1917

Roughly a century before 2019, when the film, 1917, was made, the Great War, or what would subsequently be renamed, World War I, was raging in Europe. Incredibly, soldiers had to live in dug-out trenches for years. It is no wonder that the war would bring the Spanish Flu to both Europe and America. In 2020, roughly a century after that flu, the coronavirus pandemic was occurring globally, yet without any war to have incubated that virus. By 2020, Europeans and Americans alike could not have imagined what life must have been like in the trenches. The film’s finest contribution, I submit, is in capturing that context, which in effect does a great deal of the story-telling. The film is thus a good illustration of the role that context can play in story-telling in an audio-visual medium such as film.

Sam Mendes, and his cinematographer, Roger Deakins, took advantage of new camera technology, by which I am cameras that are small enough to slither through a narrow trench filled with men and yet with a good picture-quality, and a mile-long trench dug under the supervision of the production engineer to tape shots as long as 5 or 6 minutes as the actors playing Blake and Schofield run through the trenches and then through an abandoned enemy line and on to find a unit in order to relay an order from a general to cancel a planned attack rather than fall into the German trap. The dramatic tension is made real not only because the context is so real—being shot on location—but also because the entire movie is one shot made up of a stitched series of long shots. No cuts within a dialogue to capture two faces. By 2020, that old technique had arguably become stale, and thus possibly disruptive of the suspension of disbelief (e.g., “Oh, that’s right, I’m watching a movie, rather than being fully engaged in the story-world.”).

Incredibly, the grip holding the camera runs ahead of the two protagonists as they (and the cameraman) must carefully navigate between the extras in the trenches, then at a juncture or fork the camera-shot shifts seamlessly to follow the two protagonist. The shifts from holding the camera to connecting it to crane are also seamless. From the perspective of the view, the entire film is one shot.

Although Mendes and Deakins both said after the filming that staying with the two protagonists without interruption through the film allowed the viewer to get to know them better, or more intimately, I contend that getting into the context was an even greater benefit. The film opens with a shot of a beautiful landscape, and as that shot goes on by means of the hand-held camera staying in front of the protagonists as they eventually go into a trench, their world incrementally envelops the view until not even the sky can be scene. Mendes emphasizes the subtle clues that the viewer gets along the way as to the relationship between the two soldiers—they had become friends in spite of coming from different backgrounds—but it is the context itself—the trenches—that really calls out to the viewer’s attention. This is especially so because the camera goes with the soldiers through about a mile of trenches. They way they are laid out, and what the extras are doing in the trenches primarily gives the viewer an authentic view of what life in the trenches was like and even the feeling of experiencing it, albeit as if on tour. For that is what the film really is—an engaging tour at close range and sustained by one continuous shot of 1917 as experienced by soldiers. To the extent that World War I was a war of contending trenches by trench-adapted creatures, then the film is a virtual experiential into 24 hours of that war at close range.  

Silence

I think perhaps the title of the film, Silence (2016) ought to have been “The last Priest” because the main character, Rodrigues, is the last remaining Roman Catholic priest in Japan. His inner struggle is the core of the narrative, and of the theological/ethical dilemma to be resolved. The movie is set in Japan in 1640-1641. A Buddhist inquisitor, Mokichi, is torturing and killing Christians, who must step on a stove carving of Jesus as proof of committing apostasy (i.e., renouncing their faith). Taking it as proof, Father Rodrigues torments over whether to apostasy in order to save the Japanese Christians whom Mokichi is having killed serially until the priest renounces his faith. I submit that the assumption of proof rests on dubious grounds, so Rodrigues is actually faced with a false dichotomy.

When Fathers Garupe and Rodrigues arrive in Japan, Mokichi is already torturing and killing priests as well as lay Christians. As a Buddhist priest, he is a hyprocrite, for Buddha’s main object was to end suffering. The Four Noble Truths and the Eightfold Path are geared to the cessation of suffering. To be sure, Mokichi assumes that the peaceful ends justify his hypocritical means, but the amount of the film devoted to the suffering tells the audience that Mokichi is fine with inflicting suffering on an ongoing basis. The Buddha would have hardly recognized his follower. Jesus’ line to Peter, “Get behind me, Satan!” would likely apply.

By the time Rodrigues is captured, the inquisitor has decided that his old strategy of killing priests had not worked. So the last priest in Japan is spared, though not of undergoing the agony of severe suffering. Mokichi tells Rodrigues that the suffering of the Japanese Christians will end only when the last priest puts a foot on the stone carving of Jesus. The Buddhist priest is misleading in telling the Catholic priest, “You are responsible for their suffering.”

I fault Rodrigues for uncritically believing that he is not only causing the deaths, but also would lose his faith by being disloyal to Jesus merely by stepping on a stone carving. Mokichi is responsible for the torture and deaths because he orders it. Furthermore, stepping on a stone that has a carving that looks vaguely like Jesus does not count as the renounciation of a faith, unless, perhaps, that stone is treated as an idol, which is apostacy. All of the Christians in the film erroneously treat the carved engraving as an idol because they assume that by touching it in a culturally-derogatorily way, their own faiths will somehow be lost. A person can step on a stone and still retain beliefs and values, especially if they are valued as intensely as Rodrigues does in the film.

Rodrigues places a very high value on imitating Christ, especially in regard to the Passion story in the New Testament. It is almost as if the young priest wants to die because then he would be imitating Jesus. In watching the film, I had the sense that Rodrigues is even prodding Mokichi to resort back to killing priests so the last priest would feel the satisfaction of following Christ, going even as far as assuming an identity with Jesus. While drinking at a stream, Rodrigues’s reflection, which are through the priest's point of view, goes quickly back and forth between a picture of Jesus’ face to his own. It is then that Rodrigues is captured. It is also from about that point that he looks like Jesus (i.e., long hair and a beard). 

