Encyclopedia of Religion and Film

Encyclopedia of Religion and Film

Encyclopedia of Religion and Film

Eric Michael Mazur, Editor

Copyright 2011 by Eric Michael Mazur All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Mazur, Eric Michael. Encyclopedia of religion and film / Eric Michael Mazur. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. Includes filmography. ISBN 978-0-313-33072-8 (alk. paper) — ISBN 978-0-313-01398-0 (ebook) 1. Religion in motion pictures—Encyclopedias. 2. Motion pictures—Religious aspects—Encyclopedias. 3. Religious films—History and criticism— Encyclopedias. I. Title. PN1995.9.R4M39 2011 791.43'68203—dc22 2010041455 ISBN: 978-0-313-33072-8 EISBN: 978-0-313-01398-0 15 14 13 12 11

1 2 3 4 5

This book is also available on the World Wide Web as an eBook. Visit www.abc-clio.com for details. ABC-CLIO, LLC 130 Cremona Drive, P.O. Box 1911 Santa Barbara, California 93116-1911 This book is printed on acid-free paper Manufactured in the United States of America

For Mia Rose & Elias Amiel . . . . . . because I’m the dad, that’s why.

Contents

List of Entries, ix Guide to Related Topics, xi Preface, xiii Acknowledgments, xv Introduction, xvii Encyclopedia of Religion and Film, 1 Appendix: Filmography, 471 Selected Bibliography, 563 About the Editor, 577 List of Contributors, 579 Index, 583

vii

List of Entries

Africa Allen, Woody Altman, Robert American Indian Religion Angels Animated Films Arab Film Australia

DeMille, Cecil B. Devil Dogme 95 Dreyer, Carl Theodor Dystopia End-of-the-World Films Eucatastrophe Europe (Continental)

Bazin, André Belief Bergman, Ingmar Besson, Luc Bible Films Black Church, The Bollywood Bresson, Robert Britain Brooks, Mel Buddhism Buñuel, Luis

Fellini, Federico Film as Religion Gilliam, Terry God Greek and Roman Myths Heaven Hinduism Holidays Holocaust, The Horror

Capra, Frank Catholicism Censorship in Hollywood China Clergy Coen, Joel and Ethan Coppola, Francis Ford

Indigenous Religions Islam Japan Jesus ix

x | List of Entries

Joan of Arc Judaism

Posthumanism Protestantism

Kies´ lowski, Krzysztof Kubrick, Stanley Kurosawa, Akira

Ritual Russia

The Last Temptation of Christ Controversy Latin America Leone, Sergio Magic Mamet, David The Matrix Trilogy The Miracle Controversy Missionary Films Miyazaki, Hayao Mizoguchi, Kenji Mormonism Mysticism Myth

Schrader, Paul Science Fiction Scorsese, Martin Silent Film Smith, Kevin Sports Superheroes Tarantino, Quentin Tarkovsky, Andrei Theology and Film Tolkin, Michael Trier, Lars von Truffaut, François

Ozu, Yasujiro¯

Vampires Voodoo

Pasolini, Pier Paolo The Passion of the Christ Controversy

Westerns Women

Guide to Related Topics

Mamet, David Miyazaki, Hayao Mizoguchi, Kenji Ozu, Yasujiro¯ Pasolini, Pier Paolo Schrader, Paul Scorsese, Martin Smith, Kevin Tarantino, Quentin Tarkovsky, Andrei Tolkin, Michael Trier, Lars von Truffaut, François

Asia Bollywood China Kurosawa, Akira Japan Miyazaki, Hayao Mizoguchi, Kenji Ozu, Yasujiro¯ Directors Allen, Woody Altman, Robert Bazin, André Bergman, Ingmar Besson, Luc Bresson, Robert Brooks, Mel Buñuel, Luis Capra, Frank Coen, Joel and Ethan Coppola, Francis Ford DeMille, Cecil B. Dreyer, Carl Theodor Fellini, Federico Gilliam, Terry Kies´ lowski, Krzysztof Kubrick, Stanley Kurosawa, Akira Leone, Sergio

Europe Bazin, André Bergman, Ingmar Besson, Luc Bresson, Robert Britain Buñuel, Luis Dreyer, Carl Theodor Europe (Continental) Fellini, Federico Gilliam, Terry Holocaust, The Kies´ lowski, Krzysztof Leone, Sergio Pasolini, Pier Paolo xi

xii | Guide to Related Topics

Russia Tarkovsky, Andrei Trier, Lars von Truffaut, François Films and Film Genres Animated Films Censorship in Hollywood Dogma 95 Holocaust, The Horror The Last Temptation of Christ Controversy The Matrix Trilogy The Miracle Controversy Missionary Films The Passion of the Christ Controversy Science Fiction Silent Film Sports Superheroes Westerns Geographical Regions Africa Arab Film Australia Bollywood Britain China Europe (Continental) Japan Latin America Russia Religious Characters, Concepts, and Symbols Angels Belief

Bible Films Clergy Devil Dystopia End-of-the-World Films Eucatastrophe Film as Religion God Heaven Holidays Jesus Joan of Arc Magic Mysticism Myth Posthumanism Rituals Theology Vampires Women Religious Traditions American Indian Religions Black Church, The Buddhism Catholicism Greek and Roman Myths Hinduism Indigenous Religions Islam Judaism Mormonism Protestantism Voodoo

Preface

This work is not intended to be a catalogue of all films made in the global history of filmmaking that include, represent, touch on, or mention specific religions or religion in general. Such a compendium would be dated the instant it was published. Just a few years ago, for the Material History of American Religion Project, scholar Judith Weisenfeld created a “Selected Filmography of American Films,” identifying films in which, in her opinion, religion was “particularly important.” The list was filled with just over 100 titles, many of them classic American films. The filmography that follows the entries in this encyclopedia identifies hundreds of films—many, to be sure, for which religion is not “particularly important”— and that is only for films mentioned in one or more of the entries of this volume. And it is not intended to be an exhaustive list. Part of the reasoning behind the editorial decision to focus on general topics related to religion and film and not on specific films has to do with debates over definitions. First, because there is no fixed definition for religion, how can one confidently identify all of the films related to it? Sure, The Passion of the Christ (2004) is about a portion of the Christian scripture, but what about E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial (1982)? The central figure comes from beyond this world, has a fondness for children and outcasts, is pursued by the government, is resurrected from the dead, and promises to return to those who love him; do the strong allegorical elements make it a religious film? Many clearly and overtly religious films—films in which religion is “particularly important”—are not mentioned in this volume, films that, in conversation, most rational people would identify as related to religion in one way or another. Yet The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975) is mentioned several times. Second, as technology stretches the way we understand and integrate various media, how can one confidently identify film? Is it an analog product, or can it include digital work? Is it only that which is “consumed” in theaters, or can it include the “made for television,” “straight to video,” and Internet downloadable markets? For greater ease of use, we have made editorial decisions on both of these issues. By including some things and not others, xiii

xiv | Preface

we have decided what is religion, and what is film. But we recognize that they are editorial decisions dependent upon the limitations of publishing and not scholarly decisions based on any determination of a definition of either religion or film. For this reason we have placed greatest emphasis on film as the word is traditionally understood; that is, that which has been released and shown in a theater. (Other forms—documentaries, made-for-television programs, and straight-to-video products—are included where necessary, and detailed information is provided when available.) The goal of this encyclopedia is not to catalog all religious film—whatever that might be—but to give readers some of the tools they might need to evaluate visual products for themselves and enable them to create their own list of films that have some religious content in some form or other. In addition to including analyses of religion and film (however defined) in various parts of the world and in relation to various—but not all—religious traditions (and how they are represented in film), we have included entries on various themes common in the discussion of religion—heaven, God, angels, the Devil—as well as a few on issues of significance to the field of religion and film. We have also included entries on particular directors whose work reflects artistic confrontation with issues related to religion (in whatever form). Specific films have been highlighted herein only insofar as they are part of a larger cultural conversation. It is our hope that this encyclopedia will be a starting place for an investigation of the interaction of religion and film. The film titles and suggestions for further reading provided in each entry, and the selected bibliography at the end of the work, should provide the reader not with the final word on any given topic but with enough information and food for thought as a bridge to the next step into more specific aspects of this conversation.

Acknowledgments

There are a number of people who deserve thanks: Rhoda Himmel Mazur, my mother, who introduced me to old “classic” films, and Marvin Irwin Mazur, my father (Z’’L), who would see any film as long as my mother told him that it was a “musical comedy”; Jody Risa Mazur, my sister, who lent me a variety of materials (often without her remembering); Lillian Weintraub, my aunt (Z’’L), who sent me articles on religion and film from the time I started graduate school until her death in 2008; Bill Mandel, annual host of the seasonal “Mandel Bijou”; Benton Knight (who dragged me to see Be My Bloody Valentine) and Scott Baradell (who dragged me to see C.H.U.D.); Robin Alperstein and the editorial staff of The Declaration (at the University of Virginia, way back in 1986–1987), who published “Reel to Reel,” a movie review column I coauthored with Scott Baradell, which was based on the work of Gene Siskel and Roger Ebert (only funny, and in print); and of course Claudia Anne Mazur, my wife, who has humored me when I have insisted that we watch any number of questionable films with the declaration that “it’s for work, dear.” To all of these people, I say thank you. You have encouraged—or at least tolerated—my often childish musings about film, and I think that with this volume, I have become both better educated and humbled by my professional digression into this field. I also want to thank Lynn Malloy Aranjo—whom I barely knew—and Rob (“RobRobRob”) Kirkpatrick—whom I know a bit better—for letting me pitch the idea of the encyclopedia to Greenwood in the first place. Rob was particularly patient as I worked out a number of the details, and for that I am grateful. And yes, Rob, you were right; the entry on Krzysztof Kies´ lowski is dedicated to you. Thanks also to Debra Adams, who saw the project through its hardest stretch, and Mariah Gumpert at ABC-CLIO, who provided the last bit of energy and assistance needed to get it all finished. If patience is a virtue, you are all saints. I must also thank the hard-working people in the Interlibrary Loan office at the Ellen Clarke Bertrand Library of Bucknell University, particularly Candice Hinckley, who worked tirelessly locating many of the materials listed in the xv

xvi | Acknowledgments

bibliography. Without knowing it, they helped me forget the difference, if only for a moment, between a large research institution and a relatively small teaching college. A special thanks also to Julia Miller (Bucknell ’08) and Stephanie Johnson (Virginia Wesleyan College ’11) for their dedicated filmographic work, and Brittany Hayes (Virginia Wesleyan College ’12) for her fact-checking. Contributor Melanie J. Wright passed away just as this project was going into its final production. She was a friendly colleague and an insightful scholar in many fields, but particularly in the study of religion and film. She will be missed. I would also like to thank all of the contributors, particularly those who got their entries in on time and according to style. You are a very talented bunch of scholars and critics, and I have enjoyed reading all that you’ve sent me. I hope you like what I’ve done with your work! Eric Michael Mazur

Introduction

And God said, “Let there be light!”

Although in its current form the study of the relationship between religion and film is a relatively young field, the relationship itself dates to the advent of film in the late 19th century. This is no surprise—people of faith have used the latest technologies in the service of their beliefs throughout human history. Whether it was in the process of binding books (the word bible itself comes from the Greek for “book”) or the printing press (not only to produce the Gutenberg Bible, but also some of the earliest printed versions of rabbinic literature in Judaism), or later via radio, television, or the Internet, members of religious communities representing their beliefs have sought new technologies as ways of transmitting those beliefs to others—of preaching their respective gospels, as it were. In the case of film, some of the earliest works were representations of biblical narrative, not only because of their ready familiarity to viewing audiences—as there was no sound, familiar stories obviated the need for much written dialogue—but also because, in a new industry, there were no royalties to pay for using the Bible. The early years of film also coincided with a number of other aspects of American religious history; for example, because many considered the new film media to be crude, it was an industry left for “the masses,” in particular immigrants (many of them Jews from central and eastern Europe) who were looking for ways to establish themselves in their new country. It was therefore also a medium that needed reform to help the masses become “civilized,” and was thus a platform through which to teach (or scold) the masses about proper behavior. As the 20th century progressed, the film industry would become a location for the social integration of non-Protestant religious communities in particular; Jewish studio owners and Catholic social conservatives would engage in a battle over film content and production, each acting out (albeit subconsciously) a behavior that symbolically represented to them the best model of being “American”—the entrepreneurial spirit on the one hand and the Puritan perspective on the other. More recently, film has come to represent xvii

xviii | Introduction

not only the location where religious communities present themselves (or are presented by others) to a mass audience—be it Buddhism, Hinduism, Islam, or any of the world’s religious traditions—but, in the United States and elsewhere, where the very role and meaning of religion (of any kind) in society is examined and debated. Interestingly, the relationship of religion to film goes deeper still. Whereas religious reflection, theology, and related pursuits can be found throughout the history of any religious tradition, the study of religion as an academic field—wherein a religious tradition, its truth claims, and its members are subject to analysis of a higher level of objectivity—coincides in some respects with the history of film. To be sure, roots of the academic study of religion are to be found in the Enlightenment, but as a self-conscious academic tradition, most scholars would identify the late 19th century as a no less reasonable place to find the origin of the field than any other. The result of this coincidence is that, as the academic study of religion has matured in the 20th century and into the 21st, its self-understanding has changed, as have the objects of its analysis. In the area of film, most materials dated before World War II are theological in nature: how should the religious community (most often Christianity) respond to the theological and social threat presented by film? Many materials from the 1960s and 1970s tend to focus on “high” art films—the works of Bergman, Truffaut, and others—that either specifically address theological issues or reflect the existentialist trends of the time. Materials from the late 1980s forward are much broader in focus and include examinations of “low” art films—more commercial, popular, and accessible works. Most recently, the study of religion and film has exploded to include analyses of just about any film for its religious or quasi-religious content or significance. As the academic study of religion has matured, the definition of religion has expanded so that (within reason) almost anything can be examined using the tools of the field. This has enabled scholars of religion particularly to be able to investigate any film—or even the process of filmmaking or film viewing—as valuable material in the investigation of religion in society. This reveals an important point about the present work. Most of the contributors have a deep interest in film, to be sure, and some even have expertise in the relatively new field known as film studies. However, more often than not, the work presented in the following pages is by scholars of religion who are examining film as the source (in some way) of insight into the place and meaning of religion in the contemporary world. (This also means that the work is less historic and more contemporary in its focus.) Most of the analysis is Anglocentric—that is, focused on the English-speaking world, and even within that, within the United States— and because of that, it is also heavily influenced by the cultural dominance of Protestant Christianity. However, an effort has been made to cast the view a bit more

Introduction | xix

broadly to include the world’s religious traditions beyond Protestantism as well as to areas of the film-producing world outside of the United States. In the modern world—and maybe most explicitly in the United States—the place of religion has shifted most significantly in the last four decades, resulting in a culture where many—but by no means all—Americans can justify their personal pursuit of spiritual satisfaction outside the walls of a religious institution. Some find it through “extreme” sports, others through communing with nature, and still others in their experience with an ever-expanding network of electronic media. Indeed, in a recent census taken in England, nearly 400,000 citizens identified the “Jedi” and the Star Wars warrior tradition as their religion, making it, as The Economist has reported, “the fourth-largest faith in the land” (November 28, 2009: 62). Although the means of delivering that media has changed dramatically over the past century—from the nickelodeon to the cinema palace, the mall multiplex, television, videocassettes, DVDs, and the Internet—the place of the story is still central in our society. There will always be a place for myths in our world, even as the forms of “movies” change. That being the case, it seems likely that there will always be a connection between religious impulses, religious institutions, and the film narrative as well.

A Africa To understand the relation of religion and film in Africa, it is useful to bear in mind the historical background and political contexts in which different films have been produced. One might first consider religion and film in colonial Africa, and then move on to consider in more detail some examples from postcolonial filmmakers. There are an increasing number of African filmmakers who have helped or are helping to ensure that certain parts of this diverse continent, made up of over 50 nation states, are becoming centers for cinematic productivity and excellence. Given the growth of filmmaking, it is no longer possible to characterize African cinema as an arid desert sparsely populated by a few films of significance. Inevitably, in a continent with a population of around 1 billion people and covering over 30 million square miles, one must be selective and highlight some of the most significant examples of the interactions between religion and film in Africa. During the first decades of cinema, moving pictures were invariably made and used by incomers to Africa. Some foreign missionaries, who had previously used magic-lantern slide shows, began to use moving pictures for educational or evangelistic purposes, while colonial authorities also embraced the new technologies. Sometimes this involved the use of portable projection equipment, and at other times it led to the construction of semipermanent outdoor—or even indoor— cinemas. These film showings made for popular entertainment, often attracting large crowds. Responses could be mixed, and they evolved as film became more commonplace. For example, Amadou Hampaté Ba, a well-known Muslim author from Mali, recalled the 1908 screening of a film in his village, which the French governor insisted that the local population should view. Religious leaders considered all film evil, and many of the villagers who attended refused to watch. Some time later, Ba convinced his mother to see a film that was being shown in her village; when she did, she came to the conclusion that the film was not a religious threat. In light of her viewing experience, her view of cinema changed from 1

2 | Africa

hostility to acceptance. As in many other parts of the world suspicion of cinema— partly inspired by religious beliefs—is tempered and sometimes even replaced by appreciation for film. The role of the colonial powers is also noteworthy. Several western governments observed how film was put to use as a tool for propaganda by the Bolsheviks in postrevolutionary Russia during the 1920s and 1930s, and endeavored to copy this example in various locations throughout Africa. Perhaps best known of all was the Bantu Educational Kinema Experiment (BEKE)—supported by the British Colonial office, the International Missionary Council, and the Carnegie Trust—which was set up in 1936 for work in East Africa. Over several years, it produced 35 black-and-white films covering topics such as soil erosion, infant malaria, and the Boy Scouts. In the first two years of its existence, the team who made up BEKE toured around East Africa, showing these and other educational films to over 100,000 people. In 1939, the Colonial Film Units were established to persuade African audiences to support Britain through the Second World War. These units have been criticized for idealizing the West and caricaturing African culture and traditional religions. Scarcity of filming resources and strict colonial regulations ensured that during the first half of the 20th century, few films were actually produced by Africans. It was not until the later 1950s and 1960s that films were produced in significant numbers by Africans. In North Africa, the film director Youssef Chahine, who was born in Alexandria, is seen by many as one of the fathers of modernday Egyptian cinema. With over 40 films to his name, Chahine’s depictions of Islam have provoked extensive debates. Although some of his most famous productions—such as Bab el-Hadid (Cairo Station, 1958)—largely skirt around religious tensions within Egyptian society, many of his other films depict religious practices and beliefs. For instance, in his short (23-minute) television documentary al-Qahira munawwara bi ahliha (Cairo as Told by Youssef Chahine, 1991), he portrays people in Cairo who end up praying in a crowded street. In a scene depicting this practice, the viewer’s attention is directed to the shoes—removed for prayer—and how each pair, differing in size and shape, represents the individuality of its owner, and his humanity. That is not to suggest, however, that Chahine is uncritical of aspects of Islam, especially its fundamentalist strands. Whether in modern-day Cairo or 12th century Andalusia (for al-Massir [Destiny], 1997), he is not afraid of interrogating extreme forms of belief through his filmmaking. Perhaps his most controversial film was al-Muhajir (The Emigrant, 1994), which depicted the prophet Joseph’s flight into Egypt. The film was banned twice in Egypt, though it proved to be hugely popular when finally released. The success and expansion of the Pan-African Film and TV Festival of Ouagadougou (FESPAC), begun in 1969 in Upper Volta (now Burkina Faso), highlights

Africa | 3

the growth of African cinema. Films have been produced in Francophone countries such as Cameroon, Mali, and Niger as well as Algeria, Tunisia, and Morocco. Many of these films touch on religious themes, practices, or beliefs and, for some scholars, embody a “decolonization of the gaze.” This commonly includes a questioning of the religious traditions that were perceived as being brought to Africa. A good example of this can be found in Ceddo (Outsiders, 1977). Directed by the well-known Senegalese filmmaker Sembene Ousmane (1923–2007), it takes place at an unspecified time in the past in a Wolof-speaking village. Through a simple but memorable narrative, it portrays a traditional culture desperately trying to hold onto its former ways of life while resisting the missionary efforts of Islam and to a lesser extent Christianity, two colonizing traditions that are depicted as inextricably connected with the slave trade. Like Chahine, Ousmane is not afraid of using his film narratives to critique what he perceives as the darker sides of religious traditions. Religion is not always the focal point for criticism. Other directors draw upon well-known religious stories in order to reflect critically on the political situation in their own countries. For instance, the Malian filmmaker Cheick Oumar Sissoko (1945–) produced La Genèse (Genesis, 1999), which retells the story of Jacob, Esau, and Hamor from the Hebrew Bible, setting the story in a vast, rocky African desert. Sissoko cinematically offers insights into some of the major difficulties facing not only the African continent but also into the “fratricidal conflict” within his own country of Mali. Sissoko was attracted to Genesis (specifically chapters 23 to 37) partly because of the text’s global appeal and for its foundational role in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. In this case film becomes a way of retelling a well-known religious story in a less familiar context, providing a cinematic reinterpretation of this part of the book of Genesis. Other filmmakers use religious practice or belief as one element within their cinematic narrative. Set in postconflict Chad, Mahamat-Saleh Haroun’s film Daratt (Dry Season, 2006) tells the story of Atim, a young man who is commanded by his blind grandfather to avenge the killing of Atim’s own father. This simple and powerful tale invites viewers to reflect on revenge and justice in situations where the effects of violent conflict are still raw. Nassara, the killer, has become a baker. Even though he has a wardrobe full of guns, he is portrayed as not only haunted by his past but also in search of peace through religious devotion and generosity to the poor. On several occasions he even invites Atim, his would-be avenger, to join him at prayers in the local mosque. In this film, like many other recent African productions, religion does not drive or dominate the narrative but rather plays an important role in enriching the story and characterizations. In spite of the work of directors such as Chahine, Sissoko, and Sembene, there are several African countries that have yet to produce their first full-length feature

4 | Africa

film. In many cinemas or video shops in Africa, films from Hollywood or “Bollywood” (a nickname for the Hindi film industry) often dominate the screens and shelves. The main exception to this is found in Nigeria (“Nollywood”) and Ghana, where locally produced video films have taken the place of cinematic imports. These countries are experiencing a renaissance in local filmmaking. This is an extraordinary phenomenon of particular significance for those analyzing the relation between film and religion; in these locally produced movies, religion plays a deeply significant role, reflecting local beliefs and practices. These films have circulated to both East and South Africa, becoming increasingly popular throughout Anglophone Africa. With their religious themes, they translate well across the continent, where other countries are undergoing similar religious transformations. Increasingly they are carried by satellite broadcast, including the BSkyB pay-per-view network, which has access to African expatriates in Europe. Some commentators claim that Nollywood now produces more films than either Bollywood or Hollywood. These locally produced African films are not without their critics. One area of particular controversy is the way in which religious figures are portrayed in many of these video films. Traditional African religious leaders are frequently caricatured, stereotyped, or even demonized. They can be the cause of sickness, violence, or death. They are sometimes portrayed as having direct links with actual spirits, who in turn are depicted as having real power. In the Ghanaian film Namisha (1999), the protagonist Slobo exerts terrible revenge on those who have stolen his wife and were responsible for the death of his two daughters. He uses Namisha, one of the spirits beholden to the earth spirit Abadzen, to seduce his enemies and then brutally murder them. Ministers from the historic mission churches (such as the Methodists, the Presbyterians, and Anglicans), on the other hand, are often represented as well-intentioned but ultimately ineffectual and marginal to the outcome of the story. Pastors from the independent Pentecostal or charismatic churches, by contrast, are typically portrayed as dynamic and spiritually powerful, and they often use the accoutrements of power, such as mobile phones or computers, alongside a large black leather-covered Bible. Frequently, it is they who overcome—or at least help to overcome—the evil forces. At other moments the battles between the faiths are more explicitly represented. In the final scene of the Nigerian film Owo Idan (Magic Money, 1993), for example, the Christian pastor and African traditional priest call and even shout for the help of their respective gods. They both dance on the spot and gesticulate aggressively, but the traditional priest is literally laid low, overwhelmed by the more powerful force called upon by the Christian pastor. This battle is taken a step further in Namisha, in which one character commits his life to the elemental spirit Obadzen. He has a secret room to which he adjourns to pray to this spirit; she declines to assist him, so he tries to use his own power. In a scene reminiscent of science fiction, he hurls out curses from his room, and

Africa | 5

with these curses go superimposed circles of light thrown toward his opponents in the sitting room, accompanied by echoing sound effects. The pastor, who has been praying with three women associates, is knocked down and lands on the sofa. The praying in tongues does not abate; if anything, it continues more vigorously. The pastor recovers, and this time rays of light burst from him and his associates, knocking out their opponent. Some audiences in Ghana laughed out loud at the weakness of the traditional religionist portrayed in this sequence. Such a response and the actual conflict presented have their roots in Ghana’s and Nigeria’s colonial past, where traditional religion has been commonly portrayed in particularly negative terms. These films stand in sharp contrast with better-known and more critically acclaimed feature films such as Souleymane Cissé’s Yeelen (1987), set in a mythical 13th-century Bambara culture (now Mali). This film depicts a father angrily hunting his son with the help of two servants, who are carrying a magic post. Unlike the films discussed earlier, which depict the “inferiority” of certain traditions, Yeelen celebrates magical forces and references mysterious African gods. Films emerging from beyond the Anglophone and Francophone parts of the continent also reflect aspects of Africa’s diverse religious landscape. The religious dimension of these films merits further careful research. To what extent are Hollywood depictions of African religions characterized by either romanticisation or demonization of the unknown “other,” and why have certain events in Africa captured the imagination of western filmmakers? Consider how the 1994 Rwandan genocide has been the subject of several recent feature and documentary films, including Shooting Dogs (2005), which has a Catholic priest as the central protagonist. This fictional story is based upon real events and was filmed at a secondary school in Kigali, where several thousand Tutsis were actually killed. The screenplay raises explicit questions about theodicy and the place of religious ritual in the presence of gangs of machete-waving interahamwe (literally, “those who stand together”). South Africa, like Nigeria, is one of the few countries in Africa where cinemas are not being closed and replaced by video/DVD houses and cafes, and films emerging from South Africa increasingly are being shown around the globe. Mark Dornford-May’s Son of Man (2005)—the first South African film to debut at the Sundance Film Festival—is based upon The Mysteries (a play by Dimpho Di Kopane) and is set among the townships of Cape Town. Amid civil war, Jesus practices and preaches the peaceful way of nonviolence. This is an original contribution to the Jesus movie genre, inviting audiences to reflect on what might happen if someone started to embody and articulate Jesus’ original message in contemporary Africa. Here is another example of a film that attempts to translate a biblical story into an African context. A second film—this one based on actual events in South Africa—is the documentary Long Night’s Journey into Day (1995), by Deborah Hoffman and Frances Reid, which is structured around four memorable stories that emerged from South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation

6 | Allen, Woody

Commission. The inclusion of religious leaders, beliefs, and practices is important in several of these stories, but they are by no means instrumental elements of the dominant theme. From Son of Man to Long Night’s Journey into Day and everything in between, it is clear that the filmmakers represent religion in Africa in many different ways. Films emerging out of Africa not only critique contemporary religious practice and question religious history but also celebrate religious traditions and even employ religious stories, beliefs, and practices as a creative resource in a way that can ultimately enliven cinematic narratives. Jolyon P. Mitchell See also: Bible Films; “Bollywood”; Catholicism; Indigenous Religions; Islam; Jesus; Protestantism; Missionary Films; Russia.

Note This entry draws upon and adapts material from Jolyon P. Mitchell, “Decolonising Religion in African Film.” Studies in World Christianity 15, no. 2 (2009): 149–161.

Further Reading Meyer, Birgit. “Money, Power and Morality: Popular Ghanaian Cinema in the Fourth Republic.” Ghana Studies 4 (2001): 65–84. Meyer, Birgit. “Pentecostalism, Prosperity and Popular Cinema in Ghana.” Culture and Religion 3, no. 1 (2002a): 67–86. Meyer, Birgit. “Prayers, Guns and Ritual Murder: Popular Cinema and Its New Figures of Power and Success.” Politique Africaine 82 (2002b): 45–62. English translation of the French published text. Mitchell, Jolyon. “From Morality Tales to Horror Movies: Towards an Understanding of the Popularity of West African Video Film.” In Belief in Media: Cultural Perspectives on Media and Christianity, edited by Peter Horsfield, Mary E. Hess, and Adán M. Medrano, 107–121. Ashgate, UK: Aldershot, 2004. Ukadike, N. F. “Critical Approaches to World Cinema: African Cinema.” In The Oxford Guide to Film Studies, edited by John Hill and Pamela Church Gibson, 569–575. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 1998.

Allen, Woody (1935– ) Woody Allen, one of the most prolific writer-directors in modern cinematic history, was born Allan Stewart Konigsberg on December 1, 1935, but changed his name in 1972, when he first became a newspaper columnist. Although born in the

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Bronx, New York, his family moved often and he spent most of his childhood in Flatbush, Brooklyn. His great love of Manhattan came early in life, when he first visited there at the age of six with his father. Manhattan would eventually prove to be the shooting location of most of his films, with one film being entirely devoted to this great borough (Manhattan, 1979). Many even consider Manhattan to be a principal character in his films. Allen was raised in a Jewish home and attended Hebrew school for eight years. Although Jewish characters regularly appear in his films, he has denied, in interviews, that Judaism is specifically on his mind as he works on his films, as it is not part of his artistic consciousness. He ultimately rejected the Jewish faith and belief in God, believing this religious background to have been forced on him. He has said that he believes neither in God, justice, nor the afterlife and has assiduously avoided direct contact with the world of organized religion. However, he often expresses his wish for some persuasive alternative to the godless universe and hostile environment in which he finds himself. He expresses a full appreciation for the search for genuine religious faith that some people go through and even envies the person who is religious naturally without being somehow brainwashed into it by organized religion. He rejects standard religious solutions to life but is sure that the point of living is not simple hedonism. He is a believer in chance and thinks that most people are often unaware of what a big role it plays in life (or do not want to admit to it). He considers chance to be a principal factor in good relationships as well as other aspects of life, maintaining that often being in the right place at the right time shapes our destinies. Most of Allen’s films are not overtly religious, but there are constant allusions to religious themes in most of his films, with some individual films almost entirely devoted to religious questions, broadly construed. He can be said to have a genuine interest in and obsession with religious and philosophical themes as opposed to social or topical themes. But one of the key questions in examining Allen’s films is to what extent the characters represent his views, and one must be careful in assuming that any of the specific characters give voice to his personal convictions. He acknowledges that although there are similarities between him and his characters, there are also differences. Overall, though, Allen’s films do not offer solutions as much as they question and challenge our most dearly held and comforting norms, beliefs, and ideas. Several religious themes figure prominently in Allen’s work. It is impossible to do justice to all of it, since he has directed over 35 films, but some of his more recent productions—Love and Death (1975), Stardust Memories (1980), Zelig (1983), Broadway Danny Rose (1984), Hannah and Her Sisters (1986), Crimes and Misdemeanors (1989), Deconstructing Harry (1997), and Match Point (2005)— explore his more overtly religious/philosophical issues: the existence of God; the

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problem of evil (particularly the Holocaust); the meaning of life; morality, justice, and their relationship to luck/chance; and death. The foundational concept of monotheistic religious traditions is the belief in the existence of a God who is benevolent and kindly disposed toward creation, particularly humans. However, it is the idea of such a God that is most troubling to Woody Allen and many of the characters he plays, who are often struggling to believe in a God in the midst of the often hostile environment in which they find themselves. Says Mickey (Hannah and Her Sisters) when he hits bottom: “I felt that, in a godless universe, I didn’t want to go on living. . . . Then I thought, what if I’m wrong? What if there is a God? After all, nobody really knows that. But then I thought, no, maybe is not good enough. I want certainty or nothing.” This agnosticism/atheism, often presented in a lighthearted manner, still reveals the deep existential struggle of what life means without the existence of God. In Stardust Memories, Sandy suggests that “To you I’m an atheist; to God I’m the loyal opposition.” In Shadows and Fog (1992), Kleinman admits that he would love to believe in God but cannot; he is unable to make the necessary leap of faith. In Husbands and Wives (1992), when one of the characters quotes Einstein’s famous denunciation of quantum theory, that “God doesn’t play dice with the universe,” the Allen character replies that “He only plays hide-and-seek.” Although those who believe in God are not necessarily ridiculed for their personal faith, organized religion is sometimes viewed as an obstacle to God. In Deconstructing Harry, the main character says, “Look, wouldn’t it be a better world if not every group believed they had a direct line to God?” One of the main reasons for doubting the existence of God is the reality of evil; if God is all-loving and all-powerful, then why do bad things happen? The implicit question is then how one can believe in a God who seemingly allows this. As the main character in Stardust Memories observes, “I look around the world and all I see is human suffering.” For Allen, the Holocaust in particular is the ultimate example of evil, in which God apparently did nothing to prevent the death of 6 million Jews. In Annie Hall (1977), his two main characters watch a four-hour documentary on the Holocaust. In Deconstructing Harry, when one character is asked if he cares about the Holocaust, he replies, “Not only do I know that we lost six million, but the scary thing is that records are made to be broken.” In discussing a film on the Holocaust in Hannah and Her Sisters, one character asks, “Not how could it possibly happen, the question is, why doesn’t it happen more often.” Mickey replies, “If there is a God in the world, why is there so much evil? Why were there Nazis?” The most poignant discussion of the problem of evil and the Holocaust takes place in Crimes and Misdemeanors, when the main character visits his childhood home and has a visual memory of a family dinner conversation. His aunt argues that one cannot believe in a God who allowed the Holocaust

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to happen, and that history belongs to the winners. His father, in contrast, argues that life without faith in God is meaningless, and that he would rather believe in God than the truth. Doubt in the existence of God and belief in the reality of the seeming randomness of evil inevitably raise the question of the meaning of life. Does life have meaning? And if so, what is it? Allen’s characters often pursue this question with a vengeance, and ultimately the answers that most of them find have nothing to do with God or organized religion, although religion is sometimes the first place where such a question is posed. In a more lighthearted moment, the main character in Zelig visits a rabbi in a synagogue to ask about the meaning of life. The rabbi responds to him in Hebrew; when Zelig indicates that he doesn’t understand Hebrew, the rabbi offers to give him Hebrew lessons for $600. Although Allen does not find the meaning of life in God or religion, his films are still generally full of hope and the possibility that happiness and meaning are possible. Most of his characters discover meaning in relationships, which are a central theme in Allen’s work. Although people are almost inevitably in romantic relationships with the wrong persons, they are often happy when they are in relationships that seem right. In Zelig, the narrator says, “In the end, it was, after all, not the approbation of the many, but the love of one woman, that changes his life.” In Celebrity (1998), Lee says to a woman he is romantically interested in, “If the universe has any meaning, I’m looking at it.” In addition to relationships (including sex and love), one’s work, art, and creativity also contribute significantly to one’s purpose and the meaning one may find in life. Allen’s main protagonist is often an artist (usually but not always a writer) whose experience of life is enhanced greatly by his or her creations and contributions to the world. The main search for most of the main protagonists in Allen’s films is for authenticity and to becoming one’s true self. Some form of therapy is often used as an aid, but more important is the goal of not sacrificing oneself simply to achieve worldly success. These themes are addressed quite specifically in Another Woman (1988) and Alice (1990). The issue of morality is also in the forefront of many of Allen’s films. In the seeming absence of God, how can one know how to live morally? What is morality? Is the universe morally neutral or does it have a moral structure? Most religious traditions maintain that morality ultimately comes from God—that it is somehow woven into the very fabric of the universe, able to be discerned by those who are willing to search. In the absence of an objective moral order, the issue then becomes if there is no God, is morality socially constructed, personally constructed, or completely absent? Allen is particularly interested in the question of justice in the absence of a God. In Crimes and Misdemeanors and Match Point, the protagonist is a person of weak moral character who seems to get away with a serious crime; since, in the absence of human retribution, there is no God to

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punish the perpetrators, Allen asks whether these individuals are truly guilty. He believes that since there is no God, there is no justice; that is, since your morality is up to you, you can get away with something immoral or criminal. As in real life, Allen’s belief in chance enables both of these characters to escape the negative consequences of their actions. In Match Point, Chris says that most people do not want to admit how much of life is based on luck. Thus, while individuals may strive to be good, Allen believes that, in terms of reward and punishment, life is often not fair and luck often trumps justice. Finally, Allen focuses on the question of death. The film Love and Death deals most specifically with this issue, but it is a recurring theme in many of Allen’s films, often dealt with humorously. In the absence of a God—and in particular some kind of afterlife—death becomes something ultimately to be feared and avoided. In Anything Else (2003), Jerry’s novel is titled The Absolute Terror of Facing One’s Death. Allen’s characters often fear their own eventual demise, whether through sickness, the actions of others, or by suicide. As Allen observes on the death of philosophy professor Luis Levy, in Crimes and Misdemeanors, suicide is the ultimate rejection of life. His own perspective, as expressed in his films, is that although death cannot be avoided and should not be sought, the focus should be on experiencing one’s life to the fullest. In his one musical, entitled Everyone Says I Love You (1996), deceased persons/ghosts at a funeral dance happily before the funeral participants to the song, “Enjoy yourself, it’s later than you think!” (Thus Allen gives a nod to The Twelve Chairs [1970], directed by his former colleague Mel Brooks on Your Show of Shows [NBC, 1950–1954]). Despite Allen’s seemingly pessimistic view, his films are ultimately hopeful, suggesting that meaning is discernible, happiness is possible, and the search for authenticity worthwhile. Donna Yarri See also: Belief; Brooks, Mel; Holocaust, The; Judaism.

Further Reading Blake, Richard A. “Looking for God: Profane and Sacred in the Films of Woody Allen.” Journal of Popular Film and Television 19, no. 2 (1991): 58–66. Blake, Richard A. Woody Allen: Profane and Sacred. Lanham, MD: Scarecrow, 1995. Commins, Gary. “Woody Allen’s Theological Imagination.” Theology Today 44, no. 2 (1987): 235–249. Hirsch, Foster. Love, Sex, Death, and the Meaning of Life: The Films of Woody Allen, revised and updated. New York: Limelight, 1990. Yacowar, Maurice. “The Religion of Radio Days.” Journal of Popular Film and Television 16, no. 2 (1988): 80–86.

