Brett McCracken

33 Films That Take Faith Seriously

Brett McCracken — Mon, 30 Apr 2012 08:53:01 -0700

Christian moviegoers sometimes lament the dearth of good, positive, realistic portrayals of faith in film. If Christians are portrayed in film, it’s usually as right-wing zealots (Citizen Ruth), scary pentecostals (Jesus Camp), or psychotic killers (Night of the Hunter). Or faith is reduced to schmaltzy simplicity, as in most “Christian films” (Facing the Giants, The Grace Card). But many films throughout cinema history have actually provided rich, artful portraits of faith. The following is a list of 33 films that take faith seriously; films I believe every Christian should make a point to see.

The Passion of Joan of Arc (Carl Dreyer, 1928)
Diary of a Country Priest (Robert Bresson, 1951)
Ordet (Carl Dreyer, 1955)
Becket (Peter Glenville, 1964)
The Sound of Music (Robert Wise, 1965)
A Man For All Seasons (Fred Zinnemann, 1966)
Brother Sun, Sister Moon (Franco Zeffirelli, 1972)
Andrei Rublev (Andrei Tarkovsky, 1973)
Chariots of Fire (Hugh Hudson, 1981)
Tender Mercies (Bruce Beresford, 1983)
Amadeus (Milos Forman, 1984)
The Mission (Roland Joffé, 1986)
Babette’s Feast (Gabriel Axel, 1987)
Jesus of Montreal (Denys Arcand, 1989)
The Decalogue (Krzysztof Kieslowski, 1989)
Shadowlands (Richard Attenborough, 1993)
Dead Man Walking (Tim Robbins, 1995)
The Apostle (Robert Duvall, 1997)
Central Station (Walter Salles, 1998)
Signs (M. Night Shyamalan, 2002)
Luther (Eric Till, 2003)
Land of Plenty (Wim Wenders, 2004)
Sophie Scholl: The Final Days (Marc Rothemund, 2005)
Into Great Silence (Philip Gröning, 2006)
Secret Sunshine (Lee Chang-dong, 2007)
Amazing Grace (Michael Apted, 2007)
A Serious Man (Joel and Ethan Coen, 2009)
Get Low (Aaron Schneider, 2009)
Letters to Father Jacob (Klaus Härö, 2010)
Of Gods and Men (Xavier Beauvois, 2011)
The Way (Emilio Estevez, 2011)
The Tree of Life (Terrence Malick, 2011)
Higher Ground (Vera Farmiga, 2011)

Moving Beyond "Christian Films"

Brett McCracken — Mon, 30 Apr 2012 08:50:44 -0700

The filmmakers and many of the defenders of Blue Like Jazz have gone out of their way to distance Jazz from the “Christian film” stigma. Understandably. Director Steve Taylor even stirred up what really amounts to a non-controversy by declaring that the “Christian Movie Establishment… is out to get us,” going so far as to say that Sherwood Baptist (the church behind Courageous and Fireproof) issued a “fatwa” against Blue Like Jazz.

It’s easy to understand why Jazz felt the need to get defensive about the “Christian movie” thing. Jazz is made by Christians, based on a bestselling Christian book, and directed by a veteran of Christian rock (Steve Taylor). And there is indeed a case to be made for Jazz not being part of the “Christian film” genre: it contains quite a few s-words, a good amount of drug use, lesbians, a dope-smoking Pope, book-burning, steeple-sized condoms, and so on… all things you don’t typically see in a “Christian” movie.

But the self-aware “Hey! We’re edgier than Courageous!” undertones in Jazz–which labors to create a quirky, indie, Garden State-esque ambience of coming-of-age rebelliousness–are precisely what end up sabotaging Jazz‘ claims of being something truly different. The film–like the book, to a lesser extent–feels deliberately constructed to be “edgy,” “non-religious,” and “controversial.” Jazz goes out of its way to usurp what people expect a story about faith to be, and in the process it loses its authenticity.

Rather than shunning all comparisons and attempting to just tell a truthful, believable story, Jazz fills its overlong run time with an array of extraneous episodes that serve to excessively hammer home the already-made points that faith can be messy, people are complicated, and Christianity isn’t at all “safe” or squeaky-clean. And for every real, human moment in the film (and there are definitely those moments, most of them thanks to lead actor Marshall Allman), there are even more cringe-worthy instances of zany preciousness (man in bear suit steals extra tall bike), over-the-top caricatures (“the hypocritical youth pastor,” “the grizzled drunk dad,” “the idealistic and sweet social justice Christian”), relentless indie soundtrack and “just, why?” superfluity (the poorly animated “busty carrot lady” transition sequence?).

Ultimately, Blue Like Jazz is more like a typical “Christian movie” than it is different, which is disappointing. As is widely, embarrassingly known, Christian movies are typically characterized by amateur-looking, low-budget, undisciplined filmmaking. And Blue Like Jazz unfortunately fits that bill. Is Jazz better made than the Courageous-type Christian film? Yes, but not by much. It’s not preachy, saccharine, or “safe” in the way Courageous is, but it’s pretty much equally as minor, from a filmmaking point of view.

