Liveblogging the Bible: Ephesians

The end of this undertaking is in sight, which means, if I approach it the way I usually do things, I will probably begin taking it seriously again.

1:3 I already like this book; Paul alerts us early that it's not about Christ at all, except tangentially.

1:4 Of course, if it treats this topic, namely predestination, it's bound for a sticky theological undertaking . . .

1:9 I can't help but think that Paul is using the royal "we" here, that when he says ". . . has made known to us" he is referring to his own personal revelations.

1:18 again, seemingly referring to a vision that he alone has witnessed, and hoping it for those he considers his brothers and sisters.

2:1 I'm feeling unaccountably moved by Paul's words here, by the tone of hope and charity that he is adopting. Really a contrast to some of his other letters.

2:5 a nice echo of 1:20, and a continuation of that as a metaphor

2:15 there is a definite pronoun blurring here, and I am a little reminiscent for the capitalization of "he" when it refers to God. That would clear up when Paul is talking about God, as opposed to Christ, although Paul himself seems to pass liquidly from one referent to the next. Does Paul really mean to say that Christ himself has broken down the walls, or that God has done it through Christ? If the former, it brings in an interesting question of agency.

3:3 Of course, there is little hope of the exact nature of this vision being made known. If it is at all as revelatory as Paul indicates, it is likely to be impossible to put into words. It occurs to me that John and Paul saw the same thing, but either John foolishly put it into words where Paul knew it could not be done, or John was able to put something into words that Paul couldn't quite grasp.

3:6 Or is it really just a simple truth that was revealed, as it was to Peter: that Gentiles and Jews are now one body in the eyes of God?

3:9 He certainly seems to indicate that there is more to it: a future plan, a mystery . . .

4:1 This is a much better framework for the works/faith question than we have seen elsewhere. The salvation of the Spirit is a done deal. Just try to be worthy of it.

4:16 If only Paul knew how disappointingly unable humans are of fulfilling his wish here, at least for any length of time.

4:25 Paul is hitting on what may the only universal truth here: that what is good for you is good for me, not because you are my brother, but because you are me.

4:30 and this ties nicely with what is said in 4:1. Rather than "do not sin", he tells them not to make the Holy Spirit sorry for its gift. . .

5:10 I love that he urges them to "try to find out what is pleasing in the Lord," rather than commanding them. He knows that sin is unavoidable.

5:21 before any mention of subjection to husbands, he instructs the Ephesians to be subject to one another. How is it possible for both people in a relationship to be the slave, and for both to be the master? That is the very definition of love.

5:22 which makes it difficult to reconcile this verse.

5:32 " great mystery" indeed, one that many spend a lifetime puzzling out.

5:33 He does seem to present a subtle double standard here. What is the difference between loving one as one's own body, as husbands are instructed to do, and respecting that person, as wives are directed?

6:2 not sure that what he says here holds water: Surely there are other commandments with promises, and compared to the weight Christ gave "love one another" et al.

6:4 although, reading further, this whole chapter just seems to one long "for example;"

6:13 What evil day? This is his first mention of it here, but he acts as if they will know what he is talking about.

6:13-17 I love this translation of a passage that was familiar to me in my youth. He makes it more clear here that he is speaking, not of a laundry list of qualities, but of focusing one's energy on what will make the Spirit proud.

6:22 Who are "we"? Paul in the royal here again, or is somebody with him?

Zadie Smith: White Teeth

My darling sister Bethy has a weakness for anything that speaks disparagingly of our former religion, and so naturally recommended this book. Sadly, I feel like what is (possibly) the chief reason for her recommendation is also one of the weaker points. The description of Irie's Witness upbringing captures the flavor of the thing, but is packed with inaccuracies that having a real former Witness read the manuscript would have made evident. One wonders if Smith didn't bother, or if capturing the gist was more important to her than the details. Further, one wonders if the descriptions of Bangladeshi or Jamaican expat culture suffer similarly from a lack of verisimilitude.

Nonetheless, the book was great. I recommend it in spite of the very reasons for which Bethy may have recommended it. All the things I look for in a book: indelible characters, recurring thematic elements that sneak up on you, an ending that simultaneously leaves the reader unsatisfied and makes perfect sense, believable dialogue, in short, the whole package. I really should read more of this sort of book, but one must read so many terrible ones before finding a good one . . .