The identity does not hold, even in how Rodrigues would want to die if murdered. Jesus chose to die to redeem humanity from its distance from the Father due to prior sins. Humanity would not be redeemed from Rodrigues voluntarily or involuntarily being a martyr. The assumed for identity would thus constitute self-idolatry.

Furthermore, Rodrigues seems to reduce following Christ to dying as he does in the New Testament. Baptizing, preaching, hearing confessions are other ways, as are valuing and practicing self-giving love (i.e., agape). This sort of love can be practiced by universal benevolence, or neighbor love, rather than only or even primarily in being willing to give up one’s life for one’s faith.

Rodrigues does not have to give up his life; the Buddhist priest tells him as much. I would add, however, that Rodrigues does not have to give up his faith by stepping on a stone. The faith is in his heart, not on his foot or in the stone. That is to say, the stone does not have to be, and should not be, treated as if it were an idol having a religious significance. Rodrigues need not go through his internal turmoil as Mokichi continues to torture and kill Christians until Rodrigues relents and steps on the stone. In fact, common sense as well as Jesus’ teaching and example in preempting the suffering of others (e.g., the prostitute) should easily occur to a priest or any disciple for that matter. Step on the stone and people won’t suffer and die—doesn’t seem like a difficult choice as long as the Christian values Jesus’ teachings and lived-out (rather than dying) example. It is not necessary that Christians suffer; it is not something that Jesus demands, for he willingly suffers to take away the taint of sin.

Therefore, in being all too willing to die for his faith, Rodrigues overstates his own value in that regard, and is too willing to end his life too early. This is a criticism that Nietzsche makes of Jesus, but in that case the question of Jesus’ young age at death is relevant in the extent to which Christ vicariously sacrifices himself on the Cross—a sufficient sacrifice being necessary to appease the Father, who is offended by sin. Nietzsche seems to deemphasize this vicarious satisfaction in favor of the good Jesus does while alive on Earth. Ironically, in putting such an emphasis in faith with identifying with Jesus in dying, Rodrigues misses the opportunity to pay more attention to what Jesus preaches and does in his ministry as a basis for faith. In other words, valuing and attempting to practice universal benevolence, including to one’s detractors and enemies, can be a solid basis—more so than a stone—of faith. Not even the last priest can save humanity from its sins by dying in imitation of Christ.     

First Reformed

First Reformed (2017) contains fundamental ideas concerning the human condition and wrestles with the relationship between religion and politics.  Ideas play a significant role in the film, hence it can be used in support of the thesis that film is a viable medium in which to make philosophical (and theological) ideas transparent and derive dramatic tension from clashing ideas. In this film, the ideas that clash concern the role of religion in the political issue of climate change—or is that issue primarily religious?

Early in the film, Rev. Ernst Toffer counsels a despairing environmentalist, Michael. After listening to Michael provide a litany of scientific reasons for despair on climate change as inevitably leading to the unlivability of the species, Toffer acknowledges that “if Man’s accomplishments have brought us to the place where life as we know it may cease to exist in the near future,” such despair is new. In fact, if “humankind can’t overcome its immediate interests to ensure survival, then you’re right; the logical response is despair.” Nonetheless, Toffer proffers that wisdom is holding two contradictory truths—hope and despair—simultaneously; the holding of these truths simultaneously in the mind is life itself. Blackness—the sense that one’s life has no meaning—is something else. As for that, the reverend states that forgiveness and grace apply to us all. This leads Michael to ask, “Can God forgive us for what we have done to this world?” Rev. Toffer replies, “Who can know the mind of God? But we can choose the righteous life over evil.” The religious response to the despair over climate change rendering our species extinct (or at the very least very uncomfortable) is at the individual level: to lead a righteous life.

Righteous is predominately used in the religious domain; in the moral domain, good is used. It would sound strange to say that the righteous person should get into a political debate over pollution with an executive of a coal company even though prophets in the Torah confront kings over their abuse of power. But if no one can know the mind of God, at least concerning whether God is in favor of climate change, then it would presumably be impious (i.e. highly arrogant) of a person to urge coal company executives to reduce carbon emissions because that’s what God wants. The implication here is that climate change is a political issue, and that religious discourse should not encroach on the other domain.

Yet Rev. Toffer, in meeting in a diner with his senior pastor, Rev. Joel Jefffers, and Balq, an executive with an energy company, turns to the polluter and asks, “Will God forgive us for what we’re doing to his creation?” Balq dismisses the question as “loose talk.” Shifting to the political issue, Toffer tells both men what Michael had said: that a scientific consensus of 97% of relevant scientists provides a very solid basis on which to take climate change, and thus pollution, very seriously. Michael had also told Toffer that in 2010, the IPCC predicted that if nothing is done by 2015, environmental collapse would be irreversible. Nothing was done, Michael said in despair, at least as of 2017. Just as Michael claimed, people—including Barq here—have not been listening. Even worse, I submit, is when people not educated in natural science presume nonetheless that they as individuals have a legitimate veto or override over the scientists. Perhaps just as Yahweh uses a flood to clean the slate on mankind, so too God may be using climate change to expunge such an arrogant species.

