Tag Archives: Interstellar

Advent Time

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I love the season of Advent for a lot of reasons, not least the way it embraces the messiness of existence in a manner appropriate to the chaos of the month in which it falls.

But today I’ve been thinking about the way that Advent forces us to reflect on time in a unique way, in both looking back and looking forward, remembrance and imagination of times past and times to come.  The fact that today is my birthday aids in my reflection. Birthdays are steps out of time in a weird way, “just another day” but also not. They are 24 hours long just like any day, but they hold a disproportionate place in our memories and our hopes. They are kairos moments (as opposed to chronos)and as such they remind us that time is less mundane and more miraculous than we often give it credit.

Movies capture this as well. An excellent recent essay on Interstellar illustrates how the film becomes a sort of meta reflection on the way movies reflect the realities of time back to us:

A movie is, itself, an act of relativistic time compression. All movies are a capture of moments of time reconstructed into a semblance of persistence… The universe’s rules are given dramatic life after [Interstellar’s] tragic first expedition to the water planet. Upon return the astronauts learn that 23 years have passed in just over an hour. When Cooper watches a series of messages taking him through two decades of his children’s lives, it is the maximal example of the universal act of anyone watching recorded footage of a loved one. Because all recorded media is a capture of a moment of the past, and to view it is to observe that the true constant in the universe is not the speed of light but our passage through time. Time may distort, your reference perception of it may shift, but we only ever move forward through it. Interstellar compresses the brutal truth of this absolute into a purely expressionistic tragedy, the movie itself distorting time in order to let us feel the full weight of its tragedy, the way our lives slip through our hands, our loved ones age, our children proceed into the future, into a few minutes.

Richard Linklater’s Boyhood, one of 2014’s best films, also captures this “lives slipping through our hands well.” Time is a frequent subject of Linklater’s (see the Before trilogy), but Boyhood is the director’s most forceful embrace of cinema’s ability to confront the viewer with the reality of time. As Andrei Tarkovsky wrote in Sculpting in Time:

“As he buys his ticket, it’s as if the cinema-goer were seeking to make up for the gaps in his own experience, throwing himself into a search for ‘lost time.’ In other words he seeks to fill that spiritual vacuum which has formed as a result of the specific conditions of his modern existence: constant activity, curtailment of human contact, and the materialist bent of modern education.”

Advent does the same thing; it meets us where we are but helps us transcend time. On one hand it zooms us back to history’s most kairotic moment ever: the incarnation of God in flesh, the Creator involving himself in the physical story of creation, in the fulness of time. But Advent also zooms us forward to the “not yet” consummation of history, the coming again of Christ judge and rule and restore this broken world. All of it is held together in the mystery of the incarnation.

In our house this week we’ve been listening a lot to “Nine Lessons & Carols” by the choir of King’s College, Cambridge. It’s beautiful Christmas music. As I listen to it I feel the back-and-forward, now-and-not-yet tension of Advent. The live recording makes me imagine what it must have been like to be there, in the glorious King’s College Chapel, listening to the choral voices and organ in person. It reminds me of times I’ve been in that sacred space myself, worshipping with dear friends who I may not see again in my lifetime. The music stirs longing in my heart for eschatological resolution–for the day when the absence of friends, family members, and the agony of time’s relentless forward motion will give way to a cathartic presence and rest.

The relentlessness of time can be unbearable, but Advent helps us bear it. It allows us to slow down, pause, and enter into time in a new way. Devotionals like the Biola Advent Project help us in this. I pray that God grants you a profound, out-of-time encounter with his presence this Advent.

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Interstellar

interstellar

Christopher Nolan’s Interstellar is one of those films I wish I could have seen three times before I wrote my review. As it is I only had a few hours to process the (insanely mind-bending) film before I had to turn in my review for Christianity Today. Because of that I want to share a few further thoughts I’ve been mulling over in the week since I’ve seen the film:

I’m generally happy with the review I wrote and stand by my arguments about the film’s “secular, yet curiously devout vision of the cosmos.” Also at CT, Alissa offered a different view, suggesting a reading of the film as fundamentally religious. While I agree that the film asks metaphysical questions and looks and feels religious (it “feels a bit like a three-hour church service set in the cathedral of space,” I wrote) I can’t get past the film’s insistent refusal to allow for anything supernatural. I read the film that way in part because of Nolan’s whole body of work. He goes out of his way in his films to strip away the supernatural and ground things painstakingly in the natural. Take the Dark Knight films: One of the most distinctive aspects of them, relative to the superhero genre as a whole, is how de-mystified and stripped of the “super” they are. Or take The Prestige. It’s a film about magic that feels supernatural but, in the end, is explained with the natural (I hope that’s not a spoiler!)Or consider Inception, which feels like there must be something otherworldly or surreal about it, right? But no, it’s all explainable because of psychology and science.

Of course this is not to suggest that these are bad films. On the contrary; they are wonderful and awe-inspiring films. I totally agree with Alissa that science does not negate mystery and that “just because we understand a mystery doesn’t make it less worthy of marvel.” But I do think awe/marvel/wonder takes on a different meaning and posture in the context of a strictly material universe (the awe is directed to the object/phenomena itself, or the science which understands it) than it does in the context of a God-created universe (the awe-inspiring object/phenomena points beyond itself, to the divine).

I suspect Christopher Nolan is inspired by Arthur C. Clarke, author of 2001: A Space Odyssey (clearly a major influence on Interstellar), who famously said that “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” That is to say, what appears magical or supernatural to us is probably just science we haven’t yet understood completely. Everything can ultimately be explained. Certainly this is the concept put forth in Interstellar that makes sense of the movie’s “ghosts” and other phantasmagoric mysteries. If you think about it, cinema is the perfect medium for someone who ascribes to the Clarke mantra. Movie-making is essentially making magic via technology. Certainly Nolan excels at this, as his films do a tremendous job giving the illusion of “magic” by exploiting the technologies of the medium.

A few other random reflections on the film:

  • I still think one of the film’s most powerful themes is survival–that mankind’s instincts to survive make almost anything possible. The “rage against the dying of the light” idea (Dylan Thomas) reminded me of other recent “fighting to the last breath” movies I love, like last year’s All is Lost or 2006’s United 93. It also struck me as a powerful contrast to the Brittany Maynard “die with dignity” story which has grabbed headlines in recent weeks. Watching humans do literally anything to survive (because it’s their inborn instinct), even when the prognosis is hopeless, is so much more compelling than applauding the premature ending of a life.
  • The more I consider Nolan and his body of work the more I think about Nolan’s decidedly British gaze. What I mean is this: There’s a meticulous perfectionism and yet coldness to his filmmaking. There’s an appreciation for artistry and beauty, yet an avoidance of religion and God (intentionally) and a discomfort with touchy feely emotions (unintentionally?). This is very British. Britain today is thoroughly post-Christian and yet unavoidably informed by its Christian heritage (especially aesthetically and narratively). The British gaze today is (for the most part) coldly rational, yet bound by an optimism and moral compass that comes from the vestiges of Christendom. In this way I think Interstellar is a very British film.