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Altman, Robert (1925–2007) In many ways an antireligious director, Robert Altman was the most applauded auteur of the 1970s. His personal vision of how Americans really thought and lived in the immediate post-Vietnam era was very successful both in critical and box office terms. But as Hollywood became obsessed with blockbusters, Altman’s penchant for making difficult and unprofitable films made him a pariah in studio boardrooms; no one wanted to use him to direct because no distributor would touch his projects. Fox studio actually refused to distribute A Perfect Couple (1979) and HealtH (1980), the last two films he made for them. During the 1980s, Altman made a series of low-budget films culminating in The Player (1992), a brilliant satire of the whole Hollywood system. The 1990s saw the rise of new semi-independent companies like Miramax and Fine Line, who discovered how advertising could make an Altman film marketable, enabling him to find a whole new audience who despised Hollywood’s blockbuster obsession. Suddenly the maverick was in favor again. Unlike George Lucas, Francis Ford Coppola, and Martin Scorsese—all the products of film school—Altman came into the industry in the traditional way, first serving a long apprenticeship making industrial films in Kansas City and then, from 1964, spending seven years directing television series. His lucky break came when he was invited to direct M*A*S*H (1970) after 13 other directors had turned down a poorly written script based on a the memoirs of a doctor in the Korean war. Altman caught the mood of post-Vietnam disillusionment perfectly and was promptly lionized when his witty, cruel comedy became a $35 million box office success. Altman left his clearly individual stamp on every one of his movies. M*A*S*H, with its counterculture suggestions as to the futility of the Korean War, fit the disillusionment of many Americans over the Vietnam War. Neither the book nor the screenplay were remarkable, but in Altman’s hands the result was what Roger Ebert called a “peculiar marriage between cinematography, acting, directing and writing.” One might expect a depiction of any medical unit close to the front lines to be improvised, but for 1970 audiences the surgical scenes so drenched in gore were unexpected, as was the humor emerging from the desperate needs of the doctors and wounded. The previously unknown lead actors Eliot Gould and Donald Sutherland were more than brilliantly funny; their type of humor attracted a new generation of counterculture enthusiasts. Surprisingly, Altman gave the movie a strong misogynistic tone—head nurse Maj. “Hot Lips” O’Houlihan becomes an object of scorn and derision. He also represents religion in a less than flattering light: the two “traditionally” religious characters—Father Mulcahy and Major Frank Burns—are represented respectively as either inept or insane. M*A*S*H

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has a whole series of unforgettable scenes that are typical in an Altman movie; brilliant on bizarre characterization, weaker on story line. Altman’s next film, Brewster McCloud (1970), was a curious mixture of western and Indian themes. Advertised as “something else from the director of M*A*S*H,” it grossed less than $1 million domestically. Altman left MGM, saying “I wouldn’t make a film at MGM today if they gave me 100% financings and 100% of the profits,” accurately summarizing his attitude toward the big studios for the rest of the decade. This film was followed by McCabe & Mrs. Miller (1971), which is now regarded as a brilliant subversion of the western genre but at the time puzzled audiences as much as critics with its attack on the traditional conventions of the western. The narrative suggests that the opening of whorehouses was a major contribution to the settling of the American Northwest, and the film’s images are fogged to suggest faded photographs of the period. As in M*A*S*H, Altman presents institutional religion critically; an image of a church with its conventional associations of refuge and security—in which we see a cross placed on the church steeple against a golden sunset—is juxtaposed with an interior image of the church’s unfinished state and its pastor, a mean little man. When, at the end of the film, the church burns, the congregation flocks to preserve a building they clearly did not use. Overlapping soundtracks, an Altman obsession, confuse the narrative, and the film failed at the box office, in spite of critical acclaim. Altman was able to continue to direct by starting his own company, Lion’s Gate Films, which focused attention on his own films in development and helped sponsor other new directors, like Alan Rudolph and Robert Benton. His development of an eight-track recording system allowed him to make films that were very different stylistically; in California Split (1974) and Nashville (1975), audiences followed multiple characters and heard what they were saying, which would have been impossible using more conventional recording techniques. Nashville is an epic film using the country music industry as a metaphor for American consciousness and character. Documentary in style, it is in fact a highly dramatic, partly improvised account of 24 different lives struggling to find themselves in the fiercely competitive country music industry—stars, those who want to manipulate them, and those who want to be like them. The movie follows the ups and downs of 12 different characters’ lives, none of which is more moving than that of Ronee Blakley, whose media success victimizes and destroys her. Film critic Pauline Kael, one of Altman’s greatest supporters, wrote that in both McCabe and Mrs. Miller and Nashville, Altman’s artistic vision transcends the limitations of the genre. Altman was not a deeply psychological director like Ingmar Bergman; his success lies in capturing the glittering surfaces of American life and consistently subverting genre expectations. His use of a roving camera, improvised sound, and

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confused overlapping voice tracks capture the ephemeral quality of American life. The Long Goodbye (1973) was Altman’s deconstruction of the American crime movie, as was Thieves like Us (1974), its delicate successor. Altman made a string of increasingly unsuccessful films in the late 1970s and early 1980s; even his much hyped musical version of Popeye (1980) failed to bring big returns at the box office. Kael suggested that, despite the obvious intelligence behind the making of the film, audiences found it neither funny nor easy to follow; as a result, they stayed away. Altman became persona non grata in Hollywood, and no studio would finance his films. He retreated to make movies for cable and ultra–low-budget movies, but he never lost his director’s vision. Film historian Robert Kolker points out that Altman constantly attempted “to render the subjective states of female consciousness.” He began this with That Cold Day in the Park (1969), continued with Images (1972), and fully refined it in 3 Women (1977), “empty vessels in an empty landscape.” In Come Back to the Five and Dime, Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean (1982), five women reveal the hideous truth behind their pitiful series of pretensions. Thanks to Altman’s tender, tactful, and often improvised style of directing, he allows his five actresses to provide in their performances what was lacking in the script. Altman sees the family as a barren place, its patriarchal attitudes as victimizing women, and gender expectations as representing many of society’s ideological contradictions. This is also particularly true of Short Cuts (1993), set in Los Angeles, where gender warfare is going on among lower-middle-class and working-class white couples in every sprawling neighborhood. Ultimately, Altman mellowed slightly and agreed to make a biographic film about Vincent Van Gogh called Vincent and Theo (1990), which captured some of the agonies of the artistic temperament. Shortly thereafter, an independent group backed him in The Player, one of the best satires on Hollywood ever made. Altman has always excelled in portraying betrayal, and in The Player, everyone is narcissistic and all are betraying one another. Altman’s career in the 1990s was uneven; by abandoning the three-act structure and tight narrative construction, all of his films seem to wander from cameo to cameo, their surfaces brilliant, their depth banal and empty. Short Cuts was occasionally brilliant, but it worked mostly as a screen version of assorted Raymond Carver short stories. Independent distributor Miramax expected Prêt-à-Porter (1994) to be a savage portrait of the fashion industry, but again Altman seemed to pull his punches. One may ask why Altman continued to make films throughout the 1980s and 1990s when he seemed to have so little to say. One guess is that he was an old-fashioned journeyman film director who was never happier than when he was working on the set, whether he knew what his film was going to say or not. He worked with

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the same team of actors and technicians as much as he could and liked to keep working, which is why he has left such a large body of film work. Ultimately his place in the pantheon of great film directors is uncertain. If you portray only the surfaces of life and avoid considering the eternal verities, perhaps your work is doomed to be seen only as a passing reaction to the tragedies and foolishness of life in general and the Vietnam War in particular. Altman seemed to despise religion, because he believed it to be an extension of hated patriarchal attitudes that he believed ruined the lives of the many women he portrayed in his films. Few will deny that, in the early 1970s, Altman perfectly caught the mood of America generally and limned the institutional forms of religion specifically. He consciously challenged the clichés, concepts, and conventions of American cinema and offered encouragement to other directors. The new directors of the 21st century owe much to Altman’s iconoclasm. Andrew Quicke See also: Bergman, Ingmar; Coppola, Francis Ford; Dogme 95; Scorsese, Martin.

Further Reading Giles, Paul. “Ritual and Burlesque: John Ford and Robert Altman.” In American Catholic Arts and Fiction: Culture, Ideology, Aesthetics, edited by Paul Giles, 296–323. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1992. Kolker, Robert. A Cinema of Loneliness: Penn, Stone, Kubrick, Scorsese, Spielberg, Altman, 3rd ed. New York: Oxford University Press, 2000. McGilligan, Patrick. Robert Altman: Jumping Off the Cliff. New York: St. Martin’s/Griffin, 1989. Self, Robert T. Robert Altman’s Subliminal Reality. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2002.

American Indian Religion The commercial film industry exists to serve its customers. A few productions may stretch formulas and formats to serve smaller niche markets, but Hollywood’s products generally feature characters and story lines that mainstream audiences will recognize and understand. Most of what Americans think they understand about Native people is a hodgepodge of half-fiction and full fabrication based on ethnocentric stereotypes perpetuated in academic as well as popular media. Thus, with very few exceptions, commercial films reveal very little about American Indian histories, experiences, or religions as they actually were or are; rather, they

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reveal what mainstream Americans imagine them to be. As many commentators have pointed out, these imagined Indian realities tend to swing between two extremes: the romantic conceit of doomed, nature-based nobility and that of primitive savagery. Both of these stereotypes are illustrated in the earliest stages of film history in two works by D. W. Griffith. A Pueblo Legend (1912) features a romantic hero’s quest joined with an exotic fantasy of Pueblo life and religion. In it, Mary Pickford plays a young Hopi woman. Kachinas—Hopi spirit figures responsible for bringing rain and fertility, often represented in ritual by masked male dancers—are used for intrigue, lending an illusion of authenticity to this depiction of American Indian life, but their representation bears almost no relation to reality. Griffith’s production of The Battle at Elderbush Gulch (1913) swings to the opposite pole. Mindlessly and uninterestingly savage, the Indians of this film display no evidence of religious inclination at all, unless one counts the witless jumping around meant to indicate some kind of ceremonial “Dog Feast,” followed by farcical gestures of supplication before battle. In this film, Indians provide only a comic backdrop (“Eat dog, live long!”) to the story line of Anglo settlers and their plucky kids beating back the odds to establish domesticity on the wild frontier. The Vanishing American (1925), based on the novel by Zane Grey, takes a far more complex approach to the conflict of cultures and religions. Informed by increasing public awareness of the failure of U.S. Indian policies and the resulting deprivation endured by Native communities, Grey’s novel tells the story of this injustice through the Diné (Navajo) character Nophaie, played by Richard Dix, a well-recognized star of the silent screen era. Nophaie possesses natural nobility and high morality, suffers from the greed and perfidy of the assistant government agent, and in the end dies a martyr’s death, as if to open the way to eventual reconciliation between his people and the whites. Yet in a concession to popular sensibility mandated by the film’s producers, Grey allowed the harsh critique of corrupt missionaries in his novel to be excised from the film. In the movie’s climax, the dying Nophaie hears the words of the Bible and “finally understands.” Christianity is presented as the only possible path to any final resolution of conflict between whites and Indians and thus the only future for aboriginal nobility. This theme—that primitive nobility that can be saved, if temporarily, only by the even greater nobility of a wise, non-Indian stranger—is replayed in Broken Arrow (1950). The film—loosely based on historical fact—tells the story of Cochise, the Chiricahua Apache resistance to white incursions, and the sympathetic government agent Tom Jeffords. Cochise is portrayed as having an ethereal, Anglo-Saxon kind of wisdom—an aboriginal King Arthur. But it is only Jeffords’ courage, his commonsense American wisdom, and his full humanity (demonstrated by his falling in love with an Apache maiden) that makes the interlude of

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peace possible. Jeffords falls in love with Sonshiray during her coming-of-age ceremony, when Cochise escorts the young agent into her lodge to receive her blessing. It is a strange scene that crosses mystical and romantic intimacy. The young woman’s face is charged with beauty and power. The clear intent is for non-Indian audiences to be captivated. Not surprisingly, members of the Apache community have tended to find this scene completely fictional and offensive, likening it to the filming of a love scene on a church’s altar, an isolated ethnographic fact that has been inserted to give the film an illusion of authenticity but that is then filled in and distorted to serve the needs of the story. In essence this is the same technique used in Dances with Wolves (1990) 40 years later. A wise white man, somewhat at odds with his peers and his times, penetrates the mysterious heart of a noble but doomed Native society, where he falls in love. Only his intervention can save the Indian camp—temporarily at least—from disaster at the hands of the vile and violent unenlightened citizens he has left behind. This film won wide acclaim for its sympathetic depiction of the Lakota camp as well as its attention to details of costume and language despite the fact that it used a recycled and culturally offensive plot formula. But perhaps the most absurd rendition of this formula came between the two films, 20 years before Dances with Wolves, in A Man Called Horse (1970), which portrays a bored British nobleman who, seeking adventure, is captured and adopted into a Lakota camp—or, rather, a ridiculous parody of a Lakota camp where everyone is crude, venal, and depraved. The film portrays events that are not only historically unlikely but also culturally inconceivable. In one such case, a member of the Lakota community is ignored and allowed to starve after her husband is killed in battle. The captive gradually earns respect through his courage and good breeding until he decides to prove himself once and for all by undertaking the ordeal of the Sun Dance. Again, the filmmakers distort reality, locating the ritual in a Mandan lodge rather than a Sun Dance circle. The ritual is presented as a masculine test of endurance rather than a ritual of profound personal sacrifice. In the end, after his Indian maiden is also slain, the nobleman saves the camp and replaces the fallen chief, leading the community into an uncertain future. The one film from this period that most consistently draws admiration and approval from Native audiences for its depiction of Indian life makes no reference to ceremony at all. Rather, Arthur Penn’s Little Big Man (1970) relies on humor, tolerance, and humanity to portray the Cheyennes as real people. The emphasis is on ordinary life, sometimes amid catastrophic injustice, rather than imagined ceremonial exoticism. This approach—perhaps a more comic or tragicomic approach to religion—finds its way into a different kind of American Indian film after 1990, where story lines and characters more fully reflect Indian realities; and in so doing, these films address human conflicts and experience more convincingly.

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Beginning in 1989, a series of films have melded modern Indian stories, settings, and characters with Hollywood film conventions. Jonathan Wacks’s film Powwow Highway (1989) combines the standard formulas of the road movie, the buddy movie, the coming-of-age movie, and the jailbreak movie, but it also infuses setting, characters, and most of all comedy from modern Native American experience. One could say that the film is profoundly religious in a completely comic way, not only in the presentation of Philbert, a modern warrior gathering his medicine, but in the way triumphs and tragedies of the past animate the present. In one particularly poignant scene, Philbert visits the Washita Massacre site and begins to experience what happened there in 1868. Some of these same themes motivate such films as Thunderheart (1992), Smoke Signals (1998), and The Doe Boy (2001). In Thunderheart, Val Kilmer plays a half-Lakota FBI agent assigned to the Pine Ridge Reservation amid what some have called the Lakota Civil War. His ancestral past comes alive and enables him to see through and expose a web of lies and corruption that is poisoning and exploiting reservation people. Smoke Signals enlivens the journey and personal discovery themes with authentic Indian humor and an unequaled exploration of fatherhood and forgiveness. The Doe Boy is similarly authentic, but with a nonstandard main character, an Indian hemophiliac, in an eastern Oklahoma setting. Other films, like The Business of Fancydancing (2002) and Expiration Date (2006), follow this lead, unhinging old stereotypes by focusing on characters with mixed or alternative identities and vulnerabilities. In Fancydancing, a hard-toclassify impressionistic film, the main character is a young gay Indian writer and the tone is brutally honest, with comic edges. Expiration Date is a romantic comedy whose main character is of mixed ancestry and extremely neurotic, convinced that he is destined to die on his 25th birthday. Overt expressions of religion appear in only one of these films. Thunderheart includes brief glimpses of a sweat lodge and ghost dancing as well as hints of human-to-animal transformation. The references are fleeting, both visually and in the dialogue, conveying a sense of unseen power elicited by ceremony without letting the viewer’s gaze fix too long. The effect challenges our assumptions about how things work, and especially about who is in control, rather than indulging our craving for exoticism. With the exception of Fancydancing, all of these films are Hollywood productions. By more fully incorporating Native experience, they offer new challenges to mainstream audiences. Yet in a widely circulated commentary on HBO’s production of Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee (2007), Kiowa/Delaware playwright and author Hanay Gieogamah announced that it was time for Native actors, writers, and aspiring directors and producers to abandon Hollywood altogether. He concluded that the producers of American popular entertainment would never

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relinquish their cherished illusions about Indian people. The only solution for Native artists was to work within their own tribal communities, creating their own films and television dramas based on their own understandings and histories and intended for their own audiences. This may be what Sherman Alexie began to do with Fancydancing. Alexie has said that he made this film as a response to Smoke Signals, in which director Chris Eyre worked Alexie’s short stories into a formula feature film package. Alexie’s own film has had a limited but dedicated audience. It may be the first attempt by a Native filmmaker to make a full-length Indian film that owes nothing to Hollywood beyond American director Chris Eyre in Santa Fe, technology. New Mexico, 2002. AP Photo/Jeff Geissler. It could be said that Eyre accomplishes something similar in Skins (2002), his own film. Based on the novel by Adrian C. Louis, the film is set on the Pine Ridge Reservation, dwelling as its residents do in a world shot through with alcoholism and violence despite a long and deep cultural inheritance. Even heroes with strong hearts are compromised in this environment, yet they rise above it with humor, generosity, and courage. These traditional values permeate the film without the depiction of a ceremony to make them believable. Yet there are other productions today that go even further to answer Geiogamah’s call for local films by and for American Indians. Some of these embody more profoundly indigenous approaches to religion and to depiction itself. Some are homemade video productions accessible only on YouTube or similar Web sites. Others, such as films by Diné (Navajo) filmmaker Norman Brown, are designed for use in tribal schools or by tribal social service agencies. Brown’s Diné films use only Diné actors, with dialogue in the Navajo language. Introducing a 2007 preview of a film he was making about domestic violence, Brown reported that a hataali (a singer, or “medicine man”) had been employed on site to help take care of the actors and crew. This was necessary because, according to traditional knowledge, in acting out scenes of domestic violence, the

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actors were invoking the presence of that violence as an entity among them and thereby revealing its workings for those who might need to know. Ceremony was therefore provided to deflect the harm that this could bring to the actors and crew. This sensitivity points toward what might be the most radical Native critique yet of Hollywood’s industry of dreams, rejecting the notion that images, stories, and characters on film are not real but rather an illusion, or “pure entertainment.” Filmmaking in Hollywood has traditionally been seen as just another kind of storytelling. From traditional Native points of view, storytelling is not just entertainment, not just illusion. It teaches its audience, but more than that, it begins to form and re-form the world in which those audience members live. Christopher Jocks See also: Indigenous Religions; Westerns.

Further Reading Buscombe, Edward. “Injuns!” Native Americans in the Movies. London: Reaktion, 2006. Deloria, Philip J. Indians in Unexpected Places. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2004. Kilpatrick, Jacqueleyn. Celluloid Indians: Native Americans and Film. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1999. Rollins, Peter C., and John E. O’Connor, eds. Hollywood’s Indians: The Portrayal of the Native American in Film, expanded edition. Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 2003. Singer, Beverly R. Wiping the War Paint Off the Lens: Native American Film and Video. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2001.

Angels Angels—from the Greek angelos (“messenger”)—have been a recurrent presence throughout the history of film. Even as the religious identity of the world has become more fractured, plural, and complex, the fascination with such (normally) benign supernatural beings has, if anything, intensified, and a veritable host of cinematic angels, sacred and profane, have assembled in recent years. Screenwriters and directors have deployed them variously as narrative devices, comic sparring partners for unenlightened mortals, and participants in political allegory. Angels might have divine origins, but they currently possess more than symbolic value; they are big business and valuable property for commercial as well as esthetically or spiritually inspired films.

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Why do incarnations of these ethereal beings continue to captivate the popular imagination? From one perspective, an increase in screen time suggests that cinema is now more spiritually conscious than ever before. From a more skeptical viewpoint, their proliferation in film (and their more frequently witnessed demonic counterparts) is further confirmation that our technologically sophisticated world seeks temporary respite in counterfeit spirituality rather than belief in authentic religious traditions. Some argue that angels appeal even to individuals who have no specific religious affiliations because they are pleasant memories of former faith. Whatever they signify, the evolving image of celluloid angels is a way for cinematic artists and their audiences to explore multiple ethical, esthetic, and religious questions. For millennia, narratives describing encounters between angels and ordinary human beings have been fundamental to popular culture and belief. Angelic figures appear throughout the books of the Bible, in both Jewish and Christian writings, from Genesis to Revelation, including the mysterious and unnamed figure with whom Jacob wrestles (Genesis 32) and the angel Raphael, who in the Book of Tobit (in the Apocrypha) becomes an enigmatic guide and protector to Tobias’s family. Western art abounds with alternative and conflicting representations of angelic figures and their interventions in human history. If the scriptures rarely give descriptions of the physical appearance of the angels, painters and filmmakers have found many ways of giving physical form to ethereal entities. Angel iconography has changed to reflect social, cultural, and religious changes over the centuries. In the 16th and 17th centuries, signifiers of the angelic included vast, unfurled wings echoing the imposing physical presence of characters from classical mythology; these motifs became a visual shorthand and have since been deployed both creatively and rather unimaginatively on screen. The Annunciation (Luke 1:26–38)—in which the Archangel Gabriel appears before Mary and tells her that she will bear the son of God—has become the model for many films in which a heavenly representative unexpectedly visits the earthly realm; such an angel is often responsible for engendering a profound change in the life of one person and also for illuminating the darkness of a fallen world. The annunciation narrative is reworked less reverently in Kevin Smith’s controversial Dogma (1999): Bethany, a Roman Catholic whose faith is in crisis, is visited by Metatron, a heralding seraphim and voice of God, who informs his disbelieving charge that she is a descendant of one of Jesus’ brothers or sisters and that she has a holy task to perform. In the film’s conclusion, this unlikely pilgrim learns that she, like Mary, is miraculously pregnant. This late-20th-century rewriting of a miracle story crucial to Christianity places Smith’s work in a tradition of rendering angels visible in a language specific to the culture in which the artist is working. Smith’s vision of angels and his overall engagement with spirituality is directed

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at a generation that is more likely to be visually sophisticated and conscious of pop culture than biblically literate. Yet the film’s visual references are not always modish. Smith borrows Renaissance iconography in the film’s final stages: Loki and Bartleby strip away their “slacker” disguises to reveal heavenly armor and vast wings. The Bible and biblical painting are not the only sources for filmmakers attempting to represent supernatural beings. Paradise Lost (1667), John Milton’s poetic attempt to “justify the ways of God to man,” remains a highly influential literary representation of angels, both pure and mutinous. Today’s celluloid, literary, or sculpted angels differ markedly from the poised gracefulness of Fra Angelico’s Gabriel of The Annunciation (1430–1432) or the infant innocence of the cherubim attending Rembrandt van Rijn’s The Ascension of Christ (ca. 1636). Yet, in their own peculiar reflections of contemporary culture, postmodern angels, such as the disaffected, Generation X–style rebel seraphs in Dogma, are part of a long tradition of wrestling with angels. Scores of filmmakers, not all of whom have been people of traditional or creedal faith, have explored the implications of miraculous interventions in daily life. These films typically use a narrative template that echoes both classical and biblical models of meetings between the divine and the mundane. The encounters between mortal and supernatural being are transformative, and not always only for the human participant in such a meeting: for example, in Wim Wenders’s Der Himmel über Berlin (Wings of Desire, also known as The Sky Over Berlin, 1987), Damiel takes on flesh after falling in love, and Clarence Oddbody, the guardian angel in It’s a Wonderful Life (1946), receives his wings as a reward for saving his human charge from despair. This second example is the most famous—and influential—of cinematic visitations by a ministering angel. It’s a Wonderful Life, Frank Capra’s first post– World War II film, is habitually regarded as a sentimental, “feel-good” movie partly because it is traditionally screened on television during the Christmas season. Yet this fable of aspiration, disappointment, and redemption in small-town America reflects the ambivalent moral climate of the country at the end of World War II. In its defining sequence, George Bailey, a scrupulous banker and family man, is dissuaded from committing suicide by a fledgling angel named Clarence. Bailey, who faces bankruptcy and ruin at the hands of a corrupt rival, is convinced that his previously modest, quiet life amounts to nothing of significance. Clarence leads George around a parallel version of his native Bedford Falls and allows him to witness the devastating consequences for those he knew and loved were he never to have been born. Institutional religion plays only a marginal role in the film, and the presence of an angelic mediator is a narrative device, echoing Charles Dickens’s ghostly messengers in his frequently adapted short story A Christmas Carol (1843). Yet Capra’s themes of personal responsibility, individual

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sacrifice, and the pre-eminence of community have contributed to the movie’s status as a 20th-century cinematic parable. Its central conceit of a dream vision has been much parodied, alluded to, and redeployed in film and television in the five decades since its initial (commercially unsuccessful) release. For all the sentiment that now surrounds the film’s device of angelic intervention, the saving presence of Clarence Oddbody also has some dark implications, suggesting that in postwar America, only divine intervention could provide salvation. Is It’s A Wonderful Life more fairy tale than authentic Christian parable? One scholar identifies the lack of a connection between Clarence and any traditional religion, suggesting that the angel brings a humanistic appreciation of life rather than a religious conversion. Yet as a catalyst for George’s redemptive encounter with his own story, Clarence does perform a religious function. In showing this despairing man the figurative hell that Bedford Falls would have become without his apparently small, insignificant life, this comic figure takes on a stronger resonance with biblical angels such as Gabriel. He is the carrier of a message, one who confronts a frail human being with a truth deeper than the destructive deception to which George, in his despair, had succumbed. The wistful quality of It’s a Wonderful Life and its interest in the close relationship between the everyday and the eternal anticipates later angel movies that are otherwise esthetically very different from Capra’s film. The muted magic realism of Wim Wenders’s Wings of Desire similarly represents angelic presence in the world as both commonplace and strange. The slender narrative is structured around the story of a male angel who wants to experience sexual love. Wenders’s angels, clad in their part bohemian, part military overcoats, are philosophical, melancholic, and strangely alienated from the world that they observe. They seem to have no special powers and engender no extraordinary or supernatural occurrence. Instead, they listen to the innermost, unarticulated spiritual thoughts of ordinary Berliners and attend those individuals who suffer and despair, silently and invisibly offering unexplained comfort. Wenders’s film asks crucial spiritual questions regarding human desire and the ravages of history in a subtle filmic language. Its engagement with memory and meaning, flesh and spirit, desire and prayerful longing has strong theological resonance, but the narrative is never explicitly religious in an institutional or creedal sense. The film is very playful. In an audacious move, Wenders cast Peter Falk, famous the world over as the fictional detective Columbo, to play himself, an actor working on a World War II film set in Berlin. Yet this high-risk, self-conscious device has an engagingly absurd twist; Falk reveals himself to be a former angel, one who chose to fall and who now revels in the simple pleasures. Belief in God or discussion of divine purpose is not mentioned, and the purpose of Berlin’s angels, beyond their silent ministrations to the lost and lonely of the city, is never quite made explicit. Wings of Desire was written and

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produced before the end of the so-called Cold War, and as such, the film’s spiritual language is inflected by a visible sign of political division: as the angels gaze down on the city, one structure is visible—the Berlin Wall, the symbolic and literal division between the Communist East and the free-market West. Wenders’s angels have an ambiguous relationship to both religious belief and political reality; they seem simultaneously to emerge from a world of violent materialist conflict and to be remote from transient human concerns. In In weiter Ferne, so nah! (Faraway, So Close, 1993), a semisequel to Wings of Desire, the director returned to the world of Berlin’s angelic host to discover a very different city in which the landmark that famously dominated the first film, the wall dividing East and West, had been destroyed. During the years between the two films, as Germany and the world witnessed a monumental political change, Wenders had experienced an intense personal transformation. Raised a Roman Catholic, he abandoned the church in 1968, was heavily influenced by socialist ideals, and later became engaged with Buddhist teaching. Yet in the late 1980s, Wenders recovered his Christian faith (though he did not return to the Roman Catholic communion) and Faraway, So Close is visibly influenced by this religious shift. The film begins with a quotation from the Gospel of Matthew on the relationship between vision and holiness: “The eye is the lamp of the body, if your eyes are good, your whole body will be full of light. But if your eyes are bad, your whole body will be full of darkness” (Matt. 6:22–23). This explicit allusion to Christian scripture certainly reflects a less abstract framework for Wenders’s angels, and the film does explore its moral and political contexts directly. In this sequel, Cassiel follows Damiel’s example, and chooses to fall, to become human, and to face a world not only characterized by the kind of simple pleasures now enjoyed by his friend but also one scarred by shocking new degrees of greed and violence. Faraway, So Close, however, is not the sole inheritor to Wings of Desire. City of Angels (1998), Brad Siberling’s melodramatic, big budget reworking of Wenders’s distinctively art-house movie, is considerably more conventional in narrative terms than its parent text. Siberling eschews the aloof, monochromatic viewpoint of the angels so vital to Wenders’s original, but the film has a number of visual continuities with its forerunner. A public library, one of the recurring spaces in Wings of Desire, is “home” to many of the angels in the American remake, a delicate but resonant reminder of the textual origins of angels within many cultural traditions but also a symbol of an age of reason, order, and learning that has banished all superstitious belief in mythic phenomena. As Nathaniel Messinger (“hedonist, glutton, former celestial body and recent addition to the human race”), who performs a role equivalent to Peter Falk’s fallen angel in the original film, laments to Seth of mortals: “They don’t believe in us anymore.”

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City of Angels is a less subtle and cerebral experience than the European film on which it is based. Yet, whatever its limitations and commercial aspirations, Siberling’s interpretation of the subject matter produces a considerably more visceral narrative; the scene in which Seth and a recovering Messinger plunge into the ocean produces a much fuller sense of the simple human pleasures craved by ethereal beings. The film represents a different idiom, an alternative genre for exploring the implications of the angelic and its possible intersections with a human world. Siberling’s angels, the invisible guardians of a sun-kissed California, wear the same arresting dark trenchcoats as their cold-war antecedents. Like Wenders’s Damiel and his fellow silent witnesses of Berlin, the Californian angels stand on top of their city’s vast skyscrapers, taking a panoramic view of a world they can assist but not be full participants in. The shots of these heavily clothed, wingless angels standing on the Californian shore, apparently hearing the soundless music of sunset and sunrise, is a truly arresting image, representing Siberling’s effort to reinvest contemporary film with a sense of the sacred. Although his vision of the heavenly host has little in common with the great painters of the Renaissance, Siberling is using a visual language specific to his historical moment to explore the divine possibilities of landscape and identity. The plot is more conventionally dramatic than Wenders’s original, but it also depends on a transformative encounter between transience and eternity. Seth and Maggie, like Damiel and Marion before them, discover in each other’s radical difference a sense of holiness; the skeptical surgeon learns to trust the invisible, and the former angel, in his shocking experience of grief, recognizes the value of delicate, transient life as gift. Kevin Smith’s iconoclastic but improbably devout Dogma presents a radical contrast in tone to both Wings of Desire and its Hollywood remake. Angels derive from our most sacred traditions—a cultural space above and beyond the mess and moral confusion of daily human activity—but their fictional representations do not always behave in ways that reflect the highest of spiritual ideals. If Raphael’s godly messengers appear perfect, the angels of Smith’s work are frequently defined by an all too familiar humanity. Loki and Bartleby, the renegade angels from Dogma, might demonstrate a righteous anger and violent contempt for the frail and fallen people they meet on their journey across the United States. Their conduct and attitudes, however, are emphatically mortal in their propensity for error and selfjustification. Smith’s brisk blurring of sacred ideas and profane language, coupled with a scorn for certain forms of religious authority, precipitated public protests in the United States and calls for its original distributor, the then Disney-backed Miramax, to abandon the film. The conservative Catholic League was particularly incensed by the film’s disrespectful portrayals of priests and its ostensibly liberal attitude toward abortion and sexuality. Although demands for censorship were not entirely surprising, many critics missed the distinctively Christian message of Dogma. Despite its blithely irreverent (and frequently scatological) approach

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to religious tradition, Smith, a practicing Catholic, insisted that his intention was to create an authentic “celebration of faith.” He compared his controversial film with the Psalms of David, insisting that dissatisfaction with organized religion only intensified his desire to honor authentic faith in God. Dogma, like Smith’s earlier low-budget films, is littered with coarse language, allusions to drug abuse, and jokes about sex but, uncharacteristically, the narrative also includes epiphanic moments in which skeptical characters have their faith renewed. The conclusion features a restoration of divine order and a final defeat for Loki and Bartleby that seems positively orthodox. Dogma is certainly flawed—it is theologically naïve and rather simplistic—but few films have wrestled so explicitly with the major challenges of Christian doctrine and none has combined anarchic, crude satire with an attitude of faith to such engagingly absurd effect. Smith’s film, like City of Angels, focuses on the problems and exhilaration posed by free will: in Smith’s film, the rebel angels are angry that humanity wastes the opportunity to exercise its freedom creatively and compassionately; the angels are jealous that God has granted these lower, sinful beings a gift that is not given to his heavenly host. In City of Angels, Messinger, by contrast, actively encourages Seth to realize that this liberty to choose is available to the whole of creation. Both films use angels to defamiliarize ideas regarding liberty, personal choice, and agency. Although some have observed that angels remain central to the western cultural imagination, they have scornfully concluded that such figures are no longer sublime. The inference that mass culture, most specifically commercial television and the market for New Age paperbacks narrating supernatural encounters, destroys the aura necessary for the sacred to survive is both compelling and dubious. Angels have, in some quarters, become commodities, fetish objects to be bought and sold. Cherubs and seraphs emblazon everything from elegant art prints to pencil cases. Yet, in their strange, absurd, and haunting celluloid incarnations, angels might be re-viewed as creatures, real or imagined, who point beyond a world of commerce to a realm of transcendence and humane possibility. Film might even be a way of resacralizing the angelic. The frequency with which these angels take on flesh is a reminder of the mystery of incarnation that lies at the heart of Christianity. Film might accurately be described as “angelic,” since it is a message-bearing medium. However we construe this strange, indefinable figure, the angel shows no sign of withdrawing from the popular imagination. In an age of religious uncertainty, even fictional versions of these messengers seem to offer comfort. Celluloid angels—fallen or ethereal—continue to provide a delicate link between sacred and secular worlds. Andrew Tate See also: Capra, Frank; Censorship in Hollywood; Devil; God; Heaven; Smith, Kevin.

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Further Reading Bloom, Harold. Omens of Millennium: The Gnosis of Angels, Dreams, and Resurrection. New York: Riverhead, 1996. Fowkes, Katherine A. Giving Up the Ghost: Spirits, Ghosts, and Angels in Mainstream Comedy Films. Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press, 1998. Grubb, Nancy. Angels in Art. New York: Artabras, 1995. Ruffles, Tom. Ghost Images: Cinema of the Afterlife. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2004. Schofield Clark, Lynn. From Angels to Aliens: Teenagers, the Media, and the Supernatural. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2003.

Animated Films Although general religious themes appear in a wide variety of animated films, a smaller but significant number overtly incorporate specific religious stories, concepts, or practices into their story lines. Disney’s Fantasia 2000 (1999), for example, includes a visualization of the biblical story of Noah’s ark. Adaptations of classic religious stories are not all that common in theatrically released animated films, but among the most prominent are The Prince of Egypt (1998), Jonah: A VeggieTales Movie (2002), and Muhammad: The Last Prophet (2004). Disney’s Hercules (1997) may be the best-known animated adaptation of classical mythology. Animated adaptations tend to prioritize entertainment over fidelity to the source material, and most adaptations invent characters and situations to “flesh out” the received traditions. The Prince of Egypt, for example, follows the lead of The Ten Commandments (1956)—and many biblical scholars—by identifying Rameses II as the pharaoh; in order to make the relationship work, Moses’ adoptive mother in the film is Seti I’s wife, not his daughter (as in the Exodus account). The Moses– Aaron relationship is inverted to the advantage of the Moses–Rameses relationship; Moses first meets Zipporah, his future wife, in Egypt before he encounters her as described in Exodus 2, and all of the significant characters are represented significantly younger than their biblical counterparts. Disney’s Hercules plays fast and loose with Greek mythology: chronology is rearranged to place the Trojan War and the exploits of Achilles and Odysseus prior to Hercules’s adventures; Hercules is recast as the fully divine son of Zeus and Hera rather than the illegitimate half-human son of Zeus and Alcmene, who, with her husband, Amphitryon, have been reassigned as peasants; some of Hercules’ famous labors are assigned to him from other Greek heroes, such as killing the Minotaur (Theseus) and Medusa (Perseus), and the Pegasus is taken from Bellerophon and made a gift to Hercules

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from his divine parents. By contrast, because of the Muslim tradition eschewing any visual depiction of Muhammad, Muhammad: The Last Prophet (following the live-action film The Message, 1976) always features Muhammad behind a curtain or in a scene that is filmed from Muhammad’s point of view so that the audience sees what he sees. Muhammad’s voice is never heard in the film—a third-person narrator quotes what he says. Animated films that mention or feature the God of western monotheism tend to treat that God with great respect and deference, avoiding visual depictions—even if the divine presence may be detected by visible phenomena—preferring divine revelation via a disembodied voice or an angelic or terrestrial messenger. Both The Prince of Egypt and Jonah feature scenes in which God speaks to a chosen messenger, but in both God is represented by a disembodied voice. Only in one scene in The Prince of Egypt does God’s voice seem to have a visible source (the burning bush). God is mentioned frequently in Muhammad but never seen or heard; divine revelation is mediated through the angel Gabriel, whose presence is indicated by a nimbus of light. Even so, the way in which the voice of God is transmitted conveys a great deal about how God is to be understood. In The Prince of Egypt, for example, the powers of the God of Israel are subordinated to human activity: when Moses parts the waters of the Red Sea, God’s voice is merely a memory, not a present reality, and the song that accompanies the escape scene (and the credits) hails the miracles that “you can achieve when you believe,” as if the force of faith alone, regardless of the object of that faith, effected the miraculous. Next to the deity of western monotheism, Greek gods seem to be the most popular in animated films. The gods of Egypt and Arabia are mentioned prominently in The Prince of Egypt and Muhammad, respectively, but no credence is given in either film to these gods’ powers. Far more comprehensive is Walt Disney’s Fantasia (1940), which includes a sequence of scenes featuring mythical figures followed by a bacchanal, complete with Bacchus riding a donkey and Zeus pelting revelers with lightning bolts until he becomes tired and lies down for a nap. The stereotypical capriciousness of the Greek gods is underlined when Zeus carelessly kicks a stray lightning bolt off of his cloud/couch. As the rain clears, Apollo rides his sun chariot across the sky and off into the sunset. Aside from a brief mention of creation in the song that opens The Road to El Dorado (2000), animated films rarely depict gods other than the God of western monotheism intervening beneficently in human affairs. In stories that make no pretense of depicting reality, however, malevolent gods seem to be a popular source of villainy. In Hercules and also in Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas (2003), the machinations of malevolent deities drive the plot. In the former, Hades is bent on conquering Olympus and, feeling threatened by Hercules’ existence, tries to kill him to make that conquest easier. In Sinbad, the sole villain is Eris, the Greek goddess of chaos and discord.