Talking about “Christian films” wears me out, partly because it’s such an obvious and easy target, and partly because I wonder why we are even still having this conversation. The Blue Like Jazz conversation didn’t have to be one about “Christian film,” but the filmmakers opened themselves up to it with the whole pre-release “us vs. the Christian Movie Establishment!” controversy. And sadly, Jazz falls into just as many Christian movie pitfalls as it avoids. In its own way, Jazz is just as didactic and message-heavy as Fireproof, albeit with a message that is more rough-edged, meandering and “nonreligious.” And like those other Christian movies, Jazz lacks a coherent stylistic vision and a genuine, infectious interest in beauty.

I long for the day when we will have moved on from “Christian film” as a category. I long for the day when evangelicals will make excellent films that are beautiful, lasting, complex and true. I long for the day when Christian moviegoers will appreciate truly great films and encounter God through them, regardless of if they are made by Christians or pagans.

I know I’ve been hard on Blue Like Jazz here, but the truth is I’m glad it exists and I’m thankful for the step forward it represents. I’m glad it got made, and I’m glad people are seeing it. Even the most imperfect films can be used by God to reach someone’s heart.

That said, I hope the next generation of Christian filmmakers don’t make a Blue Like Jazz. I hope they make films like The Kid With a Bike, Of Gods & Men or The Tree of Life–films about faith, God, transcendence and beauty, made with subtlety and attention to craft.

The priority for Christian artists–filmmakers included–should be excellence: making work that is thoughtful, groundbreaking, beautiful, with the goal of pointing in the direction of God’s grace and glory. Christian artists should study the classics and learn from the best, so they can know what excellence looks like. And they should read a tiny little book by Hans Rookmaaker called Art Needs No Justification, from which the following is one of my favorite quotes:

Handel with his Messiah, Bach with his Matthew Passion, Rembrandt with his Denial of St. Peter, and the architects of those Cistercian churches were not evangelizing, nor making tools for evangelism; they worked to the glory of God. They did not compromise their art. They were not devising tools for religious propaganda or holy advertisement. And precisely because of that they were deep and important. Their works were not the means to an end, the winning of souls, but they were meaningful and an end in themselves, to God’s glory, and showing forth something of the love that makes things warm and real. Art has too often become insincere and second-rate in its very effort to speak to all people, and to communicate a message that art was not meant to communicate. In short, art has its own validity and meaning, certainly in the Christian framework.

We should definitely support Christian filmmakers. But we shouldn’t coddle them, and we shouldn’t encourage low-quality work. We should hold them to a higher standard, spurring them on to excellence so that what they produce truly does open viewers’ eyes to the magnificence of our gracious God.

Review: The Grey

Brett McCracken — Mon, 06 Feb 2012 17:10:32 -0800

Joe Carnahan’s The Grey is the first truly great 2012 release. Which is surprising. I didn’t expect all that much from it, thinking it might just be a typical “angry Liam Neeson” action film. But wow is it more than that.

Ostensibly a “been there done that” narrative (survivors of a plane crash in the harsh environs of remote Alaska try to stay alive), The Grey adds impressive layers of depth to what might otherwise just be a serviceable action thriller.

Neeson leads a band of seven survivors when a plane full of oil drillers crashes in the wintry, impossible wilderness of Alaska. From there, the movie could essentially be called Man vs. Wild. Or, more appropriately: Man vs. Wolves. There are wolves everywhere, and they are territorial and hungry. They like killing humans. And, one by one, they savagely pick off the band of plane crash survivors, stalking them mercilessly with those big, bad, glow-in-the-dark eyes.

The only option for the men is to fight back. To become wolves themselves, savage as they have to be. But just when you think this movie is going down the well-worn, Jack London-esque path of “humans are just as base, savage and instinctual as animals!” it becomes clear that that’s not what this film is about at all. The “grey” is not about the blurry lines between man and beast. It’s about the mysterious no man’s land in between life and death. It’s about the spiritual space at the end of one’s life, as the light of life dims and mixes with the unseeable darkness of whatever lies beyond.

The Grey is a movie about death. But don’t worry, it’s not depressing. It’s about dying well, dying humanely. What separates humans from animals? Among other things: the way that we die. Sure, we are like animals in that we instinctively fight to the death. Like wolves, we do not go quietly into the good night. But unlike wolves, when we do go into that good night, we do so self-reflectively, mournfully, existentially. We reflect on our lives and contemplate our conclusion like a philosopher, holding the hands of our loved ones as we go.

The Grey is essentially one death scene after another, though not in the Final Destination sense. These are beautiful scenes. They don’t milk emotion gratuitously or take up more time than is necessary. But they pack a punch. Especially in the last 30 minutes of so, The Grey really hits you.

