Arts+Culture

Arts+Culture

We Are the Eighth Day, © Melanie Weidner

Film

Fear factor

Steven Spielberg’s War of the Worlds churns up an emulsion of suspense and horror that engulfs you with the gray relentlessness of a low-grade fever. This is not the kind of thrilling, soaring adventure Spielberg created in Jaws or Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom; it’s a cheerless piece of visceral manipulation.
Poetry

The Volcano Series

            And the graves were opened; and many bodies . . .
            which slept arose, And came out of the graves after
            his resurrection, and went into the holy city, and
            appeared unto many. Matthew 27:52-53

                        When asked, “Just what is night anyway?”
            Coyote closed his eyes,
            Placed his burden basket over his head
            And began making the sounds of hoot owl.
                        “The Burden Basket,” Elderberry Flute
                                    Song, Peter Blue Cloud

What do you think of the little rumblings, the discontents, the
warpings of fault lines and fissures? What seems to be said takes
some thinking. He led captivity captive.¹ Now that he
ascended, what is it but that he also descended first into the lower
part of the earth.² What could it have been to descend into the
earth: the magma and lava the dark heat nearly sweat lodged there?
Was it where he wandered with his ash bucket, his firepans and
shovel after Calvary, after the graves were opened? What did the
dead do the three days he was in hell preaching on last chance to
the unchanced? Did they look at one another and didn’t quite
know what to do? Maybe some saw their families on the street and
weren’t recognized. How had they changed that they didn’t know
them? It would have been too much anyway for the families to
know their dead were only waiting on Jesus and had three days to
kill and would have to leave again for a second parting while the
families were still grieving from the first. Still others hid out,
pulling their tunics and cloaks and head cloths about them, holding
their little angers, the mistreatments, the rapes, the robberies, and
waited on the edge of town for him to return from hell and take
them in the air.

¹Psalm 68:18
²Ephesians 4:9





Poetry

Variety of hells

Hell: the inescapable presence of God
endured in the permanent absence of him.

A hell where your name is forgotten.
Worse, the hell that remembers you.
Every rotten scheme your hands laid plan to.

Then, a hell for omissive sins.
All what you meant to do though couldn’t.
How you intended to love, but didn’t.

A hell for revenge songs and ridicule.
A hell where despair is winnowed by fire.
A hell that burns away desire.

Hell of all hells: I harrow for your ghost.
But we abide eternities apart.
That’s the hell of the heart.







Film

Sensual morality play

Latino cinema has a long tradition of tweaking the Catholic Church for its supposed hypocrisy, involvement in secular politics and manhandling of sexual issues. Thirty-nine-year-old Argentine filmmaker Lucrecia Martel now joins in with her own rants on the rigidity and absoluteness of Catholic doctrine, especially as it pertains to children.
Film

The Dark Knight

As a boy, I was a slave to DC Comics. When the new issues of Superman, Batman, Action, Adventure and World’s Finest hit the stands, I was off to the drugstore to purchase and devour a fistful of 12-cent comics. It was a ritual that continued for many years, until I finally moved on to sports biographies.