Livin' On a Prayer

A review of Religulous.

Bill Maher’s Religulous, directed by Larry Charles (Borat, Curb Your Enthusiasm), is smart, incisive and engaging. To be familiar with Bill Maher and his brand of intelligent, biting, envelope-pushing humor is to similarly be aware of his utter disdain for organized religion of any kind. At least that is the persona he chooses to present to the public. Notably, however, when one watches his big screen endeavor intended to deflate and challenge the premise and plausibility of organized religion, Religulous, it becomes apparent that Mr. Maher is not devoid of faith, but rather seems to be suffering an ongoing crisis of faith precipitated during his teenage years by his parents’ departure from the church (he was raised Catholic though his mother was Jewish) so that they could utilize birth control. That seems to me to explain a great deal, not only about the genesis of Mr. Maher’s search for logic in religion, but also with regard to his highly sexualized public persona. Instead of making a film to demonstrate that religion is silly, Religulous seems to chronicle a quest for proof that there might be some form of organized religion that isn’t a farce (by Mr. Maher’s demanding standards).

The prospect that such a religion might actually exist seems to terrify Mr. Maher on some level, since accepting such a notion would require him to rethink and reset who he is, publicly and privately. Thus, as so many of us do, he uses humor as a defense mechanism and goes for the broad and “easy” jokes to ensure that he entertains his audience while also demonstrating his intellectual superiority. To achieve this, among the majority of the people that he spoke to for his film, Mr. Maher clearly selected those who represent the most extreme views of their particular religion. While seeing him provoke these various characters in interviews might seem to make for better drama and ostensibly be more interesting, in reality, it’s a copout. Sure, we all get a good laugh at how ridiculous these people seem and at Mr. Maher’s mostly clever snark, but the greater challenge would have been for him to speak with more relatable people and draw their views out, then find the humor in the spaces between, because it’s certainly there to be found.

The moments when Mr. Maher chose the easy, obvious and occasionally offensive insults were disappointing precisely because he is so intelligent and capable of more. It is this expectation of a higher level of humor and discourse that brought me to the theater to get more than my weekly dose from Real Time instead of, say, finding satisfaction with Dane Cook’s Tourgasm. That being said, a great deal of Mr. Maher’s conversations were fascinating. For example, when he did speak with a more moderate figure, a prominent American scientist who bucks the trend in the scientific community and sincerely embraces a Christian faith, the conversation was both illuminating and entertaining. Mr. Maher sought to elicit an explanation of the inexplicable from one who lives his professional life according to the scientific method.

Mr. Maher similarly seeks an explanation for how the United States’ identity has become so wrapped up in religious fervor. He compares Americans to those of similar faith abroad, trying to understand how it is that Americans have gotten so carried away in their expression of faith. A particularly clever and illuminating segment of this exploration involved an examination of the origin of what some claim is “this Christian nation.” Mr. Maher thoroughly debunks that notion by tracing the history of the birth of the United States and presenting numerous quotes from various Founding Fathers that directly contradict those who would claim the U.S. to be “this Christian nation.”

It is these moments, when he makes the political personal, that Mr. Maher is most effective. The conversation that he has with his mother and sister, tracing the origin of his own faith and crisis of faith is both witty and touching and frames the film’s narrative well. But the relatively small glimpse we get of this conversation left me wanting more. Similarly, Mr. Maher bookends the film with his attendance of a truckstop church service and his discussion with the truckers in attendance after the service. Though he ultimately shakes his head in amusement at their embracing of a faith they cannot explain, it actually seems as though, more than anyone else, this group challenged Mr. Maher in his cynicism and made him think. That is ultimately what Religulous seeks to do it and it is a goal well-achieved. I recommend the film to anyone intrigued by a mostly-intelligent discourse on religion, although be forewarned if going to see it in the theater: not only does Mr. Maher have a big head when it comes to his estimation of himself, but physically as well -- the close-ups of his head/face/forehead on the big screen can be distracting as they make it clear: the man has had work done. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, especially since with this film, he’s delving deeper and getting spiritual work done.