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Non-Mediterannean deities have also been depicted in animated films. The opening song of Dreamworks’s The Road to El Dorado credits “the divinities” with bestowing the gift of paradise—namely, the environs of the mythical city of El Dorado itself. But beyond this, authentic gods play no role in the film. However, Miguel and Tulio, the two main characters, are hailed as gods by the natives of El Dorado when they arrive in a fashion that bears a resemblance to local iconography—a large stele depicting two gods riding on the back of a huge snake. Disney’s Pocahontas (1995) stereotypically portrays the title character as an animist who frequently visits with Grandmother Willow, a talking tree. More plausibly, the story of Brother Bear (2003) follows Kenai, a young Inuit living in the primeval Canadian Arctic, who early in the film participates in a coming-of-age ceremony where he is given a totem by the tribe’s female shaman. Themes of life after death occur in a number of animated films, but they seem especially present—and problematic—in Disney features. In Brother Bear, Kenai’s brother (who is killed by a bear) and the bear (subsequently killed by Kenai) are both translated into a spiritual existence alongside the other “great spirits of all who lived before.” The ancestral spirits of both humans and nonhumans are accorded the power to effect changes in the world—not just the changing of the seasons and other natural processes but also the transformation of Kenai into a bear himself so that he can experience bear life at first hand. Similarly, in Mulan (1998), the title character’s ancestors meet in a kind of spiritual, posthumous family reunion to try to help preserve the family’s honor. Unlike in Brother Bear, however, Mulan’s ancestors seem to have no real power to affect Mulan’s life or her family’s honor, even though she and other living family members pray to them as if they did. Instead of intervening directly to assist Mulan, the family ancestors try to send a “family guardian,” the “great stone dragon”—not to aid Mulan’s quest but to bring her back from it; the ancestors themselves are unable to leave the temple that stores the wooden tablets inhabited by the ancestors’ souls. To this extent, the portrayal of religion in Mulan coheres with traditional Chinese filial piety, and the film makes much of the concept of honor in Chinese society. However, Mulan and other characters pray casually to the ancestors, blurring the traditional Chinese distinction between the ancestors and the gods. The Lion King (1994) blends the traditional African cycle of death and rebirth with a more linear understanding of the afterlife. In one scene, Mufasa, the reigning lion king, explains the circle of life in chiefly biological rather than spiritual terms: lions eat antelopes, but eventually lions die and decompose, “become the grass,” and get eaten by antelopes themselves. In another scene, Mufasa tells his son Simba that the stars represent the souls of deceased lion kings watching from

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above. In another example, the shamanistic baboon Rafiki sprinkles dirt in the newborn Simba’s face to make him sneeze, evoking the Kipsigis kurenet ritual, in which a newborn is addressed by many ancestors’ names until the newborn sneezes, indicating that the spirit whose name was called when the infant sneezed now is embodied in him or her. Later in the film, however, Rafiki tells an adult Simba that his dead father will “live in him” as long as Simba remembers him. Obviously, this cannot be a case of Mufasa’s spirit being reborn as Simba, since Mufasa was alive when Simba was born. The film transforms the cycle of rebirth into a linear matter of memory. The very title of one non-Disney animated feature, All Dogs Go to Heaven (1989), explicitly nods to a western monotheistic vocabulary regarding the afterlife, but the plot element that drives the film is the idea that the process of going to heaven can be reversed; Charlie Barkin, one particular dog, not only goes to heaven but then comes back. Charlie, essentially a canine gangster, is killed early in the film and is welcomed to heaven by a heavenly hostess who characterizes it as a place where dogs can do whatever they wish, whenever they wish. Charlie, however, not interested in dying, manages to wind “the watch of his life,” which adds time back to him and he returns to earth. The film uses this life extension as a convenient plot device to enable Charlie’s reformation, but both the image of heaven as a libertine paradise and the idea of escaping heaven by so mechanistic a method as winding a watch diverge significantly from the Christian conceptions that clearly underlie the way heaven is visualized in the film. As for actual religious practice, many animated films incorporate some features of traditional religions but omit aspects that viewers might find confusing or distasteful. In Mulan, the title character and her father burn a little incense when they visit their family ancestral shrine, but for the most part the film eschews any depiction of sacrificial rituals honoring the ancestral spirits. Likewise, Muhammad refers occasionally to offerings to the pre-Islamic Arabian idols, but it limits sacrificial offerings to presentations of grain and the burning of incense. And although The Road to El Dorado does not shy away from the fact that Aztec culture was known to include rituals of human sacrifice, it seriously distorts the mood, manner, and meaning of such sacrifices. A typical Aztec human sacrifice would involve placing the victim atop a sacred stone, cutting out the victim’s heart or beheading the victim, and then tossing the victim’s dying body down the steps of the pyramid-shaped temple. In The Road to El Dorado, however, the sacrifices involve pushing the victim off a stone balcony into a whirlpool below. More importantly, the film provides no religious context for the priest’s enthusiasm for performing such rituals, making him seem unreasonably bloodthirsty. In Aztec religion, however, human blood was understood to be an almost magical substance that nourished the gods, especially the sun god. If the Aztecs did not

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provide human sacrifices, the gods might perish, and humans would perish in turn because of their dependence on the gods. Therefore Aztec children were raised to believe that humanity’s mission on earth was to provide sacrifices for the gods. Human sacrifice was therefore not an aberration in Aztec culture but was deeply woven into Aztec theology and cosmology as a necessary, even matter-of-fact affair. When, in the film, Miguel declares that “There will be no sacrifices—not now, not ever” and expels the priest from El Dorado, the populace erupts in cheering; a real Aztec audience would find such a declaration from the gods horrifying, even suicidal. Animated films contain relatively few depictions of religious organizations. Even in The Prince of Egypt and Muhammad—films that narrate the beginnings of two major world religions—there is little overt reference to social and religious hierarchies like the Israelite priesthood or the Islamic caliphate. The Prince of Egypt ends with an iconic moment as Moses brings the tablets of the Ten Commandments down from Mount Sinai, but otherwise it barely acknowledges that the liberation of the Hebrews in the exodus also marks the beginning of a new religion, ultimately to develop into Judaism. Muhammad is much more explicit on this point and regularly depicts Muslims gathered to pray or to hear Muhammad’s teachings or recitations from the Qur’an. In Medina, the Muslims depicted in Muhammad begin to build the first mosque. In The Road to El Dorado, Aztec religion—embodied in a bloodthirsty priest—is depicted as destructive and oppressive, which ignores the role this religion played as an indispensable contributor to social cohesion. An important exception to the general absence of organized religion from these films comes from The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996), in which the famous cathedral in Paris is not only a centerpiece of the film but also an icon of the city’s religious sensibilities. Esmerelda’s plea for sanctuary inside Notre Dame, and the favorable reply given her by its priest, ignites a brief controversy between the priest and the villainous Minister Frollo, the secular authority figure. The quarrel is brief, since the authority of the Catholic Church over Notre Dame is understood by all to supersede secular authority. Later, Frollo’s orders to attack Notre Dame galvanize the citizens of Paris to oppose him. Nonetheless, institution-based Christianity is also treated critically; in one musical number, churchgoing Christians are depicted as shallow and self-centered; parishioners file into Notre Dame praying for wealth, fame, glory, love, and blessings for themselves. By contrast, Esmerelda asks for nothing except that God “bless the outcast children of God” who are “less lucky than I.” Despite the positive role played by Notre Dame’s unnamed priest in providing Esmerelda with sanctuary, the film portrays “religious” Christians as basically selfish, in contrast to the unselfish “spiritual” heroine.

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Animated films that include overt religious elements often exhibit universalist tendencies. The theme is particularly overt in The Hunchback of Notre Dame, in which one of the film’s major musical numbers has Esmerelda opine, against Christian exclusivism, “I thought we all were children of God.” A kind of speciesspecific universalism is suggested in the title of All Dogs Go to Heaven, but it is mitigated a bit by the rationale that the angelic whippet at the film’s “pearly gates” explains that “all dogs go to Heaven, because unlike people, dogs are naturally good and loyal and kind.” In Brother Bear, just before the character Kenai is transformed into a bear, he is treated to a vision of a “parade” of spirits, all of whom appear to be animals of various species. One of these, originally appearing as an eagle, metamorphoses into Kenai’s brother Sitka, and the bear Kenai has just killed is assimilated into the group of spirits. All of this suggests a breakdown at the spiritual level of any distinction between humanity and animals. The song that opens and closes the film, “Great Spirits,” makes this explicit by asking the “great spirits of all who lived before” to “show us that in your eyes, we”—humans and animals—“are all the same.” In sum, no matter what the filmmaker’s stance toward the faith tradition that gave rise to the film’s source material, fidelity to that tradition’s sources, while sometimes evident, clearly takes a back seat to the filmmakers’ perceptions of entertainment value. R. Christopher Heard See also: American Indian Religion; Buddhism; God; Greek and Roman Myths; Indigenous Religions; Islam.

Further Reading Graham, Susan Lochrie. “Some Day My Prince Will Come: Images of Salvation in the Gospel According to St. Walt.” In Culture, Entertainment, and the Bible, edited by George Aichele, 76–88. Sheffield, UK: Sheffield Academic, 2000. Léon-Portilla, Miguel, ed. Native Mesoamerican Spirituality: Ancient Myths, Discourses, Stories, Doctrines, Hymns, Poems from the Aztec, Yucatec, Quiche-Maya and Other Sacred Traditions. New York: Paulist Press, 1980. Rowlett, Lori L. “Disney’s Pocahontas and Joshua’s Rahab in Postcolonial Perspective.” In Culture, Entertainment, and the Bible, edited by George Aichele, 66–75. Sheffield, UK: Sheffield Academic, 2000. Ward, Annalee R. “The Lion King’s Mythic Narrative: Disney as Moral Educator.” Journal of Popular Film and Television 23, no. 4 (1996): 171–178. Ward, Annalee R. Mouse Morality: The Rhetoric of Disney Animated Films. Austin: University of Texas Press, 2002.

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Arab Film There is no more secular art form in the Middle East than cinema. Even though conservative Islamic interpretations prohibit artistic human depictions, the production and viewing of film have flourished throughout the Arab world from the beginning of the film era. Even in Saudi Arabia, which has banned the public showing of films, almost any film can be viewed in private homes on DVD or via satellite television as soon as it comes out, and Saudi investors are among the main financial backers of a revitalized Egyptian studio production system that especially markets feature films and TV dramas that debut annually during the Muslim holy month of Ramadan. Religion has rarely been a thematic focus in Arab regional film, with most directors and scriptwriters influenced more by anticolonialism, nationalism, Marxism, and Hollywood than religious ideology. Government censorship inhibits the cinematic exploration of religious themes. All Muslim countries ban the human depiction of the Prophet Muhammad, and Egyptian law also strictly prohibits negative depictions of Christianity, Judaism, and Islam. The unintended effect of these attempts to control film has been a persistent anticlerical bent to most films that reference religious cultural practices. Egypt is the largest producer of films in the Arab world, where, since 1909, nearly 3,000 feature films have been made and distributed throughout the region. Nonetheless, as much as 80 percent of commercial screen time is dominated by American exports. An Egyptian national film industry arose during British colonial occupation in the 1920s; ever since, it has referred to that colonial legacy in all genres or to Egypt’s political, military, and economic subordination to the United States, Israel, and Europe. In this context, religious imagery often acts as a prop in promoting national unity against external threats. One of the few Egyptian short films to survive from the silent era is Muhammad Bayoumi’s comedy Barsum yabhath ‘an wathifah (Barsoum Looking for a Job, 1923), in which a homeless Coptic Christian and a starving Muslim cleric compete for a job at the entrance to a rich banker’s villa. Mistaken for aristocrats, they are invited in for a feast until their uncouth table manners betray their background. Ejected from the villa, they are chased and beaten by an angry policeman. Deliberately casting a Copt as the Muslim sheikh, a Muslim as the homeless Copt, and a Jew as the banker, Bayoumi intended the sectarian identity markers to be as unmistakable to the audience as the moral of the story: Egyptians can never emerge as a strong independent nation if they are divided by religious differences—nation must trump religion in the quest for modernity. Religious diversity as a positive component of nationalism is a common thread running through the work of Youssef Chahine (1926–2008), one of Egypt’s most

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renowned and prolific directors. Chahine’s family was Christian, but he was nonpracticing and skeptical of institutional religion. Many of his films mock those who display an air of piety but show little concern for the downtrodden and oppressed. Even before the Islamist political revival in the 1980s, Chahine’s work was filled with jibes against religious hypocrisy and fanaticism. Perhaps Chahine’s most developed religiously iconoclastic figure is Sheikh Ahmed in al-Asfur (The Sparrow, 1973), the first film made in the Arab world to deal critically with the Arab defeat in the 1967 war with Israel, made at a time when Egyptian President Anwar Sadat was suppressing both leftist and Islamist opponents of his regime. In The Sparrow, Sheikh Ahmed is a poor religious scholar who makes his living selling books—even banned books—at the prestigious Sunni Al Azhar Mosque in Cairo. Sheikh Ahmed’s life is turned upside down when, as Egyptian troops are being mobilized before the 1967 war, he is rejected for military service. In despair over a series of futile endeavors, Ahmed drowns his sorrows in sex and drink and is redeemed only when he hears President Nasser admitting responsibility for the defeat and vowing to resign. Religion is no consolation for Sheikh Ahmed; his passionate commitment to the nation is revived only by his will to struggle for justice. Sheikh Ahmed is a stock Chahine character—an alcohol-drinking, carnally indulgent Muslim sheikh who puts the welfare of the living masses in the nation before himself and God. The promotion of religious tolerance is interwoven into numerous subplots in Iskandariyya . . . leh? (Alexandria . . . Why?, 1978), Chahine’s autobiographical masterpiece. It explores the fortunes of a Jewish family whose patriarch decides to take his son and daughter to Haifa in Palestine to escape the approaching Nazi army. The daughter announces that she is pregnant by her Muslim Egyptian lover, of whom the father approves, but who is imprisoned for labor organizing. The daughter leaves for Haifa with her newborn but visits the child’s father in prison and vows to remain loyal to him. Meanwhile, the Jewish family patriarch is appalled at the Zionist violence in Palestine and longs to return to Alexandria. Chahine’s point is that religion is inconsequential in affairs of the heart, and that attachment to the Egyptian homeland transcends political ideology, including Zionism. The film was banned in much of the Arab world when it was released, by coincidence just when Sadat announced his trip to Jerusalem. Chahine’s irreverence toward organized religion caught the attention of Islamist activists in the 1990s. In al-Qahira munawwara bi ahliha (Cairo as Told by Youssef Chahine, 1991), a documentary made for French television, Chahine humorously chides the intolerance of Egyptian youth, who deal with their alienation and chronic unemployment by joining conservative Islamist political groups. Islamist adversaries tried to get his film al-Muhajir (The Emigrant, 1994) banned and accused him of blasphemy, alleging that the film defied Islamic prohibitions against

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human depictions of a prophet. The film is a retelling of the biblical Joseph story set in ancient Egypt, and the plot contains pointed references to contemporary politics, portraying ancient Egyptian religious authorities as power-hungry and duplicitous. The Emigrant was one of Chahine’s least successful artistic efforts and reflected his desire to make a Hollywood-style biblical epic. It would have faded into oblivion if not for the publicity generated by the Islamists. Chahine appeared at his own blasphemy trial and eloquently defended artistic freedom of expression. The trial inspired Chahine to retaliate by making a blockbuster historical drama straight out of Islamic history, with Egypt’s most popular movie stars, music, and dance numbers to draw large audiences all over the Arab world. The result (alMasir [Destiny, 1997]) was a commercial success. The film loosely recounts the 12th-century persecution and banishment of the Andalusian Muslim philosopher Ibn Rushd (Averroes) by more orthodox Islamic scholars and their political allies. In the Chahine version, Ibn Rushd’s followers secretly transcribe his works to save them from burning by evil, brainwashed Islamic fundamentalists; then they secretly transport them to Cairo, where the enlightened Egyptian religious authorities save them for posterity. Chahine took revenge by presenting Cairo as the bastion of religious tolerance to millions of Egyptians. Destiny was also Chahine’s most effective cinematic diatribe against the banality of state censorship. The growth of Islamist activism in the 1980s and 1990s was reflected in a number of films exploring its attraction to young people. The Moroccan film Bab al-sama maftuh (A Door to the Sky, 1989), intended to be an antidote to the new austere brand of Islam promoted by Islamist activists, focuses on a young woman who returns to Morocco from France to see her dying father and becomes embroiled in a legal battle with her brother, who wants to sell the family mansion and her part of the inheritance. Through the assistance of two women—a Sufi and an attorney—she finds solace in religious devotion and fights to turn the patriarchal mansion into a shelter for distressed women. Although A Door to the Sky brought Islamic feminist identity politics to a broader audience and continues to be distributed in the educational market in the United States and Europe, it has had little resonance in Morocco or elsewhere in the Arab world. The most dramatic site of contention between political Islam and secular nationalism was in Algeria, where the government cancelled elections in 1991, when it appeared to be on the verge of losing to the Islamist opposition. This set off a violent civil war in which as many as 200,000 Algerians may have died. Bab el Oued City (1994) examines the rise of this armed Islamic movement by dissecting the changing character of one of Algiers’s popular quarters, formerly a stronghold of those who led Algeria to independence in 1962. Where once the young men were the mainstay of the underground, their descendants in the 1990s are

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unemployed unskilled laborers. With no prospects for the future, the neighborhood toughs form a gang that ostensibly enforces Islamic law but actually operates more like a protection racket. The protagonist is a young bakery worker who runs afoul of the local bully when he disconnects the loudspeaker of the local mosque, which has kept him awake. He is also in love with the leading Islamist tough guy’s sister, which results in his being ruthlessly persecuted until he emigrates to France. The civil war all but destroyed an already challenged Algerian film industry, but a few courageous documentary filmmakers continued to delve into its social and political repercussions. Une femme taxi à Sidi Bel-Abbes (A Female Cabby in Sidi Bel-Abbes, 2000) documents the Islamist terror campaign against women in the 1990s, focusing on a widowed woman cab driver who functions as a link to dozens of others who have been forced from their jobs when a factory is firebombed by Islamists. The film recounts a brutal massacre of women schoolteachers in an isolated village. Egyptian films have taken a pop psychology approach to the Islamist turn. One of Chahine’s protégés focused on misguided youth falling prey to Islamist political opportunists in al-Abwab al-moghlaka (The Closed Doors, 1999). The young protagonist has an oedipal attraction to his mother, who was deserted by her husband for a younger woman, leading to sexual confusion and conflicting feelings of guilt, lust, and frustration. Local Islamists take advantage of the youth’s confusion to induct him into their movement. Based on the best-selling novel by Alaa el-Aswany, ‘Imarat al-Ya’qubiyan (The Yacoubian Building, 2006), the most expensive movie ever made in Egypt, examines—in one of its subplots—how romantic rejection and government corruption lead one of the characters to fall into the hands of Islamist extremists. At the same time that Taha, the son of the doorman of a Cairo apartment building, is rejected for admission to the prestigious police academy because of his lowly class background, he is also dumped by his childhood sweetheart, who must now prostitute herself to support her mother. Taha enrolls in the overcrowded and alienating Cairo University, where he is influenced by Islamist activists to join an underground armed group that seeks to overthrow the government and create of an Islamic state. At the end, Taha is gunned down as he participates in a botched assassination attempt against a police official who had earlier, in jail, been responsible for his torture. In The Yacoubian Building, religious devotion can get out of control and end in extremism endangering the whole social fabric. Religious extremists are just as depraved as the corrupt government officials who have spawned the mass desperation, leading misguided Egyptian youth to join their ranks. Christians constitute significant minorities throughout the Middle East, including Egypt (10%), Syria (10%), and Lebanon (40%), but they are rarely the subjects of feature films. This is surprising, since historically Christians have been

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overrepresented in film production in Egypt and Lebanon. Some of Egypt’s most prominent directors (like Youssef Chahine) are Christian; in Lebanon, the directors who are not Christian are the exception. Christian Arab filmmakers have been just as influenced by Arab nationalism, Marxism, and anti-imperialism as their Muslim counterparts and, if anything, their films tend to promote secularism to an exaggerated extent. Since 1975, Lebanon has suffered numerous military conflicts, including a long-running civil war (1975–1990). Lebanese feature film production completely collapsed at its outset and was not revived until the 1990s. Every Lebanese feature film made since then has focused on the civil war. Lebanese directors have gone out of their way to obscure sectarian aspects of the conflict, routinely deemphasizing the religious identities of their characters. An exception is al-A’asar (The Tornado, 1992), one of the first films to be made after the civil war. The film takes an uncompromising stand against sectarianism and specifically lays the blame for the civil war on fanatic Maronite Christian militias. The religious imagery is pungent; the film opens with church bells ringing and a line of cars decorated for a wedding driving up the mountains to the Maronite towns above Beirut while a single car drives downhill. The car coming from the Maronite hill town stops in traffic in crowded Beirut and the driver abandons the car seconds before it explodes in a ball of fire, killing dozens of innocent civilians. The plot follows the fortunes of Jesus, a Lebanese Maronite student who returns from the Soviet Union and becomes helplessly caught up in the cycle of killing. In one scene near the end, Jesus enters a Maronite church from the back and is transformed into a militiaman who massacres women, children, and old people praying in the church pews. A Maronite funeral for martyrs turns into a dance of death. The funeral procession ends in a main square in Beirut, where all the congregants are gunned down in a massacre. Church bells toll for the dead and blood falls from the sky. Symbolically repudiating religion, the film was initially banned by the Lebanese government and shown only outside the country. Several Egyptian directors have also taken an iconoclastic approach to the hypocrisy of organized Christianity. Nubi, the main character in Mercedes (1993), was committed to a mental institution by his own family because he wanted to donate his inheritance to the poor. After being discharged, he attends the church wedding of his aunt and uncle, during which the bride pays more attention to her lesbian paramour than to the elderly groom she is about to marry for his money. It is the closest any Egyptian film comes to depicting a gay marriage. The two lesbians proceed to poison the groom at the wedding banquet and ultimately go on to become partners in the drug trade and organ-selling racket. The film not only parodies Christian religious ritual but also ruthlessly attacks the shallowness of

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Egyptian Christian bourgeois culture, which promotes artificial exclusivity and self-conscious separation from Egypt’s Muslim mainstream. One of the few Egyptian films to focus solely on Egypt’s Christian minority is Baheb el cima (I Love Cinema, 2004), a Felliniesque autobiographical look at how the director became obsessed with movies as a child. The main negative inspiration was his Christian fundamentalist father, who forbade family members to go out to the movies. Of course, the child character who will eventually become the director sneaks out to the movies at every opportunity. The film challenges Christian ritual (a wedding banquet turns into a brawl) as well as false piety (the Christian fundamentalist father fasts so much that he sexually ignores his wife). The Coptic religious establishment tried unsuccessfully to get the film banned in Egypt, seeing it as a threat to their control of religious content in the media—a move that only increased the film’s popularity. The conversion of the director from Christianity to Islam also fueled controversy. Palestinian feature film production began in the 1980s, as the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO) gained international recognition as the sole legitimate representative of the Palestinian people. It also coincided with the emergence of the first generation of Palestinians with Israeli citizenship to have received postsecondary education in Israeli universities. Almost all Palestinian directors are from northern Israeli towns with a majority Palestinian population, like Nazareth. Palestinian feature films have reflected the secular ideology of Palestinian nationalism espoused by all factions of the PLO, and Islamist political idioms have never been promoted in any fictional film narrative. Nonetheless, without a state to foster a national Palestinian cinema, Palestinian filmmakers have depended on collaboration with sympathetic members of the Israeli film industry. Palestinian filmmakers outside of Palestine face the dilemma of how to show that Palestinians exist as a national group. Most Palestinian filmmakers have focused on documenting the ongoing confrontations with the Israeli military and the deplorable conditions in refugee camps. Within Palestine, films have rejected a religiously based cultural identity for Palestinians, recognizing no distinction between Christians, Jews, and Muslims. One significant Palestinian director is Michel Khleifi, who was born in Nazareth in 1950 and immigrated to Belgium in 1970 to study film and work in television production. He returned to Palestine in 1980 to make Al-Dhakira al-khisba (Fertile Memory, 1980), a documentary about two Palestinian women—one from the Galilee and other from the occupied West Bank—who struggle against Israeli oppression and Palestinian patriarchal traditions. This film marked the beginning of a new wave of Palestinian filmmaking that has gained an enthusiastic international reception. Khleifi’s documentary Al Zawadj al-mukhtalat fi-l-ardi al-muqadassa (Forbidden Marriages in the Holy Land, 1995) addresses religious

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intolerance. Israel does not recognize civil marriage; all marriages must be conducted according to religious law. The state has imposed this system on Muslims and Christians who are citizens and also on Palestinians who live under military occupation in the West Bank and Gaza. To date, all peacemaking efforts are based on the premise that Israelis and Palestinians are so essentially conflicted that they must live apart. Khleifi’s film documents intersectarian, interracial, and undocumented marriages; it not only shows multiple examples of intermarriages between Israeli Jews and Palestinians, thus defying the notion that separatism is a necessity, but also subtly exposes how the law has ceded control to the most reactionary authorities in Christianity, Islam, and Judaism. Like all Palestinian nationalists, Khleifi argues that the conflict with Israel is not over religion but over land and political sovereignty. Religion is used as a tool to suppress personal freedom for Christians, Jews, and Muslims alike. The most religiously irreverent Palestinian director is Elia Suleiman. Born in Nazareth, like Khleifi, he gives full ironic play to his birthplace’s biblical symbolism. Yaddun ilahiya (Divine Intervention, 2002), his comic masterpiece, is filled with stereotypic religious iconography deployed to show the inanity of the Israeli occupation: not only are Palestinians afflicted with physical suffering and humiliation, but occupation also leads to extreme boredom and the death of culture. The iconic barrage starts immediately; Santa Claus is chased up a hill by a band of Palestinian teenagers, reaches the top to pause at an abandoned church, and turns to reveal that he has been stabbed in the chest. In another scene, the Israeli army is helpless to stop a gigantic red balloon bearing the face of PLO Chairman Yasser Arafat from entering Jerusalem and landing atop the Dome of the Rock, one of the holiest pilgrimage sites in Islam. Divine intervention occurs when a beautiful Palestinian woman is miraculously transformed into a flying ninja, deflecting Israeli machine gun bullets and blowing up a helicopter gunship with a magic shield in the shape of historic Palestine. Virtually all Palestinian directors view religion as either a dangerous distraction or worse—a conservative reaction that will only keep Palestinians from establishing a modern independent state. Exploring the Islamist turn in Palestinian politics, Al-Djanna al’an (Paradise Now, 2005) is constructed around the last days of two childhood friends from the occupied West Bank who have joined the Islamist underground and are about to become martyrs in a double suicide bomb attack inside Israel. Unlike the Egyptian films that rely on pop psychology to explain the Islamist turn, Paradise Now firmly places the cause in the Israeli occupation policies, which breed despair among Palestinian youth. The film does not absolve Palestinian society of part of the blame for its lack of creative leadership and corrupt political opportunism. In the last scene, it is unclear whether a suicide bomber detonated his explosive belt or came to a moral awakening at the last moment. In either case, religion leads to a dead end for everybody.

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The early 1990s was a very prolific period for Palestinian filmmaking, coinciding with the Oslo peace negotiations. Fewer films were produced after the onset of the second Intifada in 2000, and those that have been made—such as Paradise Now—reflect both the rise of the Islamist movement Hamas and the much more violent tenor of the conflict. It is not only Palestinian films that portray the Islamist turn in Arab politics—Egyptian and North African cinema does so as well. But Islamism is still being interpreted cinematically by directors who are secularists and not adherents of Islamist political parties. Garay Menicucci See also: Africa; Bollywood; Islam; Women.

Further Reading Dabashi, Hamid. Makhmalbaf at Large. New York: Taurus, 2008. Fawal, Ibrahim. Youssef Chahine. London: British Film Institute, 2001. Gertz, Nurith, and George Khleifi. Palestinian Cinema: Landscape, Trauma, and Memory. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2008. Khatib, Lina. Lebanese Cinema: Imagining the Civil War and Beyond. New York: Taurus, 2008. Shafik, Viola. Arab Cinema: History and Cultural Identity. Cairo: The American University in Cairo Press, 1998. Shafik, Viola. Popular Egyptian Cinema: Gender, Class, and Nation. Cairo: The American University in Cairo Press, 2007.

Australia Australia is a modern multicultural country that avows secularism but is still deeply rooted in Christianity. Because of its accommodating immigration policies, its citizens retain a wide variety of religious beliefs; devotees will find churches, mosques, temples, and synagogues in most cities. Regrettably, Australian cinema has not reflected this religious diversity and has limited itself primarily to Christian topics and concerns, with a splattering of Aboriginal spirituality, non-Christian religions, romantic nature mysticism, and supernatural stories. In 1899, the Salvation Army’s Limelight Department made 13 short films about the life and death of Jesus. However, it was Soldiers of the Cross (1900) that became Australia’s first feature-length religious film, serving as part of the army’s campaign to proselytize. The Salvation Army eventually became the backbone of the Australian film industry and was responsible for its first film studio, which opened in Melbourne in 1909. Soldiers of the Cross depicted Jesus on the

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cross, the life and martyrdom of Saint Peter, Saint Paul brooding over the stoning of Stephen, and gruesome but stirring scenes of Christian martyrdom. Heroes of the Cross (1909), essentially a remake of Soldiers of the Cross, started with the preaching, arrest, and martyrdom of Stephen and likewise depicted condemned Christians bravely welcoming death at the stake. It was followed by The Scottish Covenanters (1909), a drama set in England but shot at the Salvation Army’s Australian studio. It continued the theme of martyrdom and depicted the capture and murder of Scottish Christians by Oliver Cromwell’s Roundheads. However, neither film generated as much interest as Soldiers of the Cross. In early 1910, the Limelight Department was suddenly closed when officials became concerned that nonreligious films being distributed at that time were more likely to corrupt souls than save them. Given the history of early film production, it is not surprising that many religious themes and characters emerge in Australian film. One early example is Franklyn Barrett’s The Christian (1911), about an inner-city London missionary who wants to save a female parishioner from ruining her life by accepting an acting job. Raymond Longford’s The Silence of Dean Maitland (1914) details the sexual dalliance of Reverend Cyril Maitland and the death of the girl’s father, who confronts him. Through lies and secrecy, Maitland avoids arrest for the murder and is not censured for the sexual relationship; instead, his best friend is sentenced to 20 years in prison. Maitland is a respectable citizen and an eminent dean when his former friend is released from jail. Upon seeing him in his church, Maitland is overcome with guilt, confesses his dastardly deed, and dutifully drops dead. Wilfred Lucas’s transplanted cowboy movie The Man from Kangaroo (1920) revolves around John Harland, an ex-boxing champion and unorthodox probationary preacher sent to the outback community of Kangaroo. He is in direct conflict with a local gang of mercenaries who violently oppose the church and John. They kidnap the orphaned heiress Muriel Hammond, with whom John was in love. After some hair-raising stunts, fights, and chases, the bullies are defeated and the church triumphs. Norman Dawn’s landmark film For the Term of His Natural Life (1927) tells of a man who is transported to Van Dieman’s Land to serve a life sentence for a crime he did not commit. A corrupt priest does not come forward to tell the truth, either at the trial or when the priest becomes the convict chaplain. In a later production, Shadow of the Boomerang (1960) tells the story of Bob Prince, a rude, racist, and antichurch cattle rancher from America working in Australia. Bob experiences a religious conversion and decides to follow Jesus after meeting a Christian missionary, hearing a radio sermon by evangelist Billy Graham, and having his life saved by the sacrificial death of aboriginal Christian Johnny. The film incorporates scenes from Billy Graham’s 1959 Crusade in the Sydney Cricket Ground.

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Other films portray religious figures or institutions as flawed. Fred Schepisi’s The Chant of Jimmie Blacksmith (1978), set in the 1880s, depicts the exploitation of Jimmie Blacksmith, a half-caste Aboriginal worker, who is guided by the culturally insensitive Methodist minister Reverend Neville. Jimmie is taught cultural denial and hard work and is encouraged to marry a white woman in the white church. He does, but he is marginalized, exploited, and oppressed by a series of mean-spirited employers who cheat him and subject him to all sorts of racist humiliations, leading him to brutally massacre a farming family who had deliberately wronged him. A fugitive, Jimmie escapes to a Catholic convent, where he is quickly handed over to the police and beaten. Before he is hanged, Jimmie is offered spiritual comfort by Reverend Neville. Although the missionary church is portrayed as well intentioned, it was ultimately seen as more harmful than good to the indigenous population. More recent productions continue the trend of presenting the church as a problematic institution. Black Robe (1991) described the evangelizing mission of 17thcentury French Jesuit and his assistant who bravely travel into the uncharted wilds of Quebec to convert the Algonquin, Huron, and Iroquois Indian tribes. The film explores the difficulty of cross-cultural gospel transmission, the issue of cultural sensitivity, and the question of how much cultural change Native Americans must make in order to become Christians. Although the missionaries are successful in converting a tribe of Huron, these converts are later killed by the members of another tribe, who realize that the Christian faith has made them weak and vulnerable. Oscar and Lucinda (1997) focuses on two gamblers, Oscar Hopkins (an Anglican priest) and Lucinda Leplastrier, a rich Australian heiress and owner of a glass factory, who strike a romantic friendship on board a ship from England to New South Wales. Oscar’s gambling causes him to be thrown out of the priesthood; a wager is made that Oscar cannot transport a glass church to outback priest Reverend Hasset. The journey is harsh, but Oscar uses the river system to successfully transports the see-through church to the remote town. He is seduced by a local widow, and in remorse, goes to pray in the floating glass church but drowns when it sinks with him inside. On the lighter side, Sirens (1994) centers on a young, uptight Anglican priest asked to visit notorious artist Norman Lindsay because the bishop of Sydney is concerned about a potentially blasphemous painting the artist wants to exhibit. The reverend brings along Estella, his sexually frustrated wife, and they are exposed to the liberating, semibohemian lifestyle of the artist, his wife, and his three voluptuous models. Nudity, temptation, and even Estella’s sexual indiscretion, however, do not destroy the reverend’s faith. Even the Salvation Army is subject to critical examination. Strikebound (1983) is a dramatization of the 1930s South Gippsland miner’s strike involving Wattie

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(a Communist) and Agnes Doig (a Salvationist), whose real-life interviews are used in the film. The Salvation Army is represented as an evangelical movement (as distinct from a social welfare organization): it has a human feel of compassion, courage, and resourcefulness but also an otherworldly concern, which means stoically enduring the injustices rather than radically changing them. The Salvation Army as social welfare organization is featured in Golden Braid (1990), involving Joseph and Terese, who, though both nice Salvationists, lack religious integrity, with Joseph having a drinking problem and Terese having an adulterous affair before abandoning the Salvation Army. Other films (like The Sum of Us, 1994, and Bad Boy Bubby, 1993) continue the critical examination of the Salvation Army. Individual Christian believers are presented critically but perhaps a bit more gingerly. Raymond Longford’s The Church and the Woman (1917) explores the sectarian divisions in Australian society, particularly the dangers of a mixed marriage between Catholic Eileen Shannon and her Protestant lover Dr. Sidney Burton. Eileen’s father refuses to consent, and when the father is mysteriously murdered, Burton is suspected. However, Father Shannon, Eileen’s brother, hears the confession of the real culprit and takes the blame; he cannot violate the seal of the confessional, nor does he want to make his sister unhappy or see an innocent man die. Just before Shannon is to be hanged, the real murderer is caught and Shannon is released. In the closing scenes, Eileen and Sidney are married, hidden “behind the altar” in a Catholic church. A more recent example, Mark Joffe’s The Man Who Sued God (2001), is a comical exploration of the interrelationship between big business, the media, and religion. Steve Myers is a frustrated former lawyer turned fisherman whose only piece of property is a rusty boat. When it is struck by lightning and destroyed, Myers is denied insurance money because it is deemed “an act of God.” Outraged, he reregisters as a lawyer and sues God instead of the insurance company. Since God’s earthly representative is the church, it becomes the target of Myer’s court case; any compensation must come from its coffers. Steve becomes a media celebrity at the center of a court circus, particularly when he achieves a string of legal victories and maneuvers the church into a position where it can win only if it proves that God does not exist! However, his family and friends suffer when they become the target of media exploitation and their questionable pasts are exposed. In the end, Myers opts for a moral victory by withdrawing the case while simultaneously convincing the judge that the use of the term “act of God” by insurance companies is wrong and misleading. Despite its Christian origins, Australian film does reflect the country’s profound cultural diversity; Bahai, Hindu, Jewish, Muslim, and Aboriginal influences can be found in a number of films. However, many portray a more conflicted relationship between the minority religious community and the dominant culture. One

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example is Serenades (2001), a love story set in 1890 Central Australia that deals with a clash of cultures (Afghan, Aboriginal, European) and their convoluted interreligious history (Islam, Aboriginal spirituality, Christianity). Young Jila is the daughter of Wanga, an Aboriginal woman; she is initially raised by Rainman, her Aboriginal grandfather, who teaches her traditional dreaming stories. However, she is taught to read and write at the local Lutheran mission, and Shir Mohammed, her Afghan Muslim father, takes her away and raises her as a Muslim. Later, an adult romance develops between Jila and the German Lutheran Johann, the future pastor of the local Christian mission. Jila’s father arranges for her to marry a local Muslim priest who is 30 years her senior, prompting Jila to attempt suicide, but she fails and flees. Her father is expected to kill her if she has been with another man, so Jila seeks refuge at a Lutheran mission. When Pastor Hoffman, the authoritarian father of Johann, rejects her, she seeks solace in the desert and her Aboriginal heritage. As the film ends, the dogmatic father relents and fakes her death, Johann rejects the mission, and he and Jila reunite in the desert. A bit more representative of the clash of cultures is The Battle of Broken Hill (1982), about a guerilla-style military operation in the Australian outback in 1915. Confused by persecution and patriotism, two Muslims who had sworn allegiance to the Sultan of Turkey, their religious leader, attack the citizens of the remote mining town while they are celebrating their annual picnic and riding on open ore trucks. Several passengers are killed or wounded, prompting a siege involving the townspeople, police, soldiers, and rifle club members, which lasts until one Muslim is dead and the other mortally wounded. The Australian Seventh Day Adventist community comes under scrutiny in Evil Angels (1988), a film about one of Australia’s most bizarre murder cases: the 1980 disappearance of baby Azaria from a campsite at Ayers Rock (Uluru). Lindy Chamberlain, the distraught mother, claimed that Azaria was taken by a dingo, but no body was ever found and Lindy and her husband were under suspicion. The emotionless but religious mother was subsequently charged with murder and jailed, while her husband, a Seventh Day Adventists minister, was found guilty as an accessory after the fact. Subsequent evidence cleared them and Lindy was released from jail. Their faith was a factor in this bizarre real-life tale, as was a rumor that Azaria meant “sacrifice in the wilderness,” thus implicating Lindy as a witch and her fellow Adventists as devil worshippers. However, these facts are touched upon lightly in the film. Although Jews have been part of Australian history since the beginning, explicit depictions of their faith and its rituals are not very common in Australian cinema. Soldiers of the Cross depicts Jews as early Christians, but images of the Jew as an ethnic stereotype are more widespread, as in Strike Me Lucky (1934), with a character called Mo as the protagonist. The signature of this pioneering

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Australian–Jewish comedy consisted of Mo’s leering white face, painted black beard, sputtering speech, irreverent behavior, blue humor, and impeccable comic timing. Despite the presentation of Mo as the quintessential Aussie battler, his grotesque caricature could easily be seen today as anti-Semitic. Scott Hicks’s Shine (1996) was notable for its depiction of the young Australian pianist David Helfgott at a bar mitzvah. Despite the diversity of the culture, Australian cinema has been loath to recognize Aboriginal worship, lore, or dreaming as legitimate religion or worthwhile spirituality. Instead, it usually limits it to mystical mumbo-jumbo or relegates it to the arena of wild primitivism. Peter Weir’s neo-New Age film The Last Wave (1977) involves David Burton, a white corporate lawyer, who is defending some Aborigines for tribal murder when he discovers an ancient Aboriginal civilization still living under Sydney. The group hints of an impending drowning of the city by a giant tidal wave, prophesied long ago in their tribal dreaming. During his spiritual awakening while encountering the irrational, David has recurring nightmares and disturbing visions. Freakish weather eventually heralds the arrival of the foretold apocalypse and leaves David in a fetal position awaiting his fate. Weir creates an uncanny atmosphere and an intriguing mystical undercurrent that makes the Aboriginals the repository of ancient wisdom still relevant to 20th-century Australia. Despite the presence of religious institutions and figures, Australian cinema has yet to wholeheartedly accept the covert building of religious figures and themes into its overtly secular narratives. One example, George Willoughby’s The Joan of Arc of Loos (1916), is a story about World War I patriotism whose subtext describes a character who emulated France’s most famous female martyr. A young peasant woman leads the allied attack at the village of Loos, which is under German occupation. She guns down two snipers, hurls bombs, sings La Marseillaise, and waves the tricoleur, creating the vision of a woman in armor with sword pointing skyward, which in turn inspires the troops to victory—the classic Joan of Arc story transplanted and transmogrified. Chris Noonan’s Babe (1995) proved that a Christ figure need not be human. The “gallant pig” in this film has a dual nature—a pig who can be a champion sheepdog—serving as a savior to Farmer Hoggett. Babe was kind and loving and he changed the established order. Possibly the most commercially successful film of this sort is George Miller’s Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome (1985), the last in his postapocalyptic trilogy about an ex-policeman turned wandering heroic warrior, “Mad” Max Rockatansky. In this particular installment, Max is elevated into a Christ figure; that is, he is a subtextual Jesus: he goes on a perilous journey through the desert after being treated like a scapegoat by the inhabitants of Bartertown (a postapocalyptic

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Imperial Rome). He is rescued by the wild children of the desert and introduced to the pious community of the faithful living in the green gorge called Crack in the Earth (an Eden-like oasis). Max is suspended over water, dunked, and then rises to a meal. He hears their sacred story, “the Tell,” at an altar shaped like a TV screen. These faithful believers patiently await Captain Walker, their expected sky-god savior, who will lead them to the paradisial Tomorrowland now that they have survived two apocalypses (nuclear Armageddon and a plane crash—their literal fall). Australian cinema has frequently shown a religious reverence toward nature, a deeply rooted respect that has taken on mythical proportions; the natural world is frequently treated as a character itself and a de facto form of romantic nature worship turned pagan mysticism. However, such pagan-flavored mysticism is rarely acknowledged. Franklyn Barrett’s fragmentary silent film The Breaking of the Drought (1920) tells the story of farmer Jo Galloway and his family of Wallaby Station who go broke and have their land repossessed because of a wayward son. The Galloway family eventually returns home and the restorative rains fall. The drought functions metaphorically to emphasize the ruin and redemption of the farmer’s family and its intimate linkage to the earth. Perhaps most famous is Peter Weir’s atmospheric Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975), where nature takes on a mystical, surrealistic hue coupled with a recurring sense of imagistic unease. This hauntingly beautiful story is based upon the enigmatic disappearance of a group of schoolgirls and their teacher while visiting Hanging Rock on St. Valentines Day, 1900. Some of their would-be rescuers, and one of the girls who mysteriously returns, experience memory loss and head wounds, but the disappearances remain unsolved. It is as if the vulnerable females dressed in white fall prey to the alien, phallic-looking rock, which is shrouded in mist and exudes raw power accompanied by an ominous sound as Weir evokes the sense of an ancient supernatural presence contained therein, creating an aura of romantic yearnings, incipient sexuality, and brooding menace. He manages to mingle the bush with hysteria, desolation with desperation, and spirituality through the use of dreamlike panpipes. Overall, however, themes related to the New Age, paganism, and the supernatural are, with a few notable exceptions, appallingly presented in Australian cinema. The field is ripe for many more Australian religious stories to be told with greater sensitivity and candor. Needed are films that deal with real spirituality: positive images of priests who are not obsessed with sex, accounts of Jews who are not just jokers but who engage in religious (as opposed to simply ethnic) experiences, and Asian faiths that are represented as more than clichés. Australian (and global) audiences would be well served by films presenting images of authentic Aboriginal faith traditions and sacred stories, New Age practices, pagan beliefs,

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and witch rituals that are not depicted as kooky or eccentric, supernatural films that have rigid internal logic as part of their story lines, and films with sacred subtexts involving Australian love, life, and faith. Anton Karl Kozlovic See also: Clergy; End-of-the-World Films; Indigenous Religions; Islam; Jesus; Judaism.