Balq is arrogant in dismissing the scientific consensus and any knowledge Toffer may have (e.g., from Michael) by retorting, “It’s a complicated subject.” Toller shakes his head no. It is actually not complicated; just look at who benefits. Who profits? Perhaps Toller is implying that Balq’s presumed superiority in understanding the impact of industry on climate change boils down to a desire to continue profiting? For Balq then shorts, “Can we just keep politics out!” Claiming the turf for religion, Rev. Toller counterclaims, “This isn’t politics—what God wants.” But then Toffer has just slipped into his own trap. “Oh, you know the mind of God?” Balq asks. “You spoke to Him personally? He told you His plans for Earth?”

Toffer himself does not believe that politics and religion are mutually exclusive on this issue, and thus by implication in general. Speaking later in his senior pastor’s office, Toffer says, “The whole world is a manifestation of God’s holy presence [omnipresent]. The Church can lead, but if we say nothing? The U.S. Congress still denies climate change.” Referring back to Balq, Toffer adds, “We know who spoke for big business, but who spoke for God.” At that point, Rev. Jeffers pivots his chair so his back faces Toffer and says, “Creation waits in eager expectation of liberation from bondage.” In other words, don’t anger our major donor by getting involved; rather, wait for God to deal both with the planet and the polluters, assuming of course that big business hasn’t been a tool being used by God to applying judgement on an arrogant, conflict-ridden species. “So we should pollute so God can restore?,” Toffer asks, exacerbated. “We should sin so God can forgive?” Jeffers suggests that exterminating us may be part of God’s plan, to which Toffer almost jumps out of his chair. For 40 days and 40 nights it rained; maybe this time God has had it with the species.

From a religious standpoint, therefore, we mere mortals cannot know which side of the political debate is consistent with God. We could be inadvertently thwarting God’s plan by inventing carbon-absorption technology, for example, or the inventive spark may come from God and thus be in line with God’s plan. On this issue at least, religion should step back from entering the political domain. To seek to dominate it would be even more presumptuous. 

What then can a religious person do within the religious domain in which God is both the constraint and the hope? The only clue given in the film comes in Toffer’s advice to Michael to live a righteous life. Righteousness is lived out in conformity with God, rather than in presuming to know God’s mind and act outwardly based on that knowledge. Yet righteousness also includes acting as God's stewards of his creation on Earth. This point was not explicit in the film. Our species role as stewards involves doing what God would do. In the case of climate change: either it a case of us failing to do our job or climate change is part of God's plan and therefore arresting the trend lies beyond our normal custodial work. We typically  view climate change as our species' fault and further assume that we have failed as stewards. So we assume a religious rationale for political or business activism to cut carbon emissions. A CEO, for example, may apply Christian stewardship to his or her role as an ethical leader. 

Alternatively, from assuming an abject failure of righteous stewardship, we can see why God may have a plan that excludes our species such that climate change takes on the mythic role of the flood. Kierkegaard would say that we are left with these alternatives, whereas Hegal would urge us to find a higher synthesis. Such a synthesis, which resolves the contradiction in a higher unity, must fall short of knowing the mind of God because the synthesis comes from a finite mind. Divine revelation is of course another story. Absent that, we are not able to divine the divine mind, hence we are not able to know whether climate change is God's will or due to our failure as stewards to tend God's creation on Earth. Wisdom, Rev. Toffer says, is holding two conflicting ideas (hope and despair) in mind simultaneously. Absent divine revelation, our finite minds may are left in this case with the tension in the contradiction of hope and despair as life itself. In regard to the matter of religion claiming the upper hand in other domains such as politics, a higher synthesis is, I submit, possible even absent revelation. 

I submit that encroachment itself is unethical, and dominance in someone else's garden is especially so. It is problematic, therefore, that the boundary between the religious and political domains remains fraught with difficulty, as this may invite incursions. At the very least, that border ought to be respected, at least on the religious side; the political domain is fueled by the desire for expanding power, it being the essence of politics.

Boy Erased

The film, Boy Erased (2018), is a drama that deals in a serious  way with the question of whether homosexuality is a choice, and thus whether conversion therapy is effective or an ideological ruse under the subterfuge of psychology and religion. Directed and adapted to the screen by Joel Edgerton, he could have dived deeper in writing the screenplay by making explicit the contending assumptions and ideas. Surprisingly, nowhere in the film do any of the biblically-oriented religionists quote the applicable verses in the Old Testament or in Paul's letters, or engage in a theological debate. The film could have gone further intellectually than the relatively superficial emphasis on the dramatic narrative.

The story centers around the post coming-out tension between Jared Eamons and his parents Nancy and Rev. Marshall Eamons. They are biblically-oriented, socially conservative Christians. That Marshall is the pastor of a church tells us just how important religion is to that family. Nancy and Marshall send Jared to a conversion-therapy day-program run by Victor Sykes. Jared is under pressure to lie in order to avoid having to move into one of the bunk houses on the church premises for a year. This is not, however, to say that Victor is an ordained clergyman; neither is he educated or even trained in therapy or even counseling, as Nancy finds out when she finally comes to remove Jared from the program. She tells her son that he will be coming home with her in spite of Marshall’s decision that the boy could no longer live in the house as long as he is gay. The assumption here is that a gay person could become heterosexual.

That Victor has no credentials either in religion or psychology is something that Nancy suspects after looking over Jared’s materials from the program (Jared and his mother stay at a hotel during the day-program). The lack of credentials as a clergy or in Christian counseling or therapy is not made much of in the film. The matter of clergyless congregations, such as Quaker unprogrammed Meetings, is thus not attended to. Specifically, the assumption typically under the rubric of the priesthood of the people dismisses or otherwise ignores the theological and ministerial knowledge (and practice) gained at divinity schools and seminaries. To be sure, clergy atop a church hierarchy can exploit their esoteric knowledge by ignoring that of the laity. Hence, some congregations have clergy whereas others do not.

