechless. For a monthly film club, The B-Movie Catechism has caused a number of people to watch Roger Corman's Creature from the Haunted Sea, available at Google Video. Sadly, this is not the worst movie I've seen recently.

To make a longer-than necessary story short, it's Cuba and Castro has come to power. Counter-revolutionaries, dreaming of recapturing their country, have made off with the Cuban treasury and have cooked up a scheme that sounds like one of those Nigerian e-mail scams: they promise an American gangster that if he'll take half the Cuban treasury out of the country on his yacht, they'll let him keep a tenth of it.

The gangster, of course, wants the whole thing. To keep it, he'll have to find a way to off all the bumbling Cuban soldiers who are traveling on his yacht with him. To do that, he cooks up a scheme with his oddball cronies to create a fake sea monster that will kill the Cuban soldiers one at a time--only problem is, there's a real sea monster, and it's wearing one of those fake rubber suits the B-Movie Catechist loves so much.

An inept American spy has managed to work his way into the gangster's crew. He doesn't do much besides narrate the movie and hit on the gangster's girlfriend. Eventually, to escape the monster, this group lands the yacht somewhere near Puerto Rico and then a whole bunch of women show up for no reason as the Cubans and the gangster's crew all try to get their hands on the money.

This movie does have some memorable and very funny lines, including, "As an American gambler and gangster, you're above suspicion," "We'll jump overboard and swim for it--through shark-infested water, of course, so no one will follow us," "No matter where you go or what you do or who you kill--I'll love you til the day I die," and ,"Well, she was living in a sort of sorority house down by the docks--she's awful friendly."

At the end of the film, the monster dispenses monster judgment. Everyone guilty of being a gangster, being a murderer, being an adulterer, being a thief, or being a Cuban is dead and the only characters left alive are the American spy and his reformed-prostitute-with-a-heart-of-gold girlfriend.

I'm supposed to find a religious message or something in here as a member of the Film Club. Only problem is, this movie is a load of cinematic cotton candy--you bite into it and find there's nothing there. The monsteresque Last Judgment at the end is kind of nice, however. There is always something satisfying--not necessarily healthy, but satisfying--in watching villains come to a sticky end, as they usually do in comic books, boys' adventure novels, and some other fare I'm known to read from time to time.

I think the reason we like to see the villains Get Theirs is because we do have built into us a sense of justice. Movies like Creature from the Haunted Sea take a certain reality for granted, that negative actions have negative consequences. So the movie could be viewed as a morality tale: thou shalt not steal gold from Cuba and murder people to cover thy tracks. All in all, I'd have to say that's a sound moral message.

The Bananas of Revenge Catholic Geek Crossover Meme

Has The Sci Fi Catholic gone bananas?

D.G.D.: It began when a guy calling himself Che' Lovell decided to write his own version of The Grapes of Wrath, entitled The Bananas of Revenge, a play in two acts. It continued when he challenged me and EegahInc of The B-Movie Catechism to review it. Well, EegahInc wrote a clever and hilarious review, though he doesn't seem to understand what the play is about: I mean, it's supposed to be The Grapes of Wrath and he treats it as if it's supposed to be Attack of the Fifty-foot Banana. Oh, he also has a cool photograph accompanying his review, so I figured I better get one of those, too. Here's what I got:



Yeah. Pretty sad, huh? Well, EegahInc may have all the movie knowledge, but I have...the dragon!

Snuffles the Dragon: Enter the dragon.

D.G.D.: I know you've been waiting years to say that.

Snuffles: I have. Thank you.

D.G.D.: Would you like to review Che''s play?

Snuffles: Would you stop using two apostrophes to make his name plural? That's really ticking me off.

D.G.D.: Sorry. Would you like to review Che's play?

Snuffles: No. Absolutely not. And I'm not going to let you review it, either.

D.G.D.: Wha...? W-why?

