Iron Man 3 - Tony Stark in the Real World

I have a confession: any movie with Robert Downey Jr. playing an iconic kick-butt sarcastic hero I’m bound to like. Taking that into account, I was probably predisposed to like Iron Man 3, the hero’s latest outing. Well, I did. In fact, on leaving the theater, I was convinced it was better than last year’s worldwide blockbuster The Avengers. Wait. Don’t panic. Since then, my critical faculties have snapped back into commission. While inevitably doing well in the box office, the general consensus is that Iron Man 3 is a weak when compared to Avengers. And as I realized on reflection, the general consensus is right.

 

There are a number of problems. Plot holes. A lack of conflict, or real obstacles. Political correctness. Tony Stark is never actually the Rescuer, but the Rescued (thus, he’s not really the Hero). At one point there’s an interesting dilemma put to Iron Man, but, predictably enough, he doesn’t have to choose between the two options, because he can do both! No consequences, no risk—no risk, no drama—no drama, no interest—no interest, no satisfaction. It’s all too easy.



Gwyneth Paltrow as Pepper Potts; Guy Pearce as Aldrich Killian

All that you’ve doubtless read in other critiques. But at the same time, there are some things to be said for it.

Citizens and Matthew Perryman Jones

In the absence of a new post, I thought I'd share a few neat videos I've seen recently.

These two are about the coolest music vids I've seen. The first is by a band I just discovered - Citizens. They're the worship team for Mark Driscoll's Mars Hill Church. To be so simple, it's very dramatic.

This second is from one of my favorite albums of 2012, Matthew Perryman Jones's Land of the Living. Like most of the songs on the record, it's hard to say whether I've deciphered the meaning correctly or not, but with this one, I suspect my hunch is correct. Not to ruin it, but I hint that baptism and sin are major themes.

Enjoy,
Longish

Anglophilia and A Severe Mercy

 

“So surrender the hunger to say you must know,

Have the courage to say ‘I believe,’
For the power of paradox opens your eyes,
And blinds those who say they can see.”

-Michael Card “God’s Own Fool”

I’m part of a group of American Evangelicals that I think of as The Anglophiles. They often homeschool. For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved British stuff. I grew up on a steady diet of Agatha Christie’s Poirot, P.G. Wodehouse’s Jeeves and Wooster, and Joan Hickson as (the only) Miss Marple. Mr. Darcy was upheld as the ideal of all manhood.

My dad read me The Chronicles of Narnia, followed by The Hobbit, followed by that fiction above all other fiction, The Lord of the Rings. Charles Dickens, Terry Pratchett, and G.K. Chesterton number themselves among my favorite authors (lucky sods). I practice my Oxford English, Irish, Scottish, Cockney, and Geordie accents whenever I read aloud to my younger siblings. Just about the only thing I dislike is British music; I loathe the Beatles. But I eagerly devour British-inspired music.

When I started reading Sheldon “Van” Vanauken’s memoir A Severe Mercy, I was immediately swept into his familiar love. Like me, Van grew up immersed in British Lit., even though his childhood spanned the 1920s, and not the 2000s. He read Sherlock Holmes and Treasure Island – “As a child England had seemed much nearer than New York or the cowboy west.” When he finally went up to Oxford, he said it “was like coming home, coming to a home half-remembered – but home.” (EX-actly, I thought).

Van was one of the early Anglophiles, just like me. He was also an incorrigible romantic, a lover of beauty and goodness and all that is fair. He had the extraordinary luck to step into Oxford while the Inklings still lived. He and his wife, Davy, became good friends with C.S. Lewis, read Charles Williams, Dorothy L. Sayers, and G.K. Chesterton, and were converted to Christianity. They entertained dozens of deep thinkers at their little apartment in downtown Oxford.

The Weight of Glory - CD Review

When I saw a free CD on Noisetrade entitled The Weight of Glory, I knew exactly what that referenced. I’d never even heard of Heath McNease, but no questions asked, ten minutes later, I had his CD. Why? Each song is based on a different C.S. Lewis book.

C.S. Lewis is probably the most influential Christian scholar of the 20th Century. He’s widely embraced, even among Mormons, due to the fact that he tried to stay neutral on what Paul called “disputable matters.” Another reason for his popularity is his form of writing, which is very clear and concise. Lewis was an expert at explaining theology to laymen. He was the number two most-recognized-voice on the radio during the Blitz, right after Winston Churchill.

Besides being a great way to catch Christians’ attention, basing an album on Lewis is also a wonderful idea. In the way of sound, this album is all over the place, swinging from pop to folk rock to rap to a sort of smooth spacey sound. The Great Divorce is a master of catchiness—I still love it. A Grief Observed, after months of listening, still makes me cry. The Screwtape Letters is convicting and dark.