This is a poetic film. There is literal poetry in it, and it’s central. But it’s also poetic in the way that’s it’s shot, in the way that flashbacks are utilized (like in The Thin Red Line, women only really appear in flashbacks), in the way that manhood and masculinity are explored. It’s poetic in its honesty about fear, dread, bravado, faith.

God is a major character, albeit mostly as an absentee, unbelieved-in-but-raged-against force in the sky. He may not seem to have a place in a story about plane crashes, unholy blizzards and demonic wolves who tear apart humans, but make no mistake: The Grey has its mind on God, or at least His imprint on it. What gives humans the grace to die well? What is it really that separates us from animals and makes us, for example, willing to appreciate a handshake, a memory, and a mountain vista in our final moments of life? The image of God which we bear. It sets us apart. It is the light that gives reprieve from the “only the strong survive” darkness. It is the light which, in clashing with the dark, creates the grey.

Notes From the Tilt-a-Whirl

Brett McCracken — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 19:10:09 -0800

N.D. Wilson’s new “bookumentary” DVD, Notes From the Tilt-a-Whirl, is sort of like the Waking Life of Christian apologetics films. And by that I mean, it’s full of awe, curiosity, philosophizing, and a lot of talking about ideas. Like the contemplative films of Richard Linklater (Waking Life, Before Sunrise, Before Sunset), Wilson’s film–inspired by his 2009 book of the same title–is heavy on heady, talky vignettes. It’s essentially a philosophy/apologetics education condensed into a series of 3-4 minute soliloquies and poetic riffs on huge ideas, packaged amidst images of beauty and a liturgical ambience.

I was somewhat skeptical going in to Tilt-a-Whirl; mostly because “Christian films” of any sort are almost always a let down. But this was a pleasant surprise–a genuinely compelling, well-made film that never feels false or inauthentic and actually leaves us with insights to ponder and stirs our hearts and minds toward God.

Tilt-a-Whirl advertises itself as “A cinematic treatment of a worldview. A poet live in concert. A motion picture sermon. VH1 Storytellers meets Planet Earth. 60 Minutes meets Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God.”

All of those are accurate. It’s a refreshingly orignal thing–a documentary of sorts, a visual essay, an apologetics companion piece to The Tree of Life (though Malick would dislike Wilson’s dismissal of Heidegger). It’s the Kanye West Twitter feed of hyper-literate Reformed philosophy.

I also like the way Books and Culture described the film:

Imagine 51 minutes of an earthier Nooma video infused with an ethos of postmillennial confidence and injected with the steroids of Christian orthodoxy and Chestertonian Orthodoxy. Ponder all possible manifestations of “A Portrait of the Kuyperian Artist as a Young Apologist.”

Rob Bell’s Nooma videos are probably its closest cousin in terms of genre; yet it must be acknowledged that there are more original insights in any given 90 seconds of Tilt-a-Whirl than in the entire Nooma series.

Wilson tackles a wide array of topics, mostly having to do with God–as creator, as artist, as gardener, as judge. He’s at his best when talking about the “problem” of evil and putting man in his place while exalting God. I especially resonated and agreed with Wilson on his suggestion that evil has a purpose if creation is seen as God’s ultimate artistic masterpiece: “If we look at the world as art, suddenly tension makes sense,” says Wilson. “God is after a great story, and great stories require tension; great stories require trial and hardship; great stories require characters to grow. … Why does God allow evil and things which displease him in his story? So that they can be defeated.”

If you’re someone who likes to think about and discuss big ideas about God and existence, this film is for you. Watch it in groups, Bible studies, or on your own; I guarantee it will provoke something–whether discussion, debate, disgust, or worship.

Best Books I Read in 2011

Brett McCracken — Thu, 12 Jan 2012 14:28:56 -0800

My 2011 recaps ends here, with my list of the best books I read in 2011. I read 42 books, of vast variety–some old, some new, some fiction, mostly nonfiction–many of which were in some way research for the book I am currently writing. About half were for no other purpose than pleasure. Here are my picks for the ones that stood out the most:

10) Did Adam and Eve Really Exist? by C. John Collins: A very thought provoking, biblically informed and fair assessment of a timely and important question. See also this Christianity Today story on the topic of the historical Adam.

9) Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer: For some reason the movie version looks terrible to me, but I enjoyed the book, which is lively, creative, unexpected and, in the end, a requisite bit of post-9/11 American literature.

8) Earthen Vessels by Matthew Lee Anderson: Anderson’s first book is a comprehensive but accessible theology of the body, covering plenty of controversial ground (tattoos, homosexuality, etc.) but doing so with impressive eloquence and erudite insights. The book is a welcome contribution to a very neglected but vital topic for evangelicals.

