Showing posts with label resurrection. Show all posts
Showing posts with label resurrection. Show all posts

Wednesday, January 29, 2014

Les Revenants and the Christian Imagination

by Charity Erickson 

The French show Les Revenants (translated as “The Returned”) appeared on the Sundance Channel at the end of 2013 to much acclaim. It was billed as a more distinguished kind of zombie show, The Walking Dead for the discerning television viewer. Though, as many critics have since pointed out, this is a mischaracterization. A revenant is something wholly different from a zombie. A revenant is a reanimated corpse; one who retains the appearance, memory, and mind of a fully-human being who once was dead, and now is not. Revenant—it’s a beautiful word. (Just say it aloud: “revenant.” There is almost a sacred sound to it, don’t you think? Now say “zombie.” Doesn’t it sound terribly un-Christian?)

There is a quiet and awe-full beauty to The Returned that is perfectly expressed in the word “revenant,” and since my spell-check is recognizing the word, I shall keep using it. The eight-episode series follows the return of several long-deceased individuals to a village in the French countryside and the disturbing supernatural manifestations that begin to haunt the town following their appearance. What fascinates me about the show is how it borrows from Christian tradition, taking inspiration from the more strange details of the resurrection narrative. 

The revenants in The Returned recall Matthew 27:52-3’s nonchalant aside about dead folks appearing in Jerusalem; further, they display characteristics of Christ’s resurrected body, his appearance in some kind of alternative visage, unrecognizable to those who knew him best (John 20:15, Luke 24:16); they also (quite unlike zombies) manifest Christ’s ability to instantly transport himself through space (multiple examples in John 20, Luke 24). The show also makes explicit reference to apocalypse lore, which posits that at the “End Times” revenants will rise (as some Christians infer from Isaiah 26:19).

The bizarre details offered in scripture are tantalizing to the imagination: What is the nature of a resurrected body? On The Returned, the revenants are bound by their physicality in some ways, while in other ways, they transcend (or lack?) normal human functioning. They possess ravenous hunger, and yet, they are unsatisfied by food and unaffected by hard drink; they rarely sleep; some can teleport, yet they cannot manage to escape the general geographical location where they died; they display miraculous healing capabilities, yet their flesh begins to decompose. They all hope to return to the lives they were living before they died, yet they are told they must have some kind of supernatural mission—from God, even; why else and by what other power would they have been called out from their graves?

The Returned creates its own theology of the revenant, using the return of the dead as an opportunity to explore themes of grief and coping, how faith can provide solace in the midst of devastating loss, and how faith can make loss all the more wrenching; it considers memory and the body; and it looks at the nature of love, how it can be pure and beautiful while simultaneously being a kind of sickness, both magical connection and destructive codependence. Typically, such “prophetic imagination” is lacking in the Christian’s approach to the texts about revenants in scripture, and there is often a dearth of the deep meditation we find here on the themes at which they hint. We do not feel free to let our imaginations run wild, even when considering the bizarre, inexplicable passages of the Bible. We are so obsessed with figuring out what “really” happened that we miss the opportunity to seek out truth and beauty.

And I’m not talking about those who create stories about how the dinosaurs got on the ark or who try to explain the physics behind the sun standing still—to my mind, these are Christian science fictions if there ever were any—rather, I am referring to those of us who already reject staunch biblical literalism, who (as a friend recently mentioned to me) can get so caught up in parsing genres and contexts and syntax that we cease to regard scripture as a wild, living Word. If our search for the truth in scripture turns into merely an alternate form of artless literalism, we will miss out on the richness it has to offer. No matter what your view of how scripture is inspired, it can still be an inspiration, a means for unbinding the imagination. And I think that is a holy thing.

Not that we need to relinquish thoughtful study, or seek out ‘secret knowledge’ in the text. But viewing The Returned has reminded me of how intensely edifying it can be to take even our careful study of scripture and let our imaginations go feral with it, unfettered in the moment by the strictures of correct theologies, moralities or spiritual analogies. We might be surprised what comes out of the exercise.