My brother, who never endorses a song, has actually admitted he likes the Problem of Pain, and I sometimes hear him whistling the chorus in the shower (for my brother, that’s a big deal). If you enjoy rap, there’s Mere Christianity. The Four Loves, examines the different phases of life—boyhood, college, adulthood—and connects them to the different loves in the book. Edmund examines the connection between the second Pevensie brother and Judas.

While the songs are at their best when the source material is familiar, it’s by no means necessary—they can stand on their own, and they do. It’s a very tall order to take on one of the best Irish writers ever, but Heath McNease has made a pretty darn good job of it. Overall, a very fun album—entirely worth the download.

Get it here. 

Longish

Brideshead Revisited Quotes

I really don't have time to review every book I read, but I couldn't resist sharing some of the tidbits I discovered...I also admit, that part of the reason I didn't want to review this was because I don't think I'm quite up to the task.

Brideshead Revisited:

Charles Rider's description of his worldview:

The view implicit in my education was that the basic narrative of Christianity had long been exposed as a myth, and that opinion was now divided as to whether its ethical teaching was of present value, a division in which the main weight went against it; religion was a hobby which some people professed and others did not; at the best it was slightly ornamental, at the worst it was the province of "complexes" and "inhibitions" - catchwords of the decade - and of the intolerance, hypocrisy, and sheer stupidity attributed it for centuries. No one had ever suggested to me that these quaint observances expressed a coherent philosophic system and intransigent historical claims; nor, had they done so, would I have been much interested.

Interesting that things have changed so little. I might mention that this phrase only occurs in older editions, it was replaced with a different perspective in the 1960 version.

The Lost Art of Lament - Boston, Texas, and Gosnell

The trench is dug within our hearts
And mothers, children, brothers, sisters
Torn apart
 

Sunday, Bloody Sunday

Sunday, Bloody Sunday

How long...

How long must we sing this song?

How long, how long... 

~U2, Sunday,Bloody Sunday

We all know what it feels like to be homesick. The many months in a foreign land, the unfamiliar sounds of a different country. After the hours on the road, you drag yourself indoors, ready for the weariness and discomfort to cease, ready to embrace that unconditional lover: the couch. 

But sometimes, there are problems that have no solution. Ever had a dream in your head? Perfect and untouched, the idea for a poem, or a book, or a piece of art? But when you take up the pen, the words cannot describe it. You know exactly what you’re talking about, but everything you try feels wrong, a futile attempt to describe a greater truth. You throw language at an object, but nothing captures the essence of it. The painting is just a scrawled crayon glimpse of an uncapturable vision. Sometimes, we feel a hunger that nothing satisfies.

Father Brown - Style and Sunny Skies, but No Substance

 



I’ve long been excited about the new Father Brown adaptation. I read several volumes of short stories featuring G.K. Chesterton’s clerical sleuth last summer, and enjoyed them immensely. In typical fashion, Chesterton used them to tote his own views, but included a fascinating howdunnit mystery, often hinging on paradox. The quirky, child-like character of Father Brown, the humorous philosophical discussions, the hilarious Chestertonian one-liners, and the gorgeous, vivid descriptions easily set the stories among the classic mysteries. (Fun fact: children’s author and Calvinist theologian N.D. Wilson, after a Father Brown binge, discovered a way that the Shroud of Turin might’ve been made, garnering the attention of many annoyed scientists and legalistic Christians).

The old series with Kenneth More was quite good, but suffered from being made in the 1970s. The writing, mostly lifted directly from Chesterton, was witty and well-delivered, and elevated it beyond most shows of its time. Plus, it didn’t give in to the same political correctness of most contemporary shows.
 

Lady Felicia, Mrs. McCarthy, Brown, Valentine, Suzie, Sid

Unfortunately, the new adaptation does. It starts off sticking to the original plot, but things quickly spin into embellishment. Father Brown (Mark Williams) has lost his air of whimsical befuddlement and dithering curiosity, and appears altogether too keen-minded (which, in the books, he only became during the final unveiling). He’s been turned into a much more wise, sagely, liberal Cadfael-esque figure. For one thing, Father Brown’s figure was always described as rather roly-poly. Williams is too tall to pull that off, but he does occasionally get in the childishness. Yet it's only very occasionally. Some joys are granted by the supporting cast: Sorcha Cusack is hilarious as the neighborhood busybody, and Hugo Speer makes a convincing and relatable Inspector Valentine, considering its never easy playing the Lestrade/Japp figure. Nancy Carroll's Lady Felicia is there for seemingly no reason. Kasia Koleczek as Susie, Father Brown’s Polish housekeeper, serves to advance the plot at times, but her boyfriend Sid (Alex Price) is truly interesting, being a some-time petty thief.