I visited a Bahai place of worship a few times in 2019 because I had not studied that religion in my formal education. Believing that anyone can have access to the knowledge contained in the scriptures, the members of the Bahai religion eschew a clergy in principle and practice. I detected a real bias against people who have advanced knowledge. In fact, some of the members and even an associated non-member displayed an instinctual-like aversion to me after I had informed them of my academic credentials, including a ministry degree. In a discussion group, for instance, when I was introducing myself, the group leader (not a Bahai member, though a regular) interrupted me with the false claim that the group was representative of the Bahai faith. I suspect he was trying to discredit me, perhaps from a fervent belief in ideological egalitarianism which denies the value of expertise. 

I returned to the group a few more times, as I was able to learn quite a bit from the Bahai members about their religion. The same man was presiding. After I had just spoken, a woman asked me a specialized question directed to me (i.e., related to the expert knowledge I had just imparted). The group's leader interrupted me as I was beginning to answer the woman, aggressively insisting, "The question is for the group!" I saw in this response a stubborn refusal to recognize my expertise in religion. That he thought some non-scholars could answer the question just because they were laity demonstrated to me the cognitive-warping impact of ideology, including prejudice. I left the group immediately; I had seen enough. I understood why the religion refused to have clergy.

A week later, a Bahai member who had been at the group called me to try to convince me to come back to the group. Enforcing my scholar-identity, I said I would be glad to come back and give a talk or lead a discussion group. The member bristled, as if I were claiming too much for myself. This told me that he (and others) were disinclined to recognize me as a scholar (i.e., having expert knowledge) to such an extent that they had ignored my stated reason for being there and instead thought I was there because I was interesting in becoming a member. In actuality, the members who eschewed my credentials impiously presumed too much for themselves.

In the late 1960's, students at some universities in the United States held teach-ins because those students presumed that a professor was not necessary for knowledge to be learned. I have run into (usually young) people who declared to me that they are self-educated, as if this were equivalent to a college education. Even students getting a doctorate entirely online (one of whom didn't know what a thesis statement is!) tend to believe that they are getting a doctorate without even having to go to seminars. 

A similar issue concerns nurse practitioners who are becoming interchangeable with physicians at some medical clinics. Such nurses who specialize in psychiatry represent themselves as psychiatrists, while counselors over-reach onto doing therapy with impunity. Although saving costs has no doubt been driving this trend, I have been stunned to hear more than one nurse tell me that the training of a nurse practioner is the same as a physician’s own. Once I made a check-up appointment with a physician only to find myself with the nurse-practitioner, who of course insisted that she had had the same training. In general terms, dismissing credentials--typically those that the person does not have--can be viewed as the democratization of a vocation. This is, I submit, a case of decadence particularly severe in American society. 

In the film, that Victor gets away with having no credentials in either religion or psychology is stunning; this implies that he arrogantly assumes that he does not need the requisite education and training. Furthermore, it shows how much an ideology can stretch religion beyond its domain, such that therapy can legitimately be done without education and training in psychology. A disrespect of the encroached-upon domains goes with the over-reach. This could have been made explicit in the film.

Although Nancy objects to Victor's lack of credentials, she does not call him out on having encroached on another domain. "Being a biblical Christian does not enable you to do therapy," she could have said as she is shouting at him in the parking lot (and she is not the first to do so). Viewers could have received the idea that religion may have the proclivity to encroach excessively onto other domains, even without the need to undergo entrance exams at the borders.

Fortunately, the viewers do get to learn about and even assess the therapy program from seeing it from the perspective of the boys and girls in it. To be sure, more could be grasped with access to Victor and his staff away from the kids! Why does the staffer become so aggressive toward Jared when he grabs his phone in the office? Does Victor and his staff realize on some level that they are mistreating the kids, as when Victor invites one boy's family to spank the boy with a bible to rid him of the demon? That boy goes on to commit suicide. 

Nevertheless, some viewers may pick up on the fallacious logic that claims that because a person is not born a physician, it must therefore be a choice to become one. That is, Victor conflates vocations with instinctual urges. A participant objecting would mean that more viewers would grasp the fallaciousness of the argument. Also, as Victor accuses Jared of lying about having stayed over at a friend’s house without doing more than holding hands in bed, Jared could be made to say something like, “Hey, you didn’t believe me when I told you I’m not angry at my dad, and now you want me to lie about what I’ve done. I bet you’ve never studied psychology! You’re a fraud!” If saying this is unrealistic because Jared fears being sent to one of the facility's bunk houses for a year, the lines could come from another boy. 

In short, I’m suggesting that film is better as a medium when it is written like a music composition of more than a few levels that the mere dramatic can provide. In terms of homosexuality, more of a theological basis could have been in the script. Is being gay a sin? Is it caused by a demon inside the gay person? What is the religious basis for the claim that homosexuality is a choice? Quoting the relevant Old Testament passages as well as Paul would have brought this perspective out at a deeper level than is in the film and helped to distinguish this basis from a basis in psychology. This does not mean that the latter has necessarily viewed homosexuality in positive terms. The APA considered homosexuality to be a mental illness until 1973. Interestingly, Victor pushes the religious (demon) explanation rather than the mental-illness angle even though he is claiming to do therapy. 