Snuffles: Because I refuse to do anything for the Spirit of Vatican 2 "Catholic" Faith Community until they agree to hold the Dragons' Rights Protest!

D.G.D.: But Snuffles....

Snuffles: Aren't I a persun? Don't I got rights? Aren't I hurting inside? Don't I need luv?

D.G.D.: Aww, Snuffles, I never knew. C'mere, big guy--

Snuffles: Auggh!! Hands off!!!

D.G.D.: Ow! For a stuffed animal, you've got a lot of hard and pointy parts!

Snuffles: Listen up, Deej: if that Che' guy wants his play reviewed on this blog and not just parodied, the SOV2 will have to get its butt in gear for the sake of disenfranchised dragons everywhere. But in the meantime, I will allow a meme.

D.G.D.: You don't mean....?

Snuffles: No, I meme. What are you, deaf? Here's the deal, and I won't forget EegahInc suggested it: it's called the Bananas of Revenge Catholic Geek Crossover Meme. Those who participate will have to visit Che's play and read either act or both (you can read Act I here and Act II here) and review it, comment on it, or make fun of it. The play is not very long but very funny.

D.G.D.: Who ya gonna meme?

Snuffles: Catholic geeks, of course. Let's see...I choose Peter of With a Grain of Salt, Keith Strohm of From the Shattered Drum, and because he's a Nerd God, Father Erik Richtsteig of Orthometer.

D.G.D.: Good choices.

Photo by Accordion Chick.

The Burning Hell

Are you 100% to go to Heaven if you died today?

He doesn't know I'm doing this, but Eegahinc over at The B-Movie Catechism once suggested I cross swords with him, as it were, over a B-movie. Seeing as how his double feature review of Evil Behind You and The Burning Hell is temporarily delayed, I thought I would get in a post ahead of time before he could cover the subject so thoroughly and wittily that there would be no point in my following up.

One of the two movies he's reviewing in the near future, The Burning Hell, an evangelical film by Estus Pirkle, is available on YouTube, where I watched all eight painful segments in order to bring you this post. Though a little hard to watch, the video gets high marks from me because it opens with a picture of a spaceship. I'm not sure why it opens with a picture of a spaceship, but it's cool that it does. Maybe Pirkle is a Sci Fi Baptist.

It's not really a movie so much as a sermon with lurid illustrations. Estus Pirkle lectures for an hour on Hell while characters in costumes either act out Bible stories or writhe in flames. The acting is some of the worst I've ever seen, though there are a few exceptions: a character with an early death scene is convincing, and the guy playing Satan, though he has a minuscule role, is clearly enjoying himself. Through it all, Pirkle makes it clear that Hell is bad, that you don't want to go there, and that you definitely are going there unless you accept Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior. It's something like a mild video version of "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God," which we'll get to in a minute.

Near the video's beginning, a couple of young men (I don't remember if they even have names) come to Mr. Pirkle in the office at the church where's he's about to preach a sermon, though somehow they don't realize he's a preacher. They want to talk to Pirkle about religion and quickly grow irritated with Pirkle's teaching about Hell. One of them, the film's only convincing actor, says, "I got some livin' ta do, you dig?" The two young men leave and then--you just know this is coming--the convincing actor has a motorcycle accident and transforms into what appears to be about six pounds of ground beef. His nameless buddy is bummed out and shakes his head sadly before returning to the church to hear Pirkle finish his sermon (reporting the accident can wait, apparently).

The man tells Pirkle about his friend's accident. Pirkle pats him on the back, tells him his friend's in Hell, and then goes on with his sermon, making sure to single out the young man every once in a while and threaten him with the same damnation his bike-riding buddy got. Pirkle illustrates his lecture with videos of actors in ultra-low-budget "period" costumes acting out Bible stories, though the modern instruments and wine glasses and other anachronisms produce an unintended comical effect.