Further Reading Bentley, P. “Funerals, Frigidity and Fanaticism: The Representation of Religion in Australian Feature Films.” St. Mark’s Review 142 (Winter 1990): 12–15. Freiberg, F. “Lost in Oz? Jews in the Australian Cinema.” Continuum: The Australian Journal of Media and Culture 8, no. 2 (1994): 196–203. Gauper, S. “Aborigine Spirituality as the Grounding Theme in the Films of Peter Weir.” The Midwest Quarterly: A Journal of Contemporary Thought 42, no. 2 (2001): 212–227. Leonard, R. “Lights! Camera! Action!: Spirituality, Media and the Australian Culture.” The Australasian Catholic Record 77, no. 4 (2000): 407–416. Malone, Peter. “Religion and 100 Years of Australian Films.” In A Grain of Eternity: 1997 Australian International Religion, Literature and the Arts Conference Proceedings, edited by M. Griffith and J. Tulip, 236–239. Sydney: Centre for Studies in Religion, Literature and the Arts, 1997. Molloy, B. Before the Interval: Australian Mythology and Feature Films, 1930–1960. St. Lucia: University of Queensland Press, 1990.

B Bazin, André (1918–1958) André Bazin is the most important writer in the development of film theory and a key figure in the history of film. He produced an unrivaled body of film criticism, history, and theory. As a film critic, essayist, theorist, cofounder of the journal Cahiers du cinema, and “godfather” to the French New Wave cinema (nurturing the talents of such directors as Jean-Luc Godard and François Truffaut), his influence can scarcely be underestimated. He is less widely known as a religious thinker, but this is more because of the parameters of academic disciplines: film studies rarely takes religion seriously, and religious studies has not yet absorbed the canon of film theorists. And yet for Bazin, making, viewing, and writing about films were acts deeply intertwined with religious faith. Although Bazin wrote little explicitly on film and religion and rarely on “religious” films (with the notable exception of his famous essay on Robert Bresson’s Journal d’un cure de campagne (Diary of a Country Priest, 1951), Bazin was a spiritual, even theological thinker, and his work is a powerful yet overlooked resource for conceptualizing the relationship between religion and film. André Bazin was born in the town of Angers, Northwest France, in 1918. Educated at the top schools in the area, he was denied a teaching position because of his stammer. In December 1941, Bazin founded one of the first cine-clubs in Paris—a place where people could watch a film and then talk about it. Many of the films he showed were banned by the German occupation. As cine-clubs spread throughout Paris, France, and Europe in the late 1940s, Bazin worked to bring films into factories and schools as well. With his essay declaring the invention of film the most important event in the popular and visual arts since the decline of the miracle play, Bazin became a published author in the autumn of 1943. His film-writing career was revolutionary in two ways: it made the serious consideration of film an acceptable part of journalism (before Bazin, no French newspaper had a film column), and it made writing 47

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about contemporary, popular films academically respectable (before Bazin, the few scholars who were interested in film looked with disdain on Hollywood film and sound film in general). Bazin soaked up the intellectual ferment of Paris in the 1930s 1940s; his writing betrays knowledge of everything from the phenomenology of Merleau-Ponty to the neo-Thomism of Jacques Maritain, from Bergson’s vitalism to Sartre’s existentialism. Bazin was also influenced by the Catholic visionary thinker Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, who posited an evolutionary spiraling of human consciousness until it fuses with divine revelation. For Bazin, this fusion could be achieved through the medium of cinema. To spread this gospel of cinema, Bazin wrote, beginning in 1945, for a wide variety of publications on a regular basis, from Radio-television-cinema (the French equivalent of TV Guide) to Travail et culture, a Stalinist journal. Most importantly, that same year Bazin became the regular film critic for Esprit, one of the key intellectual postwar journals. Esprit was a socialist Catholic journal founded by Emmanuel Mounier, who has been called Bazin’s greatest intellectual and theological influence. Mounier advocated the philosophy of personalism, a Christian theology that rejects metaphysics in favor of an existentialist humanism. Personalism values creative individuals who take risks and exercise their God-given right to choose. Bazin adapted these values to develop “auteur” theory, which became the signature idea of the Cahiers du Cinema, the film journal Bazin helped to found in April 1951. Bazin contributed a total of 116 pieces to over 90 issues until his death at age 40 from leukemia. The auteur theory is famous for lionizing the director as a creative artist, as “author” of the film text. Bazin wrote essays that saw distinct thematic and formal elements in the work of his favorite directors. These directors were not only the European masters but also popular journeymen working in Hollywood, such as Howard Hawks and Alfred Hitchcock. Beginning in 1968, the auteur theory fell out of favor with the Cahiers du cinema editorial board, and with it André Bazin. In full grip of Marxist and semiotic theories of film inspired by Louis Althusser, the journal he had helped to found made Bazin out to be an idealistic and bourgeois embarrassment and an apolitical dupe for ignoring the social and economic factors that went into film production in favor of the solitary romantic figure of the auteur. In fact, Bazin was no naïf; he well understood the constraints of genre, studio, technology, and audience reception. It is a common misreading of auteur theory to see it as a celebration of the director as solitary hero struggling to make great art. In fact, for Bazin the director was important because of his religious function—his role as ritual specialist or religious technician. Two of his most famous essays directly confront the religious in film. In “Ontology of the Photographic Image,” he traces all art to the ancient Egyptian practice

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of mummification. From death masks to oil painting, all art, according to Bazin, has a primarily religious function of preserving the spirit in the face of the degradation of matter. For Bazin, photography had become the most important art since mummification because it literally embalms space by rescuing an object from its temporal corruption. But cinema goes one better and embalms time. The director thus assumes almost priestly duties, charged with the preservation or recreation of the body in the face of inevitable death. In “Evolution of the Language of Cinema,” Bazin analyzes major trends in film from the 1920s to the early 1940s. In this essay, he advances his second most famous concept (and yet one that is just as misunderstood as auteur theory): cinematic realism. Bazin, as the pre-eminent “realist” of film theory, opposed a previous generation of “formalist” film theorists (the Soviet director Eisenstein most notably), who saw filmmaking as the interpretation and reconstitution of reality through formal cinematic means, notably montage. By realism, Bazin meant neither photographic realism, nor “gritty” urban realism, nor naturalistic social realism. He meant the use of certain cinematic techniques, notably deep-focus cinematography, long-held shots, and the sense of off-screen space through which certain filmmakers could make stories out of unbounded cinematic space. Again, Bazin’s advocacy of a certain kind of cinematic style had a theological basis. The realist filmmakers’ sense of perception was ambiguous; their films reveal a world alive with possibilities. Each shot was full of mystery and revelation. Bazin preferred a cinema that allowed the audience to view the “film world” in a manner influenced but not completely dominated by the spirit of the artist through which it is filtered. Bazin opposed directors using excessive editing (or montage) because it told the audience what to think; these directors were playing God instead of letting God flow through them. Bazin’s personalist Christian existentialism is the basis for his championing of cinematic objectivity. The enjoyment of cinema acknowledges God’s presence in the world. As Bazin put it: “The world is, quite simply, before it is to be condemned.” Elijah Siegler See also: Bresson, Robert; Dogme 95; Europe (Continental); Truffaut, François.

Further Reading Andrew, Dudley. Andre Bazin. New York: Columbia University Press, 1990. Bazin, André. Bazin at Work: Major Essays and Reviews from the Forties and Fifties. Edited by Bert Cardullo, translated by Alain Piette and Bert Cardullo. New York: Routledge, 1997.

50 | Belief Bazin, André. The Cinema of Cruelty: From Buñuel to Hitchcock. Edited by François Truffaut, translated by Sabine d’Estrée. New York: Seaver Books, 1982. Bazin, André. “Cinema and Theology.” The South Atlantic Quarterly 91, no. 2 (Spring 1992): 393–407. Bazin, André. What is Cinema? Translated by Hugh Gray. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1967.

Belief In Fear and Trembling (1843), Søren Kierkegaard introduces a series of classic problems: How do we summon the will to believe when our beliefs pose dangers to ourselves and our loved ones? How can we be sure that we are not misled in faith? How can we believe in a higher power in a world beset by suffering and despair? We are human beings, so we are fallible. The pursuit of faith has the potential to motivate us to embrace unrealizable ideals, stretch our abilities to interpret reality, and reveal our frailties to us. Genuine belief requires patience and fortitude as well as the honesty to meet the world where it actually is. The best films that deal with the problem of belief recognize that faith is hardwon, initially presented as an unlikely option to the prospective believer. They pay attention to the conflicted context of the human situation, presenting us with reasons why the decision to believe can be so difficult. Where these films diverge is in their assessment of whether the decision to believe is a sound one. For all of the films made which praise the believer for leaping, there are as many in which the leapers are presented as dupes. Films that deal with the problem of belief can be split between those offering a positive perspective of the believer’s worldview and those offering a negative one. In both, however, we are meant to identify with the protagonists whose lives hang in the balance. How will we cope in a world replete with suffering and brutality? How do we know when we must surrender to something bigger than ourselves, and what is our own responsibility to bear? The films that deal with the problem of belief capture our attention insofar as they address these perennial questions about our human predicament. Generally, faith receives a positive treatment in film, even as particular religious traditions often do not. Many filmmakers are attracted to the error of human arrogance, and to the corresponding remedies of humility and belief in something transcendent. Many filmmakers are influenced by Kierkegaard, Blaise Pascal, and William James, who wager that we are better off if we make an earnest attempt to become receptive to the divine. Films that emphasize the positive effects of belief echo Pascal’s conviction that human beings are less than God but greater than the

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other animals, unto themselves given to a life of suffering, but beings who have the capacity, through grace, to know to appeal to the heart. Yielding to faith is presented as the only way to resolve the contradictions of human nature. Despair is on display, but it does not have the final word. The most conspicuous representations of faith present the audience with evidence that there is more to this world than meets the eye. In these films the question of whether or not we should believe is not left hanging: salvation depends on our believing in something. Breaking the Waves (1996), for example, controversially depicts the trials of the wife of an injured oil-rig worker who is told by her husband to sleep with other men. His instruction, combined with her successive revelations, lead her to assume terrible risks, each with increasingly violent results. Her decisions seem foolish; they incur the ridicule of her family and the villagers of her small coastal Scottish town. Yet, with each act of self-exploitation her husband’s health improves, until he has recovered and she has martyred herself. This film offers a graphic representation of Kierkegaard’s notion that faith, if true and strong enough, can supersede morality. Anyone who wonders if it is God and not some other voice that Bess hears receives an unequivocal answer when, upon her burial at sea in the final scene, we witness a bell tolling in the sky to mark the entry of an angel into heaven. Breaking the Waves is not an isolated instance in which we are furnished with compelling evidence of the supernatural. Pulp Fiction (1994) contains a critical scene in which a hit man emerges from a close-range execution unscathed and decides that such an event is too unlikely to be attributed to good luck. Interpreting his good fortune as message from God, he is inspired instantly to change his life and walks away from a long criminal career. He survives the film, while his more skeptical partner, who credits the escape as mere chance, gets gunned down on the job. Magnolia (1999) weaves together disparate stories of people who need each other without knowing exactly why. Like the flower, our success as a species depends on our coflourishing despite the sensible reasons that would make us want to turn our backs on one another. A number of the film’s characters lose their way; they live lives that are morally suspect and they have become sophisticated at rationalizing away their misdeeds. Is there a threshold of nonvirtuous living beyond which human beings reach a point of no return? Is there anyone watching who can guarantee justice in the long run? Lest we doubt, we are graphically presented with an unmistakable sign that there is a God overseeing our progress, and that that God is disappointed with us. Magnolia, like Breaking the Waves, declares unequivocally that there is a God watching and taking an interest. The decision to believe is ours to make, and only through belief does salvation become a real possibility. In these films (and many others), the dramatic narrative does not make sense without an explanatory appeal to some higher force.

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In the second type of films in which faith receives a positive treatment the existence of the divine is only suggested. The appeal of these films lies in their realism. Drama unfolds plausibly, and closure is not always forthcoming. The interpretation of miracles as miracles requires an adjustment of attitude, a movement on the part of the protagonist (as well as the audience). That required movement is not easy. The human situation contains no shortage of suffering; evil abounds. People do terrible things to one another. Redemption requires one to work through these challenges; no simply theodicy will do. Grand Canyon (1991) bombards us with terrible and wonderful occurrences. Miracles are not obvious but must be gleaned from the wreckage of everyday life. Every character in the film, from the vice-ridden to the virtue-laden to the person who displays elements of both, is someone with whom we can identify. We meet one purely good person, Simon, an African American tow truck driver, who saves Mac, a compassionate (if adulterous) lawyer, from a crisis. Simon brings out the best in everyone he meets through his humility and good nature. The film dwells not on the God of Glory but on the subtle spirit within that directs us in unorthodox ways, which places the humans it inhabits at critical crossroads. Will we respond with righteousness at the decisive moment? At one juncture Mac is afflicted by a fantastic headache in response to the pressure of pending decisions. His wife, Claire, rejects the headache as an inappropriate response to have in the presence of miracles, miracles, she says, which in today’s world we have become “slow to recognize.” The sacred is to be found in the mundane. Procuring the epiphany of revelation is our responsibility too. Grand Canyon spawned a series of films in the early 1990s devoted to exploring the theme that one must suffer to be redeemed. A condition of genuine faith is that it occurs without proof, and even when evidence accumulates in favor of one not leaping. The Shawshank Redemption (1994) proposes the counterintuitive thesis that it is in our best interests to retain hope despite the preponderance of evidence suggesting there is none. The main character, Andy Dufresne, is sent to prison even though he is innocent. There he endures a series of brutal rapes, and his gestures of good will only invite punishment. Through all of it, he manages to keep himself oriented toward the future. Andy exhibits a faith that makes something more likely to be true. When the chips are down, the attitude of a single individual can counter the ill effects of despair, but only if that individual is strong enough to reinterpret misfortune as opportunity. Faith has the power to redeem, but it is hard-won and does not always please. Films in the third category are often mainstream productions that invoke a “good versus bad” formula intended to reveal the power of belief. Those on the side of good, in spite of being at some initial disadvantage, ultimately triumph because of their ability to harness and retain a belief in something “more.” The

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appeal of these films is nonintellectual and direct: there is an undeniable and positive effect that the cultivation of one’s faith has on one’s goals and ambitions, and sometimes even on the fate of humanity. In Star Wars (1977), for example, Luke comes into his own as a Jedi knight once he is able to let go of the constraints of his conventional senses and trust “the Force.” Spiritually, the Force is a metaphor for how goodness comes to those who channel the good energy that is to be found in the universe. The Jedi’s decisive act, in the original Star Wars and its sequels, is to rise above the divisive states of fear and cynicism and choose goodness. In The Apostle (1997), an embattled Pentecostal preacher leaves his Texas town in disgrace to find himself led by God to rural Louisiana. There, touched by grace, he resurrects a small church and breathes life into an African American community that had spiritually stagnated. In a compelling scene, the preacher places himself between a bulldozer and the small church towards which the bulldozer is headed. The gesture moves the racist driving the vehicle to tears, transforming the hatred and ignorance with which he had been consumed into agapic love. In these films, the claims of the characters to deliver those for whom they care from their living hells seem exaggerated until we take a closer look at the ways in which their faith acts through them. By contrast, a number of films make the case against faith. Some of them portray protagonists for whom desire overwhelms reason. These characters have evidence at their disposal that they ought not to leap but so yearn for salvation that they ignore the evidence. Other films close off the religious option entirely. They advocate an atheistic worldview, construing as naïve those who cling to the notion that some higher power will be there to save them from themselves. Still others press the viewer to acknowledge the difficulty of distinguishing a genuine from a false relationship. In this case, the “false leap” has disastrous consequences for the protagonist and the lives he touches. In each of the three cases, the intended message is not a happy one: we are thrown into the world under circumstances not of our choosing, and we must cope with our fate without recourse to any supernatural entity that could redeem us. Sigmund Freud and Friedrich Nietzsche figure prominently in these variations of the “false faith” theme. God is either dead or has left the scene. People let us down; we must rely on ourselves. These films argue that there is no such thing as an objective standard of conduct or belief to which we ought to conform. Woody Allen’s Crimes and Misdemeanors (1989) represents an apt case in point, as the main character, Judah, realizes in the climactic scene: “No higher power is going to punish us for our misdeeds if we get away with them. . . . People carry sins around with them all the time.” Judah would know best, for prior to this utterance he has gotten away with murdering his lover, who threatened to expose him as a fraud for embezzling and cheating on his wife. Judah exits the film poised to

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enjoy the second chance life has given him—or rather, that he has given himself. Nowhere by film’s end appears a Supreme Being to ensure that the tale will assume tragic proportions by righting the wrongs of those of have suffered injustice. Although it feels nice to believe in something, “faith” is in the end no more than the product of wishful thinking. One set of films critical of the subjective decision to believe construes redemption as illusory. In Vanilla Sky (2001), the main character, David Aames, opts to avail himself of technology that enables him spend an indefinite future concealing from himself the catastrophic effects of a car accident. He does this despite the fact that his life will essentially be, from that point forth, a lie. The lie protects him from the sight of himself, the experience of being ostracized by others, and, most significantly, the pedagogical burden of having to reflect on the poor decision making that led to his predicament. Aames’s is the easy way out, though not any less tempting. Distraction and evasion are cast as alternatives to courage and decision. In Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004), two lovers have at their disposal their own recorded voices, which tell them not to proceed in a relationship with one another. There is no doubt that the advice is sound, or that the ones giving it are legitimate authorities. The lovers ignore the warnings, choosing instead to renew a cycle guaranteed to fuel their mutual intolerance. The rush into each other’s arms is at once romantic and foolish, but the message of the film is less ambiguous: we are so desperate to believe in something that we will choose to march into the fire rather than muster the courage to face reality on our own. As a whole, these films argue that faith is the cheap way out, a “passing of the buck” of our responsibility to some other party. If we were more accountable, we would choose reality over pleasure when the two clash. Faith is an escape, a fairy tale bound to disappoint us. This would become clearer if we looked at ourselves with greater accuracy. An even more pessimistic cluster of films explains religion as the weak or primitive man’s gambit. In Crimes and Misdemeanors, Woody Allen depicts a dark rejection of the God who supposedly loves and tends to His creation. In the film’s comedic subplot, Lester, the smarmy, successful filmmaker, gets the girl even though she has said that she would never go for a man without substance. Finally (and most tellingly), Judah, the main character, overcomes his pangs of guilt and gets away with a premeditated murder designed to safeguard his personal world. We are presented with a universe in which the righteous are not rewarded, in which God, if He ever did exist, has abandoned us. In American Beauty (1999), evil is presented as an optional “perspective” from which we can wrest ourselves with the right self-reinvention. The character Ricky argues that everything in life can be seen as beautiful once properly appreciated. He puts his theory into practice near the film’s end when he discovers

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the murdered body of his girlfriend’s father, Lester; he absorbes the scene with a gleeful, knowing glint in his eyes. This sad moment represents the triumph of the esthetic over the normative, of the natural over the supernatural. Beauty can be found in anything if we look at it in the right way. This “glorification of the esthetic” calls into question the relevance of key religious concepts such as guilt, blame, and judgment. It serves as a rebuttal of the message of Magnolia, which asserts a clear difference between right and wrong by offering an unmistakable warning about what will ensue should God’s law continue to be ignored. π (Pi, 1998) is another film in which those who subscribe to the notion of an absolute justice and order are caricatured. As with American Beauty, in Pi faith in a “deeper meaning” is depicted as an arbitrary choice. Any string of numbers, symbols, or series of events can be made to seem to have significance, but if everything can have meaning then nothing really does have meaning. The films The Sweet Hereafter (1997), Amores perros (Love’s a Bitch, 2000), and Cidade de Deus (City of God, 2002), are less encouraging and more suspicious of faith than any film mentioned so far. Each tells the tale of communities vainly searching for self-understanding and forgiveness in the aftermath of terrible tragedies. In The Sweet Hereafter, a busload of children perish in an accident caused by inclement weather. When no one is obviously to blame, the townspeople attempt to find a scapegoat, precipitating dysfunctional interactions between characters who display their anger unfruitfully. The audience is left with a feeling of emptiness; we are on our own, bereft of any good, transcendent force that oversees our progress and nurturing. A third intriguing set of films that raises questions about the veracity of belief asks the audience if it is possible to distinguish God’s true voice (if it exists at all) from that of pretenders or from “voices” heard within. Frailty (2001) chillingly demonstrates that the intentions of serial killers can be as pure as the biblical patriarch Abraham’s were when he was poised to sacrifice his son Isaac. It tells the saga of a man who makes his two sons accomplices in several brutal ax murders by claiming that they have specially been chosen by God to rid the world of certain “demons.” What is both intellectually engaging and hard to bear in this film is the fine line drawn between genuine revelation and schizophrenic delusion. Contrast this plot with that of Breaking the Waves, which addresses the same premise but issues the opposite verdict. In addition, the taut thriller Se7en (1995) presses the controversial characterization of believer-as-criminal in the form of a serial killer bent on ridding the world of perpetrators of the seven deadly sins. Spike Lee’s recreation of Sam Berkowitz’s deranged killing spree in Summer of Sam (1999) explores the culture of fear brought about by the delusory beliefs a resident of Brooklyn, NewYork, in the summer of 1977. Dozens of films from the horror genre, of which The Shining (1980), Misery (1990), and Identity (2003) are the

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most successfully executed, delve into the religiously insane. In contrast to usual horror film, we get to know and even take an interest in the afflicted villains, as their confusion bears at least a structural resemblance to the articulations of faith uttered by such biblical exemplars as Noah, Job, and Abraham, who were no doubt similarly questioned by their contemporaries. Andrew Flescher See also: Allen, Woody; Horror; Kubrick, Stanley; Tarantino, Quentin; Trier, Lars von.

Further Reading Bandy, Mary Lea, and Antonio Monda, eds. The Hidden God: Film and Faith. New York: Museum of Modern Art, 2003. Barsotti, Catherine M., and Robert K. Johnston. Finding God in the Movies: 33 Films of Reel Faith. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Books, 2004. Benne, Robert. Seeing is Believing: Visions of Life Through Film. Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 1998. Gire, Ken. Reflections on the Movies: Hearing God in the Unlikeliest of Places. Colorado Springs, CO: Cook Communications, 2000. Miles, Margaret R. Seeing and Believing: Religion and Values in the Movies. Boston: Beacon Press, 1996. O’Brien, Tom. “Hope in the Movies.” Religion and Intellectual Life 5, no. 2 (Winter 1988): 109–118.

Bergman, Ingmar (1918–2007) Ingmar Bergman stands in a line of existentialists that extends from Fyodor Dostoyevsky and Søren Kierkegaard in the 19th century through Jean-Paul Sartre and Albert Camus in the 20th. Although his career began in the theater, Bergman gained much of his fame through film. He also wrote and directed numerous television shows and plays. Through all of his artistic works, Bergman continues to return to issues of God and humanity’s isolation and alienation in this world. Ernst Ingmar Bergman was born in Uppsala, Sweden, on July 14, 1918, to a Lutheran minister and a practicing nurse who shared an often unhappy marriage. As a child, Bergman was attracted to stories and narratives. He has noted that, from an early age, he found fantasy preferable to reality. Two memories of his childhood proved particularly formative, each affecting his later works by instilling in him an important sense of narrative. The first

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memory is of him bicycling with his father to remote communities and watching his father interact with different types of parishioners. Bergman later said that he gained immense insight observing different types of people on these visits. During the church services, he often sat and watched his father preach but, growing bored during the sermon, he would examine the intricate woodcuts in the church and imagine all the stories that these woodcuts depicted. The second important childhood memory was of a gift he received on his 10th birthday; a candle-illuminated lantern and puppet theater that allowed him to develop his own narSwedish director Ingmar Bergman in Stockholm, ratives. He could create slides that 1998. AP Photo/Gunnar Seijbold. allowed light to shine through and then cast an image on a wall. He began to create his own slides and even splice together film to create his own narratives. The significance of these early efforts can be seen in the title of his autobiography, The Magical Lantern (1988). For the first time, Bergman could not only observe narratives but also depict them. Film and theater proved a natural evolution of these early endeavors. By the age of 10 he was an avid fan of film, and at 12 he attended his first play; in college he realized that his future lay in these areas. His Swedish Reformed upbringing made him keenly aware of hierarchical structures, in the church and government as well as in society. Many of his films (particularly his earliest works) deal with hierarchy and the mistreatment of individuals by others as a result of hierarchical institutions. The role of religion is significant in Bergman’s films, and he was concerned with issues of faith from an early age. He repeatedly noted the tremendous influence that the rituals of a traditional Protestant Christian upbringing had on his filmmaking. The fact that he accompanied his father to visit parishioners also exposed him to early concepts like guilt, reconciliation, and the power of community. Such an upbringing also influenced his works’ perspective of God, who is defined more by absence than by presence. But to say God is not present is not to

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say that God is ignored. Although God is not present in these films, this absence is noted and discussed with frustration by many characters in these films. But this frustration rarely has a satisfying resolution. Silence and darkness often typify these films. And this darkness and estrangement carry beyond the relationships between God and humanity; they are also present on a personal level between individuals. Conversations in Bergman’s works tend to unfurl at a slow, deliberate pace. Religion serves to unite the individual with the ineffable but also with a larger community. Bergman questions both of these functions of religion. In terms of cultural impact, no Bergman film has been more significant than Det Sjunde inseglet (The Seventh Seal, 1957), which has inspired other filmmakers and authors and depicts some of the most striking images of 20th-century film. This work also provides the best evidence for an examination of Berman’s perspective on religion. It began as a one-act play that Bergman had written called Wood Painting, after some of the paintings he saw as a child in church. Indeed, the painting that gave birth to this film is featured at one point in the narrative. Antonius Block is a medieval knight who, after 10 years on a crusade, has just returned to a land savaged by the Black Death. Like Ulysses, Block is returning to a changed world, where he hopes to reunite with his wife. But as he travels home to his castle, he has an encounter with Death, who has come to take him. Block, however, makes an intriguing offer: he challenges Death to a game of chess. The hubristic Death consents to this challenge and they begin to play, and their game continues throughout the film. Their interactions during their match are illuminating. Death confronts Block in a church confessional, where Block (unknowingly) confesses to Death that he wants to accomplish two things before he dies: he wants to perform a completely selfless act of generosity for another and he wants proof (not faith) of God’s existence. Block becomes enraged when Death removes his cowl and Block realizes that his confessor is actually Death. In another interchange, Death grows weary of Block’s continued questions and asks him, “Don’t you ever stop asking questions?” Block responds “No! I’ll never stop!” Death’s response is final: “But you get no answers.” Thus the knight’s intellectual struggle with death is acted out on the religious level as well as the physical and intellectual. In many ways, Block’s struggles with issues of suffering and theodicy represent the traditional pietistic approach to God. A second major character in the film is Jöns, Block’s squire, who is a faithful if disinterested follower of Block. Although he has accompanied Block on his 10-year crusade, he is rather sanguine about the entire enterprise. Jöns mocks the idealistic causes behind the Crusades and gleefully (and at times drunkenly)

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proclaims his atheism. Despite his views, he often acts with moral force, willing to take matters into his own hands. On one occasion Jöns wants to rescue a woman who is being burned alive, but he is restrained by Block. He is cynical about life and death but also hopes for some underlying morality. Other important characters include Jof, his wife Mia, and their son Mikael. Jof is a juggler who travels and entertains while Mia maintains their family and cares for baby Mikael. Jof is a visionary who has fine (if idealistic) dreams for his son, while Mia is practical in her view of life. Collectively, they represent a more spiritual and innocent approach to life. This small family emerges from the narrative unscathed as they furtively escape while Death and Block engage in a danse macabre. Bergman’s decision to shoot the film in black and white, a conscious choice in 1957, adds to the polarized portrayal of his world. The characters are choosing between stark alternatives and the black/white binary contributes to their perspective. In addition, the setting of this story during a plague is also appropriate; as in Camus’s The Plague (1948), the setting for The Seventh Seal is one of despair and hopelessness. It is stark, and it evokes the question of the presence of God in the face of suffering. Death is here, certainly, but where is God? As second film that evokes Bergman’s approach to religion and God is Smultronstället (Wild Strawberries, 1957). It concerns an elderly, retired professor (Isak Borg) who is narrating a series of dreams he has had after receiving a lifetime award in recognition of his 50 years of work in academe. Although not as explicit in its discussion of God, Wild Strawberries does return to the question of the perceived meaninglessness of humanity. Borg travels to Lund to accept his award, accompanied by his daughter-in-law Marianne and his son Evald. While they travel they have several encounters, including a brief visit to Borg’s mother and an extended conversation with three free-spirited hitchhikers who are young and fascinated by ideas. In some ways, this story is the stereotypical travel narrative; as Borg travels to Lund, he also travels back through his own life. Dreams play a significant role in Wild Strawberries. In the first and perhaps most striking example, Borg is alone in a stark city. He encounters a man (?) whose facial orifices are fused shut so that he cannot speak, hear, or see. The man collapses into a heap as Borg staggers from the scene. Borg then encounters a funeral hearse which spills its coffin. As he gazes upon the figure in the coffin, he realizes that it is himself, deceased. After waking and assuring himself that he is alive, Borg decides to drive to Lund accompanied by Marianne (who is estranged from his son). While they travel, Borg decides to take the trip as an opportunity to visit old haunts. They stop at an old vacation house where Borg “watches” a scene from his younger days when he spent time there with his cousin. This scene is followed by another dream in which Borg encounters his deceased wife and

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observes her having an affair. His calm reaction is frustrating to her, as Borg cannot seem to muster the passion to even remark at his own wife’s infidelity. Their final stop before receiving the award is at a gas station run by a couple who had known Borg. They tell him about the tremendous influence he has had on them all and about ultimately their plans to name their unborn son after him. He is touched and surprised by their gracious attitude; their fondness for him reminds Borg of the importance of human contact. Essential in Wild Strawberries is the close relationship between memory and self-identity. Borg is incapable of living except through the use of memory, and memory of his childhood becomes the necessary vehicle through which he comes alive. His sadness and despondency are palpable, but the key theological point for Borg lies in his desire to find meaning in this life rather than in a future one. He wants to create meaning and purpose, which are self-generated; no one can assist Borg except himself. For Bergman, religion is always practiced on two axes, the vertical (the individual and the deity) and the horizontal (the individual and the community). First he examines the vertical axis of the individual and his or her quest for God, meaning, and existence. Then he explores the relationships of the horizontal axis, examining how humans relate to themselves and to each other. Part of the success that Bergman has enjoyed as an artist is due to his successful exploration of these two axes in his films, making him one of the great directors. John Vassar See also: Europe (Continental); Protestantism.

Further Reading Blake, Richard A. “Ingmar Bergman’s Post-Christian God: Silent, Absent, and Female.” Religion and the Arts 1, no. 3 (Summer 1997): 27–45. Blake, Richard A. The Lutheran Milieu of the Films of Ingmar Bergman. New York: Arno Press, 1978. Gibson, A. The Silence of God: Creative Response to the Films of Ingmar Bergman. New York: Harper and Row, 1969. Ketcham, Charles B. The Influence of Existentialism on Ingmar Bergman: An Analysis of the Theological Ideas Shaping a Filmmaker’s Art. Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen, 1986. Lacy, Allen. “The Unbelieving Priest: Miguel de Unamuno’s Saint Emmanuel the Good Martyr and Bergman’s Winter Light.” Literature/Film Quarterly 10, no. 1 (1982): 53–61. Lauder, Robert E. God, Death, Art and Love: The Philosophical Vision of Ingmar Bergman. Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press, 1989.

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Besson, Luc (1959– ) In The Divine Comedy (1321), Dante Aligheri creates a “pseudo-Trinity” of divine women that includes Dante’s deceased love Beatrice, who takes the author on a tour of Paradise and ultimately saves his soul through their romantic and religious love. Although there are limits to Dante’s feminism, the passages laid the groundwork for future artists to suggest that sex is not always an impediment to salvation but may be a means of achieving it. In Léon (The Professional, 1994), The Fifth Element (1997), The Messenger: The Story of Joan of Arc (1999), and Angel-A (2005), French filmmaker Besson created his own Beatrice variations whose love provides salvation for male characters. In Léon, an isolated hit man finds new life when he falls in love with an innocent young girl, while The Fifth Element features a romance between a grungy cab driver and a female Christ figure. The Messenger both deconstructs and deifies Joan of Arc, while Angel-A presents a would-be suicide rescued by a gorgeous angel—reminiscent of It’s a Wonderful Life (1946). For Besson, institutional religion is oppressive and strips people of their dignity; only through love can life’s beauty be reaffirmed. As secularized as she is sexualized, Besson’s Beatrice retains an iconic grandeur and ability to save men from life’s meaninglessness. Besson’s love of photography and storytelling made him an ideal filmmaker, preferring to focus on female protagonists because he found the stereotypically macho male figures uninteresting, invincible, and without psychological depth. In contrast, women characters could be richer because they often had to overcome a social or physical disadvantage. Although some viewers identify Besson with his male characters, others have identified him in his female characters–a charge he does not deny. This idea that Besson is both his hero and heroine is most obvious in Angel-A, about Andre, an expatriate whose citizenship is unexpectedly revoked while he French director Luc Besson in New York City, 2010. AP Photo/Evan Agostini. is temporarily in Paris. Penniless,

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homeless, and in debt to loan sharks, Andre ponders suicide, but at the last second a beautiful woman appears and attempts suicide herself, distracting him with the opportunity to save her life. They spend some time together, and after she scares away the loan sharks she reveals that she is an angel assigned to show him that he is worthy of love. She explains that she is a reflection of his feminine side; if he learns to love her, he will learn to love himself as well. When the angel later invites him to make love to her, he refuses, preferring to wait until his spiritual rebirth is complete. At the end of the film, Andre pleads with the angel to stay and not return to heaven, where she has no memory, no life of her own, and only responds to God’s commands to help troubled humans. Should she stay with Andre, she would find independence and love. When the angel sprouts wings and seems pulled back to heaven, Andre leaps up and grabs her, pulling her down to Earth, proving himself worthy of her love. Their love defies God’s will, and she is released. The Fifth Element features a similarly incongruous love story between Korben Dallas—a retired marine turned cabbie—and Leeloo, the would-be savior of all life, who is at once the perfect human and the quintessence of life itself. Leeloo’s mission is to defeat Mr. Shadow—an evil living planet that threatens to consume everything in its path—and his human agent, Zorg. The film flirts with a pacifist message; traditional military force cannot stop Mr. Shadow, which doubles in size when attacked. However, it is effective against Mr. Shadow’s agents, and Korben is particularly good at gunning down Zorg’s mercenaries, while Leeloo uses karate (in self-defense) to kill her opponents. Leeloo’s priest protector, Father Vito Cornelius—arguably the most sympathetic portrait Besson ever painted of an establishment male religious figure—uses violence and deception to fulfill his mission, yet he is portrayed as the most consistently gentle of the characters and even saves Zorg’s life when it would be in his best interest to let him die. In a particularly powerful scene, Leeloo downloads 5,000 years of human history directly into her memory, resulting in an experience akin to Jesus’ suffering in the Garden of Gethsemane when he takes into himself all of the sins of humanity. The burden of human evil destroys Leeloo’s resolve, until Korben tells her that romantic love makes life worth living and humanity worth saving. Just when it seems that Leeloo’s crisis of faith will result in the destruction of the universe, Korben tells her he loves her and kisses her, generating a divine Light of Creation that destroys Mr. Shadow and saves humanity. In The Messenger, Besson presents Joan of Arc as driven primarily by a hatred of the British, haunted by a form of mental illness, but also praiseworthy for being a highly daring and charismatic figure who wins by refusing to see any obstacle as insurmountable. The film is told primarily from Joan’s perspective, and audiences have reacted sharply to this presentation; some have found it captivating, sexy, and

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intriguing while others were irritated and offended by it. Male characters in the film are similarly divided; typical of Besson’s male characters, La Hire is loyal to Joan because he sees her as bloodthirsty, sexy, and a good leader but also because he believes that her visions are genuine and that she is a messenger from God—the “divine” female. His hatred of the British worries Joan because it mirrors her own, but she civilizes him somewhat by coercing him into giving up swearing. The film is concerned with the inherent contradiction of the warrior/prophet. Why would a follower of Christ lead soldiers into battle? The Joan of George Bernard Shaw’s 1923 play St. Joan resolves the conflict by arguing that invading hordes lose their humanity and become demonic figures, justifying retaliation. In contrast, Besson is much harder on Joan and consistently portrays her as a hypocrite, murderer, warmonger, and religious zealot, her early success cementing her faith in the fundamental rightness of her cause until the British finally capture her. Even as she triumphantly outwits and outargues most of the ecclesiastical court judges who question her, Joan has a far more difficult time in her cell responding to “the Conscience”—a mysterious cloaked figure that only she can see. The Conscience dogs Joan about her motivations and her inconsistent words and deeds. She initially assumes that the robed figure is the Devil, sent to shake her faith, but the film suggests two other possible identities—it is either God or Joan’s conscience, a deliberate ambiguity that makes the film appealing to both religious and secular viewers. By the end of the film, the Conscience convinces Joan that her words and deeds are not consistent with the message of a peaceful and loving God. She kneels before the Conscience and makes her final confession. “My Lord, I saw many signs. The ones I wanted to see. I fought out of revenge and despair. I was all the things that people believe they are allowed to be when they are fighting for a cause.” The Conscience grants her absolution, and in the final scene she is burned at the stake. A cross is shown held aloft as her ashes float upward, symbolically linking her to the crucified Christ. Although the film is critical of Joan’s zealotry, Besson’s most strident criticism is ultimately reserved for the members of the ecclesiastical court who judge her and choose to execute her. The all-male court condemns Joan for androgyny and heresy, fearing that her claim to communicate directly with God made the clergy redundant. Besson suggests that the Catholic Church’s eventual declaration that it made a mistake in executing Joan, and its decision to canonize her 500 years later, was a disingenuous and contemptible political maneuver. However, he does portray several of the priests in the tribunal as complex figures, some of whom believe that Joan is divine, while others are coerced into finding her guilty by the vengeful English, who want to ease their wounded pride by seeing the girl who defeated them burned at the stake.