7) Walking in the Spirit by Ken Berding: Berding’s book is a quick read and offers a practical, biblical, wise guide to life in the Holy Spirit, as outlined in Romans 8. Filled with real-life examples and engaging personal stories, Spirit recalibrates our understanding of the ministry of the Holy Spirit, providing an invaluable corrective to many of us who have either ignored, forgotten, or misunderstood the role of the Spirit in the Christian life.

6) A Meal With Jesus by Tim Chester: As a lover of Jesus and a lover of food, I was in heaven reading this book, which combines the two. Chester sketches a sort of theology of eating (missionally, with hospitality, etc.) by taking us through the biblical instances of eating–particularly the many “eating scenes” of Jesus in the Gospels. A delightful read.

5) Last Call by Daniel Okrent: Between Ken Burns’ documentary Prohibition, Boardwalk Empire, and the speakeasy bar craze, it seems Prohibition is en vogue right now. Okrent’s book is a fascinating history of it, full of all sorts of great details about how the Volstead Act came to pass, what life was like during Prohibition, and what led to its demise. A must read for anyone curious about American history during the Prohibition years.

4) On Evil by Terry Eagleton: Aside from the occasional cable news talking head who refer to terrorists or serial killers as such, “evil” is not a word you hear much anymore. That’s why Eagleton’s treatise on the subject–a witty, sharp, characteristically well written argument that yes, evil exists–is so surprising and refreshing. Eagleton is not a Christian apologist (he’s a Marxist literary critic, albeit with a penchant for calling B.S. on people like Richard Dawkins), but his book on evil would be a helpful addition to any theologian’s library.

3) King’s Cross by Tim Keller: Keller is as reliable as they come. He’s a rock-solid biblical expositor, pastor, writer, and all around exemplary Christian, and his latest–King’s Cross–is a wonderful read. Refreshingly straightforward–essentially a chapter-by-chapter exposition of the Gospel of Mark–Cross is a biography of Jesus Christ that brings the story to life in a way that is relevant and powerful without feeling opportunistic or agenda-driven.

2) Columbine by Dave Cullen: The most haunting and intense book I read this year. A true page-turner, Cullen’s book is the definitive account of the 1999 Columbine High School massacre. Massively detailed–part psychological portrait of the killers, part harrowing account of the massacre itself as compiled from a decade’s worth of research and interviews–Columbine is a modern day In Cold Blood. It dispels many myths (the Trench Coat Mafia, Cassie “She Said Yes” Bernall’s martyrdom, etc.) and in 400 pages offers more detail about the killers and victims than any of us every picked up through the media coverage. For anyone who remembers watching the Columbine massacre unfold live on T.V. that horrible day (as I do–I was a sophomore in high school), this book is essential reading.

1) Simply Jesus by N.T. Wright: Subtitled “A New Vision of Who He Was, What He Did, and Why He Matters,” N.T. Wright’s latest (his 2nd or 3rd book to come out in 2011, I can’t keep track) is a wonderfully concise, popular-level summary of his 1996 magnum opus, Jesus and the Victory of God. As he typically does, Wright tells the story of Jesus in a way that makes it seem fresh and thrilling, even for someone who’s been a Jesus follower their whole life. Wright is the rare academic star who is also a wonderful writer–accessible, witty, to-the-point, full of apt metaphors and imagery (his “storm” motif in this book is especially memorable). His books are incredibly meaty and rich, but not intimidating, full of historical insights and big-picture context. Simply Jesus is a grandiose, inspiring, fascinating book about Jesus that I’d eagerly lend to even my most skeptical of unbelieving friends.

Honorable Mention: For Calvinism by Michael Horton, The Thank You Economy by Gary Vaynerchuk, Art For God’s Sake by Philip Ryken, Everyday Theology edited by Kevin Vanhoozer, Rabbit Run by John Updike

Best Films of 2011

Brett McCracken — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 08:28:31 -0800

Perhaps I’m biased (see my #1 pick and the entire month of May in my blog archive), but 2011 was a banner year for cinema. The Tree of Life is one thing, but there was a lot more going on this year to make a cinephile like me excited. There was a lot of artful doomsday (Melancholia, Take Shelter, Tree of Life, Another Earth), some great homages to early, classic and Spielbergian cinema (Hugo, The Artist, War Horse, Super 8), and some truly exceptional films about faith (Of Gods and Men, Higher Ground, The Way, The Mill & the Cross, Tree of Life). There was so much good cinema that my “best of” list actually includes three different top tens: the best 10, the second best 10, and then 10 honorable mentions. Many of them are available now on Netflix Instant, while a few of them have yet to release in most parts of the country. However you can, I hope you get a chance to see them!

10) Martha, Marcy, May, Marlene (T. Sean Durkin): An astonishing, accomplished debut from director T. Sean Durkin, Martha gives the audience more respect than any other film this year. There are a lot of gaps we, the audience, must fill in. But far from a head-scratching frustration, this subtle insinuation and refusal to spoon-feed is one the film’s most thrilling qualities.