Pirkle misunderstands a few biblical passages, though his misunderstandings are not severe. His first dramatization is of the story of Korah's rebellion from Numbers 16; in the biblical passage, the earth opens up and swallows Korah and his followers, and they go "down alive into Sheol" (16.30, NRSV). Pirkle insists this is the first biblical depiction of Hell, and in his dramatization flames shoot out of the ground when the earth opens. Pirkle apparently doesn't realize that early Judaism had no developed concept of Hell; rather, sheol is the shadowy region of the dead under the earth.

The longest dramatization in the film is of the parable of the rich man and Lazarus (Luke 16:19-31). Here we see Pirkle's theology most clearly: he takes Fundamentalism to a new level, insisting that this story is a literal historical event and not merely an illustrative fable, though whether he believes this about all of Jesus' parables or only this one is unclear. He gives a nod to tradition, naming the rich man Dives, and allows plenty of scenes of Dives living it up before finally keeling over, dying, and going to Hell. He also depicts Lazarus going to Heaven, and considering the low budget, it looks pretty good. Perhaps most interesting is Pirkle's twisting of the parable: in the passage in Luke, the only sin Dives commits is ignoring the poor beggar Lazarus at his gate; when Dives is in Hades and Lazarus is in the Bosom of Abraham, Abraham says to Dives, "Child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner evil things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony" (16.25, NRSV). In Pirkle's version, however, Lazarus accepts Jesus as his personal Lord and Savior whereas Dives refuses; Dives's callous treatment of Lazarus is more-or-less incidental.

The viewer comments on the YouTube video aren't particularly nice. It's clear a lot of people don't like this movie, and it isn't hard to see why. For one thing, the bad acting and script-writing lend it a certain callousness: not only does a man skip off to church and leave the dead body of his buddy by the side of the road, but Pirkle singles him out during his sermon and tells him in front of a crowded room that his pal is damned forever and that he likely is, too. All of that may or may not need to be said at some point, but this is hardly the time or the place.

Theologically, the film's errors are two, and the two are directly related. On the one hand, Estus Pirkle feels fit to say exactly--by name--who is in Hell. He even gives a statistical estimate of how many go there each day and minute. The video also has an unintentional smugness: he makes it clear that you are in danger of Hell, but Estus Pirkle certainly isn't. Long-time readers may remember that I addressed that attitude in the short story "The Soul Chamber."

In response to the first error, the Catechism states, "although we can judge that an act is in itself a grave offence, we must entrust judgement of persons to the justice and mercy of God" (par. 1861). To some, this may sound like we're softening up, and indeed, there's something comfortably edgy and hard about Pirkle's you're-going-to-Hell style of preaching, but that doesn't change the fact that it is God, and not we, who ultimately judges. To warn people of Hell is our business, but to name people in Hell is pure hubris. Had Pirkle realized this, he could have eliminated much of the film's callousness.

The second error is the Calvinist doctrine of Eternal Security boiled down to its barest basics, that form of Christianity most often chosen for contempt and parody: the teaching that those who use Jesus' name like a magic password will rise to Heaven while everyone else will fall headlong into eternal flames. So firm is Pirkle in this doctrine that, as already mentioned, he uses it to twist Christ's parables. Such a teaching certainly has no historical authority; you can read the lurid martyr stories in Eusebius, for example, who makes clear, as Jesus does, that those who deny Christ under pressure can lose their fellowship with him. Being a Christian does not abrogate a person's free will; he still has the capacity to make the terrible choice to separate himself permanently from God. St. Paul certainly understands this: in Galatians 5.21, after he's finished a standard vice list including such things as quarrels, envy, and drunkenness, he tells his Christian audience, "I am warning you, as I warned you before: those who do such things will not inherit the kingdom of God" (NRSV). He isn't speaking about outsiders. He's speaking to his readers.