The Returned is uninterested in being “Christian” (as my husband described it to someone at church, it is “stereotypically French” and could perhaps offend, shall we say, one’s more puritanical sensibilities) but as a meditation on resurrection, it still has much to offer the Christian mind. For those looking for renewal in their pursuit of the “prophetic imagination,” this show will give you much to think about, and is definitely worth seeking out.

Charity Erickson and her husband live and work together in the north woods of Minnesota. Check out her blog for more of her writing and follow her on Twitter @CharityJill.

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Thursday, June 6, 2013

Batman Should Have Died

The Dark Knight Rises, Bane, Batman, superheroes, Batman dies


by Ben Howard

Batman should have died.

I'm not kidding and I don't particularly care if I'm spoiling the ending. Batman should have died at the end of The Dark Knight Rises. It was the only appropriate way for the trilogy to end. Batman sacrificing himself and passing on his legacy to another. 

But of course that's not the way the movie ends. No, instead Batman finds the time in his busy schedule to do a thing to some stuff and dramatically fake his own death. 

Sentiment makes for lazy plot mechanics.

This has become a regular part of all superhero movies. In order to emotionally hook the audience there need to be real stakes, the audience has to believe that the hero is actually in danger. Of course, everyone intellectually knows that you can't kill the hero, so you endanger those close to him. It's why Uncle Ben has to die in Spiderman, why Batman's girlfriend has to die in the Dark Knight, or why Tony Stark's cave friend has to die in Iron Man.


But how much emotional capital does an audience really have invested in a character they've only known for half a movie? Not enough. So you have to kill off the star. You have to make it really hurt. You have to make it real.

So you kill Batman, or Sherlock Holmes, or Doctor Who. And then you figure out a way to bring them back to life.

It's a good story, but it's also cheating because real life doesn't come with a writer's room.

Friday Night Lights, movie, lose, high school, football, dramatic

My favorite stories are the ones that end in pain, that embrace it, not because it's beautiful, but because it's real. Friday Night Lights is my favorite sports movie almost entirely because at the end of the movie, they lose. You build up so much emotion waiting for the climactic moment, the redemptive moment and then...you fall just short.

Any Game of Thrones fan can speak to author George R.R. Martin's almost maniacal obsession with killing beloved characters. He's even gone so far as to say that the end of the story will be bittersweet.


It's not that I don't believe in happy endings, it's that I don't believe in endings at all. Real life does not fade to black after the ending, it does not have a lovely epilogue where Harry Potter takes his kids to school, nor does it pan back from a funeral to find the supposedly deceased watching from off in the distance. It just keeps going.

We are tempted to deal with pain indirectly or tangentially, pulling back on the throttle before we get too deep. We're tempted to tell only stories that have endings, and since we can't embrace a sad ending, we get stories that end happily ever after.


old woman, ash wednesday, church year, liturgyThat's one of the reasons I'm so drawn to the liturgical traditions of Christianity. The story is one that continually repeats. It goes through the tense darkness of Advent to the pinnacle of Christmas, it descends into the painful remembrance of mortality on Ash Wednesday, the ache of Good Friday and Holy Saturday and the exuberant joy of Easter. 

Yet, there are also plains between these peaks and valleys. Life is not an infinite binary of pleasure and pain. There is also the aptly-named Ordinary Time where things are, well, ordinary.

And this happens over and over and over again. There is no end, no beginning, just a continual roll of ups and downs, valleys and peaks and long ordinary plains.

Endings are overrated, but Batman still should have died.


Peace,
Ben

Ben Howard is an accidental iconoclast and generally curious individual living in Nashville, Tennessee. He is also the editor-in-chief of On Pop Theology and an avid fan of waving at strangers for no reason. You can follow him on Twitter @BenHoward87. 
 
You can follow On Pop Theology on Twitter @OnPopTheology or like us on Facebook at www.facebook.com/OnPopTheology.

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