The relationship between religion and psychology is difficult to discern, in large part because of how different the two underlying paradigms are. Pointing to a demon as a cause is much different than pointing to a medical cause. Relating the two seems almost impossible, yet this was not always the case. The ancient Hebrews, for instance, regarded the medically ill as sinful. Sin involves the absence of God. To Aquinas and Leibniz, this meant something less than from full being. It makes no sense to say that a person with a mental illness has a deficiency of being. Whether mental illness results in an absence of, rather than relationship with God is a difficult question. In his text, People of the Lie, M. Scott Peck theorizes that malignant narcissism is actually a defense mechanism surrounding a sense of emptiness inside. Such emptiness might resonate with a feeling of being apart from God. Does evil lie in the felt-emptiness inside or in the narcissistic attitude and conduct? Felt-emptiness inside is not necessarily the same thing of the lack of being that Aquinas and Leibniz associated with sin. Relating two very different paradigms, including basic assumptions and tenets, is fraught with difficulty even if the two overlap a bit. 

Unfortunately, the film does not go much into theology, including on whether homosexuality should be taken as a sin (and as distinct to a mental illness). Instead, homosexuality is likened to, or categorized with) alcoholism, violence in the home, and mental illnesses. Looking at the Biblical text itself, homosexuality is a sin. However, some Christians argue that the biblical claim is culturally and time-specific, meaning that the view of homosexuality in Israel millentia ago is reflected in the text. But does it even make sense to invalidate something that is part of Scripture? I submit that good arguments exist on both sides. Unfortunately, the film does not make this tension explicit. When Jared's father has two other ministers come over to discuss Jared, a discussion involving Nancy could have delved into the theological level. Nancy's first misgivings would be evident so her confrontation with Victor in the church parking-lot would be more believable.

The film does best with the dramatic levels centered on Jared’s inner struggles and that which exists between him and his father. The ending of the film is on those two trying to reconcile; that Jared would remain gay is almost treated as an aside. Nancy’s turnabout in coming to the aid of her son after he calls for her to pick him up is also salient toward the end of the film, but another opportunity to go deeper is missed because she does not tell Jared (and the viewer) what she found so objectionable about the therapy. Was it just Victor’s lack of credentials, or the basic assumption of gays being able to rid themselves of the instinctual urges?

The medium of film, even with its confining duration of a few hours, can go beyond the emotional levels of the dramatic or comedic to evince ideational tensions and even the underlying assumptions tussling for supremacy. Just as an antagonist tries to conquer a protagonist, ideas and principles, whether philosophical or theological, jest with each other. In fact, Nietzsche claims that an instinctual urge is the content of an idea. Ideas tussle for supremacy in the unconscious; the idea that comes to the conscious surface is the most powerful. Film can reflect this multi-level structure even to the point of including less powerful ideas that the viewers are not aware of, yet are influenced by. This should not be used, however, to shirk the ideational level of a film, especially when the story contains a salient controversial theme or aspect.  

The Second Best Exotic Marigold Hotel

Sequel to The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel (2011), The Second Best Exotic Marigold Hotel (2015) centers most of the dramatic tension on the hotel’s manager, Sonny Kapoor. In the first film, the tension is more evened out among the hotel customers and Sonny’s bid to make the run-down hotel a viable operation. The hurdles faced by the retirees in the first film are more gritty, or realistic, than are the challenges in the sequel. Indeed, the second film can come across to the viewer as excessively glitzy, especially at the end when the customers, Sonny, and his family and friends are on a dance floor positioned as if performing for an audience sitting out in front. It is unlikely, for instance, that Sonny could dance so well, particularly as he delayed practice to the disappointment of his fiancé, Sunaina. That film becomes a performance, and this can stretch a viewer’s suspension of disbelief because the screenwriter of both films, Ol Parker, stretches the characters too far beyond themselves. That they, along with Sunny and his wife and their families and friends go into a performance mode can remind the viewer that he or she is watching a performance—that the movie itself is a performance. So much for the suspension of disbelief, a psychological wonder that allows the human mind to forget that it is watching a movie and thus be able to “enter” the story-world.

The problems faced by the hotel customers in the first film included locating a lover of long ago without any remaining prospects of a life together (Graham Dashwood), getting a job (Evelyn Greenslade), being in a bad marriage (Douglas and Jean Ainslie), getting a hip replacement (Muriel Donnelly), and staving off boredom (Norman Cousins). Sonny Kapoor struggles with making the rundown hotel work. These “ordinary life” problems contrast with most (but not all) of the problems that the characters face in the sequel.

The second film centers on Sonny’s quest to engage an American corporate partner to put up funds to buy a second hotel (even as Sonny’s real engagement with Sunaina suffers). In fact, the film begins with Sonny, accompanied by Muriel Donnelly, in southern California to visit a prospective partner in a sleek corporate office. It is as if Sonny had made the first hotel into a smooth-functioning operation. Guy Chambers, a hotel inspector played by Richard Gere, squashes any such illusion fancied by Sonny. In fact, adding Gere, who often played smooth romantic leads, makes the film too star-studded, or glitzy rather than realistic. Gere looks utterly out of place at the hotel; that Sonny treats him like royalty does not help matters. At any rate, Sonny secures Guy’s support not just for another rundown hotel, but, rather, for the highbrow Viceroy’s Club. The purchase is completed incredibly fast, such that it is done in time for Sonny’s and Sunaina’s wedding reception—nevermind that the engagement had been rocky, especially as Sonny turned his attention to pleasing Guy so to gain his financial recommendation so the corporation would agree to become partners. Also at the glittery (and staged) reception, Evelyn’s hesitancy in dating Douglas evaporates as he delivers a (staged) speech. The problem with Douglas’ divorce is apparently solved. Norman Cousins and Carol Parr talk about Carol’s having cheated on Norman, so they are fine. Any hint of ordinary is gone as the customers (except for Muriel, whose sadness in facing death is the outlier) join pretty-boy Guy and the united families (and friends) of Sonny and Sunaina are suddenly performing a dance number positioned as if they were on a theater stage.