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Perhaps the most complex of Besson’s “divine females” is Mathilda, the young heroine from Léon whose virtuous love brings redemption to a seemingly irredeemable assassin, Leon Montana. He is an ethical hit man who refuses to kill women and children, refrains from drinking alcohol because he believes assassins have “no right” to drink, and has a soft spot for Gene Kelly musicals. In fact, despite being an effective assassin, Leon is at heart an innocent who should never have become a hired killer. The camera shows a supposedly cold-blooded murderer lovingly tending to a potted plant, drinking milk, and sitting beneath a statue of the Blessed Virgin in his apartment. Near the end of the film the audience learns that when Leon was 19 and living in Italy, he fell in love with a young woman from a wealthy and respectable family. Her father opposed the relationship but the daughter defied him and secretly continued to see Leon. When her father discovered her disobedience, he murdered her and bribed the authorities, who declared her shooting “accidental.” Enraged, the young Leon sought justice outside of the law, killing the rich man and fleeing to New York to begin his career as a “cleaner” for a gangster named Tony. There, he lives a rootless existence, forsaking love and choosing death over life, until he begins a tentative friendship with Mathilda, the young daughter of a drug dealer who lives in a neighboring apartment. Mathilda’s father has been withholding drugs from his partners, a rogue group of D.E.A. officers led by the maniacal Agent Stansfield. When her father fails to return the drugs, Stansfield storms their apartment and murders Mathilda’s entire family. Mathilda—out buying groceries— returns to the building as the D.E.A. agents are scrambling to recover the drugs. Fearful of being discovered, she knocks insistently on Leon’s door. The rest of the film involves the consequences of Leon’s decision to let her in, as he finds himself responsible for the life of a vulnerable young girl despite his attempts to sever all ties to humanity. Leon initially wants to wash his hands of her, but eventually agrees to train her to become an assassin so that she can defend herself and avenge her family. Despite her advances and his own romantic feelings for her, Leon seems determined to preserve her innocence and encourages her to behave more respectably. In turn, Mathilda helps Leon to mature; she teaches him how to read and write and she reawakens his heart by teaching him to love again, both as a father figure, a friend, and a potential love interest. The blurring of these roles often makes the film an uncomfortable viewing experience. For most of the film, Leon refuses to touch Mathilda, sleeps in an armchair alone, and behaves in a shy and innocent manner around her, especially when she becomes flirtatious. In one scene, she lies down on his bed, her arms spread out mimicking Jesus on the cross, as she announces, “Leon, I think I’m falling in love with you.” It is at once a confession, an expression of innocence and naïveté, an invitation to sex, and a foreshadowing that she will ultimately be Leon’s salvation. By the end of their

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time together, Leon embraces life and hopes to find roots and happiness. When Stansfield tracks them down and it seems as if Leon will be killed, he reveals to Mathilda that she has finally taught him how to live. “I love you, Mathilda,” he says, before sending her off to safety so that he can face Stansfield alone. Far from being traditionally religious, Besson’s worldview celebrates the importance of seeing things as they are instead of through the distorted lens of ideology. Arguably, Besson’s use of the divine female muddies the truth in its own way by romanticizing and deifying women. However, for Besson, these “supernatural” women represent the possibility of transcending self-doubt and hatred and of fighting back against a corrupt society by rediscovering oneself in the act of falling in love. Marc DiPaolo See also: Angels; Clergy; Devil; End-of-the-World Films; Europe (Continental); God; Heaven; Joan of Arc; Science Fiction; Women.

Further Reading Hayward, Susan. Luc Besson. Manchester, UK: Manchester University Press, 1998. Hayward, Susan, and Phil Powrie. The Films of Luc Besson: Master of Spectacle. Manchester, UK: Manchester University Press, 2009. Scalia, B. “Contrasting Visions of a Saint: Carl Dreyer’s The Passion of Joan of Arc and Luc Besson’s The Messenger.” Literature/Film Quarterly 32, no. 3 (2004): 181–185. Schubart, Rikke. Super Bitches and Action Babes: The Female Hero in Popular Cinema, 1970–2006. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2007.

Bible Films Surprisingly, the Bible film is difficult to define. On the one hand, virtually all critics agree that The Ten Commandments (1956) is a Bible film. After all, it follows the life of Moses, arguably the central character of the Hebrew scripture. With depictions of famous biblical events like the burning bush and the golden calf, what else could this be but a Bible film? Its foundation in scripture notwithstanding, in order to fill out the film, quite a bit of extrabiblical material was added. Significant creativity was used, for example, in depicting the early life of Moses, including the addition of a fiancée and a childhood rivalry with Pharaoh that is absent in the biblical text. Such changes stretch and distort the biblical narrative, but somehow not enough to make the film “unbiblical” in the eyes of most audiences.

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On the other hand, the historically studied parody Life of Brian (1979) traces the life of Brian/Jesus from nativity to crucifixion, mocking everything possible along the way. The controversial parting shot of the crucifixion is accompanied by the central figure—joined by others likewise crucified—admonishing listeners to “always look on the bright side of life.” The jokes throughout the film show familiarity not only with New Testament narratives but also with scholarly studies of the New Testament and its historical context. But although many of the film’s original viewers considered Life of Brian heretical, few considered it biblical. Other films—neither obvious (if augmented) biblical narratives nor obvious (if engaged) humor—stretch the definition of the Bible film. Some, like the recent screen adaptation of C. S. Lewis’s The Chronicles of Narnia (1950–1956), use allegory to tell a story that earnestly engages biblical symbols as well as narratives. In the story that is the foundation for the film, Lewis—an influential Christian apologist—spins a magic-filled tale that at first appears to have nothing to do with the biblical narrative but which, on reflection, contains biblical parallels that are not hard to spot; the lion king in this alternate universe chooses to sacrifice himself for others only to be returned to life after death. Others, like The Matrix Revolutions (2003), contain distinctly Christ-like messiah figures. In this particular case, the movie’s hero, Neo, is a God-like human (“the One”) upon whom the fate of humanity and the survival of “Zion” rest. Ultimately (after a journey in the ship Logos), Neo chooses to sacrifice himself for the sake of the world; the movie ends with his death, but fans confidently await Neo’s second coming. Many may claim that a film represents the Bible, but there are no obvious or agreed-upon positions from which to resolve disagreements about which films to include or even how to categorize different types of Bible films. Is a film that claims to portray Jesus with historical accuracy—like Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ (2004)—necessarily more faithful to the New Testament narrative than a film—like Martin Scorsese’s The Last Temptation of Christ (1988)—that begins with the disclaimer that it “is not based upon the gospels”? Almost of necessity, the identification of a film as a Bible film, and the evaluation of that film’s accuracy, is an exercise in interpretation. Not surprisingly, much is at stake, not least because of the prestige or influence such a designation may bring. Possibly the least controversial candidates for the designation “Bible film” are the so-called biblical epics, a category often subdivided into those dealing with the Old Testament (rarely identified as the Hebrew scriptures), the Christ films, and the Roman/Christian epics (that is, films set within the early years of Christianity). However divided, biblical epics constitute an influential (and popular) genre that has brought significant numbers of people to the theater. In six of the ten years between 1949–1959, for example, biblical (or at least religious) spectaculars were among the most popular films in the nation: Samson and Delilah (1949), Quo Vadis

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(1951), David and Bathsheba (1951), The Robe (1953), The Ten Commandments, and Ben-Hur (1959). The central element of most of the films in this category is their focus on biblical figures or events. As for their “epic” quality, the epic is great, massive, noble, and world-historical; an epic strives to depict its characters and events on the grandest possible scale. These films create a stylistic effect similar to that of the literary epic and belong to a particular lineage of filmmaking derived from the tradition of the spectacular Victorian theater, as epitomized by Ben-Hur. Before it became the most successful film of the 1950s, Ben-Hur delighted stage audiences as early as 1899 with a simulated chariot race. In this Roman/Christian epic, the invented character Prince Judah Ben-Hur, a Jew, must lead his people in resistance against Rome. More recently, Ridley Scott’s Gladiator (2000) adopted a similar narrative and epic scale but maintained greater distance from biblical narrative. Both films are driven by the story of a hero who breaks a previous alliance with Rome, suffers the humiliation of being enslaved, and ultimately ends up achieving a position of power over seemingly untouchable opponents. The model film for this subgroup is The Ten Commandments, which often serves as a model for the entire genre of Bible films. Intriguingly, director Cecil B. DeMille understood American cinema as representing America to the world. Even more, he believed that The Ten Commandments could deliver a universal message to Christians, Jews, and Muslims at once. These ambitions shaped the film, blending the imagination of the Bible and America so as to present a generalized view of religion that glossed over ongoing and painful points of tensions between Jews, Christians, and Muslims. It is telling that DeMille understood The Ten Commandments as articulating a vision that had the capacity to unite America, represent America abroad, and even to stretch seamlessly over the boundaries of the Abrahamic faiths. America’s epic understanding of its own role as a kind of promised land in global history finds its expression when Hollywood puts the Bible on film. It therefore makes perfect sense that DeMille himself would see his work not merely as one film among others. As one British scholar noted, this form of film became popular in the United States because biblical concepts so neatly overlapped with American self-conceptions of mission and morality. In the end, it is impossible to discuss the Bible on film without saying something about American Christianity and religiosity more broadly. Additionally, the frequent division of biblical epics into pre-Jesus (that is, Jewish), Jesus, and post-Jesus modes also reveals something about how most Americans understand Bible films. This particular view organizes films according to the same imagined history that Christians use to divide the Bible, in which the “Old” Testament represents everything before Jesus’ life and ministry, and in which Jesus is at the center of time; everything after Jesus’ death, crucifixion, and resurrection

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is understood in light of his life and ministry. This puts an emphasis on Christian history; even before considering any specific Bible film, one must acknowledge the ideological and theological assumptions about history that are already privileging certain points of view, and thus predetermining claims of authenticity. For example, when Mel Gibson produced The Passion of the Christ, he required all of the dialog to be in Aramaic, Hebrew, or Latin. This unusual step, he argued, was taken to ensure historical accuracy. Whether this step helped the film achieve a greater correspondence with whatever events lie behind the stories of Jesus’ death is debatable; the use of these languages is itself, of course, a dramatic device that creates a particular effect. What is clear is that this gesture conveys to viewers that the makers of the film intended it to be accurate. Indeed, American public discourse on Bible films has often centered around whether or to what degree a film “got it right” historically and scripturally. Often the discourse surrounding Bible films implies a peculiarly modern understanding of the relationship between the Bible and history, whereby scripture is expected to be (entirely or generally) in accord with what secular historians and archeologists discover through empirical study. This expectation is far from universal in the history of Christianity, and no amount of academic study or archeological discovery could ever resolve resulting historical debates. Claims to historicity and arguments about the historical accuracy of Bible films are arguments of interpretation. This is not to say that all interpretations are equal (they are not), or that there are not more and less plausible histories provided by more or less believable historians (there are). But it may not be possible to make judgments of historical or scriptural accuracy strictly on neutral, rational grounds; such judgments are always normative. The popular tendency to argue about what are ultimately confessional issues raised by Bible films by speaking about objective, historical truth, therefore, reflects more about the place of the Bible in the American imagination of history, than it does about accuracy per se. The relationship between Bible films and American culture is not only one of American Christian ideology on the production of such films; Bible films have also left their mark on America cinema, sometimes working through contentious issues that are hardly restricted to Bible films. Some scholars have highlighted the manner in which biblical epics engaged issues of ethnicity, sexuality, and gender. Others have detailed the history of how the pious content of biblical films of all kinds gave an earlier generation of filmmakers license to more directly address uncomfortable issues related to sexuality, sadism, and masochism at a time when censorship was restrictive. More often, many Bible films, especially those dealing with the life of Jesus, have become a forum reflecting and shaping national discussions of pluralism and interreligious dialogue, in part because of the way they have raised questions about Christian anti-Semitism. There is no doubt that American Bible films present a Christian (not Jewish) Bible in which the Old

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Testament is superseded by the New and the birth, ministry, crucifixion, and resurrection of Jesus is the central event. Equally evident, though, has been the selfconsciousness with which most directors have addressed anti-Semitism. A long history of anti-Semitic passion plays in Europe had included anti-Semitic portrayals of Jews as collectively responsible for the death of Jesus. American filmmakers, whatever their own views, have had to respond to this freighted history of anti-Jewish sentiment. Although particular films may still retain anti-Semitic images, the genre as a whole has come to reflect increasing tolerance, and most filmmakers have made efforts to avoid the anti-Semitic tropes of the past. DeMille’s The King of Kings (1927) attempted—to debated effect—to avoid the implication that Jews were responsible for Christ’s death by focusing blame solely on the Jewish high priest. Interestingly, when Nicolas Ray remade the film in 1961, he suggested that Jews were not culpable by excluding the Sanhedrin (the Jewish legislative body) entirely and focusing the blame for Jesus’ death on Pilate. In Jesus of Nazareth (1977), Franco Zeffirelli consciously highlighted Jesus’ Jewishness, added depictions of a number of Jewish practices to the script, and publicly expressed his desire to overcome anti-Semitism. The responsiveness of those responsible for making Bible films to contemporary social issues has enabled critics to take these films seriously as independent religious texts, not only as reproductions of the story in the Bible itself. Two decades ago, many elite discussions of such films evaluated them as an entertaining way of conveying a portion of the Bible, and frequently these films were decried as superficial or historically inaccurate. Today the conversation tends to give the films more weight as participating in a larger dialogue with sacred texts and faith communities. There is little doubt that theological insights are passed from the biblical text into films. However, critics have increasingly insisted that there is a way of allowing theological meaning and understanding to be generated by moving from a film and moving to the biblical text. This interpretive approach can work with any film in which there is some resonance with the biblical text; biblical characters and events need not be literally present. When the Society for Biblical Literature created a handbook to assist biblical studies instructors using film to teach the Bible, it recognized the increasing dominance of this new interpretative mode and was compelled to provide two separate lists of Bible films: the first including those made in the manner of the biblical epics or Christ films discussed above and the second comprising films that lacked this direct engagement but nonetheless illustrated or resonated with particular biblical themes and were therefore recommended for use in the classroom. This second list includes Ridley Scott’s futuristic masterpiece Blade Runner (1982), about an assassin trained to kill humanlike bioengineered creatures, which resonates with and reflects on Genesis. Other films mentioned above, such as The

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Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe (2005), Life of Brian, and The Matrix Revolutions, also made the second list. With such a broad interpretive tool, one can find the bible on film in almost endless ways. Recent scholarly essays have considered film adaptations of Daniel Defoe’s novel Robinson Crusoe (1719), adventurous tales of a shipwrecked sailor, in dialog with the New Testament account of Paul’s shipwreck in Acts and Corinthians; have drawn parallels between the narrative style of The Godfather trilogy (The Godfather, 1972; The Godfather: Part II, 1974; The Godfather: Part III, 1990) and large portions of the Bible; and have brought Ang Lee’s Hulk (2003) and Zechariah 5:5–11 together to discuss shared themes of sacrifice, violence, and apocalypse. Although one certainly can create restrictive definitions of Bible films for specific analytic or confessional purposes, there is no one right, authentic, or historically accurate way to do so. As the above creative explorations of the Bible on film suggest, even more difficult than saying when the Bible is on film is saying when it is not. Aaron Gross See also: DeMille, Cecil B.; Film as Religion; Gilliam, Terry; Jesus; Judaism; The Last Temptation of Christ Controversy; The Matrix Trilogy; The Passion of the Christ Controversy.

Further Reading Aichele, George, and Richard Walsh, eds. Screening Scripture: Intertextual Connections Between Scripture and Film. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 2002. Babington, Bruce, and Peter William Evans. Biblical Epics: Sacred Narrative in Hollywood Cinema. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1993. Bach, Alice, ed. Biblical Glamour and Hollywood Glitz. Special issue, Semeia 74 (1996). Exum, Cheryl, ed. The Bible in Film—The Bible and Film. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2006. Reinhartz, Adele. Scripture on the Silver Screen. Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 2003. Scott, Bernard Brandon. Hollywood Dreams and Biblical Stories. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1994.

Black Church, The If popular culture is a “theater of desires” and fantasies that reflect not who we really are but who and what we imagine ourselves to be, then the portrayal in film of the “black church”—a historical construction of predominantly African American

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Protestant congregations and denominations—is reflective of a mythical blackness. It is evident that the black church is portrayed as a mainstay of the black community, an institution that uniformly provides succor for black people. However, such a statement is dangerous, as popular films tend to portray both the black church and the black community it represents as singular and monolithic. Popular films tend to erase the enormous diversity within black Christian churches in favor of presenting an amalgam of the most common stereotypes associated with the black church. In both comedic and dramatic films, the black church is presented paradoxically. It is a site of hypocrisy and pastoral misconduct. At the same time as the black church is presented as site of negative human behaviors, it is also presented as a site of reconciliation. Further, it is through presentations of the black church in film that movie makers attempt to say something about the moral status of black communities. As a site of reconciliation, the negative behaviors that may be present throughout a movie are, at the conclusion of the film, overcome in order to present a harmonious, unified black church. An early presentation of the black church on film can be found in the comedic film Which Way Is Up? (1977), in which there is a lecherous preacher who, it is revealed, has slept with several dozen women in his congregation. This portrayal plays upon the stereotype of the black preacher who preys upon the women of the church. Further, the portrayal of the black church in this movie centers upon the assumption that sexually frustrated black women populate the church and sexually lascivious opportunists lead them. Richard Pryor’s character, the Reverend Lennox Thomas, is modeled on itinerant preachers who avoided the mainline African American denominations (especially Baptist or Methodist) in favor of establishing their own followings. The comedy Kingdom Come (2001) continues the presentation of the black church as a site of hypocrisy and contradiction. In this movie, Marguerite Slocumb is a Bible-toting, self-righteous woman who cannot see that her sons (one of whom is in prison) have suffocated under her overbearing demeanor. As in Which Way Is Up? the church functions in the background of the lives of the characters. However, the people who are members of the fictional Lula African Methodist Church tend to act in ways that contradict their assertion that they are Christians. They lie, cheat one another, steal, and bicker over petty issues. It is Reverend Hooker who— though at first appearing inept—at a crucial moment in the film provides words of wisdom to the grieving Slocumb family. This moment reaffirms the leadership capabilities and wisdom of black preachers; Reverend Hooker’s wisdom allows the members of the Slocumb family to begin the process of reconciliation. Dramatic films have presented the black church as a site of reconciliation and healing for black people who have suffered some personal trauma. For example, the successful Woman Thou Art Loosed (2004), based on the T. D. Jakes book of

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the same name, deals with a woman named Michelle who has suffered trauma after trauma and, eventually, winds up on death row for shooting the man who sexually assaulted her as a child. The movie focuses on her pain and her eventual healing—which is facilitated by Reverend Jakes (who stars as himself )—and treats the black church far more seriously than previous movies had done. The goal of the movie is to show the possibilities of redemption and healing even for the most damaged person. Further, the movie posits the black church as a source of healing and reconciliation. Even when there is no direct reference to black churches, black preachers in film serve as representatives of the black church. For example, in the movie Soul Food (1997), there is no scene set within a church. However, the family always has the preacher (again, representing some nondescript, presumably Christian denomination) over for dinner. Like Reverend Hooker in Kingdom Come, Reverend Williams in Soul Food is slow-witted. However, he is also portrayed as being somewhat lascivious, as compared with the much more sympathetic portrayal of Reverend Hooker. Church services in comedic or dramatic black films are presented as being “soulful” and energetic. The bodies of black people in church services are always in motion. The call-and-response tradition of some black churches is represented in popular film as the way in which all black churches worship. The preaching moment in these movies almost uniformly involves a loud, booming sermon. The audience does not sit silently listening; rather, the audience participates in the sermonic moment. The worshippers (again, mostly women) affirm the preacher’s words by saying “Amen,” “Preach it,” or “Tell the truth.” These services uniformly include a moving gospel song featuring a female soloist and a choral accompaniment. It is usually the church service (in the case of Kingdom Come, a funeral) that provides the setting for the reconciliation of a lead character back to the church, his or her family, and, by extension, the black community in general. Scenes of reconciliation and redemption are central motifs in the presentation of black churches in popular films. These scenes of personal redemption usually occur toward the end of a rousing sermon. For example, in The Blues Brothers (1980), Jake and Elwood Blues receive a revelation—a “mission from God”—that they must put their blues band back together, after which they and the congregation (led by James Brown and the Rev. James Cleveland Chior) sing and dance to “The Old Landmark.” And in both The Color Purple (1985) and Diary of a Mad Black Woman (2005), the preaching moment and the altar call (which is always accompanied by a moving, gospel song sung by the choir) lead to cathartic and transformative moments for characters who had previously expressed little interest in the church. In The Color Purple, Shug Avery leaves the juke joint where she had been singing and returns to church with a caravan of partygoers as the

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choir sings “Maybe God Is Tryin’ To Tell You Somethin’.” Shug then takes her (presumably) rightful place as the lead soloist and reconciles with her estranged father, who is the pastor of the church. In a parallel scene in Diary of a Mad Black Woman, not only does Charles, the antagonist of the movie, experience redemption, but Helen also experiences redemption during a church service. She learns to forgive Charles for kicking her out of their home and leaving her for another woman, and Charles sheds his cold, heartless nature and adopts a more loving, supportive persona. Through these dramatic films, the black church resolves the sense of alienation and estrangement that the characters experience. The black church in the film serves a symbolic purpose. It stands in as a representative of the black community. Those characters who find themselves in despair and alienation reconcile themselves to the black community through the black church. In and through presentations of the black church in movies, film producers, directors, and writers articulate a moral vision of black communities. The black church in popular cinema does not challenge typical American middle-class values. Rather, it serves to reinforce those values. All of the aforementioned films emphasize values of hard work, thrift, sacrifice, and monogamy. Through the portrayals of the black church on film, we see black people who are well dressed, well groomed, and well behaved. Black parishioners of these film representations of black churches are generally hard-working “salt of the earth” people. Those who do not fit the aforementioned description usually are wayward people who will experience redemption and, at the end of the movie, join the rest of the church as a well-dressed and well-behaved individuals. The black church in popular movies tends to be portrayed as a place where class differences among African Americans are minimized. Presentations of black churches in popular movies do not highlight the vast class differences within black communities. Rather, movies tend to portray black churches as filled with people who belong to the middle and lower middle classes. For example, the families presented in Kingdom Come, Soul Food, and Woman Thou Art Loosed represent the middle and lower middle classes. There are persons who occupy the upper socioeconomic classes, like Helen and Charles in Woman, or Teri in Soul Food, but they are usually portrayed as being out of touch with the core values of hard work, thrift, and monogamy. The thrust of the movies that feature these characters is the recovery of those grassroots values that would connect them with the everyday black folk who populate the cinematic versions of the black church. On film, gender differences within the black church are very stark; the leaders of black churches are uniformly male. In these films, it is a black male preacher who provides leadership and guidance within the church. Even in movies where a woman is the protagonist, like Woman Thou Art Loosed, black male preachers provide spiritual counseling and give direction to black women. Black women are

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never portrayed as being leaders within the church. However, when movies do show black church services, women appear in the audience and within the choir, usually as soloists. Interestingly, it is the conjunction of the male-led preaching and the female-lead choral piece that leads to climactic scenes of reconciliation. Cinematic representations of the black church tend to either minimize or exaggerate sexuality in black life. As mentioned at the beginning of the essay, black preachers in film are either lascivious or completely asexual. The Preacher’s Wife (1996) is an example of the latter. In it, Reverend Henry Biggs and his wife, Julia, experience marital difficulty. Reverend Biggs devotes much of his time to helping those less fortunate in the community and trying to keep St. Matthew’s Church afloat, but he fails to devote much attention to his wife. An angel named Dudley is sent to help them with their difficulties but eventually falls in love with Julia. Throughout the movie, sexual desire is hinted at but never fully explored. Sexual temptation is presented in the form of Britsloe, Julia’s old boyfriend, and also in Julia’s past as a jazz singer. However, that past and the temptation it brought serve to reaffirm Julia’s faithfulness to her husband and to the church. Kisses, scenes of longing, and affirmations of love substitute for graphic displays of sexuality and desire. Based as it is on The Bishop’s Wife (1947), the movie has a PG rating, meaning that parents of children can rest assured that this presentation of sexuality in the black church is chaste and safe. The black church that appears on the screen reflects a romanticized view of black religious and social life. As visual texts, films that feature the black church fail to engage the diversity that exists within black churches. The presentation of the black church represents a particular trend within popular films that presents African American life as singular and unitary. Thus, black churches in American cinema do not represent the diverse styles of worship, class structures, and family configurations that exist within black churches in the real world. Popular films use the black church as an interpretive window that allows the viewer a glimpse into the lives of African Americans. This window offers the viewer the possibility of a single, wholesome black community that assimilates all differences. However, this is fairly narrow and tends to reduce African American life and religious experience in a highly limited way. Roger Sneed See also: Clergy; Protestantism.

Further Reading Klotman, Phyllis Rauch. In Touch With the Spirit: Black Religious and Musical Expression in American Cinema. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1994.

Bollywood | 75 Lewis, T. W. III. “Moral Mapping and Spiritual Guidance in The Color Purple.” Soundings 73, nos. 2/3 (1990): 483–491. Lindvall, Terry. “Spectacular Transcendence: Abundant Means in the Cinematic Representation of African American Christianity.” Howard Journal of Communications 7, no. 3 (1996): 205–220. Weisenfeld, Judith. “ ‘For the Cause of Mankind’: The Bible, Racial Uplift, and Early Race Movies.” In African Americans and the Bible: Sacred Texts and Social Textures, edited by Vincent L. Wimbush, 728–742. New York: Continuum, 2000. Weisenfeld, Judith. Hollywood Be Thy Name: African American Religion in American Film, 1929–1949. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007.

Bollywood Dhundiraj Govind Phalke (1870–1944) created the first Indian feature-length film in 1912–1913—Raja Harischandra (1913), a silent film based on epic Indian stories about an ideal king who is tested by the gods of the Hindu pantheon. Phalke then produced a number of other silent films based on epic Indian stories, including Satyavan Savitri (1914), Lanka Dahan (Lanka Aflame, 1917), Kaliya Mardan (1919), Setu Bandhan (1932), and his first “talkie,” Gangavataran (The Descent of the Ganga, 1937). Phalke was inspired to produce films by a screening of a film about the life of Jesus that he saw in 1910 at the America-India Picture Palace in Bombay. It was this screening, he later recalled, that led him to bring the Hindu gods to life, just as Jesus had been in that early picture. Phalke’s films, therefore, are mythologicals in which events in the lives of Krishna, Rama, and other Hindu gods (as narrated in the two great Indian epics, the Mahabharata and the Ramayana) are brought to life through this new visual medium. Although little of Phalke’s original footage has survived, his legacy can be seen in the Indian imperative to constantly retell and rethink the stories of the Hindu gods through the medium of film. Bollywood is the term applied to the popular film industry based in Bombay (Mumbai), India, which produces films in the Hindi–Urdu language. The term arises from a combination of Bombay and Hollywood and suggests something of the tremendous size of the Bollywood film industry in terms of its annual output (approximately double that of Hollywood), the popular nature of its films (as opposed to independent or art films), and its original hybridity of form. Bollywood cinema is also known as “Hindi cinema,” after its Hindi–Urdu language, a term that is preferred by some because it seems less derivative. Although the term Bollywood is often erroneously used to refer to all Indian cinema, perhaps because

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it is Bollywood cinema that has garnered international fame and acclaim, there are many other regional cinema industries in India, producing popular films in such languages as Bengali, Marathi, Tamil, Telugu, and Malayalam; there is also a small but thriving independent/art film scene in India. Three features that demonstrate Indian cinema’s deep connections with Hinduism are the use of mythological stories, the darshanic gaze, and the role of song and dance. Although the discussion of specific movies here is limited to Bollywood, the analysis of these three features is applicable to popular Indian cinema more generally. Throughout the 1920s and 1930s, as more Indian directors followed in D. G. Phalke’s footsteps, the vast majority of the films produced in India were mythologicals. These films—first silent films, with “talkies” following in the 1930s—retold stories from the Indian epics with which audience members were generally already familiar; the novelty for viewers lay in seeing these stories enacted in this new medium. Following India’s independence from British colonial rule in 1947, however, a new genre of film—the social melodrama—came to dominate Bollywood cinema in the 1950s as India worked to define itself as a modern nation. These films featured story lines in which traditional Indian values and customs were re-evaluated through dramatic treatment. An example is Raj Kapoor’s Awaara (The Vagabond, 1951), in which the wife of Judge Raghunath is kidnapped by the thief Jagga but ultimately returned unharmed. Shortly after her return, however, Judge Raghunath learns that his wife is pregnant. As rumors circulate that the child may not be his and as the judge faces the possibility of losing a promotion because of those rumors, he throws his wife out into the streets of Bombay. There, in the gutter, she gives birth to Raju—the biological son of a gentleman judge and the adopted son of an underworld thief. This film questions long-standing divisions of class and caste hierarchy by asking whether the son of a thief must necessarily become a thief and whether the son of a gentleman is necessarily a gentleman. Yet these social melodramas, despite their secular story lines, often had mythological subtexts. In the case of Awaara, the film parallels the events of the Ramayana epic, in which Sita, the wife of the god-king Rama, is kidnapped by the evil demon Ravana. At his home in Lanka, Ravana unsuccessfully attempts to seduce Sita, who remains faithful to Rama, her true love. After gathering up an army and traveling to Lanka, Rama defeats Ravana and frees Sita. Yet the epic story does not end here; because Sita has lived in another man’s house, her chastity is questioned, and she must undergo a trial by fire to prove her purity. Although she successfully performs this fire ordeal, in many versions of the epic Sita is nonetheless rejected by Rama, who claims that it is his duty as king to listen to the concerns of the people; he therefore banishes her to the forest to die. There, Sita ultimately gives birth to twin sons and raises them as a single mother in a forest hermitage.

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In Hinduism, dharma is a central concept, meaning “religion,” “law,” “social order,” “proper conduct,” and “duty.” The Ramayana and Mahabharata epics teach that it is a Hindu’s dharma to act according to the status of his or her birth in society and his or her stage of life. In fulfilling one’s individual obligations properly, one works toward individual liberation and helps maintain not only the larger social order but the cosmic order as well. Rama, hero of the Ramayana, is believed by Hindus to be the god Vishnu incarnate; as such he is considered the ideal man, one who embodies dharma, while his wife, Sita, is the ideal woman. Early in the epic, when the king of Ayodhya decides to retire and pass the crown to his son Rama, Kaikeyi, the king’s youngest wife, steps in to redeem a boon from her husband, demanding that Rama go into exile in the forest for 14 years while his younger brother, Kaikeyi’s own son Bharata, is crowned in his stead. The king is heartbroken, but Rama cheerily gives up everything and goes into exile, stating that it is his dharma to honor his father’s promise and respect his father as he would a god. Similarly, when Rama later questions Sita’s chastity, she willingly undergoes the fire ordeal, stating that it is her dharma to be chaste and to respect her husband as she would a god. In Awaara, by taking the ending of the Ramayana epic as his starting place and situating his story in mid-20th-century Bombay, Raj Kapoor questions the relevance of traditional Hindu beliefs and values to modern Indian society. Do traditional gender, sexual, class, and caste norms contribute to the building of a greater society, or do they instead work to disenfranchise and impoverish innocent women and children? At the end of Awaara, our hero, Raju, turns away from Judge Raghunath, his biological father, and refuses to embrace him through the prison bars that divide them. Raj Kapoor suggests, through this rejection of traditional filial dharma, that it is time for the new generation to rethink the old way of seeing things. A more recent example of a social melodrama with a mythological subtext is the blockbuster Kabhi Kushi Kabhie Gham (Sometimes Happiness, Sometimes Sorrow, 2001), directed by Karan Johar. Like Awaara, Kabhi Kushi Kabhie Gham also revolves around dharmic conflicts by introducing a flawed husband and father figure: Should a son still honor his father as he would a god? Should a wife still honor her husband as she would a god? Yet whereas Awaara suggests, in its ending, a rejection of traditional dharmic norms, most Bollywood films, Kabhi Kushi Kabhie Gham included, reconcile the dharmic conflicts in a way that accommodates some traditional values in the modern Indian context. In Kabhi Kushi Kabhie Gham, Yashvardhan “Yash” Raichand has decided to retire and pass his vast business empire to his eldest son, Rahul. However, when Rahul learns that his father has arranged his marriage, he faces a dharmic conflict: Should he marry the upperclass woman chosen by his father and thereby fulfill his filial duty, or should he

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instead listen to his heart and marry Anjali, the woman with whom he is in love, who comes from a working-class family? When Rahul decides to follow his heart, his father disowns him. Banished, Rahul and Anjali move to London, where they start their own family. The remaining members of the Raichand household now face their own dharmic conflict: should they obey Yash’s authority as the patriarch and cut all ties with Rahul, or should they listen to their own hearts and attempt to find him? In one poignant scene, Nandini, Yash’s wife, tells Yash that he is just a man, not a god, for a god would not have divided a mother from her child. In the end, however, the family is happily reunited, thanks to Rahul’s younger brother Rohan: Yash sees the error of his ways and accepts Anjali as his daughter-in-law; Rahul forgives his father and returns with his wife and son to his ancestral home in India; and Rohan’s own love interest, Anjali’s sister Pooja, is welcomed into the Raichand family. Thus, although modern mores like love marriages and interclass/ caste marriages are ultimately accepted, this acceptance occurs within a framework that still privileges the traditional Hindu joint family system, staying true to the movie’s famous tag line: “It’s all about loving your parents.” Bollywood films can be loosely grouped into a number of genres: The mythological; the social melodrama; the action flick, including the subgenre known as “curry westerns,” which became popular with the release of Ramesh Sippy’s Sholay (1975); the romance, which became especially popular in the 1980s with the release of films such as Yash Chopra’s Silsila (The Affair, 1981) and Chandni (Moonlight, 1989). The 1990s saw the dominance of the family “masala” film: masala is a mixture of spices, and masala films are those that contain a little bit of everything—romance, action, adventure, comedy, and devotional scenes. In this way, films like Hum Aapke Hain Koun . . . ! (What am I to You . . . !, 1994) contained something for the whole family. Although mythologicals are no longer the dominant genre, they do continue to be produced. An example of a breakout success was the hit film Jai Santoshi Maa (In Praise of Mother Santoshi, 1975), directed by Vijay Sharma. It depicts the marital and economic bliss that Satyavati receives as a result of her devotion to Santoshi Maa, goddess of satisfaction. It includes scenes depicting the vow that Satyavati undertakes as an expression of her devotion, including a fast that entails avoiding sour foods, and scenes of Satyavati partaking in Hindu temple worship ceremonies in honor of the goddess. Prior to the release of this film, Santoshi Maa was an obscure north Indian village goddess; since its release, however, worship of this goddess has soared throughout India. Now many women, particularly those of the lower and middle classes, worship the goddess by undertaking Satyavati’s vow. In 2006, Jai Santoshi Maa was remade by director Ahmed Siddiqui. When the DVD was first released, it was shipped in a package containing all of the implements necessary to worship the goddess: incense, a small candle, an image of Santoshi Maa, and a pamphlet explaining the vow.