9) We Need to Talk About Kevin (Lynne Ramsay): By far the scariest film of the year. Not jump-in-your-seat type scary, but horribly unsettling dread and tension scary. Tilda Swinton plays a mother in a worst-nightmare-for-any-parent scenario, as she deals with an evil teenage son, Kevin, who commits a massacre at his high school. But the scariest parts of the film are the things we don’t see and the questions that go unanswered: where does the evil of a kid like Kevin come from? What do parents do wrong to lead to this?

8) Meek’s Cutoff (Kelly Reichardt): One of the most original and haunting westerns I’ve ever seen. Kelly Reichardt’s minimalist, observational style (see Old Joy and Wendy & Lucy) is perfectly suited to this period costume drama set in the 1840s on the Oregon Trail. And Michelle Williams is mesmerizing as the centerpiece heroine. Like Martha, Marcy, May, Marlene, this film is intentionally ambiguous and invites the interpretations of an active audience, which is something I always applaud.

7) Take Shelter (Jeff Nichols): A jittery, tense, unsettled film for the unsettled world in which we live, Take Shelter is about the fears and anxieties of a modern-day working class man who simply wants to protect his wife and daughter from all manner of peril. Featuring stunning performances by Michael Shannon as a good-at-heart man (possibly) losing his mind and Jessica Chastain as his longsuffering wife, Shelter builds and builds to a finale that will leave you speechless.

6) The Artist (Michel Hazanavicius): One would have reason to approach this film skeptically. A silent film? Really? But what at first glance appears to just be a stunt or gimmick is quickly found to be something remarkably beautiful, charming, nostalgic and yet new. It’s an homage to Hollywood, to storytelling within the bounds of technological limitations; but it’s also about pride, love, adaptation, and the fickleness of fame. Go see it. You won’t find a more pleasant surprise at the movies this year.

5) Certified Copy (Abbas Kiarostami): Certified Copy is essentially Before Sunset in Italy, which is good because Sunset is one of my all time favorite films. Filmed in glorious Tuscany, featuring the sublime Juliette Binoche, and riffing on notions of originality, inspiration, and cinema itself, Copy is a wonderfully complex modernist experiment in the style of Alain Resnais, and yet it flows breezily and romantically, never too pushy with its philosophical or theoretical notions. Academics should watch this film and take note: academic inquiry doesn’t have to be convoluted, dry and inert. It can be as simple and beautiful as walking and talking in lovely Italian sunlight.

4) Poetry (Lee Chang-dong): It’s a tragedy that only about 30 people saw this masterpiece when it opened in theaters early in 2011. From the masterful Korean filmmaker Lee Chang-dong (Secret Sunshine), Poetry is a film befitting its title if ever a film was. It’s about poetry literally, in that the protagonist–an elderly woman in the early stages of Alzheimer’s disease (Jeong-hie Yun)–is taking poetry classes; but the film itself is poetry: a delicate, quietly observant film that is unsentimental and yet profoundly moving, especially after it’s sat with you for a bit.

3) Of Gods and Men (Xavier Beauvois): A true story about monks in North Africa who risk it all in pursuit of their mission, Gods is one of the most inspiring films about faith, sacrifice, and community that I’ve ever seen. A quiet, austere, but utterly transcendent film, Gods paints a picture of what it means to be faithfully present as Christ’s ambassadors in a world that is beautiful, dynamic, and frequently hostile. At once entirely timely (it deals with terrorism and Christian-Muslim relations) and timeless, Gods is a film I’ll come back to in years to come–for inspiration, encouragement, and instruction for my own journey of faith.

2) Melancholia (Lars von Trier): Though often, and rightly, contrasted with Tree of Life (both films juxtapose the cosmic and intimate, and depict earth’s demise), Melancholia stands on its own two feet as one of the year’s most masterful films. More than just the antithesis of Tree of Life, Lars von Trier’s gorgeous apocalyptic vision contains some of the most striking imagery and sequences you’ll see this year. It may be bleak, nihilistic, and (insert depressing synonym here), but Melancholia is above all authentic. It’s Lars von Trier speaking his auteurist mind and bombarding us with sound (Wagner’s Tristan and Isolde), image (a planet colliding with earth, Kirsten Dunst unhappy in a wedding dress), and mood (sadness, dread) to astonishingly powerful effect.

1) The Tree of Life (Terrence Malick): What can I say about this film that I haven’t already said? It met and exceeded all my expectations and instantly took a place on my list of all time favorites. Critics are right to be universally heralding this as the best film of 2011. It’s one of the best films of all time. It’s a film with the kind of scope, ambition and excellence that we just don’t see anymore. It’s a film that goes after big questions (the biggest) and attempts to be all-encompassing (God, life, death, sin, redemption, creation, apocalypse, everything else in between), but does so as much or more through the inherent strengths of the cinematic form as through traditional narrative exposition. It’s a film that shows us the world in a grain of sand, so to speak. It blows open the possibilities of the medium, or rather–at times–perfects the medium to such an extent that it looks foreign to us, like something altogether new. Malick achieves something with Life that can rarely be claimed by a filmmaker or artist of any kind: He’s given us something that we’ve truly never seen before, and yet something that will undoubtedly endure.