And then there's the most famous sermon ever preached in North America, Jonathan Edwards's "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God." Many Reformed Protestants consider Edwards the best theologian North America has ever produced. He has some real accomplishments, and so it is regrettable that he is most famous--or perhaps infamous--for this sermon. Many people hate it. Probably fewer have actually read it. Even if we criticize it, we should remember its merits, for it is, after all, a rhetorical masterpiece:

The God that holds you over the pit of hell, much as one holds a spider, or some loathsome insect over the fire, abhors you, and is dreadfully provoked: his wrath towards you burns like fire; he looks upon you as worthy of nothing else, but to be cast into the fire; he is of purer eyes than to bear to have you in his sight; you are ten thousand times more abominable in his eyes, than the most hateful venomous serpent is in ours. You have offended him infinitely more than ever a stubborn rebel did his prince; and yet it is nothing but his hand that holds you from falling into the fire every moment.

The deficiency in Edwards's sermon is that he presents an arbitrary God without any real love or mercy. Edwards's God does not love sinners and want them to be saved but "abhors" them. In Edwards's view, damnation is an exercise of God's wrath, which is correct so far as it goes, but Edwards forgets that damnation is also an exercise of man's free will. To Edwards it is not so much man who has turned away from God as it is God who enjoys dangling man's feet over the fire. This is the greatest problem with Calvinism's more extreme forms. There's a hint of similar thinking in Pirkle.

Besides what I have mentioned, I have no real objections to Pirkle's film. Although its imagery is cheesy, meditations on death and Hell are old and venerable parts of our religion. Certainly the earliest Church, as the New Testament makes clear, was full of apocalyptic expectations: believers are to keep awake and keep alert because Christ is returning soon to render to all the things done in the body, both good and bad. Later saints would encourage people to meditate on death for the same reason--it can come at any moment, and so we must be prepared. Though in a world of moderate safety and long life spans and generally soft living it's easy to mock the Billy Grahams who warn us that we could walk out of the sermon and step in front of a cement truck, the fact is we could. Life really is uncertain. Death or the Second Coming really can come at any moment. Though Pirkle's mode of delivery may be questionable, his basic message that death and possibly damnation are looming is an important one. Any homilist who fails to address this is shirking his duty.

And though Pirkle's pictures of Hell with people in funny makeup covered in maggots and writhing in flames are perhaps in low taste, depicting Hell and even meditating on it are not new. The most famous literary depictions of Hell come to us of course from The Divine Comedy, which draws heavily on The Aeneid, and from Paradise Lost. Dante depicts Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven with successive, organized layers, whereas Milton depicts Hell and Heaven as landscapes. Personally, I prefer Milton's vision; though Dante captures the sense of progression necessary for his poem, Milton's sense of exploration is more evocative, and the reader will note that it is Milton's vision that more closely informs C. S. Lewis's image of Heaven and Hell in his own version of Paradiso, The Great Divorce.

On the meditative side of things, just to show that meditating on Hell isn't merely a Christian eccentricity, I have Geshe Rabten's The Essential Nectar, a Buddhist commentary on Yeshe Tsöndrü's The Essential Nectar of the Holy Doctrine, a guide to the Tibetan Lam rim. It includes some nicely lurid meditations on Buddhist Hell, including gems like this:

While you are burning, hell guardians come and inflict other types of suffering. They may pull your tongue out of your mouth, stretch it enormously, and plough it up like a field. Several of them may stand around you and open your mouth with pincers and other tools, pull it out so that it is very big, then put in red-hot iron balls, or boiling molten metal, which burns your stomach and all your entrails. [par. 219]

The Christian concept of meditating on Hell is a means of arousing a life of virtue. G. K. Chesterton in Orthodoxy notes that it is a bad idea to think of sin in terms of disease; we cure disease largely through rest, but we cure sin through vigorous action, by buffeting the body and making it our slave. Remembering Hell or death or the Second Coming makes the need for such vigorous action appear urgent, and without urgency, we quickly sink into lethargy.

And now I invite you to peruse the meditations on Hell from St. Ignatius Loyola's Spiritual Exercises. I also invite you to anticipate with me the upcoming discussion at The B-Movie Catechism.