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In addition to the use of mythological stories and dharmic conflicts in both mythological films and a great many “secular” Indian films, the influence of Hinduism on Bollywood can also be seen in the gaze that is unique to this cinema. In Hinduism, darshan is a central practice, the practice of seeing the gods and being seen by them. This shared sight or glance is an exchange in which the devotee expresses his or her devotion to the god while the god blesses the devotee. When Hindus go to a temple, they go to “take darshan” of the god enshrined within; similarly, when a Hindu buys a poster of a god and place it in a home altar, he or she does so in order to be able to take darshan of the god at home. This practice has had a marked impact on the portrayal of gods in Indian films. Whereas Hollywood—and western cinema more generally—has typically been reluctant to have a character directly address the audience, Bollywood regularly breaks the “fourth wall” for devotional effect. In Jai Santoshi Maa, for instance, numerous frontal shots of the goddess Santoshi Maa are incorporated into the film, thereby allowing the viewer to take darshan of the goddess. Indeed, when the film was released, Hindus did worship the goddess when she appeared on screen in cinema halls, folding their hands in prayer and exchanging glances with her just as if they were in a temple. This occurs in “secular” Bollywood films too, as in the opening scene in Kabhi Kushi Kabhie Gham, in which the Raichand family worships the Hindu gods during the annual Diwali holiday. Here, sequences alternate frontal images of the gods with images of various Raichand family members worshipping the gods in prayer. This technique not only gives the viewer the sense that an active darshanic exchange is taking place between the Raichand family and the Hindu gods but also allows the viewer to step into this familial devotional scene by partaking in the darshan along with the characters. This unique gaze is not reserved strictly for visual exchanges between gods and characters but extends to the gaze between filmic characters as well. For western viewers, Bollywood films contain what often seems like an over-the-top focus on the eyes of characters at particularly melodramatic moments, with frontal shots of the character in which the camera zooms repeatedly in and out, focusing on his or her eyes, and with alternating sequences between two characters that may last for many minutes. For instance, in Kabhi Kushi Kabhie Gham, the father–son scenes in which Yash first disowns Rahul and then later reconciles with him both convey the emotions these characters experience—anger, disappointment, regret, forgiveness, love—not through extensive dialogue but through the exchange of glances between them, as demonstrated by sequences featuring repeated closeups on the characters’ eyes (and dramatic sound effects such as thunder claps when Yash disowns Rahul and a musical crescendo as the two are finally reconciled). Finally, the role of song and dance in Bollywood cinema cannot be overlooked. All Bollywood films contain multiple song and dance sequences (often

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10 or more), no matter what genre they fall into. Thus there is no genre of musicals in Bollywood cinema because all films are musicals. For Indians, these songs are what will make or break a film. The songs are released before the film, sold on cassettes and CDs and aired on MTV-India, and play a crucial role in marketing the film. Hindi film songs are prevalent throughout the public sphere in India, played on buses, at nightclubs, and at weddings, and devotional songs from mythological films (like Jai Santoshi Maa’s “Main To Arti Utaru”) are even blared through temple loudspeakers. For westerners not familiar with Indian cinema, however, the songs are often a source of confusion or even annoyance, as they seem to constantly interrupt the film’s narrative diegesis. Yet a careful look at Bollywood cinema reveals that although many film songs are extradiegetic, in that the characters are not “aware” that they are singing, the songs nonetheless help to flesh out the inner feelings of the characters. Examples of both diegetic and extradiegetic songs can be found in Kabhi Kushi Kabhie Gham. The first song, “Kabhi Kushi Kabhie Gham,” is sung by the Raichand family on the Hindu holiday of Diwali. Here the characters are shown dressed in their best holiday clothes, holding trays containing lit candles and other implements for worship, and waving those trays before images of the Hindu gods while they sing. This song is a diegetic sequence, for the characters are singing to express their devotion to the gods and to one another as a family unit on this Hindu holiday. Hindu festivals like Diwali and Holi are often an occasion for diegetic songs in Bollywood films, as they present characters with opportunities to express, through devotional song, their love of the Hindu gods; simultaneously, through prolonged glances, love relationships between the characters are developed as well. The fourth song, “Suraj Hua Madham,” on the other hand, is extradiegetic. This song can be likened to a dream sequence, for it exposes the inner emotional landscape of the characters Rahul and Anjali, who are transported to fantastic places (the Egyptian pyramids loom in the background), have numerous costume changes, and can be physically intimate with one another in ways that they could not in the “real” world of the film. In this song Rahul and Anjali sing to one another of their impossible love, exchanging many lengthy glances, and although the song is extradiegetic, it does set up the narrative conflict that will follow. Rahul and Anjali will marry, but that marriage is not destined to be accepted in the “real” world of the film, the world beyond their fantastic dream sequence. Many other connections could be made between Bollywood cinema and Hinduism, such as the common use of stories within stories and flashbacks, both of which hold more in common with epic Indian storytelling patterns than with western-style linear plot structures. However, it is also important to point out Bollywood’s (rarely studied) indebtedness to other religious traditions as well. The influence of Indo-Islamic culture can be found in the language of Bollywood

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cinema, Hindi heavily inflected with Urdu, especially in its song lyrics; in the prevalence of Muslim actors throughout the history of Bollywood; and in many of the themes featured in Bollywood films, especially the “courtesan” figure. Furthermore, Bollywood is also indebted to its precursor, the 19th-century Parsi (Zoroastrian) theater in Bombay, in ways that are only just beginning to come to light but that include the theatrical conventions of breaking the fourth wall and incorporating the darshanic gaze as well as the use of Hindu mythological stories and subtexts. Karline McLain See also: Hinduism.

Further Reading Derné, Steve. “Market Forces at Work: Religious Themes in Commercial Hindi Films.” In Media and the Transformation of Religion in South Asia, edited by Lawrence A. Babb and Susan S. Wadley, 191–216. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1995. Dwyer, Rachel. Filming the Gods: Religion and Indian Cinema. New York: Routledge, 2006. Gupta, Chindananda Das. “Seeing and Believing, Science and Mythology: Notes on the ‘Mythological’ Genre.” Film Quarterly 42, no. 4 (1989): 12–18. Kesavan, Mukul. “Urdu, Awadh, and the Tawaif: The Islamicate Roots of Hindi Cinema.” In Forging Identities: Gender, Communities, and the State, edited by Zoya Hasan, 244– 257. Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1994. Lutgendorf, Philip. “Jai Santoshi Maa Revisited: On Seeing a Hindu ‘Mythological’ Film.” In Representing Religion in World Cinema: Filmmaking, Mythmaking, Culture Making, edited by S. Brent Plate, 19–42. New York: Palgrave/Macmillan, 2003. Vasudevan, Ravi. Making Meaning in Indian Cinema. New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2000.

Bresson, Robert (1901?–1999) Scholars and critics alike have labeled Robert Bresson a “Catholic auteur” whose work explores moral and ethical issues at the heart of current theological debate, particularly with regard to suffering and death, divine justice and evil, joy and grace. Writer–director Paul Schrader, whose 1972 book on the “transcendental style in film” included an analysis of Bresson’s work, suggests that it achieves a spiritual state through careful use of the camera, actors, and editing. Depending on the source, Bresson was born in either 1901 or 1907 in Bromont-Lamothe in Auvergne, France. In his early teens, he studied the classics

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and philosophy at the Lycee Kakanal in Sceaux. Initially he wanted to be a painter, but his temperament was more suited to filmmaking. He became involved in the film industry through his writing, and he served as a script consultant on several films before going behind the camera. His first film, a short comedy titled Les affaires publiques (Public Affairs, 1934) was lost during the war; little is known about it except that it was a surreal comedy. Bresson returned to working as a script consultant, making contributions to Les jumeaux de Brighton (1936) and Courrier sud (Southern Carrier, 1937), which was based on a novel by Antoine de Saint-Exupery. In 1939, he joined the French Army, but was soon captured and spent a year as a prisoner of war. After returning to Paris, he began working on Les anges du peche (Angels of the Streets, 1943). Bresson was inspired by his friend’s suggestion to make a film about the Sisters of Bethanie, Dominican nuns who specialize in rehabilitating female prisoners. The film proved to be very successful and foreshadowed some of the themes, religious and otherwise, that were to be found in his later works. For his next venture, Bresson adapted Denis Diderot’s Jacques le fataliste et son maitre (1796). With additional dialogue by Jean Cocteau, the renamed and modernized Les dames du Bois de Boulogne (Ladies of the Bois de Bologne, 1945) tells the story of a society woman who gets revenge on her lover by tricking him into marrying a former prostitute. Les Dames proved a commercial and critical failure. Five years were to pass before Bresson directed Journal d’un cure de campagne (Diary of a Country Priest, 1951), which is still considered to be one of his cinematic masterpieces. Adapted from Georges Bernanos’s novel, Journal is quite literally that—the reflections of a young priest as he embarks on his duties in his newly assigned parish in Ambricourt. Rather than welcoming him, his parishioners react with indifference, open hostility, and continuous ridicule. His situation worsens when his superior chastises him for being too soft and ineffectual. Also plaguing him is an affliction of the stomach that keeps him from eating anything but hard bread dipped in wine. The priest eventually falls into despair and is unable to pray: “God has gone out of me.” By the end of the film, the audience learns that the priest has stomach cancer, which takes his life. He seems to experience a sense of peace; his last words are “Does it matter? All is grace.” André Bazin likened this film to a medieval passion play. Bresson was also inspired by Andre Devigny’s memoir Un condamné à mort s’est échappe (A Man Escaped, 1956), which tells of the French Resistance activist’s imprisonment by the Germans and his subsequent escape, just hours before his scheduled execution, from the Montluc Prison in Lyons. Bresson, who adapted the story, remained faithful to the memoir, offering his audience an almost documentary-like portrait of the prisoner. However, as only Bresson could, he

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added a Christian subtext, therefore creating a film that transcends the average prison escape drama. Many scholars have pointed out that the priest in Journal and Fontaine in Un condamne are Christ-like figures; men who are despised and rejected and, because of this, must suffer. Adding to the religious tone is Bresson’s use of Mozart’s “Mass in C Minor.” Bresson considered Fyodor Dostoevsky to be “the greatest novelist,” and it is from this Russian writer’s best-known work, Crime and Punishment (1866), that Bresson crafted Pickpocket (1959). The film centers on Michel, a young, arrogant, antisocial man who spends his days working the streets, subway cars, and train stations of Paris. He is largely unrepentant for his actions—he feels that he is above the law—and his compulsion for pickpocketing grows. But time is running out for him because the police are closing in. In the end, Michel redeems himself through the love of a saintly girl named Jeanne. Another Jeanne becomes the subject of Bresson’s next film. In this case, it is the legendary maid of Orleans. For Procès de Jeanne d’Arc (Trial of Joan of Arc, 1962), Bresson based his screenplay on transcripts from her 1431 trial, showing the viewer (in 65 minutes) her imprisonment, trial, and execution. Even though she was manacled, tortured on the rack, and has her genitals examined to ensure her virginal state, the film is not a sadomasochistic exercise. Jeanne undergoes extreme suffering—as in the story of Jesus, her detractors can be heard noisily clamoring for her death—but she gives into despair and fear only once. Despite the insults, lies, and torments, she remains a faithful servant to God, and for that, her salvation is assured. As the kindling is lit, she says: “the voices were from God. All that I have done I did at His command. They have not deceived me. The revelations were from God.” For Au hasard Balthazar (Balthazar, 1966), Bresson moves into the realm of allegory and casts a beast of burden as one of his two protagonists. Despite being subjected to cruelty and abuse and living in a world full of sin, Balthazar (a donkey) proves to be a model of saintliness; another kind of Christ figure. Throughout the film, he is beaten repeatedly, has his tail set on fire, and is neglected. In the end, he dies of a gunshot wound in the field where he was born; he is surrounded by a flock of sheep. The film’s other central character is Marie, who, though human, is equally victimized. Both characters are portrayed as “innocents” who are at the mercy of others. As in the previous film, Mouchette (1967) takes place in a rural setting and features a titular character who is at the mercy of others. The defiant but lonely 14-year-old Mouchette lives in abject poverty with her dying mother and alcoholic father and brother. She also suffers at the hands of others, including her teacher, who humiliates her, and boys who tease her. In the film, Arsene, a poacher, tries to get her to act as his alibi for a murder that he thinks he may have committed.

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She tries to help him and even comforts him when he has an epileptic fit. He repays her by raping her. In the end, there is no escape for Mouchette, and she drowns herself in a stream. In an interview Ingmar Bergman praised the film, calling Mouchette a saint. A short story by Dostoyevsky provides the source material for Une femme douce (A Gentle Woman, 1969), Bresson’s 10th film. Instead of ending with the suicide of a young, poor female, this film—his first in color—begins with one. Through a series of flashbacks, the woman’s despondent husband, a pawnbroker, talks about his tempestuous relationship with his now deceased wife. Why did the wife kill herself, especially when her final words to her husband were “I’ll be your faithful wife. I’ll respect you?” It is suggested that the domineering man, who controlled his wife through money, gave the free-spirited woman nowhere else to go. Lightening the mood somewhat, Bresson adapted the Dostoyevsky short story “White Nights” for his “ode to young love” titled Quatre nuits d’un reveur (Four Nights of a Dreamer, 1971). In the story, a young painter comes across Marthe, who is so despondent that her true love has failed to meet her that she is contemplating suicide. The two strike up a friendship and, over the next three nights, share their dreams. Not an overtly religious film, Quatre Nuits has been described as a meditation on the nature of love. Chretien de Troyes’s Arthurian legends are the source for Bresson’s Lancelot du lac (Lancelot of the Lake, 1974), which, rather than chart the rise of Arthur, begins in failure. Many of the knights of the Round Table have been killed and the Holy Grail is still out of reach. Arthur asks “has God forsaken us?” The knights, Lancelot, in particular, are guilty of hubris. Instead of pursuing the ways of the spirit, as typified by the church, they have become enmeshed in worldly pleasures, pursuing physical love and earthly riches. They have forgotten what Jesus says in Luke 9:23–25: “If any man would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will save it. For what does it profit a man if he gains the whole world and loses or forfeits himself?” Guinevere alone understands this, saying to Lancelot, “it was not the Grail, it was God you all wanted. God is no trophy to bring home.” Before his death in 1999, Bresson made only two more films: Le diable, probablement (The Devil Probably, 1977) and L’argent (Money, 1983). The former, based on a newspaper story, centers on four disaffected Parisian youths. Charles is the most sickened by his materialistic environment; he tells his psychiatrist that his “illness is seeing too clearly.” Like many Bresson characters, he has no other option but to commit suicide. Loosely based on Leo Tolstoy’s short story, L’Argent follows a forged bill as it changes hands from its schoolboy counterfeiter to a shop owner and finally to Yvon, who innocently tries to use it in a cafe. Through

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a series of events, Yvon ends up in prison, where he undergoes a transformation; a moral decline. When he emerges, he becomes a multiple murderer. The film, which won the prize for Best Director at Cannes, raises questions of good, evil, and justice—or, more specifically, how evil spreads, corrupting all that it touches. Julien R. Fielding See also: Bazin, André; Bergman, Ingmar; Catholicism; Dogme 95; Joan of Arc; Schrader, Paul.

Further Reading Bazin, André. “Le journal d’un curé de campagne and the Stylistics of Robert Bresson.” In What is Cinema? Translated by Hugh Gray, 125–143. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1967. Cunneen, Joseph E. Robert Bresson: A Spiritual Style in Film. New York: Continuum, 2003. Keegan, J. E. “Realistic Film Style and Theological Vision in Robert Bresson.” Horizons 8, no. 1 (1981): 80–96. Schrader, Paul. Transcendental Style in Cinema: Ozu, Bresson, Dreyer. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1972. Sontag, Susan. “Spiritual Style in the Films of Robert Bresson.” In Against Interpretation and Other Essays, 177–195. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1966. Vaux, Sara Anson. “Divine Skepticism: The Films of Robert Bresson.” Christianity and Literature 53, no. 4 (2004): 521–537.

Britain In the early years of the 21st century, mainstream British religion and the country’s film industry share one vital quality: both institutions are popularly believed to be in a state of crisis. Despite a wave of public interest in religious issues— including alternative spiritualities and the variety of fundamentalisms—most newspaper reports on ecclesiastical matters, for example, are likely to emphasize either the rate at which people are deserting the churches or stories of scandal. Similarly, filmmakers struggle to find funding to produce original material; critics carp about the paucity of good work; and talented directors, actors, and technicians depart for Hollywood. If church pews are empty, so too, apparently, are the seats at the most recent National Lottery–funded film produced by home-grown talent. These claims, perhaps, constitute tabloid ideas of a more complex, lived reality. At its best, cinematic narrative can broaden understanding of the ways in

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which communities negotiate the challenges of the modern world and find new ways of defining themselves. If cinema has often misrepresented or simplified religious belief, we might also suggest that many religions, including Christianity, have traditionally been too suspicious of (or too quick to appropriate) the medium of film. However, there is little doubt that religion and culture, as we have known them, are undergoing a change, and so too, therefore, is British cinema. For one historian, the change is not just a decline in institutional Christianity but a decline of the culture that reinforced Britain’s Christian identity. If this is true—and it must be open to discussion—it would have serious implications for the kinds of film that we choose to watch. Does British cinema share anything with religion other than a sense of rapid, hostile change? How do “British” films explore the contours of a multicultural, pluralist society? It is difficult to imagine today’s British film industry producing work equivalent to Mel Gibson’s violently devout retelling of Jesus’ crucifixion. But neither does it seem to have the resources or desire to produce a film that reiterates the satirical scandal achieved by Life of Brian (1979). This is not because there are neither satirists nor confessional Christian filmmakers working in the United Kingdom but a reflection of the wary attitude that audiences in the United Kingdom and Northern Ireland display toward external demonstrations of either religious conviction or an excess of antireligious zeal. Certainly there is no simple equivalent to America’s “religious right,” although plenty of smaller pressure groups share similar conservative values regarding the family, sexuality, and society. The anger generated by the original release of the Monty Python film might now seem rather quaint, particularly when compared with the violent calls for censorship inspired by film and literature screened and published more recently. Although Life of Brian does mock certain religious institutions, the film also parodies the tradition of biblical epics; if believers are offended, we might say that Hollywood should feel affronted too. Would a film with similar Christian themes, jokes, and motifs generate similar opprobrium today? Is British society so confidently secularized that it would find no difficulty in sharing the joke? It might be more likely that many viewers would recognize neither the film’s use of biblical allusions nor its references to early Hollywood screen versions of Bible stories. Visual and religious literacy has changed. This is not to suggest that religion has evaporated from British cultural life. Common assumptions regarding British nonbelief might well be wide of the mark. One sociologist of religion has described the pattern of British Christian spirituality since World War II as “believing without belonging.” In this complex religious context, a number of British-based films have continued to explore the nature of belief and its implications in a detraditionalized world.

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In 1981, a film based on the real-life stories of athletes competing in the 1924 Paris Olympics signaled both a brief revival in the success of the British film industry and a turn to religion as cinematic subject matter. Chariots of Fire (1981) focuses on the endeavors and personal struggles of Eric Liddell and Harold Abrahams, two runners. Liddell was an intensely committed Christian and later a missionary who faced a choice between worldly triumph and religious duty; Abrahams, the wealthy, Cambridge-educated son of a Jewish immigrant, was exposed to the worst snobbery of the elitist British class system of the 1920s. The film’s significant commercial and critical achievement—it was nominated for seven Academy Awards and won in four categories, including Best Picture—is partly a reflection of its tremendously good-looking and strategically nostalgic evocation of a lost British past. However, this appeal is also subverted by its complex exploration of the demands of faith and the intricate relationship between belief, individualism, and national identity. Even the film’s title, an allusion to “Jerusalem” by William Blake, displays a certain ambivalence: the poem, written by a Romantic mystic who was fiercely critical of the English establishment but is now sung at the flagwaving Last Night of the Proms, has become synonymous with sentimental national pride. The poem/hymn is an appropriate reference point for a film that blurs the division between spiritual aspiration and patriotism. Produced in the earliest years of Margaret Thatcher’s administration, this film, consciously or otherwise, uses its period setting to explore anxieties about the shape of contemporary Britain. What does it mean to belong to a nation or community? Why are certain individuals and groups excluded from the mainstream? Is personal success—a vital component of Thatcher’s laissez-faire economic policies—always pursued at the expense of a higher morality? Significantly, at the beginning of a decade that became infamous for its unabashed materialism, Chariots of Fire explored these questions through the lens of religious traditions. Different modes of faith are represented in the film: male self-belief is the paradigm against which all athletes must measure themselves, but this model is not adequate for either Liddell or Abrahams. One scholar has argued that Chariots of Fire pairs the rites of masculine competition with a symbolic father–son conflict, specifically in the choice that Liddell is forced to make between “God and country.” The issue of conscience—a believer must decide whether or not to compete for his country on the day of rest—is the film’s central dilemma and one that is rather neatly resolved. Liddell is allowed both to follow his conscience, remaining heroically devoted to God’s law, and to succeed on the track. This uplifting spiritual narrative has obvious appeal even for a vestigial Christian audience that is unlikely to share the protagonist’s belief in specific doctrines. Yet there is also a less appealing set of inferences in the double Liddell–Abrahams narrative. Although the film examines Abrahams’s experience with anti-Semitism—and

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sympathetically exposes the pain he feels over it—it also trades on negative aspects of his character to intensify admiration for Liddell, the Christian hero. A predominantly Christian audience is more likely to think of Liddell as heroic, particularly once they learn that he later dies for his faith as a missionary. Nevertheless, Harold Abrahams’s personal integrity and athletic prowess are crucial to a narrative that prioritizes moral agency above the ordinary strictures of duty to nation. Chariots of Fire is a sophisticated film with liberal instincts and, despite its problematic subtexts, displays a subtle awareness of the complexities of religious belief in the modern world. The rare success of this film was not, as some predicted, the herald of a new wave of critical–commercial triumph for the British film industry. Neither did it precipitate a flood of religiously themed British-made movies, although Roland Joffe’s The Mission (1986) echoed some of the earlier film’s themes of the conflict between sacred and secular interests. Like Chariots of Fire, Joffe’s film emphasizes the sacrificial cost of religious commitment compared with the temptations of worldly success. The 18th-century Latin American setting allows for gorgeous (and commercially viable) settings and costume. This period location, at a considerable distance from the world of the audience, also shrewdly creates the opportunity to explore deeply unfashionable ideas of repentance, conversion, and forgiveness. Few British filmmakers of the 1990s and early 21st century have directly engaged with spiritual experience. Yet in spite of the fact that mainstream religious expression is a more muted part of British life than ever before, with churches and synagogues competing with alternative nondoctrinal spiritualities, questions of faith have not entirely disappeared from the cinema screens. Christian ideas sometimes emerge in unexpected cinematic places. Ken Loach’s films, for example, are rightly celebrated for their unblinking vision of the consequences of deprivation, injustice, and economic exploitation, but they are not films in which one would anticipate a sympathetic representation of the church. However, in the highly naturalistic Raining Stones (1993), Britain’s foremost exponent of social realist cinema sympathetically explores the relationship between faith, conscience, and community. The faith of a working-class (but out of work) family man, caught in a trap of poverty and despair, is not undermined despite his relentless misfortune. In some forms of social realism, any powerful institution is likely to be regarded with considerable ideological suspicion. However, in Raining Stones, the film’s principal representative of the Roman Catholic Church, a down-to-earth parish priest, is presented as humane, forgiving, and nonjudgemental. Loach offers no easy redemption and it would be inappropriate to describe Raining Stones as a “religious” film, but its emphasis on the dispossessed and poor in spirit, coupled with its hope for justice, echoes certain Christian traditions.

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At the opposite end of the class spectrum and far from Loach’s esthetic style, Four Weddings and a Funeral (1994), for example, is famous for its four-letter words and revival of English class comedy, but it is also easy to forget that it is structured around public religious ceremonies. The film, unsurprisingly, has little to offer by way of profound theological comment, but it is a reminder that apparently forgotten ecclesiastical institutions such as the Anglican and Roman Catholic churches remain a vital part of British cultural life. Produced by Working Title, who have become incredibly successful in selling a particular version of Englishness to a global market, Four Weddings and a Funeral offers a distinctively parochial vision of the nation; all of the weddings are Christian and there is little, if any, reference to the multicultural nature of contemporary Britain. Other films set in Britain respond more directly to the multicultural makeup of contemporary society. Chariots of Fire, in fact, may have a descendant in the romantic sports-themed comedy Bend It Like Beckham (2003). In Gurinder Chadha’s rite-of-passage movie, Jess, a talented young player on a woman’s football team, struggles to please both the demands of her religious life as the daughter of devout Sikh family and to succeed as a sportswoman. As with Liddell and Abrahams in the earlier film, Jess’s story is paired with that of Jules, her best friend and

British director Gurinda Chadha at the International Film Festival in Locarno, Switzerland, before the showing of her film Bend It Like Beckham, 2002. AP Photo/Keystone, Martial Trezzini.

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rival. Whereas Jess is prevented from playing because it is regarded as counter to expectations of her gender and religious duty, Jules’s mother is concerned only that her daughter may not be heterosexual. For the suburban white family, religion appears to be of no material concern; if they have any particular commitment to faith, it has no impact on their attitudes to sport. By contrast, for the nonwhite family, religion is closely associated with ethnic identity. Indeed, in the suburban world in which the film is set, any explicit religious values are coded as distinctly “other” to a secular modernity. Bend It Like Beckham’s resolution to the dilemma of how an individual can remain faithfully religious and true to individual talents differs markedly from that offered in Chariots of Fire. In the 21st-century sporting film, religion must evolve to accommodate new desires, hopes, and ambitions. Jess is ultimately allowed to leave her sister’s vibrant wedding celebrations to play in a key match that will ultimately lead to her winning a soccer scholarship, together with her friend, in the United States. In one sense, the film offers an optimistic picture of suburban England as a space where people of different creeds and colors can connect. In fact, Jess and Jules’s friendship—despite the love rivalry necessary for dramatic reasons—is taken for granted. In another sense, it is significant that the young women must leave Britain for America in order to succeed professionally. This may be a less than subtle reference to the continuing dependence of British film on acceptance by American audiences. The film also trades on another cultural shift relating to the practice of religion: football itself has taken on a pseudosacred status. Sport, like religion, has its own discipline, rituals, and icons or idols: in this case, the idol is the star midfielder David Beckham, who appears both as a series of saintlike images on bedroom wall posters and, finally, “in person” (though played by an actor) at the airport as Jess and Jules leave Britain. If Bend It Like Beckham represents an optimistic, affirmative account of British multiculturalism and the possibilities of both celebrating and transcending religious difference, a number of other 21st-century films offer a less sanguine perspective. My Son the Fanatic (1997), adapted as a screenplay by Hanif Kureshi from his own story, explores the tension between western morality and Islamic fundamentalism via the increasingly hostile relationship of a father and his radicalized son. Ken Loach’s Ae Fond Kiss (A Fond Kiss, 2004) follows the difficulties of a cross-cultural interfaith love story between two young Glaswegians: Casim, whose Pakistan-born parents are devout Muslims, and Roisin, a Catholic teacher. All three films offer a sympathetic (rather than uncritical) view of the ways in which religious identity both intensifies and is transformed by the experience of individuals and communities outside of their ordinary lives. Beyond these examples of British films with religious themes, cinema continues to be a source of spiritual consequence even when religion itself seems

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conspicuously absent. Often the British experience of screen spirituality may derive from films made thousands of miles away—and not necessarily in English. But Britain’s own cinema, under pressure as it may be, continues to explore the possibilities and difficulties of religion in a changing world. Andrew Tate See also: Catholicism; Islam; Judaism; Sports.

Further Reading Brown, Callum G. The Death of Christian Britain: Understanding Secularisation, 1800– 2000. London: Routledge, 2001. Davie, Grace. Religion in Britain Since 1945: Believing Without Belonging. Oxford: Blackwell, 1994. Hale, F. “The Mission as Cinema of Liberation Theology.” Missionalia 23, no. 1 (1995): 72–91. Robbins, Keith. History, Religion, and Identity in Modern Britain. London: Hambledon and London, 1993.

Brooks, Mel (1926– ) Born Melvin Kaminsky, Mel Brooks has been an actor, writer, director, producer, songwriter, and lyricist on film, stage, and television; he is one of only a few people to have won an Oscar (The Producers, 1968), an Emmy (three, for his recurring role as Uncle Phil on the television program Mad About You [NBC, 1992–1999]), a Grammy (three: one for The 2000 Year Old Man in the Year 2000, and two for The Producers), and a Tony (three again, all for the Broadway version of The Producers). Not considered theologically complex, Brooks’s films are nonetheless culturally significant for both the obviously Jewish content and the high profile given to Judaism generally, not only within the Jewish community but also across cultural lines into the non-Jewish world. Brooks was born in Brooklyn, New York, the son of Maximillian Kaminsky (who died when Brooks was two) and Kate “Kittie” Brookman (whence “Brooks”). As a young man, Brooks served in the U.S. Army, stationed in North Africa and then in Europe during World War II. He married Florence Baum in 1951, fathering Stefanie, Nicky, and Eddie before the marriage ended in divorce in 1961. That same year he met Anne Bancroft during rehearsals of Perry Como’s The Kraft Music Hall (NBC, 1958–1971); they were married in 1964. They had one son, Maxmillian, in 1972, and appeared in several films together (To Be or Not to Be [1983],

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his own Silent Movie [1976], and Dracula: Dead and Loving It [1995], as well as television’s Curb Your Enthusiasm [HBO, 2000–2007]) before her death in 2005. Brooks began his career in stand-up comedy before becoming a writer for Sid Caesar’s television sketch comedy program Your Show of Shows (NBC, 1950– 1954), working with other writers such as Larry Gelbart, Carl Reiner, Neil Simon, and Mike Stewart as well as a young Woody Allen. In 1961, Brooks and Carl Reiner produced the first of several “2000 Year Old Man” albums, and in 1965 he cocreated the television series Get Smart (1965–1970) with Buck Henry. His first movie as writer and director was The Producers, which earned him his only Academy Award (for best original screenplay) in 1968. (He had written and provided a voice for the animated short The Critic [1963], but the Oscar it won for “Best Short Subject, Cartoon” went to Ernest Pintoff, its director.) He has since written and directed 10 other films, producing many and appearing in most of them. Brooks’s work is often dismissed by critics. He describes it as “spoofs,” although it more appropriately fits into the genre of parody. His High Anxiety (1977) was a humorous send-up of Hitchcock; Spaceballs (1987) lampooned the Star Wars (1977) phenomenon; Young Frankenstein (1974, in black and white) and Dracula: Dead and Loving It both satirized the 1950s horror film. Blazing Saddles (1974) parodied the classic American western, and Robin Hood: Men in Tights (1993) poked fun at the classic tale. Despite the general lack of scholarly attention, Brooks’s works have enjoyed some commercial (and occasionally, critical) success. The American Film Institute lists three of his pictures in its top 15 of the funniest American films: Blazing Saddles ranks highest (number 6), followed by The Producers (number 11) and Young Frankenstein (number 13). The Broadway version of The Producers has earned 12 Tony awards—two more than the previous record (10) set 37 years earlier by Hello, Dolly!—and has itself been made into a movie. There is a high level of vaudevillian “Borscht Belt” shtick in most of Brooks’s films, particularly in some of the more popular sight gags. “Walk this way,” a character will say, inviting others to follow, but invariably eliciting humorous imitations of the manner and not just the direction of the walking. There is also a willingness to appeal to a level of humor often considered coarse (as in the famous “campfire” scene or the character Lili von Shtüpp, both in Blazing Saddles). Some of Brooks’s interpreters have suggested that his manner of parody is itself drawn from a very Jewish outlook—that there is something particularly Jewish about his style of humor. Brooks has suggested that it is a response to the long history of anti-Semitism; your enemy cannot attack you if he’s laughing. But most recognizably for members of the American Jewish community—and often for non-Jews as well—are some of the regular features within his films that are identifiable as specifically Jewish: his regular and comfortable use of Yiddish and his use of Nazis (and a few others from the history of anti-Semitism) as targets of his humor.

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Among the most recognizable traits of Brooks’s work is his frequent use of Yiddish, particularly when spoken by characters who are clearly not Jewish. Yiddish, an amalgam of languages based in German but including elements from Hebrew, Polish, and other eastern European languages, was the lingua franca of the central and eastern European Jewish community from the Middle Ages until its near elimination during World War II. Many words in Yiddish have migrated into common English usage, in part because of the high visibility of Jewish comedians and actors (particularly in the first half of the 20th century): schmuck [literally “penis,” but used in the vernacular to imply an idiot], klutz [one who is uncoordinated], maven [“expert”], shlep [“to carry,” as a burden]). Yet there is something unapologetic about Brooks’s use of the uniquely Jewish language. Whether it is Yoghurt explaining in a Yiddish accent the power of “The Schwartz” and exclaiming “Oy, vat a voyld!” as his holographic image disappears in Spaceballs, or Prince John exclaiming “Treyf!” (literally “unclean,” meaning not kosher) as Robin Hood throws the carcass of a wild boar onto the banquet table in Robin Hood: Men in Tights, or even the character Roger De Bris (bris being the Yiddish pronunciation of the Hebrew term brit, the Jewish ritual of circumcision) in The Producers, one can almost always count on Yiddish being spoken in a Mel Brooks film. In one particular scene in Blazing Saddles, in what is likely Brooks’s crowning moment of Yiddish usage in film, Sheriff Bart narrates his family’s experience traveling west in (the rear of ) a wagon train that is attacked by “the entire Sioux Nation.” Brooks, playing the leader of the attacking party, takes one look at the African American family and exclaims to his lieutenant, who is about to attack, “Shvartzes! No, no, zeit nishte meshugge” (“Blacks! No, no, don’t be crazy”). Turning to the entire attacking party, Brooks yells “Loze im gayn!” (“Let them go!”), and, turning back to the family, grants them permission to proceed. The family thanks him, to which he responds “A beig a zint” (“Go in health!”) “Take off!” Then, turning back to his lieutenant, he exclaims “Hast du gezayn in dinah leybn?” (“Have you ever seen such a thing in your life?”) “They’re darker than us!” Brooks’s (and others’) use of Yiddish in American film functions not only to elevate the perceived presence of things Jewish to a mostly non-Jewish audience but also serves a gatekeeper function, an “inside joke” among an increasingly smaller Yiddish-speaking subset of the Jewish audience who are given a secret joke that they can enjoy at the expense of the non-Jews in the audience. Some scholars of Judaism in American culture reported that, in audiences of the newly released Blazing Saddles, non-Jews could be overhead complimenting Yiddish-speaking Jews for their ability to understand the language of the Native Americans! Possibly augmented by his service in the army during World War II, Brooks also often uses Nazis (or Germans generally) as particular targets of his lampooning. (Some scholars cite his sense that, because he never actually saw combat,

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he retained a sense of unfinished business with Nazi Germany.) Whether it is characters significant to the plot—temptress Lili von Shtüpp (Blazing Saddles), housekeeper Frau Blücher and police inspector Hans Wilhelm Friederich Kemp (Young Frankenstein), or Springtime for Hitler playwright Franz Liebkind (The Producers)—or smaller “stock” characters—“Kaiser” saloon dancers, Nazis signing up for a stampede through Rock Ridge, or a character playing an actor dressed as Adolf Hitler, all in Blazing Saddles—Brooks has made a career of making fun of the perpetrators of the most serious threats in Jewish history. More broadly, he has attacked anti-Semitism generally, as in his History of the World, Part I (1981), Busby Berkeley–like musical number poking fun at the Inquisition (“The Inquisition, what a show! The Inquisition, boy let’s go! We know you’re wishin’ that we’d go away. But the Inquisition’s here and it’s here to stay!”). Interestingly, several of the more prominent German or Nazi figures experience some sort of positive transformation over the course of the films in which they appear, ending the film as much more likeable characters who have come to accept the presumptive hero, who has been marginalized throughout the film. Lili von Shtüpp, sent to seduce and thereby to ruin Sheriff Bart in Blazing Saddles, ultimately falls in love with him, exclaiming at one point: “What a nice guy.” Police Inspector Kemp ultimately embraces both Baron von Frankenstein and the Frankenstein monster as reasonable, acceptable members of the small local community in Young Frankenstein. This, in some respects, might be a more Jewish feature of Brooks’s work: the Jewish writer/director creating a narrative in which the marginalized hero is finally accepted, not only by the general society but also by the historic antagonist who has come to represent unyielding oppression and yet has been transformed after coming to see the hero as valued and worthy. In many ways, this is a fantasy of the Jewish community, particularly (but not entirely) in the post-Holocaust era. Despite its Jewish nature, Mel Brooks’s work has been the subject of some controversy within the Jewish community, where there has been discomfort at some of the depictions of Jews in his films. Others have cited his film depictions of Jews and things Jewish as examples of a more self-confident Jewish identity representing itself (and its foibles) outside of the Jewish world. In either case, Brooks’s films have traditionally and intimately been linked with Jewish identity in America. Eric Michael Mazur See also: Allen, Woody; Judaism.

Further Reading Crick, Robert Alan. The Big Screen Comedies of Mel Brooks. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2002.

Buddhism | 95 Parish, James Robert. It’s Good to be the King: The Seriously Funny Life of Mel Brooks. New York: Wiley, 2008. Yacowar, Maurice. Method in Madness: The Comic Art of Mel Brooks. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1981.