Because the dramatic tension in the first film is based on hardship, the tensions in the second film involving the same characters may not feel real in the sense of being contained within suspended disbelief. Graham Dashwood’s arduous attempts to get information from local government bureaucrats and the man struggling with his ailing heart as he plays cricket with some local boys are far indeed from the Sonny’s over-the-top efforts to please Guy Chambers. Given Sonny’s immaturity, it is astonishing that he is right that Guy is a hotel inspector (though Sonny does not realize that the ill-treated hotel customer, Jodi, is also a hotel inspector).

In short, the sequel loses touch with its basis, the characters and their worlds in the first movie. This is particularly odd because Ol Parker wrote both screenplays! I submit that the sequel may even be a different genre than the first. The sequel ends as if it were Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again (2018), another sequel about a small hotel. With singing in nearly every scene, the performances are not an over-stretch. The movie is not meant to be realistic. 

Fortunately, Mamma Mia! (2008), the film that that sequel follows, has the same format, so that the sequel is not realistic is not a problem. In fact, this demonstrates that the screenwriter of the sequel, who happens to be Ol Parker (the same screenwriter of the Marigold Hotel movies), was capable of carrying forward a story without stretching it too far. In fact, Parker did not write Mamma Mia! So his faithfulness to that movie in writing the sequel is all the more impressive, and this leaves the question of his lack of fidelity in writing The Second Best Exotic Hotel even more perplexing because he knew how to extend a story without stretching it too far.

By the way, both sequels have what may be Parker’s signature point: pure happiness without some sadness is not possible in life, so a film that is too saccharine can buck the suspension of disbelief. In Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again, some sadness is present because Donna has died and she is missed. The film even includes Donna’s ghost, as if to drive home the point that even the happiness of a wedding contains some sadness. In The Second Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, Muriel Donnally knows she will die soon; this can be inferred from her reaction coming out of the examination room at a clinic. Maggie Smith marvelously underplays Donnally’s reaction, which actually adds to its significance. In acting, sometimes less is more. Donnally returns to her room during the wedding reception, presumably for medical reasons and also to write Sonny a letter because she is leaving early the next morning to return home to Britain presumably because she knows she is dying. Again, Parker inserts sadness in a wedding scenario. I contend that this is no accident; he is making a statement. Unfortunately, the performance mode at the wedding reception can undercut the suspension of disbelief concerning Donnally’s dramatic plight. If the other hotel customers are really performers, then so too is Maggie Smith.

In conclusion, screenwriting a sequel best includes both a lot of study of the original firm and the willingness be constrained so as to retain a mooring. Of course, a screenwriter and director may prefer to have a free hand in putting together a sequel, but the cost may be glitches in the suspension of disbelief, by which a viewer becomes engrossed in a story-world rather than being conscious of watching a movie. 

Downton Abbey

Taking a story from a television series to a movie can present hurdles for screenwriters and directors, especially if they do not fully appreciate the qualitative differences between a movie and a television series. To be sure, well-crafted series such as Downton Abbey, The Crown, Game of Thrones, and House of Cards had narrowed the difference in terms of quality. Even so, a narrative limited to around two hours of play time is different than a narrative meant to be on-going. The financial resources are also more concentrated in the making of a film than an ongoing series (even if it ends after five or six years). I submit, therefore, that Julian Fellowes, the producer and screenwriter of both the Downton series and movie, erred in hiring a director of the series, Michael Engler, to direct the movie. Just because he had directed (just) four episodes of the series does not mean that he knew how to direct a movie. A seasoned movie director would have been a better choice.

That Fellowes did not replace a television director with a movie director is especially glaring given the salience of replacing a less-experienced or "lower" person (or entire staff!) with a more seasoned or "higher" one in the film's narrative. Robert Crawley, the Earl of Grantham, replaces Thomas Barrow, who just a year or so earlier had been promoted butler, with Mr. Carson, the retired seasoned butler, during the royal visit. Moreover, the palace replaces Downton servants with royal servants for the visit. Both moves make sense. 

Firstly, a house’s own cook (or aristocrat) could poison the king. Because one assassination attempt is highlighted in the movie, I’m not sure why Fellowes did not write the rationale into the script. Given that he did not, I’m not sure why he (and the director) did not give Mrs. Patmore, the Downton cook, more of a fit as she confronts a royal cook taking over the Downton kitchen.

Secondly, as the Downton staff is star-struck by the presence of the king and queen, and mistakes or gaffes are more likely if nerves are fraught. Mr. Molesley, for instance, is so nervous that he loses control of himself while serving the dinner table. The close proximity of the king and queen makes that situation so different from the usual that Molesley blurts out a secret and, when he realizes this, he curtsies to the royal couple.

Replacements, therefore, are salient in the film. Why, then, didn’t Julian Fellowes replace a television-series director (of Sex in the City, Six Feet Under, and 30 Rock) with a director having experience directing movies? Fellowes may have been impressed with Engler’s direction of four episodes of Downton Abbey, but being a good television director does not translate into being a seasoned movie director. To the extent that television is common and the movie genre as aristocratic (e.g., The Academy of Motion Pictures and its gold Oscar awards), Fellowes failed to grasp the upside in his replacement-motif in his screenplay. 