The Next Ten: 11) Hugo 12) Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives 13) Midnight in Paris 14) The Way 15) The Descendants 16) Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy 17) The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo 18) Bellflower 19) Another Earth 20) Warrior

Honorable Mention: Coriolanus, The Mill and the Cross, Contagion, Moneyball, The Trip, Hanna, Drive, War Horse, Higher Ground, Margin Call

Best Albums of 2011

Brett McCracken — Sat, 17 Dec 2011 15:37:48 -0800

It’s December, which means one thing for a guy like me: list making. I’m starting my “best of the year” series on my blog with my picks for best albums of the year. Here they are: my top ten list and honorable mentions for the best music of 2011. (You can listen to all 15 hours of this music on Spotify here).

10) Panda Bear, Tomboy: In his sophomore solo effort, Animal Collective’s Noah Lennox (aka Panda Bear) simplifies (if that’s the right word) from the sprawling ambitions of Person Pitch and yet creates an album that is equally layered and beautiful and I daresay more cohesive than his groundbreaking debut. Listen now: “Slow Motion,” “Friendship Bracelet.”

9) The Antlers, Burst Apart: Slightly more upbeat than their morose-but-beautiful debut, Hospice, The Antlers’ latest is an eloquent, moody, subtle pop album that sounds like something out of a foggy/jazzy David Lynch nightclub movie scene. Listen now: “French Exit,” “Putting the Dog to Sleep.”

8) M83, Hurry Up We’re Dreaming: This double-disc album from French singer/songwriter Anthony Gonzalez is simply epic. Lush, grand electronic anthems abound, alternately melodic, experimental, upbeat and somber. Listen now: “Midnight City,” “Steve McQueen.”

7) Girls, Father, Son, Holy Ghost: No album surprised me more this year than this one, full of so many pleasant twists and turns that you won’t even mind the few times it goes off the rails. It’s retro, rough-edged beach pop with a lot of soul. Listen now: “Honey Bunny,” “Jamie Marie.”

6) James Blake, James Blake: London-based producer James Blake offers a gorgeously subtle collection of dubstep ballads in this self-titled album, one of the best debuts of the year. Listen now: “Limit to Your Love,” “Measurements.”

5) Radiohead, King of Limbs: Radiohead’s latest didn’t make as big of a splash as their albums usually do, perhaps because we’ve come to expect masterpieces from them and this album feels somewhat less grandiose and significant. But make no mistake: Limbs is an incredibly well made record. Cohesive, relaxed, atmospheric, jazzy, a masterful collection that feels effortless and natural for a band completely at ease in their own skin. Listen now: “Morning Mr. Magpie,” “Codex.”

4) The War on Drugs, Slave Ambient: What is a true American rock sound in 2011? With their new album, The War on Drugs offer a stunning answer to that question. It’s an album that channels Dylan/Springsteen at the same time that it blends minimalism, electronica, shoegaze and punk in seamless fashion. An album for the road, for skylines of cities and big horizon sunsets, Slave Ambient is a poetic treasure of ambient nostalgia. Listen now: “Your Love is Calling My Name,” “Come to the City.”

3) Washed Out, Within and Without: “Glo-fi” and “Chillwave” may be an ambiguous genre descriptors, but Washed Out embodies it the best of any band, and Within and Without is their crowning achievement. The music is 80s, shoegaze, ambient, and yes, washed out. But mostly it’s just lovely. A dreamy, moody, sometimes danceable record for the morning after. Listen now: “Amor Fati,” “You and I.”

2) Fleet Foxes, Helplessness Blues: There are no finer melodies anywhere in music this year than on Fleet Foxes’ sophomore effort, Helplessness Blues. Expanding ever so slightly on the anachronistic folk balladry of their stellar debut album, Fleet Foxes offer a collection of songs here that are somber, poetic, nostalgic and just downright wonderful. It’s easy on the ears and soothing for the soul; a gourmet comfort-food album you return to more than most. Listen now: “Helplessness Blues,” “Someone You’d Admire.”

1) Bon Iver, Bon Iver: More daring, more accomplished, more significant in every way than the gorgeous masterpiece For Emma, Forever Ago. This self-titled album floors you on first listen and grows from there. There’s something so raw, elemental and earnest about Bon Iver’s music. Only Justin Vernon (the genius behind Bon Iver) could make a 90s power ballad (complete with a Kenny G-esque saxophone solo) feel like the natural, unironic culmination of his body of work and also, perhaps, the most sensible musical expression of our largely nonsensical musical moment. Listen now: “Holocene,” “Beth/Rest.”