Buddhism Buddhism, the religious tradition founded by Siddhartha Gautama in India in the mid-500s bc, has spread all over the world in many forms. Mahayana (“greater vehicle”) Buddhism, which is practiced by most Buddhists, spread throughout southern India to Central Asia and China by ad 200, then west to Korea in 399, and finally to Japan in 538. Pure Land and Ch’an (Zen) Buddhism each developed around ad 500. Jodo Shinshu Buddhism (the most popular form in Japan) dates to 1173; at around the same time, Zen became popular in Japan. Theravada (“lesser vehicle”) Buddhism grew in Thailand, Cambodia, and Laos during the 1300s. By the 1880s, Euro-American Transcendentalists were discovering Theravada and Zen Buddhism, just as thousands of Japanese and Chinese immigrants were coming to Hawaii and the West Coast, bringing with them their own forms of Buddhism. As with most religious traditions, Buddhism’s influence could be felt culturally—in architecture, cuisine, clothing, and cinema. Also, American and Asian filmmakers have included aspects of Buddhism in their movies as a seamless tie-in and not as an overt “product placement” of Buddhism. Although the addition of Buddhism and Buddhist cultural aspects has added to the richness and diversity of film, in some cases it has also reaffirmed some of the stereotypes surrounding Buddhism, especially the esoteric sects of Tibetan and Zen Buddhism. Some of the older films that include Buddhism have come from Japan as well as the United States and have had a significant influence on countless other films. Critically acclaimed films like Rashômon (1950), Shichinin no samurai (Seven Samurai, 1954), and The King and I (1956) were all pioneering in their genre. Akira Kurosawa—director of Rashômon and Shichinin no samurai as well as Yojimbo (1961), Tsubaki Sanjûrô (Sanjuro, 1962), and Ran (1985), among many others—portrayed Buddhism in feudal Japan the way it would have been. They included itinerant monks, Shinto shrines and Buddhist temples, prayers to the gods, farmers’ hardships “blamed” on the gods’ displeasure, and warrior codes, which were all part of the samurai era. A masterful director, Kurosawa was able to bring these elements to life and show the willingness of the samurai to bring honor to their class in order to bring peace to the land. Although The King and I, based on

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Walter Lang’s Tony award–winning play and written from a non-Buddhist perspective, portrays the Siamese as “backward,” it also presents them as devout in their devotion to the Buddha; they pray to him for guidance, just as the English pray to their God for guidance. Although non-Buddhist directors have seemed willing to depict Buddhist cultures as less than civilized, they have generally not mocked Buddhist religious traditions. As moviemaking evolved, so did the use of Buddhism in film. From 1965 (when immigration law changed to remove European advantage) to 1980, the number of people of European descent identifying with some form of Buddhism in the United States rose dramatically. In the 1960s, this growth came from the increased numbers of people participating in Zen meditation, Tantric Buddhism, Tibetan Buddhism, and other Buddhist traditions. This development was followed by an influx of refugees from Southeast Asia and subsequent conversions to Burmese, Thai, and Sri Lankan forms of Buddhism in the 1970s. Devotions included meditation, chanting, lectures, retreats, social activities, martial arts training, and, in some cases, communal living. By the 1980s, the world had come to know many different varieties of Buddhism, and Buddhists were being represented differently. Filmmakers used all varieties of Buddhism from all of the different countries. In some cases, by emphasizing Buddhism’s “mystical” (as opposed to religious) qualities, the movie-making business portrayed Buddhism as a superstition, just in order to sell tickets. In the 1980s, Tibetan Buddhism became very popular. In The Golden Child (1986), director Michael Ritchie sought to transform this popularity into a morality tale of good versus evil; the film capitalizes on the mystical powers of Tibetan Buddhism to save the world. Wayne Wang directed a series of movies that depict Buddhism and Asians in a more honest light in hopes of portraying more positive (or at least more realistic) Asian relationships. In Eat a Bowl of Tea (1989) and The Joy Luck Club (1993), Wang used Chinese immigrant families both in China and the United States to show how those families left in the homeland still influence the lives of their countrymen in the United States. Ang Lee also explored Chinese familial relationships, concentrating on a father and his three daughters in Yin shi nan nu (Eat Drink Man Woman, 1994). Akira Kurosawa even used Shakespeare to recast the samurai and gods in a new light. Ran, modeled after King Lear, portrays a family patriarch (Lord Hidetora) whose one decision destroys the entire family. Although Buddhists are no longer portrayed as awkward Asians, they are now victims of their own form of salvation—Hidetora’s jester raves: “Is there no gods or Lord Buddha? You are mischievous and cruel!” Buddhism has begun to appear in animation as well. Walt Disney tackled the gods in Mulan (1998) and Mulan 2 (2004). In keeping with the tradition that nothing major can be done in Imperial China without consulting the family gods,

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Mulan requests protection (but not permission) from the gods while continuing in her quest to save her father from being conscripted into the army. In Mulan 2, she is summoned by the emperor to provide safe passage for his daughters, who are to be married to the sons of the next province’s emperor in order to forge an alliance. As the first real Asian character portrayed as a historical cartoon character, Mulan is genuinely conflicted by her duty to herself, her family, and her ancestors even as she and her friends honor her fallen friends and family. As more Asians came to the United States from South and Southeast Asia during the 1960s, their influence was profoundly felt. Tibetan Buddhist centers opened in Colorado and California, while Sri Lankan and Thai temples opened around the country. Japanese Zen centers appeared in Los Angeles and New York. These centers have made it possible for there to be dialogue between Buddhists and mainstream Euro-American Christian and Jewish community leaders, facilitating understanding between the groups. As celebrities such as “Beat Zen” authors Jack Kerouac and Alan Watts, actors Richard Gere and Orlando Bloom, author Alice Walker, and others have become known as Buddhist practitioners, Americans have taken greater notice of Buddhist practices and beliefs. As a result, Buddhism has begun to appear in American film in a greater variety of ways. By the beginning of the 21st century, Euro-American actors had started portraying characters who were profoundly affected by Asian traditions and religions. American directors have generally understood that Buddhism is not just a religion but a way of life that permeates every aspect of how its adherents live and behave. Edward Zwick’s The Last Samurai (2003) emphasizes Katsumoto’s ability to teach Nathan Algren the samurai way of life, not the American way of life. Stephen Seagal takes this mentality one step further. Combining his real-life Buddhist beliefs and his martial arts expertise, his direct-to-video Belly of the Beast (2003) portrays him as an ex-CIA agent forced to fight again in order to rescue his daughter. Unfortunately, as in the case of so many other American portrayals of Asian Buddhists, Seagal and director Siu-Tang Ching still depict Asian Buddhists as simplistic and uneducated. On the other hand, Sofia Coppola finds enchantment for Bob and Charlotte on the streets of Tokyo in her Oscar-winning Lost in Translation (2003). Bob and Charlotte are two lost American souls forced to exist and interact in Japanese society. By visiting Shinto shrines, trying flower arranging, singing karaoke, and just talking, the two form a friendship that transcends age and experience. From a different perspective, some Chinese (and Chinese American) directors have released Chinese movies that focus on the dominant Asian themes of honor and duty. Ang Lee’s Wo Hu Cang Long (Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, 2000) was released to much acclaim, not only for its subject matter but also for

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his amazing stunts and cinematography. In this film, Li Mu Bai has returned home from deep meditation, which has left him in a place of sorrow rather than enlightenment. However, fate intervenes when an enemy surfaces and Li is forced to avenge his master’s death, ultimately leading to his own. Another movie full of amazing (though not as visually stunning) martial arts is Stephen Chow’s Kung Fu Hustle (2004). This movie, set in China in the 1940s, chronicles the problems of two hustlers, Sing and his friend, who try to rob the area’s poorest neighborhood— overlooked by the largest gang because it is so poor. Eventually, Sing is exposed as a martial arts master whose “Buddhist Hand” technique (which he learned from a comic book as a child) defeats the gang bully, thereby ensuring peace throughout the area. Whereas Wo Hu Cang Long is a sweeping drama, Kung Fu Hustle is more of a martial arts comedy. However, both emphasize the strength of the Chinese people and their devotion to family and community. Asian Buddhism has been around for centuries. When Buddhism has been portrayed in films by Euro-Americans, it has generally been portrayed favorably. However, in some cases, the Buddhists themselves have not always been portrayed as being as intellectually astute as their American counterparts. In many cases, those portraying the Asian Buddhists unfavorably have themselves been Euro-Americans who were practicing Buddhists. Most filmmakers have shown Buddhists and Asians as members of families trying to maintain their lives and strengthen their relationships, much as members of any other group would, thereby lessening the mystery around them. In this way, Buddhism in film has become less of a theme and more of an aspect of the movie, such as clothing or food choices. Buddhism is no longer the focal point, nor is it an element of curiosity. Tara Keiko Koda See also: Animated Films; China; Japan; Kurosawa, Akira.

Further Reading Cho, Francisca. “Imagining Nothing and Imagining Otherness in Buddhist Film.” In Imag(in)ing the Other: Filmic Visions of Community, edited by S. Brent Plate and David Jasper, 169–196. Atlanta, GA: American Academy of Religion, 1999. Dilley, Whitney Crothers. The Cinema of Ang Lee: The Other Side of the Screen. London: Wallflower Press, 2007. Richie, Donald. The Films of Akira Kurosawa, 3rd rev. and expanded ed. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996. Storhoff, Gary, and John Whalen-Bridge, eds. Buddha at the Movies: Buddhism and Contemporary American Film. Albany: State University of New York Press, in press.

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Buñuel, Luis (1900–1983) Born Luis Buñuel Portolés in Calanda, Spain, on February 22, 1900, and considered the father of cinematic surrealism, Buñuel made 32 feature films over the course of 50 years. From the first film, Un Chien andalou (An Andalusian Dog, 1929), to the last, Cet obscur objet du désir (That Obscure Object of Desire, 1977), Buñuel’s work was highly original, characterized by a fast, concise, unsentimental style and marked by his powerful, unforgettable imagery drawn from dreams and resistant to interpretation. Throughout his career, Buñuel repeatedly returned to the same three themes: (1) a fascination with the unconscious and dreams; (2) the emptiness of bourgeois life; and (3) the repressive effects of religion on individual and social freedom. His attacks on the bourgeoisie were designed to strip away its respectable façade and reveal its cruelty and hypocrisy. These attacks often meshed with attacks on the Catholic Church, similarly portrayed by Buñuel as narrow-minded and hypocritical. Violent, scandalous, and funny, Buñuel’s films target religion and society with picaresque satire and surrealist exposé. Catholic dogma is a recurrent target in Buñuel’s films. He began his education with the Jesuits at age 7; at 15, he transferred to the local public high school, where he read Spencer, Rousseau, and Marx, crediting his reading of Darwin for his complete loss of faith. The juxtaposition of secular and religious ideas highlighted for Buñuel the contradictions inherent in any system of belief, an observation he would visit repeatedly in his films. After graduating from the University of Madrid, Buñuel moved to Paris, where he wrote film criticism and worked as an assistant to director Jean Epstein. In 1929, Buñuel collaborated with Salvador Dalí, his friend from the University of Madrid, to make Un Chien andalou, a landmark of surrealist cinema as shocking today as when it debuted. In the opening sequence, the young Buñuel is shown slitting a young woman’s eye, on camera, in closeup. Buñuel and Dalí intended to make a film that was completely irrational, defying symbolic interpretation. Hence a scene in which a leading man, while attempting to sexually assault the leading lady, is revealed to be roped to enormous baggage: two clergymen, two pianos, and two bleeding corpses of donkeys. Buñuel immediately made two more surrealist films, L’age d’or (The Golden Age, 1930) and Las hurdes (Land Without Bread, 1933). L’age d’or, a sharp criticism of fascism and church doctrine, chronicles the efforts of an amorous couple to consummate their lust, only to be repeatedly interrupted. Buñuel critiques the absurdity of forbidding sex before marriage and attacks the growing links between the church and fascist parties in Europe between the wars.

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Buñuel’s career as a director was interrupted by the Spanish Civil War—which sent him into exile in France and the United States—and World War II, which led to his departure from the United States for Mexico. Between 1946 and 1965, Buñuel made 20 films in Mexico under the twin constraints of tight budgets and commercial demands. Despite these constraints, Buñuel still produced works of considerable originality and vision. Three in particular—Nazarín (1959), Viridiana (1961), and Simón del desierto (1965)—took as their theme the futility of Christian ideals in a harsh, miserable world. Buñuel based the screenplay of Nazarín on a 19th-century novel by Spanish novelist Benito Pérez Galdós about a Don Quixote–like fool. This film, which won the 1959 Grand Prix International award at Cannes, highlights a theme recurrent in Buñuel’s films: the folly of attempting to conduct one’s life according to Christian faith in a harsh an uncompromising world. The movie depicts Nazarín, a young priest, pure of heart and content with his vow of poverty, living off alms and sharing what little he has with his hungry neighbors. He is the epitome of the Christian virtues of humility and charity, sheltering and nursing a wounded prostitute wanted for murder and providing spiritual guidance to a lonely epileptic young woman. Nazarín’s aim is to teach the women, by his own example, of God’s love and forgiveness. Both women fall in love with him, not God, and their obvious affection provokes scandal and the rejection of the priest by his church superiors. Nazarín then begins a pilgrimage, accompanied by the two women. What follows is a series of episodes that show just how pointless it is to live according to Christian teachings. When Nazarín accepts a job working for food instead of pay, he sparks a labor conflict that ends in bloodshed. Coming upon a village cut off by plague, Nazarín enters the village to minister to the sick and administer last rites. He cares for a dying young woman, offering to help her to heaven, but she only wants one last sight of her lover. Nazarín is forced to retreat and watches helplessly as the woman dies in her lover’s arms, her sins unforgiven by the church. One of Nazarín’s companions, the prostitute, has killed another prostitute in a fight and is wanted by the police. Eventually the police catch up with the pilgrims and all are arrested, including Nazarín, who has not committed any crime. His imprisonment is the beginning of his undoing. When he is attacked by a violent inmate, he remains true to his faith and does not defend himself, but another criminal comes to his rescue. Nazarín asks his rescuer why he would do such a good deed. His rescuer denies that his deed was good or that any deed is good and tells Nazarín, “You’re on the side of good, I’m on the side of evil, but neither of us is any use for anything.” In the middle of so much misery, Nazarín is an impotent force. Buñuel continued the theme of the futility of Christian ideals in his 1961 masterpiece Viridiana, winner of the Palme d’or at Cannes. Viridiana, a novice in a convent, pays a visit to her uncle to say farewell before taking the veil. Her uncle

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drugs her and attempts to rape her but stops at the last moment and then hangs himself. Viridiana blames herself for her uncle’s suicide and delays her return to the convent in order to run her uncle’s estate, as a way of atoning. Like the priest Nazarín, Viridiana is a faithful Christian dedicated to the Christian ideals of compassion, love, charity, and humility. She brings beggars to the estate to live, gives them work, and leads them in prayer. One day, Viridiana and her half-brother Jorge are called away to town on business. Believing that they will be gone overnight, the beggars take over the mansion and enjoy a rowdy orgy of food, drink, bawdy humor, and dancing. In another landmark scene of cinema, Buñuel arranges the beggars in a precise copy of DaVinci’s The Last Supper. Another of the beggars takes a “photograph” with a rude gesture. Viridiana and Jorge return early and interrupt the festivities. Two of the beggars tie up Jorge and set out to rape Viridiana. She is saved only because Jorge bribes one of the beggars to kill the other before he rapes her. Viridiana learns that her piety is not the consolation that the poor seek; their misery is alleviated only by earthly delights. In the end, Viridiana takes the same path. Her faith crumbles and she joins Jorge and the maid in a card game, suggesting the ménage à trois that is to come. Simón del desierto is Buñuel’s unfinished comedy about one of the stylites of Egypt, zealots at the beginning of the Christian era who prayed in the middle of the desert, perched on top of columns. Simón is tempted and taunted by Satan, who finally shows him that faith cannot withstand doubt. After Simón del desierto, Buñuel continued to live in Mexico but made the last of his films in Spain and France with considerably improved financial and technical resources and creative freedom. La Voie lactée (The Milky Way, 1969) was exclusively about abstract religious thought, in this case the dogmas of Catholic faith and the heresies they inspired. Two tramps following a medieval pilgrimage route from Paris to Santiago de Compostela, Spain, have a series of adventures, presented as a dreamlike series of sketches without logic or temporal order. The sketches address the six major Catholic dogmas—(1) the nature of Jesus; (2) the Trinity; (3) transubstantiation; (4) the immaculate conception; (5) free will; and (6) evil—and are connected by the heresies that arise from each of these dogmas. These heresies, which have been argued and discussed for centuries by religious leaders and theologians, become the subject of the characters’ normal daily conversations. Buñuel uses this incongruity to ridicule people, Christians and atheists alike, who will adhere to a belief so rigidly that they will fight, kill, wage war, and torture themselves and each other in order to defend that belief. Le Charme discret de la bourgeoisie (The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie, 1972) won the Academy Award for Best Foreign Film and is considered by many

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to be Buñuel’s finest film. There is less agreement on the meaning of the film, which continues Buñuel’s interpretation-defying approach to filmmaking. The confluence of religious and bourgeois oppression is found in Monsignor Dufour, the bourgeois priest of the film, who discovers the limits of Christian teaching on forgiveness when he meets the murderer of his parents. The man, poor, old, sick, and unable to rise from his bed in a barn, has just asked Monsignor Dufour for absolution, which Dufour provides. Dufour then takes a shotgun and kills him. Buñuel does not ask the viewer to approve or condemn this shocking act. It is enough to demonstrate the limits of Christian forgiveness. Buñuel made his last film, Cet obscur objet du désir, in 1977. He then retired and wrote his autobiography, My Last Sigh (1983). He died on July 29, 1983. Beth Davies-Stofka See also: Europe (Continental); Truffaut, François.

Further Reading Bazin, André. The Cinema of Cruelty: From Buñuel to Hitchcock. Edited by François Truffaut and translated by Sabine d’Estrée. New York: Seaver Books, 1982. Buñuel, Luis. An Unspeakable Betrayal: Selected Writings of Luis Buñuel. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000. Evans, Peter William, and Isabel Santaolalla, eds. Luis Buñuel: New Readings. London: BFI, 2004. Robinson, David. “Thank God I Am Still an Atheist: Luis Buñuel and Viridiana.” Sight and Sound 32 (Summer 1962): 116–118, 155. Valle, C. A. “Luis Buñuel and the Discreet Charm of Theology.” Media Development 40, no. 1 (1993): 13–20.

C Capra, Frank (1897–1991) Born in Sicily in 1897, Frank Capra arrived in America with his family at the age of eight. He demonstrated enormous drive to succeed in his new American homeland in the highly competitive motion picture industry, working as a gag man for Mack Sennett before his fruitful decade-long collaboration as a director with Columbia began in 1927. Capra earned three Oscars for his directing skills and was instrumental in pulling Columbia Pictures from its status as a poverty-row studio to one of the major Hollywood studios before temporarily giving up working on feature films to serve his country in World War II. Small wonder that he felt patriotic toward the country which had made his success possible; his gratitude is palpable in most of his films. Although he was not uncritical of America (his films do touch upon difficult social issues), his patriotism was rarely in doubt. Religious topics are infrequent in his films and formal religion is as often as not treated critically in them. Most controversial has been his bringing God into It’s a Wonderful Life (1946), suggesting that the tensions in the American dream are irresolvable without a miracle; on the other hand, the film is basically humanistic. The most fruitful course for the exploration of religion in Capra’s filmmaking is to examine the distinct sacramental Catholic sensibility filtered through an Italian ethnicity discernible in his work. It’s a Wonderful Life figures largely although not exclusively in this perspective. Fundamentally, the religious imagination on the one hand pictures God as distant from creation; on the other hand, God is also felt to be close to people. Although the relationship of these two tendencies is dynamic and shifting, some have argued that the Catholic imagination inclines toward accepting the closeness of God to creation. This is one of the meanings of the sacraments, which stress the availability of grace to God’s creatures. The religious sensibility that evolves from this perspective is more sacramental and multiplies metaphors demonstrating the proximity of God to humanity. 103

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The ambitious Capra strove to prove his role as the dominant artistic agent behind his films while willingly placing his work under the judgment of the public. To some extent, Capra’s films hearken back to the comedies of grace from the Middle Ages. He himself seemed partially aware of this relationship when describing the mass as a “divine comedy,” an off-handed but significant reference to Dante, linking the sacramental to the comedic. Generally, most notable Capra films are based on a romantic structure. Romance is close to folklore and the fairy tale, with heroes battling monsters and princesses marrying paupers or vice versa. As J.R.R. Tolkien has put it, crucial to such tales is the “eucatastrophe,” or the happy endAmerican director Frank Capra, 1971. AP Photo/ ing. In Capra’s versions there might be George Brich. a street vendor’s daughter marrying a European aristocrat or an heiress marrying a journalist, as in It Happened One Night (1934). Although the situations are improbable, for the enchanted imagination they are metaphors for the presence of grace in the world or the miracle of the ordinary. In the Catholic sensibility, beauty contains a kind of truth, if only on its own terms. Even the most purely entertaining of Capra films have elements of the morality play within them. For instance, at a key juncture in the otherwise whimsical story of Lady for a Day (1933), Apple Annie gives evidence that she is willing to tell the truth about the carefully constructed subterfuge she and her coconspirators are enacting so as to convince the parents of her daughter’s fiancé that she and her daughter belong to a well-to-do family. Of course she is not allowed to do so. Nevertheless the story echoes the biblical one of Abraham’s readiness to sacrifice his son: when Apple Annie metaphorically raises her hand to sacrifice her daughter’s and her own happiness, Capra’s god sends an alternative sacrifice and the comedy is resolved. The most familiar instance along these lines is when Peter Warne abandons the sleeping Ellie Andrews in It Happened One Night in order to get money and his journalism position back so that he can marry his beloved. Predictably this gets him into trouble. Because the situation may be legitimately read as a plot device to

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delay closure, Capra nonetheless tries very hard to make the protagonist’s moral dilemma authentic. As in Dante’s Divine Comedy (1308–1321), one could argue that there are three levels of comedy: the paradisial, purgatorial, and infernal. All of Capra’s comedies are primarily human comedies, thus to a great extent purgatorial, but those mentioned above tend toward the paradisial, in which the heroes achieve their dreams with minimal effort. Not surprisingly, these films come from the period preceding his social comedies. The somber Meet John Doe (1941) comes closest to the infernal comedy, where darkness and even the possibility of death are experienced. Arguably so does Lost Horizon (1937). The bulk of the film is set in Shangri-la; nonetheless, with its “paradise lost” theme and the possible madness of its hero, it reflects authentic darkness. Among Capra’s more memorable comedies are two that are more clearly purgatorial. The heroes of the social comedies Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936) and Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1938) face tremendous uphill struggles when they leave their wholesome hometowns for big cities. Along the way they meet Beatrice figures who serve them as guides in their new circumstances. Ultimately, Mr. Deeds and Mr. Smith themselves turn out to be Beatrices (of sorts) for their guides who have become too acclimated to their urban surroundings and have lost the qualities that these heroes possess. It is in the best-known of Capra films, It’s a Wonderful Life, that all three domains of comedy are brought into play, and the film might be seen as the cinematic divine comedy of the 20th century. It is a miracle play in a contemporary setting, replete with an American everyman. The bulk of the narrative takes place in the purgatorial setting of George Bailey’s life, with his struggle to maintain his family and keep the cooperative Building and Loan solvent. When his uncle “loses” a large sum of money and the threat of scandal hangs over the company, George contemplates suicide. In answer to the prayers of the community he has served, an angel saves his life. However, despair does not leave the hero and consequently the angel takes him on a tour of the infernal Pottersville: ostensibly his own world as it would have been had he not been born. The decisive portion of the film takes place on Christmas Eve. The Christmas carol that is sung at key moments of the film, “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” contains a verse about Christ coming to give us second birth. It’s a Wonderful Life is a comedy of rebirth. Thus at one level it remains down to earth—even George’s adversary is unpunished despite having gained an unearned fortune. At another level, it is a heavenly sign; at the moment of resolution, when George rejoins his family and the community gathers around him to express their support, a glimpse of the celestial city is attained. In It’s a Wonderful Life, the Catholic sensibility is inextricably bound to Capra’s ethnic sensibility. The covertly ethnic community in a typically American setting

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of necessity confronts the dominant cultural code. Thus George Bailey can be seen as an ethnic American brought up with a sacramental sense of community, but he hears the siren call of radical individualism and its promise of liberation from allegedly confining circumstances. However, the Pottersville sequence implies that it was the community that gave George his genuine individualism; the “autonomous” individuals of this netherworld, on the other hand, are alienated objects of manipulation. Unlike the heroes of Mr. Deeds Goes to Town and Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, who derive their strength from the close-knit communities they leave to face the dominant cultural code in its more corrupt manifestations virtually on their own, George remains inside his community, and the conflict is largely internal and highly dynamic. His wife Mary represents the ethnic American who is able to incorporate the community’s values within the American cultural context; thus she is also a much stronger figure than the heroines of Deeds and Smith. At one level, hope can be defined as the unique human ability to generate positive expectations regardless of the circumstances. At the theological level, hope likewise has its eschatological dimension, with its promise of the ultimate transcendence of the human condition. Although they gain much from the resultant tension of a Catholic immigrant sensibility confronting radical individualism, Capra’s best films are primarily parables of hope. After his personal experience of despondency following the success of It Happened One Night in 1934, this hope became more difficult to attain, and this is reflected in his films. The experience of the Second World War led to his most profound meditation on hope, touching on all levels in his masterpiece It’s a Wonderful Life. Among others, Capra has had a substantial impact on the feel-good tradition of Hollywood films, a tradition that cuts across genres. However, since hope is difficult to reduce to simple formulas, Capra’s films survive because of their inimitable (if not unproblematic) authenticity. There are few more visible metaphors in American culture of Augustine’s vision of the intertwining of the heavenly and earthly cities than watching It’s a Wonderful Life on television at Christmas with its moving black-and-white story continually intersected by color commercials. Christopher Garbowski See also: Angels; Catholicism; Eucatastrophe.

Further Reading Blake, Richard A. Afterimage: The Indelible Catholic Imagination of Six American Filmmakers. Chicago: Loyola Press, 2000. Brown, Stephen. “Optimism, Hope, and Feelgood Movies: The Capra Connection.” In Explorations in Theology and Film: Movies and Meaning, edited by Clive Marsh and Gaye Oritz, 219–232. New York: Oxford University Press, 1997.

Catholicism | 107 Capra, Frank. The Name Above the Title: An Autobiography. New York: Da Capo Press, 1997. Lourdeaux, Lee. Italian and Irish Filmmakers in America: Ford, Capra, Coppola, and Scorsese. Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1990. Sklar, Robert. “God and Man in Bedford Falls: Frank Capra’s It’s a Wonderful Life.” In The American Self: Myth, Ideology, and Popular Culture, edited by Sam Girgus, 211–220. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1981.

Catholicism Few religions have been featured so prominently in American film as Catholicism, despite the long-standing presence of anti-Catholic attitudes in American popular culture. Prior to the 1960s, American Catholics lived largely in their own subculture, marked by immigrant parishes, parochial schools, and parallel social organizations. Ironically, however, Catholic moral attitudes governed the content of most American films from the 1930s to the 1960s and, in the process, helped transform American attitudes towards Catholicism. Thus, the representation of Catholicism in the American cinema during the 20th century cannot be separated from the role played by Catholics as the self-appointed guardians of cinematic morality. Prior to the mid-20th century, Catholicism seemed to be a foreign presence in America, where anti-Catholic attitudes had enjoyed a long cultural history. Yet, Catholicism’s very “mysteriousness” proved to be attractive to American filmmakers, and so, from the very birth of the industry, Catholic characters and themes found a place in the American cinema. Perhaps the first American feature film to present images of Catholics and Catholicism was D. W. Griffith’s silent epic Intolerance (1916), a lengthy montage of four separate yet interspersed plots. The story line, titled “The Modern Story” (recut and released as The Mother and the Law [1919]), presented as its protagonists working-class immigrant Catholics oppressed and exploited by sanctimonious and meddlesome “reformers.” Although Griffith presented his characters sympathetically, one reference to their religious practices—when the female lead is forced by her father to kneel before an image of the Virgin and Child—hints darkly at superstitious ritualism and sexual repression. But when the male lead is unjustly accused of murder, Griffith offers audiences the first on-screen confession to a priest, a plot device that future filmmakers would use in various ways to objectify moral conflict. The Catholic press took little note of Intolerance, but by the early 1920s, local dioceses were beginning to respond to what their bishops regarded as questionable

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moral content in films. One national group, the International Federation of Catholic Alumnae (IFCA), developed a rating system to guide Catholics in their choice of suitable films, and growing criticism about “unsuitable” films led some directors to employ Catholic priests as advisers for films with religious themes. One such advisor was Father Daniel Lord, a Jesuit and professor of drama at St. Louis University, who teamed with Martin Quigley, a Catholic layman and the publisher of an industry journal, to draft a code of self-regulation that they pushed the industry to adopt. Their proposal was eagerly embraced by Will Hays, a devout Presbyterian and the president of the Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America, whose own list of “Don’ts and Be Carefuls” was proving to be ineffective. Thus, the proposal of Lord and Quigley provided the basis for the legendary “Hays Code,” which regulated film content for over 30 years. One of the earliest films to provoke organized Catholic criticism, however, had nothing to do with the issues of morality. MGM’s The Callahans and the Murphys (1927) raised the ire of Catholics because of the blatant stereotyping of its Irish immigrant characters. The Irish-dominated American church not only found these characterizations offensive, but negative references to the Catholic faith—such as characters being too drunk to properly make the sign of the cross or behaving in raucous fashion at a St. Patrick’s Day celebration— drew condemnation from various urban dioceses and forced MGM to withdraw the film until appropriate cuts could be made. By the early 1930s, the lack of compliance to the voluntary code led to the formation of the Legion of Decency, a Catholic watchdog group that began with separate diocesan chapters but rapidly developed a national administration. Throughout the country, lay Catholics pledged annually to protest “unwholesome” pictures and “to arouse public opinion against” objectionable themes and characterizations. Joseph Breen, a lay Catholic recently hired by Hays to serve as his public relations adviser, recognized the tremendous power that the threat of legion boycotts might have in enforcing the code; therefore he helped to make the legion a formidable national pressure group. Hoping to avoid the legion’s condemnation of films, Hays appointed Breen head of the Production Code Administration (PCA), thus giving him the power to edit offending scripts even prior to filming. This double threat of PCA censorship and legion boycott gave a handful of Catholics tremendous power over what appeared on American theater screens—an effort specifically endorsed by Pope Pius XI in his 1936 encyclical Vigilanti Cura. The code cautioned against negative depictions of religion and forbade ridiculing clerical characters in a comic or villainous manner. Neither prohibition was specific to Catholicism, but with Catholics in charge of enforcement, filmmakers tried specifically to appease Catholic sensibilities. Thus, Father John Devlin, the head of the Legion in the Archdiocese of Los Angeles, not only received advance

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scripts and served as adviser to many films with a religious character or plot, but the changes he recommended were intended both to seek compliance with the code and to defend the Catholic faith from any misrepresentation or negative depiction. For the most part, the sensitive area of religious worship was avoided altogether, but religion itself, and Catholicism in particular, proved to be an accepted means of symbolizing the values urged by the code. The first significant test of the code came with the development of the crime drama genre in the 1930s. Films such as Little Caesar (1931) and Public Enemy (1931) not only came close to glorifying criminal behavior but their title characters were invariably Catholic (usually Irish or Italian). Although Catholicism might be glimpsed only in passing in most of these films, in others the church, usually through a priest, provided an essential element of the plot. Father Jerry Connolly as the foil for Rocky Sullivan in Angels With Dirty Faces (1938) established the priest as a key character who could provide the “compensating moral values” that Breen demanded of such films. Unlike the overwrought Father Farley in Intolerance, Father Connolly was not an ethereal presence—he was a collegiate football star and a former boxer who could take down a bully with a single punch. It was his role as Rocky’s confessor, however, that made Father Connolly the moral conscience of the film and the “compensation” that balanced the portrayal of Rocky’s glamorous life of crime. Although Catholic censors in the 1930s objected to depicting sacramental penance or using the confessional as a prop, future films such as Alfred Hitchcock’s I Confess (1953) could make the sacrament and the seal of the confession the fundamental elements around which the plot developed. A less risky representation of the pugnacious priest with a strong social conscience also appeared in 1938 with Father Flanagan in Boys Town (1938). For the most part, Father Flanagan fought bureaucratic and government agencies, but he was not above removing his collar to punch out a critic. No doubt the heroic masculinity displayed by celluloid priests such as Connolly and Flanagan—or by patriotic priests such as Father Duffy in The Fighting 69th (1940), Father “Big Mike” Harrigan in God Is My Co-Pilot (1945), or even the “salt of the earth” lay Catholics in The Fighting Sullivans (1944)—dampened any objections that the Irish were again being stereotyped. Indeed, by the mid-1940s, the bellicose image of the Irish, which had been so offensive to Catholic audiences in the 1920s, had become the prime symbol of their patriotism and Americanization. Catholic assimilation into the larger culture also developed as a subtle yet important theme during the 1940s in films such as Going My Way (1944) and The Bells of St. Mary’s (1945). Both films had as their principal character Father Charles Francis Patrick O’Malley, who solved problems with his charm and his (primarily musical) talents rather than his fists. Father O’Malley represented the second generation of Irish-American clerics: assimilated into the larger culture,

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athletic, practical, and “progressive.” In Going My Way, the contrast between Father O’Malley and the older immigrant “bricks and mortar” Father Fitzgibbon was sharply drawn. Rather stiff and perfunctorily pious, Father Fitzgibbon always wore a cassock and biretta, while Father O’Malley first appears with his Roman collar counterbalanced by a jaunty straw hat. The more relaxed clothing (Father O’Malley even meets Father Fitzgibbon while wearing “sweats”) indicates that Father O’Malley is a different sort of priest; he is counselor but not a confessor, and his sermons are in his actions, not his words. Eventually, both priests find themselves brought together through their Irish roots, symbolized by a shared bottle of Irish whiskey and Bing Crosby’s crooning of “An Irish Lullaby” (a scene that purportedly received a positive review from Pope Pius XII). As a sequel, The Bells of St. Mary’s offered a less satisfying plot but became the quintessential Catholic film, its title appearing on movie marquees in films such as It’s a Wonderful Life (1946) and The Godfather (1972). The film paired Father O’Malley with an equally clever nun, Sister Mary Benedict. Although Sister Benedict’s full habit was supposed to mark her as the counterpart of Father Fitzgibbon, she was also able to use her wits and charm as occasion required, even teaching a young protégé how to box. This pairing of a priest and nun in a battle of wits, however, presented a stark contrast between the good sister, who remained a bit otherworldly, and the more worldly-wise priest, who secured the property donation that would save the nun’s financially troubled school. Ultimately, success within the larger culture required practicality, not piety. Nuns appeared with increasing regularity in postwar films but rarely as complex or even conflicted characters. Like Sister Benedict, the sisters of the fictional Order of the Holy Endeavor in Come to the Stable (1949) or the German sisters of Lilies of the Field (1963) relied upon prayer to manipulate even the most hardened sinners into supporting their cause, although it was their persistence rather than their piety that usually triumphed. When a female religious appeared as a character in a less sentimentalized film, a tension invariably developed between her broad humanitarianism and her restrictive religious vows. Thus, the heroic Sister Luke in The Nun’s Story (1959) is forced to choose between her vocation as a nun and her vocation as a nurse, ultimately choosing the latter. The depiction of a nun breaking her vows, however, was often enough to generate a protest by the Catholic Legion of Decency in some dioceses. One reason that priests and nuns proved to be such enduring characters was because their religious vestments provided an easy way to depict inner struggles through outward symbolism. Father Flanagan’s removal of his collar before striking an opponent was one early example of this, but the rejection of a habit by a female religious novice or professed sister marked a much more defining action. Although marriage could be justified as a sufficient rationale for such, Catholic

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attitudes toward the sacrality of final vows meant that those who chose this path— such as Sister Maria in The Sound of Music (1965)—had to be portrayed as novices or postulants whose simple vows were not regarded as permanent. In Change of Habit (1969), Sister Michelle succumbs to the charms of none other than Elvis Presley, whose character operates a clinic for the poor in Spanish Harlem, where the Little Sisters of St. Mary staff a mission. True to its title, a key subtext in the film has to do with the symbolism of the clothing worn by the Little Sisters, who doff their habits for more conventional clothing at the beginning of the film (an indulgence granted by the recent Second Vatican Council), but then they must don them again at the insistence of the old-fashioned Irish parish priest. Sister Michelle’s decision either to return to the habit or to leave to marry the good doctor is left ambiguous in the film’s final scene. A reversal of sorts occurs in Sister Act (1992), when a lounge singer witnesses a murder and must don a habit in order to hide out in a convent. Inevitably, the new “novice” clashes with the crusty old mother superior, but, true to convention, Sister Mary Clarence brings new vitality to the dying convent, primarily through her musical talents. Her own short experience in the habit brings her a new moral fortitude as a means of redemption from her earlier, more dissolute lifestyle. Priests and nuns were one thing; saints presented a different set of problems. Although the code prohibited negative depictions of clergy, Breen and his office were willing to recognize that as humans, priests could certainly be tempted and otherwise might stray from perfection. Thus, films such as The Garden of Allah (1936), in which a Trappist monk has a romantic encounter with a woman while experiencing a crisis of vocation, could pass muster as long as the final resolution returned the wayward to his vows. But with canonized individuals, Catholics were quick to object to anything that placed either the saint or the church in a negative light. Cecil B. DeMille’s attempt to portray a very human Joan of Arc in Joan the Woman (1917) aroused a storm of protest, not only for its background love story regarding the future saint (Joan was not canonized until 1920) but for its onedimensional depiction of Joan’s adversary Bishop Cauchon and his fellow inquisitors. DeMille’s attempts to defend this image of Cauchon as historically accurate fell on deaf ears, and he finally said that the offending materials might be excised when the film was shown in heavily Catholic areas. Given the problems that DeMille faced before the creation of the legion, there is little wonder that subsequent attempts to tell the story of Joan in film, such as Victor Fleming’s Joan of Arc (1948) and Otto Preminger’s Saint Joan (1957), were more carefully innocuous. Thus, Henry King’s reverent retelling of the story of Bernadette Soubirous’s visions of the Virgin Mary at Lourdes in The Song of Bernadette (1943) was, in many ways, a surprising choice of subject matter. Bernadette was appropriately pious and the secular dignitaries suitably arrogant and condescending, but the

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story of an apparition of Mary—and the identification of the apparition as the Immaculate Conception—presented a dogma in need of careful explanation because of both the possible offense it offered to Catholic sensibilities and its latent sexual nature. The delicacy of the subject matter no doubt led to the famous epigraph that opened the film and was later placed in the mouth of Father Peyramale, the dean of Lourdes and initially an opponent of Bernadette: “To those who believe in God, no explanation is necessary. To those who do not believe in God, no explanation is possible” (or “will suffice”). Although the film presents a generally positive portrayal of Catholicism, there is still a strong tension between the innocent piety of Bernadette and the skepticism of the representatives of the church. The overall tone of the film is respectful of and perhaps even deferential toward the young saint and popular Catholic piety. The Song of Bernadette was popular with both Catholic audiences and other war-weary Americans who found comfort in the idea of transcendental values despite great human suffering. A more overt use of Catholic piety for a specifically political end came with John Brahm’s Miracle of Our Lady of Fatima (1952), which portrayed the story of three Portuguese children who claimed to have experienced apparitions of the Virgin near the town of Fatima in 1917. One of the messages delivered to the children concerned the conversion of Russia, and Brahm used this connection to make the film a classic piece of Cold War propaganda in which the innocent piety of the children did little more than provide a stark contrast to the soulless officials of Portugal’s socialist government. The cinematic use of a Catholic devotion to symbolize the fight against Communism was one sign of the maturation of the American Catholic community. The activities of Senator Joseph McCarthy were strong evidence that capitalism and Catholicism shared a common enemy, but many Americans were becoming more conscious of the irony of combating Communism while denying free expression at home. Changes in American cultural values and changes within the Catholic Church, especially with the reforms of Second Vatican Council (also known as “Vatican II,” 1962–1965), meant the decline of both the code and the legion during the 1960s. The repression of the McCarthy years had, of course, been keenly felt in the film industry, and filmmakers, with the support of the courts, were increasingly ignoring the restrictions of the code. At the same time, an expanded group of reviewers for the official legion list began to disagree with Breen and some bishops over film ratings and the proper scope of legion activity. In 1959, the legion revised its pledge to remove the coercive language, and six years later it changed its name to the less presumptuous National Catholic Office for Motion Pictures (NCOMP). Combined with Breen’s departure from the PCA in 1954, Pius XII’s more enlightened evaluation of film in the encyclical Miranda Prorsus in 1957, and the adoption of an industrywide ratings system in 1966, the duties of NCOMP

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were slowly but effectively reduced to providing a separate rating system for Catholics. The task of providing public pressure against objectionable films fell to the Catholic League, a new organization (founded 1973), although the activities of this antidefamation group were not restricted to film. In 1980, the U.S. Catholic Conference Office for Film and Broadcasting, later renamed the Catholic Communication Campaign, assumed responsibility for ratings. Released from both the constraints of the code and the threat of Catholic boycotts, filmmakers could now move beyond the sentimental depictions of Catholicism in favor of more realistic or even satirical portraits. Francis Ford Coppola’s Godfather trilogy was perhaps the most significant example that a fundamental change had occurred. The story of the rise of the Corleone family from immigrant poverty to immense wealth as leaders of a crime syndicate forms the basic story line, but the ethnic rags-to-riches story is played out against a backdrop of Catholic symbolism that has led some critics to argue that the films are anti-Catholic in their effect if not their intent. From the opening scene of The Godfather, in which daughter Connie’s marriage provides the occasion for her father Vito to conduct the “family business,” to the ending in which her brother Michael has rival dons murdered even while he becomes the godfather of Connie’s child, Catholic sacraments and devotional rituals always signal the hypocrisy and violence of the Corleones. This thematic use of ritual continued in The Godfather, Part II (1974), which, as a prequel and a sequel, told the story of how Vito Corleone became the patriarch of the crime family interspersed with the story of Michael’s continued rise to power. A street festival to San Rocco serves as the backdrop to Vito’s first murder; an attempted assassination of Michael follows the celebration of his son’s first communion; and when Michael has his brother Fredo killed—because his betrayal made possible the assassination attempt—Fredo is reciting the “Hail Mary” (as a talisman for catching fish, not for religious reasons). The Godfather, Part III (1990) opens with Michael receiving a papal honor and then being admonished by his ex-wife for having his true vocation disguised behind the church. In fact, Michael is attempting to legitimate his business with the aid of corrupt Vatican officials, who operate Vatican economic interests in the same manner as Michael does his crime syndicate. Again, violence is masked by the veneer of religion—one of Michael’s enemies is killed by a henchman participating in a Marian festival, and Michael’s would-be assassin disguises himself as a priest. However, through the character of Cardinal Lamberto, Michael is finally brought to confession if not redemption. Following his election as Pope John Paul I, Lamberto is poisoned before he can end the corruption of the banking system—a cinematic fiction that nevertheless reflected the rumors that accompanied the sudden death of the real John Paul I in 1978. The reforms of Vatican II made the older Latin ritualism of the church seem more exotic, and although the central sacrament of the church—the Eucharist—was

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still rarely depicted, the gothic mysteries were placed in the service of the horror genre in films such as The Exorcist (1973). The exorcism itself, performed by the title character Father Lankester Merrin, emphasizes the ritual aspects of the process, from the purposeful vesting of the priests to the precise Latin incantations. Despite its graphic violence and obscenities, the film depicts Catholicism as the only antidote to moral evil, which neither science nor modern medicine can even comprehend, much less confront effectively. Subsequent films in this genre, such as The Omen (1976) or The Amityville Horror (1979), present Catholicism as equally ineffective (or even as the incubator for the rise of apocalyptic evil). Still, intentionally anti-Catholic themes were rare before the mid-1980s. Agnes of God (1985) revisited nativist fears about convent harems and murdered infants, but with the twist that the pregnancy of a young cloistered novice—and the apparent murder of her child—might be miraculous rather than malicious. The film centers around Dr. Martha Livingston, a psychiatrist summoned to examine Sr. Agnes, whose infantile manner may be nothing more than insanity or, at the very least, a psychological strategy for managing a repressed memory. Livingston’s attempts to locate a rational explanation for whatever may have transpired are countered by the mother superior, who refuses to dismiss the possibility of a miraculous (and virginal) conception. The themes are as old as Maria Monk’s Awful Disclosures (1836), perhaps the most infamous example of anti-Catholic literature ever produced, but unlike Monk’s sordid pseudopornography, the film never devolves into anti-Catholic polemic. Although the exact nature of the pregnancy and infanticide are never successfully explained, there is nothing to suggest that Sister Agnes’s sexual “repression” under convent rules is to blame. Such ambiguity is utterly lacking, however, in Stigmata (1999), which presented a litany of virtually every anti-Catholic theme ever conceived: bureaucratic corruption, institutional secrecy in support of power, vaguely superstitious devotions, and ritualized violence. Stigmata is a confused film about the bizarre possession of a “worldly” young woman by a dead priest, brought about by her accidental ownership of the priest’s stolen rosary and manifested by her receiving the stigmata. The possession—which seems more demonic than divine—represents a posthumous attempt by the priest to inform the world of the existence of a suppressed gospel that would undermine the power of the Roman Catholic Church, since the document promotes simple individual faith rather than institutionalized religion. The identification of this gospel with the well-known Gospel of Thomas and the sinister epigraph that “[t]he Vatican refuses to recognize this gospel and has described it as heresy” concludes the film on a ludicrous note. Although the Catholic League focused its attention on films such as Stigmata and the curious religious satire Dogma (1999), not all recent films have adopted such strong anti-Catholic themes. In The Third Miracle (1999), a priest pursues

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miraculous claims and possible sanctity, but the film focuses on questions of faith—at times, in spite of the purported miracles—rather than institutional corruption. Romero (1989) tells the story of El Salvador’s martyred Archbishop Oscar Romero, but the attempt to dramatize the early life of Catholic activist Dorothy Day in Entertaining Angels (1996) was much less successful. Finally, The Mission (1986) and Black Robe (1991), both outstanding productions, use the contact between Catholic missionaries and Native Americans to raise contemporary issues of cultural tolerance and violence. Such films demonstrate the inadvertent poverty that the restrictions of the code created as well as the richness that remains to be explored. Rodger M. Payne See also: Capra, Frank; Censorship in Hollywood; Clergy; Coppola, Francis Ford; DeMille, Cecil B.; Horror; Joan of Arc; Scorsese, Martin; Smith, Kevin.

