Day-Lewis's Milkshake Brings the Critics to the Yard

I recently paid $6 to sit through a 158-minute movie, just to find out what "I drink your milkshake" means. Now that I know, I am not impressed.

There Will be Blood was very odd. The story was a big nothing. It goes like this: insecure, materialistic guy becomes an oilman and has a miserable life. But the acting and directing were so good, I nearly forgot I was watching a movie with the depth of a microscope slide.

I am starting to be a big fan of Daniel Day-Lewis. This is one of the great scenery-chewers of all time. Bill the Butcher was a fine bit of over-acting, and with Daniel Plainfield, Day-Lewis has established his credentials beyond question. Here's what I want. Let's put him in a flick with a bunch of other over-actors. Let's see. Al Pacino. Maybe Joe Pesci. Robert Blake. Jim Carrey. I'd add Robin Williams, the king of all over-actors, but he's so annoying, I wouldn't be able to sit through the film. They'd have to use two screens, side-by-side, to have room for all the unnecessary emoting.

Am I the only one who thought that after Life is Beautiful, we didn't really need the Robin Williams remake, Jakob the Liar? Williams has a reputation for stealing jokes. Stealing a whole movie, however, puts him in a whole new class of plagiarist.

One thing about There Will be Blood impressed me. Of course, I'm referring to the lumber. The wood they used to build the "Mary" oil derrick was thick slabs of what appeared to be mature hardwood. No Home Depot pine or spruce two-by-fours. Reminded me of the white oak boards my grandfather used to build his last tobacco barn. They had to drill holes in that stuff before they could put nails in it. The movie studio must have paid a screaming fortune for that beautiful wood.

I guess the movie was supposed to be art. It used to be that art had to have intrinsic substance. These days, you say absolutely nothing and let the audience project substance onto it.

Art doesn't give me a big thrill any more, except for music. I was thinking about this last night. When I was young, I read a lot of literature, but I eventually cut way back. My bookshelves now contain books that have nothing to do with art. Biographies. "How to" books. A little history.

I think I cut back on art stuff because as a Christian, I didn't feel a strong kinship with the godless people who wrote arty books. People who write great literature generally don't have relationships with God. Most literature reflects a completely godless and pessimistic mindset. When God enters the picture, He's almost always a big disappointment. A pathetic myth or an apathetic absentee landlord. That's fantasy; reading it is like reading libelous nonsense about a person I know well.

Great writers are generally blind to the reality of God. Maybe that's why they move us. They have a black, cold, empty space inside them, where God is supposed to be. And that helps them to write effectively about misery and injustice and futility. They're like caged songbirds, which sing best after you blind them. Many great writers are blind to the most uplifting truths in the universe, so their song is especially dark and troubling.

There Will be Blood was predictable in its take on Christianity. Really trite. There was a young man in the movie who started a ministry which included faith-healing, and of course, he was as crooked as a dog's hind leg. And the screenwriter's bicoastal Hollywood tunnel vision was obvious in his depiction of a healing. To someone who has never been to church, it would probably seem believable. A bogus preacher, engaging in hysterics to throw imaginary demons out of gullible people. But to anyone with even a scant acquaintance with Christianity, none of it rang true. None of the real-world cliches, so familiar to Christians, were there. If you want to see a liar behind a pulpit, acting the way false prophets always do, all you have to do is turn on TBN and wait. I guess this guy failed to do that; his movie preacher was the cinematic homologue of a straw man. The screenwriter couldn't even come up with a good proof-text.

I think this movie won critical acclaim for several reasons. 1. The direction was wonderful. 2. The acting was engrossing. 3. The topic was interesting. 4. It was critical of Christianity. Hackneyed criticism of Christianity always passes for brilliance in Hollywood. I don't care what the critics say. This movie had no plot, and it left me with nothing to think about. Therefore, on the whole, it was bad.

I thought I saw the new Batman movie on the PPV choice list, but I guess I was wrong, because it's not there today. I would have preferred to watch that. Call it Brokebat Mountain if you want; it probably has more substance than the film I watched.