Honorable Mention: Real Estate, Days; St. Vincent, Strange Mercy; Low, C’mon; Destroyer, Kaputt; Wilco, The Whole Love; Feist, Metals; Jay-Z and Kanye West, Watch the Throne; Viva Voce, The Future Will Destroy You; TW Walsh, Songs of Pain and Leisure; Paul Simon, So Beautiful or So What, Cut Copy, Zonoscope.

We Need More Tebows

Brett McCracken — Sun, 11 Dec 2011 23:46:28 -0800

By now every pop culture columnist in America has chimed in on the Tim Tebow “controversy,” of which my favorites have been Daniel Foster’s take in National Review and Kevin Craft’s in The Atlantic. Both of these articles point out, rightly, that Tebow’s critics are largely unnerved by his sincerity and unflappably earnest devotion to his beliefs. It’s not his constant talk of God that’s the problem; it’s that he so clearly believes what he’s saying and lives his life accordingly. It’s unironic. It’s no mere lip service. He takes things seriously. As Chuck Klosterman notes in his meandering Tebow treatise, he has a faith that “defies modernity” and “makes people wonder if they should try to believe things they don’t actually believe.”

As a Christian a few years older than Tebow (and, full disclosure: a Broncos fan) I see in this guy an enviable model of what it means to be a Christian in the public square. Tebow didn’t seek to become the flashpoint of discussions of faith in public life, but he has. Tebow has gotten more secular people talking about faith than most pastors ever do. And he’s doing it not from a Pat Robertson-esque bully pulpit but from a vocation he’s been called to, is good at, and publicly gives God glory for.

From the perspective of a Christianity increasingly confused about how and what to be in an increasingly secular world, Tebow is a laudable icon. We need more Tebows.

We need more Tebows because:

He’s an incredibly hard worker and is great at what he does. He wouldn’t be in the position he is if he lacked a strong work ethic and valued excellence. If Christians want to make an impact or have a voice in this world, they must first earn that position by being great at something and working hard.
He’s vocal about his faith. It’s become popular for Christians to advise other Christians to live quiet lives of steadfast vocation and faithful presence and just kind of bide their time, establishing relationships that might one day lead to a God conversation, etc. without really drawing attention to the fact of their faith. That’s bogus. Tebow reminds us that if we truly believe what we say we believe about Jesus Christ, we can’t be kept silent. We will want to acknowledge him and give him the glory whenever we have the opportunity.
He practices what he preaches. Tebow isn’t all talk. If he were, the Jake Plummers of the world would be right to critique his God talk. But Tebow honors God not only in post-game interviews but in his extensive charity work. He helps doctors perform circumcisions in the Philippines, where he is also building a new children’s hospital. He spent most of his $2.5 million signing bonus on various worldwide charity organizations focusing on famine, education and home-building. He hopes to turn his downtown Denver loft into a soup kitchen. He preaches the gospel at all times and has earned the right to use words.
He’s upright. He’s the kind of squeaky-clean, trustworthy hero that entire generations of kids have been lacking. Of course there’s plenty of time for all of us to be letdown by him, but right now he comes across as a genuinely good person. This bothers some people, which is a shame. We need models of moral living. In the name of “authenticity” we’ve come to value people who are broken or at best rough around the edges. But is there no value in looking up to the most respectable among us and aspiring to be like them?
He’s humble and not self-aware. What a breath of fresh air it is to see someone who thanks God and his teammates after every win rather than tooting his own horn; someone who responds to criticisms about his still-developing skills by agreeing that he could improve. In a sport dominated by larger-than-life egos, Tebow seems hardly to even know he’s an NFL star.
He’s sincere. We need desperately to rediscover the spirit of seriousness and sincerity embodied by Tebow. The ubiquity of irony and jadedness is toxic in our culture. Thank you, Tim Tebow for being refreshingly sincere in a world of cynical and silly.

Advent & Malick

Brett McCracken — Tue, 06 Dec 2011 09:36:30 -0800

Terrence Malick has never made a Christmas film, but I think his films, collectively, have a lot to say to us as we meditate on the meaning of Advent. Before you groan and say, “here McCracken goes about Malick again,” let me explain.

At it’s core, Advent is a season in limbo, in between the first and second comings of Jesus. It’s a season about eschatological longing as much as it is about nostalgic joy for the Incarnation of God as man. It’s about longing for and awaiting the coming kingdom, the restoration of creation to a state of shalom and fully realized glory. A key word is “restoration,” for within the mystery of Advent is a deeply felt longing and remembrance of that original Eden, so long ago lost and yet made possible again in Christ.

In many ways, Advent is about existing in between two paradises. One lost. One still to come. Both are ever present in the believer’s consciousness, as persistent reminders of fallenness intermingle with persistent, grace-filled interjections of hope. And it is here that I think Malick’s cinematic vision has much to offer.