Julian Fellowes had written and acted in several films and television series. In fact, he received an Oscar for screenwriting on Gosford Park (2005). As he was no doubt knowledgeable in how writing for a series differs from screenwriting, I was surprised to find the dialogue pattern less extended in the film. As noted above, Mrs. Patmore’s rants are notably missing, especially with her kitchen being taken over by a foreigner. So too is Thomas Barrow’s scheming, which could be expected to make a brief return to protest the Earl of Grantham bringing back Mr. Carson as butler during the visit (only for Mr. Wilson of the palace to replace him!). Even given Carson’s penchant for hierarchy, it is too easy for Wilson—also a servant!—to take Carson down.

Gone too is the sibling rivalry between Lady Edith and Lady Mary—perhaps though because Mary respects her younger sister now that she is of a higher aristocratic rank. Character development and changed relationships since the series left off are good for the overall narrative, including that of the movie. This does not apply, however, to the truncated exchanges between the Dowager Countess (Violet Crowley) and Isobel Merton (mother of Lady Mary’s first husband). Indeed, the platitudes coming out of Violet’s mouth were fewer, less good, and even stilted. One platitude was even about saying platitudes! Had the two reached a meta-level?  I expected better platitudes in the movie than in the series. Moreover, Violet’s vitriol toward her cousin, who is refusing to make the Earl of Grantham her heir, seems muted. Maggie Smith could have shined. Also, Fellowes could have had the Earl of Grantham overhear his mother, the Dowager Countess, telling Lady Mary of the bad medical news, especially given that Violet tells her granddaughter that the fate of Downton Abbey is in her hands, rather than those of her father, Violet’s son, who presumably has done a lackluster job. A similar scenario wherein Robert is astonished at his mother is in the television series at several points.

In the movie, Robert Crowley, the earl, as well as his wife Cora have noticeably few lines and nothing dramatic. A good example is the truncated exchange in which Robert admits he is excited about the royal visit even if saying as much sounds common. His wife Cora, an American, replies that he can get away with making such a common statement to an American. None of the tension between Robert and Cora regarding her being an American exists, unlike in the series and yet nothing accounts for any resolution having occurred. The dialogue between the two is so short it comes off as stilted. You say something, then it’s my turn, rather than a conversation.

In short, the movie comes across as less well made than the series. Fellowes’ decision to use a television director and perhaps not enough work on the script itself were, I submit, problematic especially given that a movie rather than a television series was being made. It is as if someone took the air out of sails in the making of the movie. I expected better writing, especially given that Julian Fellowes had received an Oscar for screenwriting. I have sung in several choirs. I’ve been amazed at how different the actual concerts are from even the dress rehearsals, which are often better. The conductor, singers, and crew are typically so nervous during the concerts that everything seems rushed, and thus must impact the quality of the singing. I know I’ve taken fewer risks during concerts, and my air-flow is more restricted. I don’t “belt it out,” and am consequently less satisfied after a concert. The Downton crew, including the producer, director, screenwriter, and actors, must surely have been excited to make Downton into a movie, even though the screenwriter and many of the actors had worked in movies rather than merely television. In this case, the movie-making was compromised even relative to the television series.

The Challenger Disaster

Roger Boisjoly was a booster rocket engineer at a NASA contractor, Morton Thiokol. Boisjoly blew the whistle both within the company and to NASA regarding the danger of the rubber in the o-rings, which seal the connections in the shuttle’s rockets, being insufficiently elastic in cold weather. Although The Challenger Disaster (2019) is not a documentary, the film’s narrative, which centers on Roger, or "Adam," is oriented to understanding why the Challenger space shuttle exploded after being launched on January 28, 1986. In other words, although some names are different and the conversations are not verbatim in the film, the factors that contributed to the actual explosion are presented. In fact, the film leans too much on technical details before the disaster and legal arguments afterwards without adequate entertaining elements to make the film enjoyable. However, the film's political function in informing a mass market of why part of the government-business system was broken is valuable. In fact, this mission demonstrates that the medium of motion pictures is capable of aiding in social, political, economic, and religious awareness and education, and thus development.

Although some individuals can rightly be blamed for the explosion, the problem extended to the relationship that NASA had with its contractors, the encroachment, based solely on power, of management both at NASA and Mortan Thiokol, over experts (i.e., the engineers) on a technical problem requiring expertise, and the internal culture at Mortan Thiokol. In general terms, the problem extended to business-government relations, managerial presumption, and the expedient profit motive in business. 

On the individual level, immaturity played a substantial role in the disaster. Throughout most of the film, Adam, the outspoken advocate of delaying the launch, is yelling either at his superiors at Mortan Thiokol or at the launch engineer at NASA. Adam’s harsh demeanor, a lawyer points out, partly explains why Adam’s warnings did not have sufficient traction especially within the company. In spite of being right about the explosion, Adam has very little credibility inside the company because of his immaturity. In other words, he does not play well with the other children and this impedes his technical credibility. Human nature being what it is, it is susceptible to the fallacy that immaturity undercuts technical expertise. To be sure, Adam was not the only problem-child at the company. Its in-house inspector, Frank, perpetually shouts at Adam from the time he warns that the shuttle could explode. At one point, Frank even lunges violently at Adam. Similarly, NASA's flight engineer's harsh tone and shouting on the conference call with Mortan Thiokol exacerbated the problem. Why so much anger? It clearly impedes a solution whereby nine astronauts would not have died. 

All the shouting also makes the film difficult to endure. The bland office settings also do nothing to make the film enticing to watch. Almost all of the scenes are set in drab offices and a conference room in which grey is the basic color. To the extent that the arguments over technical details, which dominate the film, and legal arguments are boring, they are not adequately countered by entertaining devices. For example, scant attention is given to Adam's family life, other than to show him strangely well-adapted as a family man. His pathology apparently only shows up at work. His wife is a cut-board figure of an adoring wife, which is also strange. In short, the film’s value to American society in explaining to a mass audience what went wrong both at NASA and it having private-sector contractors could have been greater were the film more entertaining. 