Sister Act

A review of I’ve Loved You So Long.

Written and directed by French filmmaker Philippe Claudel, I’ve Loved You So Long (“ILYSL”) is a beautiful, artful film. It’s the first theater-going experience I’ve had in a long time where I had the thought while watching, “wow, this is a really great film.” And I specifically used the word “film” rather than “movie” in my head, not because it was in French with English subtitles and I was therefore affected, infused with unadulterated pretentiousness and seduced by croissants. Rather, it is objectively a well-crafted, emotional story of the reunion of long-estranged sisters whose lives intersect once more fifteen-plus years after the wrenching tragedy that ripped them apart.

Kristin Scott Thomas plays Juliette, who has come to stay with her much younger sister, Léa (Elsa Zylberstein), after a fifteen year absence. (In choosing not to reveal what has kept Juliette away, I am probably engaging in spoiler-avoidance overkill, as that revelation occurs fairly early in the film. However, I feel that my experience seeing this film was enhanced by the blank slate nature in which I took it in, and my wish is for you to have the same kind of enthralling, unmarred-by-anticipation experience.) Juliette not only moves into Léa's home, but also into her life -- with her family, including husband, Luc, Luc's father, Papy Paul, and her two adopted Vietnamese daughters, P'tit Lys (age eight) and Emelia (about three), as well as with her friends, in particular, Léa's colleague and fellow professor, Michel. Juliette and Léa have one of those Big Heavy Events From The Past ("BHEFTP") to resolve between them, but unlike in Rachel Getting Married, the BHEFTP here informs and motivates the action rather than usurping it.

ILYSL relies upon symbolism to set much of its tone, and while it occasionally teeters on the line of obviousness, it primarily achieves its goal with subtlety. There are two primary symbolic journeys, the first involving Juliette's physical appearance. At the beginning of ILYSL, Juliette appears so haggard, awful and pale that she is barely recognizable as a woman. As she progresses through her journey of reconnecting with her family and the world around her, she slowly regains her color and vibrancy and her femininity. Similarly, we also track Juliette's state of being by her ability to physically connect, literally, to tolerate human contact. Specifically, Juliette's relationship with her niece, P'tit Lys, provides a kind of visual barometer for Juliette's emotional and mental state. At the outset of ILYSL, Juliette can barely be in the same room as P'tit Lys, let alone hug or touch her. But as Juliette allows herself to slowly reawaken and do more than merely occupy space in the world, she allows herself to grow closer and more affectionate with her nieces, reaccepting her maternal self. These two symbolic journeys were very clear and easy to clock, but portrayed artfully. Juliette’s steps forward felt more than merely depicted, they felt earned.

In the same vein, all of the accolades that Kristin Scott Thomas is sure to garner for her performance will likewise be earned. She gives a transformative performance that was compelling, heartbreaking and quite simply magnificent. She will surely be nominated for an Academy Award, and rightfully so. I would be surprised if the film were not also similarly recognized, in either the Foreign Film or Best Picture categories, or both. Each of the performances, from Elsa Zylberstein’s guilt-laden Léa to Frédéric Pierrot’s tragic Captain Fauré, a seemingly minor yet significant presence in Juliette’s new life to the ebullient Lise Ségur as P’tit Lys, together provide strong support to an engaging tale. It is not only the performances that are noteworthy, but also the construction of such unique and fully-realized characters who progress through well-defined arcs that build the momentum toward the reveal of the central mystery.

And even though I guessed the specifics of the central mystery early in, knowing what was coming did not in any way detract from my enjoyment of ILYSL. The story was well-paced and unfolded naturally. Certain stylistic choices, for example the thematic use of water, felt a bit heavy-handed, but not distractingly so. And other overly-dramatic moments, such as the recitation of a children’s book over news being received on the phone felt staged, but were effective nonetheless. Similarly, Juliette’s final words and the echo that the film leaves us with were a bit theatrical, but could not be more apropos or poignant. Overall, ILYSL is a beautifully crafted film that I would not hesitate to recommend sans réserve.