Max Frisch: Andorra

Ugh, I hate message theater. Tom Lindblade, one of the better directors I know, would always ask before a musical number would begin something to the effect of "Why are you singing this? What is it about this that it can't be simply spoken?" The same sentiment applies to all theater in my mind. What is it about this that can't be conveyed in a novel or short story? Why must it be seen, performed, to be adequately conveyed? I don't feel like Andorra manages to justify its existence by this standard. There is nothing new, no compelling image, no line so striking that it simply must be read aloud. I'm sure the idea is a worthy one, that we are all victims of our identities, our labels, but I am not convinced that it would not be adequately--even better- served in a story or essay. In that form, it would probably be powerful, but as a play, all I can manage is an eyeroll.

AFI's 100 Films: Raging Bull

I suppose, in addition to the issue of whether a movie is great, there is another, equally significant question: Did I like it? With regard to Raging Bull, the answer to the former question is doubtlessly "yes," but to the former I give a guarded "not particularly . . ." The script is brilliant, almost Chekovian in the marvelous details it gives the actors to work with. I was not surprised to find out that Scorsese and DeNiro had reworked the script considerably themselves, and I attribute its greatness to them, more than to the credited writer, Mardik Martin. My favorite example is La Motta beating his championship belt with a hammer to remove the jewels . . . at first thought, it's just a tragic plot device, but from a character/actor's perspective it makes perfect sense. Such a epically proud man would never allow his belt to be seen on the open market.

The problem with Scorsese's direction is, as elsewhere, that it is so flawless, others could just as easily receive the credit for greatness that he no doubt was responsible for. The script is a perfect example, but De Niro's and Cathy Moriarty's performances are credits to Scorsese almost as much as to themselves. He certainly struck gold casting such unknowns, and that is the sort of thing that they don't give academy awards for. The same is true of his cinematography; one really doesn't notice it, partly because the clever things he does have become standard in modern movies--especially the slowdown of certain actions--but also because they seem so natural, and fit so seamlessly into the overall work. One exception is the choice of music, for which Scorses no doubt deserves the bulk of the credit. Cavelierra Rusticana is a perfect choice, both for its thematic and ironic aspects.

And then there is the matter of the acting, which is incredible. De Niro is brilliant, of course, and the parallel with Brando's in On the Waterfront is not lost on Scorsese, but De Niro is a known quality, so I was naturally far more taken with Cathy Moriarty. She had relatively little to say, but every look was filled with a meaning that, again, reminded me of Chekov. Under each "ok" lay the knowledge that she controlled this animal of a man, and saw right through him. Never was she a pathetic figure--even when being beaten. Not once did I feel sorry for her. Her face seemed to say, "whatever . . ." with each blow, a marvelous parallel to De Niro in the ring. I'm completely taken with her, but I wonder if the fact that so many of her subsequent movies were terrible is just another reminder that Scorsese is really responsible for all of it . . .

AFI's 100 films: Sunset Boulevard

It's been so long since I visited this thread of my blog--which ideally is about all media, and not just books--that I went back and read previous entries. In my discussion of On the Waterfront, I touched on what I think makes a nice framework for this sort of discussion, namely the question of what makes a film great. Waterfront certainly has great elements, especially Brando's performance, but also Kazan's direction. Nonetheless, I left that movie without the feeling that it was great--that there were great elements, but that the finished product did not live up to the adjective.

The same is not true of Sunset Boulevard. Like Waterfront, it featured an unmistakably great performance. Swanson was masterful, and her performance has become a metaphor as much as the character herself has. Unlike Waterfront, I didn't find anything extraordinary about Wilder's direction. So if not direction or acting, what other element is present in the one but not the other that results in, to me at least, a truly great movie?

Assuming that such relatively minor elements as costumes and sets have little to do with the matter, I think it safe to say that the key difference between the two movies is the script. Waterfront was successful in spite of it's maudlin, pandering script, thanks to the presence of other greatness. Sunset may well have succeeded on the strength of its acting, even if the script were not so good--but the script is brilliant, rightfully claiming the Academy Award that year. Wilder et al. tread the line between melodrama and touching believability deftly, which gives Swanson free reign to take her character as far as she can. If the script were less human, she would have had to walk that dangerous line herself. Such over-the-top moments as Norma's tango are cunningly offset by such real ones as Betty's nose job, and the whole thing deserves the honor of being read, as well as watched.

I suppose it's no surprise that, to such a vetted English major as I am, the script is the non plus ultra of a movie. The real test, if one were being scientific about it, would be to find a movie that a great script, but terrible direction and acting. Would such a movie have a chance at release even?