This is not to say that the extent of arguing, like that of the technical details and even the drabness do not contribute to the film's ability to explain why the disaster occurred. The incessant arguments give the audience a good dose of the role of pathology in the disaster. Also, the extent of technical details, even repeated throughout the film, help the audience to understand why the o-rings failed. Even the drabness of the offices give the viewers a sense of the company's finances, which in turn play a major role in why the company's managers overrule the engineers on economic grounds (over technical objections). 

As for the technical explanation of the disaster, the expected temperature on the Cape at launch the next morning was 30 degrees F. The shuttle’s o-rings, which the contractor put into the rockets to seal connection points, were made out of rubber, which is less elastic, and thus effective, as the temperature decreases. The company’s data, however, only went down to 53 degrees, the previous lowest temperature on a launch. Also, the lower the temperature, the more exhaust passes by the o-rings, causing erosion. This is enough for Adam, who repeatedly says, “It’s too cold to launch!” He put his findings in a memo, but not even the company’s inspection person, Frank, bothered to read it. “The shuttle is made up of millions of parts,” Frank shouts at Adam, adding “The o-ring is just one of them.”  Adam shouts back, “Cold rubber doesn’t work well!” Notably, Frank does not spend as much time reminding Adam that the company needs the contract as reminding Adam and the others that they need their jobs. So much for loyalty to the company; what really counts is the employees’ personal affairs.

Frank takes the matter to his boss, Kurt. He wants a launch-delay because time is needed to get boats out to retrieve the rockets when they fall into the ocean. Adam argues that the company’s recommendation to NASA should turn on an engineering reason rather than a company-specific economic one. In essentially dismissing the consensus of the engineers regarding the technical problems, Kurt, a manager, disagrees. “We might lose our rockets. Besides, the DOD pays NASA’s bills. If they don’t get what they paid for, DOD and NASA might replace us. It is an economic problem.” Relative to this problem, a higher manager will later say before giving NASA the go-ahead on the launch, the safety of the astronauts “is not our concern” even though the astronauts have been relying on NASA and the contractors.

In the film, the company’s organizational culture is highly dysfunctional. The company’s upper management is focused only on keeping its contract with NASA even though the result is far worse for the company. The management has allowed the company to become too financially dependent on NASA. As a result, the upper management lied to NASA, telling the flight engineer that the company would be fine with the launch as set. Faced with an enquiry by the presidential commission on the disaster, the company’s management claims that Adam was a malcontent employee wanting to cause trouble. The extent of lying is itself a red flag concerning the lack of business ethics in the company’s management.

The relationship between NASA and the contract is also a contributing cause of the disaster. This is evident from the conference call that includes NASA and the contractor the day before the launch. NASA’s flight engineer, who is openly hostile toward the contractor from the start, begins by pointing out that the contractor (Frank in particular) is at fault for having taking the temperature problem off the reports submitted to NASA.  The company is so dependent on its rocket contract with NASA that the employee tasked with keeping NASA informed has removed a potentially dangerous problem from NASA’s radar screen.

The lack of communication is compounded by the adversarial relationship. On the call, for instance, Adam and the flight engineer at NASA reach the point of shouting at each other. The engineer orders Adam to “quantify.” Adam replies, ”I can’t.” In public policy as in business, not everything can be given a number. Sometimes when one is given, it brings with it false accuracy. With data only going down to 53 degrees, Adam cannot put a number on the percentage risk. Furthermore, how high of a percentage risk that the o-rings will fail on launch at 30 degrees could the flight engineer accept? The flight engineer wants a number to protect himself. Just as the managers at the contractor don’t want to lose their jobs, neither does the flight engineer. Meanwhile, no one is looking out for the human beings who will blast off the next day.

 NASA cannot go against the contractor’s recommendation to stop the launch. The flight engineer knows this, so he puts pressure on the contractor’s managers, who capitulate because the company cannot lose the contract. In bending NASA’s policy by pushing for a reversal from the contractor—and by the company’s management overruling the engineers on an engineering problem—the flight engineer is reckless (even as he tries to protect himself by demanding quantification).

In response, the contractor’s managers huddle. “NASA might find another contractor if we recommend delaying launch,” one manager says. “NASA might lay off people.  15,000 jobs here are on the line; we need this contract.” The manager then says to the entire group, “We need to make a management decision.” One of the engineers then shouts, “We cannot guarantee a good seal!” The manager appeals to the personal financial interests of all the engineers in the room.  “Don’t you have a mortgage? Don’t you want your jobs?” Adam chimes in, “There are nine astronauts; their lives are in our hands. The manager coldly replies, “they know the risks; that’s not our concern.” This brings Adam to a rage, “How dare you play with human lives like that. . . . You won’t give these poor souls a chance so we can make a buck or two. . . . This is not a management decision.”  That manager ignores this point and tells NASA it’s a go.

The philosopher Kant’s ethical theory can be formulated in terms of treating other rational beings not just as means, but also as ends in themselves. The contractor’s managers treat the astronauts unethically because they are just a means to the company getting paid for its rockets. NASA’s flight engineer does the same thing.  NASA has already delayed the launch, and avoiding the embarrassment of delaying again, even by hours, is motivating the flight engineer at the expense of the astronauts. Both NASA and the contractor’s management have lost perspective with selfish, skewed priorities.