Consider his most recent film, 2011′s Tree of Life, which very literally depicts an original paradise (at least the creation of it) and a eschatological one (which, even if just a reverie or dream, is still very much an eschatological vision of Shalom restored). The Bible begins and ends with the “Tree of Life” (in Eden and in the Revelation 22 New Jerusalem), and in many ways the film echoes this bookended structure, with the middle section being the story of existence–struggling between sin/nature and redemption/grace–writ small in a tiny Texas town. In Tree of Life, Malick’s characters experience that Advent tension between darkness and innocence lost on one hand and a coming reconciliation/restoration of goodness on the other.

Malick’s other films reflect similar themes. In Badlands, Martin Sheen and Sissy Spacek play Adam/Eve type characters who “fall” and are banished from Eden, shamed in their fallenness and yet curiously moved by the beauty of life around them, even on the run. Days of Heaven features similar themes of shamed sinners in search of redemptive paradise and a fresh start in the picturesque wheat fields of West Texas. In The Thin Red Line, Witt (Jim Caviezel) opens the film in paradise, on tropical beaches and indigo blue waters in Papau New Guinea. But then the reality of sin sets in, and war and death; everything is changed, and yet Witt still sees a spark of glory. The film ends with images of Witt once again in paradise, and the rest of the soldiers on a boat leaving the horrors of Guadalcanal, heading to some new shores of a better world.

Malick’s next film, The New World, picks up that image by opening with colonists on a boat, landing on the shores of Jamestown, Virginia: the New World. But as with Malick’s other films, the Edenic idealism of this “new beginning” paradise is disrupted soon by famine, war, and a romance between John Smith and Pocahontas that doesn’t last. And yet as the film goes on, something keeps pushing Pocahontas on, in spite of great shame and hardship. Glimpses of glory call her forth, giving her reasons to hope; perhaps the best is indeed still to come.

An inherent aching for Eden persists in each of Malick’s films, as each character instinctively strives for a fresh start in the midst of our brokenness. Indeed, I think every human feels this. Time and time again we fail, and yet some animating spirit of good keeps us on track, keeps us striving for the best, between the two trees.

This is what Advent is about: a hope that keeps us going, keeps us exploring, creating, cultivating, loving, making order out of chaos. It’s the lingering instinct of our created purpose; it’s the impact of the Incarnation: the Divine Creator come down to creation to redeem mankind and succeed where Adam failed, providing an example of humanity as it was created to be.

If Easter is about Jesus’ death and resurrection, Advent is about the curious thing that happened next. Jesus didn’t stay on earth to rule his kingdom. He ascended unto heaven and left his followers–the church, animated by the Holy Spirit–to carry the torch of kingdom work, to long and ache for Jesus’ promised return but in the meantime to strive to be the humans we were meant to be, to spread the good news, to resist evil, to order creation and bring about flourishing.

Like Adam before us, and Noah, and Abraham and Israel, followers of Jesus are called to bring light to the darkness; to spread the illumination like in those candle light Christmas Eve services of our youth; or like that little blue candle and mysterious wispy flame in The Tree of Life. It’s Ruach. The Spirit of God. Reminding us of hope, empowering us to carry on.

Advent Prayer Requests

Brett McCracken — Mon, 28 Nov 2011 18:41:53 -0800

Oh Jesus, come. The world groans for you.

The streets are bloody and the debts are rising. There are riots all around, anxieties about the future, 72-day marriages, 5th grader suicides, political stalemates, crashes of every sort, too-high heating bills, faucets that don’t work, pencils that smear instead of erase, milk that goes sour, teeth that get cavities, and cancer that keeps coming back.

Messiah, come.

Come and bring justice to the perpetrators of evil: The dictators who oppress, the pedophiles who abuse, the rich who swindle, the thieves and murderers and liars and cheaters and addicts… Basically, all of us. Judge us, refine us, renew us oh Lord. Cast our sins into the depths of the sea. Show your faithfulness to us oh God, as you did to Abraham and Isaac and Jacob.

Bring a father to the son who’s never known one. Bring a day of rest to the mother who hardly stops. Bring buckets of cold, clear water to the parched lands throughout the world. Bring peace to the places where war has settled in. Bring hope to the suffering in Japan, and Joplin, and every place in shambles.

Oh sprouted blossom from the root of Jesse, come and heal the nations.

Give hearing to the deaf, sight to the blind, joy to the lowly. Bind up the wounds of your people.

We are all hurting. Broken feet. Infected cuts. Insecurity. Heartbreak.

We are all sick. Coughing. Contagious. Medicated. Prone to wander.

We are all tired. Of work. Of failure. Of the persistence of disappointment.

We are all hungry. For a community that will last. For love that doesn’t fizzle. For something–anything–of permanence. To know ourselves. To know the truth. To understand how it all makes sense. To see the face of God.

In the midst of all this, Jesus came.

Is coming.

Is here.