Further Reading Blake, Richard A. Afterimage: The Indelible Catholic Imagination of Six American Filmmakers. Chicago: Loyola Press, 2000. Keyser, Lester, and Barbara Keyser. Hollywood and the Catholic Church: The Image of Roman Catholicism in American Movies. Chicago: Loyola University Press, 1984. Malone, Peter, ed. Through a Catholic Lens: Religious Perspectives of Nineteen Film Directors from Around the World. Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2007. Mazur, Eric Michael. “Going My Way? Crosby and Catholicism on the Road to America.” In Going My Way: Bing Crosby and American Culture, edited by Walter Raubicheck and Ruth Prigozy, 17–33. Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press, 2007. McDannell, Colleen, ed. Catholics in the Movies. New York: Oxford University Press, 2007. Ortiz, Gaye. “The Catholic Church and Its Attitude to Film as an Arbiter of Cultural Meaning.” In Mediating Religion: Conversations in Media, Religion, and Culture, edited by Jolyon Mitchell and Sophia Marriage, 179–188. London: Continuum, 2003. Shafer, Ingrid. “Introduction: The Catholic Imagination in Popular Film and Television.” Journal of Popular Film and Television 19, no. 2 (1991): 50–57.

Censorship in Hollywood The rise and fall of the Hollywood Production Code and the film censorship apparatus that enforced it (best known as the Hays Office and the Legion of Decency) is a fascinating case study for exploring the relations among religious reformers,

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media corporations, and ordinary consumers of mainstream popular culture. Moreover, it is highly significant, since the code was among the major factors that set the ground rules for the content of commercially available films during the era when film and radio were the nation’s leading media. Although the code’s enforcement power faded in the 1960s, it helped establish precedents that continue to influence filmic treatments of religion, morality, and society to this day. Before midcentury, Hollywood’s power was centralized in a handful of studios that monopolized the production and distribution of films. Thus Will Hays, the head of the studios’ unified trade organization (the Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America, or MPPDA), could enforce standards for films. Regulation by what became known as the Production Code Administration (or Hays Office—that is, the censorship bureaucracy of the MPPDA) evolved in stages, largely because the industry did not want to fight a patchwork of inconsistent state and local censorship boards that had emerged after 1907. (One scholar estimates that by 1926 more than 100 cities and nearly a dozen states had censorship boards.) Hollywood either desired no censorship at all—which was not in the cards after the 1915 Supreme Court ruling in Mutual Film Commission v. Ohio—or it wanted a centralized form of censorship that fit its business needs. These desires forced it into negotiation with religious reformers. Censorship boards that were built on a long-standing tradition in which clergy and associated moral watchdogs sought to safeguard public morals from corruption by forms of art and entertainment that were deemed undesirable. Reformers worked both by shaping public opinion and imposing laws. Their best-known cause was the prohibition of alcohol, but they also promoted others, such as the Sunday closing laws and the 1873 Comstock Act (criminalizing the circulation of “obscene” writing—including information about birth control). Such watchdogs became especially worried about film because early movie houses (nickelodeons) were built upon the “low” entertainment of vaudeville and were typically located in working-class neighborhoods. By the 1920s, the film industry was upgrading its image by building opulent theaters and pressuring audiences to behave as if they were attending church or the opera. However, watchdogs also worried about films’ corrupting effects on youth, about what young lovers did in dark theaters, and how immigrants who built the film industry— who were largely Jewish—were using films to address social issues that disturbed elites (such as labor struggles and changing gender roles). At the beginning, many people felt that cinema might serve the public good, like journalism or nonfiction writing, rather than serving as “mere entertainment.” If such a model had been more successful, filmmakers might have been bolder in addressing controversial issues through films, and notions related to the constitutional protection of free speech might have limited the scope of censorship. However, films were

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increasingly understood as commercial products to be regulated in the public interest and subject to stronger censorship than journalism or the theater. One of the key cases that established this precedent concerned Jack Johnson, an African American prizefighter who scandalized whites not only by knocking out white challengers but also sleeping with white women. Films of his victories in the ring were deemed inappropriate for screening by no less an authority than the U.S. Congress (the Sims Act of 1912). Given that regulation seemed inevitable, Hollywood sought a single national standard; dealing with dozens of censorship boards was a nightmare for its production and distribution system. Moreover, producers did not want a rating system that would restrict their audiences. They wanted the power to regulate their own films, either in-house or working with a relatively weak censorship board of their choice. Thus Hays developed internal industry guidelines called the “Don’ts and Be Carefuls” and worked with a National Board of Review (earlier the National Board of Censorship, and before that the New York Board of Censorship) drawn largely from Protestant social gospel networks. When this arrangement unraveled, a similar Catholic group called the International Federation of Catholic Alumnae (IFCA) took up the slack. Board members (including top leaders of the Federal Council of Churches) were paid, raising questions about the reviewers’ independence. Christian reformers assumed, as a matter of course, that they deserved input into Hollywood policies, but Hays concluded that pursuing good relations with religious organizations was a wise business expense for the public relations and advertising wings of the industry he led. During the early 1930s filmmakers experimented with more controversial themes and bolder social criticism—notably in gangster films like Public Enemy (1931) and screen adaptations of antiwar books like Ernest Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms (1929). They pushed the envelope with risqué sexual plots featuring strong independent women, such as She Done Him Wrong (1933) and Blonde Venus (1932). Such trends led a group of Catholic reformers—Martin Quigley of the Motion Picture Herald, Father Daniel Lord and Father Wilfred Parsons of the Catholic journals Queens Work and America (respectively), Father FitzGeorge Dinneen and Cardinal George Mundelein of Chicago, Bishop John Cantwell of Los Angeles, and journalist Joseph Breen—to press for tougher censorship. Their efforts led in 1933 to the Legion of Decency, which operated under the umbrella of the National Catholic Welfare Conference. The legion’s power reached into parishes throughout the country. Priests publicized its lists of approved (“A”) and condemned (“C”) films, plus a midlevel “B” category. Up to 9 million of the 20 million Catholic laypeople throughout the country took solemn oaths in which they promised to boycott condemned films—oaths suggesting that watching condemned films was a mortal sin. Local

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Will Hays (left) and Joseph Breen, 1941. AP Photo.

applications of this model varied. For example, the legion in Cleveland held a mass stadium rally, whereas the cardinal of Philadelphia simply ordered all Catholics in his city to stop attending theaters entirely. At first, there were several competing censorship lists that sometimes disagreed, until the IFCA women emerged as the main legion reviewers. For the first time, Hollywood faced a credible threat of large-scale boycotts of its films. Pressure from the legion was enhanced by negative publicity from a well-publicized set of books called the Payne Fund Studies, which sought to document the negative effects of movies on youth, as well as by lobbying from financiers who were associates of Bishop Cantwell and Cardinal Mundelein. In response to this pressure, Hays agreed to put teeth into censorship guidelines, which filmmakers had earlier found relatively easy to evade through an appeals process controlled by the producers. In 1934, the classic version of the Hollywood Production Code emerged. More precisely, the Hays Office now began seriously enforcing the 1930 code. That code forbade all negative portrayals of religion, law, and U.S. public authorities—as well as any portrayal of birth control, miscegenation, homosexuality, divorce, revenge, sex outside marriage, and lustful kissing. It also proclaimed Hollywood’s positive responsibility to teach public morality. Every film was required not only to portray unambiguous lines between good and evil but also to ensure that good was rewarded and evil punished. Breen joined Hays’s payroll to administer this policy, and nothing could be produced without his seal of approval. Thus a dual apparatus emerged—the Hays

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Office as the internal police for the film industry and the Legion of Decency policing the Hays Office. Together they mediated between people who desired less censorship (notably producers, who continually pushed the envelope) and more conservative church people. Thickening this plot was the fact that many filmmakers were Jewish, while key players among the moral watchdogs were antiSemitic—including Breen. To say the least, this was not a case of seamless and fully harmonious cooperation between religious reformers and film producers. Nevertheless these contentious groups forged a compromise that put conservative Catholic values at the heart of U.S. popular entertainment—not solely in the role of policing films that transgressed Catholic sensibilities but near the center of institutional decision making and at the roots of Hollywood’s stated mission. During the production process, scripts bounced back and forth between the Hays Office and the producers. If the producers accepted Breen’s demands, the Legion of Decency usually followed with an “A” or “B” rating. However, sometimes the legion still condemned the resulting film, requiring more negotiation. The case of The Outlaw (1943) dragged on for six years as Howard Hughes, its maverick producer, flouted condemnations by both Breen and the legion by releasing the film outside of industry channels and centering his advertising campaign on the star’s breasts. Eventually the producers cut enough from the film’s rape scenes and sexual dialogue for the legion to lift its condemnation. By the time the final version was approved, some censors had viewed it 20 times. To avoid censorship, film projects were sometimes altered in striking ways. By the time the censors finished with Black Fury (1935), it no longer portrayed a strike pitting a coal miners’ union against greedy owners and their hired thugs. Instead, a well-treated miner who resented his corrupt labor bosses foiled the plans of outside thugs—thugs whose violence was contrary to the wishes of the concerned mine owners. Censors did not permit a Catholic missionary priest in The Keys of the Kingdom (1944) to suggest that non-Catholic believers could go to heaven. He was only allowed to show a Christ-like tolerance for other religions—in this case only Methodists, although there was a subtext of dialogue with Chinese religions because of the film’s setting—even though he knew they were wrong. These were films that made it to the stage of negotiation; many projects were ruled out from the beginning. Of course many films managed to glamorize sex, question authority, and glorify violence despite censorship. One scriptwriter, after being briefed about the behavior required of heroes, simply produced plots without heroes. Often Breen and the legion could only ensure that compelling gangsters and renegades received pro forma punishments in the final reel, or that plots based on glamorizing sexual transgression ended in marriage or death. In biblical epics, earnest Christian heroes appeared against a background of Roman debauchery, which looked like

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much more fun. Censors struggled with filmmakers over the ending of the western Duel in the Sun (1946), which earned the nickname “Lust in the Dust.” Everyone agreed that its lovers must die, but would their sins be adequately punished if they died in each other’s arms, or must the film kill them before they reached each other’s arms? The steamiest parts were cut and the opening scene encouraged viewers to watch for the film’s supposed moral: that a “grim fate lay waiting for the transgressor of the laws of God and man.” Adding insult to injury from the censors’ perspective, the film’s lovers had recently been cast as a priest in The Keys of the Kingdom and a nun in Song of Bernadette (1943). Despite ongoing efforts by producers to stretch the boundaries of what could be screened under the code, much of Hollywood’s creative effort flowed comfortably within the channels created by its ground rules and underlying philosophy. No doubt Hollywood would have produced many films with strong moral/religious themes with or without the code. Nevertheless the code strongly reinforced this tendency. Dozens of films portrayed biblical characters, virtuous priests and nuns, and heroes of faith like Joan of Arc. Such a list expands dramatically if one adds films with overtly Christian heroes—several versions of Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin (1852), hundreds of films featuring soldiers with God on their side, and so on. If films championing values that are central to one religion or another—sacrifice, faith, courage, mother love, and so on—are included, the list of proreligion films expands indefinitely. Indeed, the code’s goal was to make every film religious—or at least not antireligious—in this latter sense. This censorship system continued well past World War II but unraveled in the 1960s. One factor in its decline was the rise of television, which weakened the commanding position of Hollywood. Another was the Supreme Court ruling in Joseph Burstyn, Inc. v. Wilson, the 1952 decision involving Il Miracolo (The Miracle, 1948), which strengthened First Amendment protections for films, thus opening space for competition from foreign films that could be produced and marketed outside industry constraints. Hays retired in 1945 (replaced by Eric Johnston and later Jack Valenti) and the MPPDA was renamed the Motion Picture Association of America. Breen retired in 1954, and the code was liberalized in 1956. Priests influenced by the liberalizing spirit of the Second Vatican Council took over the reins of the legion; its reviewers increasingly disagreed among themselves and experimented with new rating categories for adults. Thus both loopholes in enforcement and gray areas in decisions about ratings increased, with ample opportunities for disagreement and negotiation among Hollywood producers, foreign filmmakers, the code, the legion, and the viewing public. Mainly the system collapsed under its own weight, as the former Hays Office (more often called the Production Code Administration, or PCA, after Hays’s retirement) approved trivial trash that was an affront to the spirit of the code (such as Kiss Me,

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Stupid, 1964), while acclaimed films tackling social problems, such as Ladri di biciclette (The Bicycle Thief, 1948) and The Pawnbroker (1964) were condemned for trivial reasons. In 1966 the system was scrapped for a version of the current rating system; this happened at the same time that the Hollywood studio system gave way to a decentralized distribution network and a production system more open to independent producers. After 1965, the legion continued to rate films under a new name (the National Catholic Office for Motion Pictures, or NCOMP), but it declined in influence and finally folded in 1980. For better and for worse, the code’s demise helped to open the way for a wider range of ideas about good, evil, and religion to be widely screened. It also opened more space for sex, violence, and films that questioned authority in various ways—although, of course, not all films moved into this space. Some people interpret this story as a decline of religion and a victory for secularization in U.S. culture, and commentators have had no difficulty selecting, from among the many films produced in any given decade, examples that fit a narrative of decline toward secularism. Armed with such selections, some present-day religious conservatives carry forward an ideal of censorship, albeit with limited power to enforce their recommendations. They often complain that Hollywood is hostile to religion and look back nostalgically to an era when religious characters in Hollywood films were unambiguous good guys who almost always succeeded. Although a narrative of moral decline might make sense of selected developments in Hollywood, overall it is better to stress the ongoing diversity in the ways that films have interacted with religion throughout the past century. In every decade some films have challenged conservative religious values and others have reinforced them; for example, both Duel in the Sun and Song of Bernadette in the 1940s, and both Kinsey and The Passion of the Christ in 2004. Importantly, the code was a mixed blessing for the portrayal of religion in the long run. It is not always clear whether it is a bad thing for “religion” that Hollywood has gained greater scope to screen complex representations of right and wrong and to experiment with representations of religion that are not necessarily flattering and heroic; this is a question that must be explored case by case. Moreover, the legacy of censorship helps to explain a backlash against religion by many filmmakers since the 1960s, the tendency of some filmmakers to be uninterested in religion, and a gap between Hollywood’s sophisticated conventions for evoking ideas about romance compared with its underdeveloped traditions for conveying spirituality. The flat-footed and sanctimonious behavior typically demanded of religious characters under the code still haunts the screening of religion, so that films such as The Apostle (1997) and Little Buddha (1993), which portray complex religious characters, remain less influential than satires like Life of Brian (1979). Films commonly portray clergy and social reformers as repressed and humorless killjoys—a trend

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that no doubt has multiple causes, but is influenced in part by Hollywood’s experience with religious censors under the code. Films that paint a picture of ordinary U.S. citizens often spend far more time representing schools, workplaces, and nightclubs than they do filming churches, even though in real life churches are equally important. Once again this trend results from multiple factors, but Hollywood’s long history of trying to avoid conflict with religious pressure groups is surely one of them. At the same time, considerable momentum remains from Hollywood’s tradition (formerly its official policy, set down in the code) of dramatizing clear and unambiguous lines between good and evil, ensuring the triumph of the good, and presupposing that religion is basically on the side of the good. This momentum is easy to see if we focus on underlying themes that many films take for granted. Star Wars (1977) and its invocation of “the Force” is a classic example, but we might also note the complexities of a film that conservatives loved to hate, Leap of Faith (1992). Although this film lampoons a corrupt faith healer, it judges him against standards of Christian virtue and true faith healing that are the film’s core presuppositions. Although it encourages skepticism about televangelists, it presupposes that sincere religion is a positive thing, echoes arguments from the Bible’s prophetic tradition, and redeems most of its characters. This is just one example among many postcode films that ruffle the feathers of current conservatives and incorporate themes that would have been censored under the code but that continue to pursue narrative closure in ways that are largely in continuity with the code’s underlying rationale. All this suggests that the rise and fall of religious censorship in Hollywood is best understood less as a story of religious tradition being defeated by processes of secularization and more as a case study of ongoing conflict and negotiation between diverse groups of people, all of whom sought to use films to promote their values, with results that must be explored case by case. Whatever the impact of censorship on particular cases, it was a major factor shaping Hollywood for several decades, with a legacy that continues to echo into the present. Mark Hulsether See also: Catholicism; Clergy; Judaism; The Miracle Controversy; Protestantism.

Further Reading Black, Gregory D. Hollywood Censored: Morality Codes, Catholics, and the Movies. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1994. Couvares, Francis G. “Hollywood, Main Street, and the Church: Trying to Censor Movies before the Production Code.” American Quarterly 44, no. 4 (1992): 584–616.

China | 123 Grieveson, Lee. Policing Cinema: Movies and Censorship in Early-Twentieth-Century America. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004. Skinner, James M. The Cross and the Cinema: The Legion of Decency and the National Catholic Office for Motion Pictures, 1933–1970. Westport, CT: Praeger,1993. Vaughn, Stephen. “Morality and Entertainment: The Origins of the Motion Picture Production Code.” Journal of American History 77, no. 1 (1990): 39–65. Walsh, Francis R. “The Callahans and the Murphys (MGM, 1927): A Case Study of IrishAmerican and Catholic Church Censorship.” Historical Journal of Film, Radio, and Television 10, no. 1 (1990): 33–45. Walsh, Frank. Sin and Censorship: The Catholic Church and the Motion Picture Industry. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1996.

China China’s religious landscape has been characterized by the interplay of sanjiao (the “Three Teachings”): Confucianism, Daoism, and Buddhism. As in most Asian countries, these seemingly contradictory religions have coexisted because the Chinese generally do not perceive them as separate systems but as complementary ones and because each operates within its own sphere: Confucianism structures social interactions; Daoism helps one gain harmony with nature; and Buddhism deals with death and the afterlife. Confucianism and Daoism—opposing yet complementary philosophies—are indigenous to China, both dating to the 6th century bce. During the Han Dynasty (206 bce to 220 ce), Confucianism became the state orthodoxy. Since the Communists won control in 1949, China officially has been an atheist country. However, not long after Chairman Mao Zedong died in 1976, China began witnessing an upsurge in religious and quasi-religious activity, and today Confucianism—which Mao denounced as being one of the “Four Olds”—is experiencing a resurgence and is even being endorsed by the government. One need only look at Chinese cinema (broadly understood) that has been produced since the 1980s to find evidence of Confucianism, Daoism, Buddhism, and even popular religion being used by directors as diverse as Zhang Yimou, Peter Chan, Ronny Yu (born in Hong Kong), and Ang Lee (born in Taiwan). Chinese filmmakers have had an ambivalent attitude toward Confucianism. A number have attacked it by showing its patriarchal and repressive attitude. After all, women were encouraged to be obedient: first to their fathers, then to their husbands, and then to their grown sons. Zhang Yimou’s early films, such as Hong gao liang (Red Sorghum, 1987), Ju Dou (1990), and Da hong deng long gao gao gua (Raise the Red Lantern, 1991), illustrate the restricted and often

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miserable lives of young women. In the latter film, once Songlian’s father dies, she has no choice but to leave the university and become the fourth wife of a much older man. As soon as she moves in, she can feel the tension and resentment that swirls in the custom-entrenched household. Because the master gives preferential treatment to whichever wife he chooses for the night, scheming worthy of Shakespeare ensues, and in the end the main character goes insane. Emotionally unaffected by the death of his favorite servant and the murder of his third wife, the master simply remarries. Raise the Red Lantern clearly demonstrates the powerlessness of these wives and the sexual double standards that they are forced to endure. Jianxin Huang’s Wu kui (The Wooden Man’s Bride, 1994) is as condemnatory of Confucian patriarchy in that it focuses on a young woman who, because of her father’s debt, is promised to the son of a wealthy tofu maker. On the way to her future home, her entourage is ambushed by bandits and she is taken captive. Kui, a local farmer, gets her back and delivers her to the Liu family. Even though the young master has died in an accident, the matriarch proceeds with the wedding anyway, marrying the young woman to a wooden sculpture of her son. The young widow is expected to honor her wooden “husband” and, as her mother-in-law has done, preserve her chastity. Interestingly, all but Red Sorghum are set during the 1920s, an era of warlordism reminiscent of feudal China. Confucianism is not always portrayed negatively. Even though China’s boom has resulted in more economic prosperity, many are lamenting its side effects: the breakdown of the family unit, the overemphasis of wealth, the devaluation of education, and an overall loss of traditional values. In Wo de fu qin mu qin (The Road Home, 1999), Zhang Yimou looks back with nostalgia to a time when scholars were revered, elders were respected, and the rural community worked together with purpose. In Xingfu shiguang (Happy Times, 2000), the director illustrates China’s changing values by contrasting the treatment given to a blind woman by her stepmother and by a group of retirees who barely know her. Whereas the older generation exhibits true empathy and compassion for her, the stepmother sees her merely as a financial impediment. Other similar “nostalgic” films include Yang Zhang’s Xizao (Shower, 1999), which depicts the last days of a community bathhouse; and even Ang Lee’s Yin shi nan nu (Eat Drink Man Woman, 1994), which focuses on the relationships between a senior chef and his three grown daughters. In the former film, the eldest son who has left the family business to pursue a career in the big city returns home to rediscover the meaning of family and the importance of the community. The latter film is not only an elegy to the disappearing art of Chinese cooking but also demonstrates how, because of an increasingly fast-paced life in Taiwan, the Chinese are losing the connection between food and family.

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Confucian values also can be found in the wuxia pian, or “film of martial chivalry.” In these films the heroic main character, a kind of knight errant, operates by a code of honor that does not differ much from the one followed by Confucius’s junzi (“gentleman scholar”). The two most notable ruling ideals are those of righteousness (yi) and honor. In Ang Lee’s Wo Hu Cang Long (Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, 2000), Master Li Mu Bai and Yu Shu Lien live within a community ruled by decorum and moral principle. The conflict in the film occurs between these characters—who are aware of and act in accordance with their familial and social obligations—and Jade Fox and her young protégé Jen Yu, who are impulsive, disrespectful, prideful, arrogant, and uncivilized. Yu Shu Lien emphasizes that warriors value rules, friendship, trust, and integrity. “Without rules, we wouldn’t survive for very long,” she says. Although she is a great warrior and successful businesswoman, she supports traditional Confucian attitudes about women, saying that “the most important step in every woman’s life is to get married.” By contrast, Jen Yu sees true happiness as being able to choose whom to love and being free to pursue what one wants. As her mentor Jade Fox says, “We’ll be our own masters. We’ll be happy. That’s all that matters.” Yu Shu Lien, too, desires freedom and happiness, but not at the risk of dishonoring the memory of her deceased husband. (It may be simply a coincidence, but each of the main characters in the film has one of the Confucian virtues in his or her name. Li means “ritual” or “propriety,” jen is “humaneness,” and shu means “reciprocity.” Li’s friend—and soon-to-be recipient of his sword—is Sir Te; in Daoism, te [or de] translates as “virtue.” And the bandit who falls in love with Jen is Luo Xiao Hu; xiao represents “filial piety.” The only main character without a Chinese name is Jade Fox, possibly because she is the only character with no redeeming qualities within a Confucian or Daoist framework.) Ronny Yu’s Huo Yuan Jia (Fearless, 2006), may get its title from a quote by Lao Tzu, the founder of Daoism—“Mastering others is strength. Mastering yourself makes you fearless”—but it is essentially a Confucian film; in the character of Huo Yuanjia it shows what a junzi is not. When he is a boy, his father tells him to write out the sayings of Confucius, but Yuanjia does not see the merit in this, so he coerces his friend Nong Jinsun to do it for him. Huo Yuanjia’s only passion is wushu, and he dreams of being the master of all fighters. Because of this obsessive drive for fame, he neglects his daughter and familial obligations, foolishly accepts unworthy students, almost bankrupts his friend, and even mercilessly kills a rival. After spending several morally instructive years in the countryside, he returns to his hometown a changed man. He has learned the importance of kindness, compassion, and generosity. While at his parents’ and daughter’s graves, he apologizes for his past unfilial actions and vows to make amends. In the end, he

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sacrifices himself for the benefit of the many. Zhang Yimou’s Ying xiong (Hero, 2002) is a recent wuxia pian that focuses on four assassins—Nameless, Broken Sword, Flying Snow, and Sky—who conspire to kill the king of Qin, the historical warlord who eventually united China. Rather than have Nameless kill this ruler, the assassin lets him live for the greater good, saying “My decision will cause the deaths of many and Your Majesty will live on. A dead man begs you to remember, a warrior’s ultimate act is to lay down his sword.” Interestingly, Crouching Tiger and Hero were box office successes in the United States but failures in China. One scholar argued that the former was unpopular with Chinese audiences because the characters did not act as would have been expected, while the latter was criticized because Chinese audiences did not like how Emperor Qin Shihuang’s dictatorial and tyrannical qualities were downplayed. Although it is a wuxia pian, Zhang Yimou’s Shi mian mai fu (House of Flying Daggers, 2004) extols more Daoist ideals than Confucian ones; one might say that without the Daoist-inspired interval in Fearless, Huo Yuanjia would not have undergone a transformation. If Confucianism is represented by active and masculine principles, Daoism is represented by passive and feminine principles. Whereas the former extols education and social responsibility, the latter focuses on harmonizing the individual with nature. Based largely on the Dao De Jing— philosophical musings credited to the elderly sage Lao Tzu—Daoism teaches that the Dao, a universal, unnamable, omnipresent force, lies behind all things and comprises the opposing yet complementary forces of yin and yang. For harmony and peace to ensue, these forces must be in balance; for chaos, they must be out of joint. As for human beings, when they are born, they are like uncarved blocks of wood, capable of living in accordance with the Dao. The key to harmony is to let nature take its course—to find the path of least resistance and practice wu wei (actionless action). After the Han dynasty—as Daoism became more preoccupied with alchemy, breath control, and immortality—biographies of spirit immortals emerged. These types of stories undoubtedly had an influence on the wuxia genre, which features heroes performing such superhuman feats as flying through the air and walking on water. As in Crouching Tiger and Hero, the main characters in House of Flying Daggers—Jin, Leo, and Mei—adhere to a code of honor, particularly the latter two, who are members of the Robin Hood–like band of rebels known as the Flying Daggers; they embody the Confucian ideals of bravery, self sacrifice, respect, and loyalty. However, Zhang Yimou breaks with wuxia tradition by focusing more on the characters’ emotions and Jin and Mei’s desire to leave behind their socially restricted lives to be “free like the wind.” One of the main themes of the film is to “go live life like the wind;” to be free and independent, a central teaching of

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Daoism. In Flying Daggers, neither Jin nor Mei ever become “free like the wind,” but at least they acknowledge that the way through their respective, socially restrictive situations is to simply “let go.” In Fearless, after Huo Yuanjia learns that he has killed an innocent man, he boards a boat and leaves his village. Near death, he is eventually rescued by a blind woman named Moon and her grandmother who nurse him back to health. During the several years that he spends with them, he internalizes all of the Confucian values that he neglected to learn when he was younger: selflessness, kindness, respect, and generosity. But his most important teacher is probably nature itself. When he begins planting rice, he does not take his time to do it right but views it as a competition to see who can finish the task first. Moon goes back to replant the young shoots, remarking that “seedlings are alive. They can’t be planted too close together. Too close, they cannot grow properly, like people. We have to learn to respect each other. We can all live in harmony this way.” Huo Yuanjia responds that he will remember this. Furthermore, while the men are planting, they take a minute to pause and feel the wind on their faces. At first Yuanjia is perplexed by this and continues working. As time goes on, he too follows this action. What he learns coincides with the teachings of the Dao De Jing. In essence, in this small village, Yuanjia learns to live in accordance to the Dao, and he does this by allowing things to happen naturally rather than forcing them. He lives close to nature, learning from it. After the second century CE, some Daoists became increasingly preoccupied with longevity, and they sought ways to extend their lives through physical exercises, sexual techniques, and ingesting special diets and elixirs. Some of these “experiments” developed into today’s Chinese medical practices, which include acupuncture (the use of needles to stimulate the body’s vital energy), herbal remedies, T’ai Chi Chuan, and chi gong. Some martial arts films have exploited some of the “oddities” of longevity Daoism. For example, in Tsui Hark’s Wong Fei Hung II: Naam yi dong ji keung (Once Upon a Time in China II, 1992), Huang Feihong squares off against followers of the White Lotus Sect, who, because of secret practices, can walk through fire without being burned and be shot at without being penetrated by the bullets. Early on in the film, Feihong even delivers a brief explanation and demonstration of acupuncture. The superiority of Chinese medicine provides the backdrop for the “Going Home” sequence in Saam gaang (Three Extremes II, 2002). Directed by Peter Chan, this horror story is about a Chinese couple who successfully use traditional herbs to bring the dead back to life. In the “Dumplings” sequence in Saam gaang yi (Three Extremes, 2004), an aging actress discovers the fountain of youth and sexual vitality in a “secret” dumpling recipe. Finally, in Eat Drink Man Woman, the middle daughter explains that according to ancient Chinese philosophy, food was balanced according to its energy, flavor, and nature.

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As one can see, Chinese filmmakers, working in genres ranging from historical drama to horror, have mined Confucianism and Daoism for different reasons. Some have exploited the fringe elements of Daoism for dramatic and horrific effect, while others, such as Zhang Yimou, have been both critical and laudatory of Confucianism. Julien R. Fielding See also: Buddhism; Japan.

Further Reading Berry, Chris, ed. Chinese Films in Focus: 25 New Takes. London: British Film Institute, 2003. Bliss, Michael. Between the Bullets: The Spiritual Cinema of John Woo. Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 2002. Cho, Francisca. “Imagining Nothing and Imagining Otherness in Buddhist Film.” In Imag(in)ing the Other: Filmic Visions of Community, edited by S. Brent Plate and David Jasper, 169–196. Atlanta: American Academy of Religion, 1999. Chow, Rey. Sentimental Fabulations, Contemporary Chinese Films: Attachment in the Age of Global Visibility. New York: Columbia University Press, 2007. Dilley, Whitney Crothers. The Cinema of Ang Lee: The Other Side of the Screen. London: Wallflower Press, 2007.

Clergy If religious art reflects religious life, a cynic might expect a cornucopia of wretched and wicked clerical characters to inhabit film narratives. Surprisingly, representations of (mostly Christian) clergy are mixed and include everything from the most pious to the most deplorable of human behaviors. During the Progressive Era, representations of clergy ranged from the Victorian Anglican to the evangelical preacher; the stoic nobility of these characters illustrates the respect they commanded in the early years of film. The New York Hat (1912) satirizes church busybodies who unfairly judge a young minister’s seemingly inappropriate relationship with a young lady. In The Confession (1920), a priest tries to convince a murderer to confess so that an innocent man will not be executed. Simultaneous subterranean currents reveal less salutary portrayals; Hell’s Hinges (1916) follows a seminary graduate succumbing to the temptations of the flesh, while both Hypocrites (1915) and Souls for Sale (1922) cast ministers as weak and virtually spiritually impotent. Nevertheless, silent films generally

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respect ministers. One of the last films of the era, The Gaucho (1928), idealizes a priest of the poor enduring persecution for his fidelity to the Gospel. In the 1930s and 1940s (sometimes called the “golden age of Hollywood”), the guidelines of the Motion Picture Production Code guaranteed a particular, if unrealistic, image of clergy, and the studios followed them by mostly ignoring clergy. Many cinematic ministers officiated at weddings or became jolly sidekicks, like Friar Tuck in The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938). Frank Capra challenged this blandness with an attractive, vengeful, and inspired Sister Fallon in The Miracle Woman (1931), a loosely veiled story of evangelist Aimee Semple MacPherson. And while most ministers were presented more mildly, the most memorable during this period were Catholic priests—tough, smart, hip, and energetic: Father Mullin, the moral conscience in San Francisco (1936) who teaches a saloon owner how to pray; the quintessentially ideal Father Flanagan in Boys Town (1938); the confident, cheerful cleric Father Jerry Connolly in Angels with Dirty Faces (1938); or the charming and affectionate model priest Father O’Malley, who takes over the parish from an irascible but lovable curmudgeon in Going My Way (1944). By the beginning of World War II, clergy appeared in unabashedly patriotic roles. In The Fighting 69th (1940), an Irish priest turns a cowardly braggart into a redemptive soldier, while in Sergeant York (1941) the enthusiastic hillbilly evangelical pastor is tough, good-humored, old-fashioned, and straight-talking. During the war, clergy traveled to other countries, bringing the gospel and democracy, as in The Keys of the Kingdom (1944), with Father Chisholm desperately trying to re-establish a Catholic mission in China. Postwar ministers were still situated in battle zones, if not specifically World War II. Methodist Reverend Samuel Sayer ministers in a World War I–era African mission in The African Queen (1951); The Quiet Man (1952) travels to Ireland to introduce two mutually affectionate clerics, Catholic Father Lonergan and Anglican Reverend Cyril Playfair; Battle Hymn (1957) chronicles the true life of clergyman Dean Hess, who rescued orphans in Korea. Harbingers of an emerging recognition of human frailty in clergy appear with several shadowy figures, such as the whiskey priest in The Fugitive (1947)—a gentle retelling of Graham Greene’s 1940 novel The Power and the Glory— prefiguring the spiritual grit and integrity of Roman Catholic priests like Father Barry, the tough populist priest who works the docks with prophetic toughness in On the Waterfront (1954), or the sinister “Love”/“Hate” tattoo-knuckled Preacher Harry Powell in Night of the Hunter (1955). Found in most decades—but particularly in the golden age—are films that celebrate the life and sacrifice of historical saints or showcase the noble lives of actual clergy, both Roman Catholic and Protestant, such as the classic La Passion de Jeanne d’Arc (The Passion of Joan of Arc, 1928) and The Song of Bernadette

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(1943), which explores the visions and miracles experienced by Bernadette at Lourdes in 1858. Historical recreations borrow liberally from both primary accounts and Hollywood scriptwriters, as in Stanley and Livingstone (1939), which details the quest of the missionary to find the renowned Dr. Livingstone. One Foot in Heaven (1941) relates the experiences of itinerant Methodist minister William Hartzell Spence and his family, while I’d Climb the Highest Mountain (1951) tells the story of Methodist minister William Asbury Thompson helping the poor. Inn of Sixth Happiness (1958) chronicles the life of Gladys Aylward, a missionary to China; and A Man Called Peter (1955) celebrates the ministry of Peter Marshall, chaplain of the U.S. Senate. The Cold War years highlighted both bland and quirky clerics, with a resurgence of Catholic priests: Episcopal Bishop Henry Brougham in the postwar film The Bishop’s Wife (1947; remade as The Preacher’s Wife [1996]); the saintly parish priest in The Miracle of the Bells (1948); Father Brown (1954), a merry monk and detective who solves crimes by understanding the human heart rather than deductive logic; Reverend Macklin, a two-fisted frontier preacher in The Twinkle in God’s Eye (1955); Father Conroy, the priest to Broadway in Say One for Me (1959); and Reverend John Smallwood, a cleric who does not fit in with the elite parish to which he is sent in the classic satire Heavens Above (1963). The 1950s and early 1960s saw a number of films in which clergy are presented in a less than flattering light, challenging the requirements of the Production Code. In The Left Hand of God (1955), the fraudulent Father O’Shea eventually redeems himself by pretending to be a clergyman, a motif dating back to The Pilgrim (1923). Elmer Gantry (1960), based on Sinclair Lewis’s 1927 novel about a flamboyant 1920s huckster evangelist on the Midwest revival meeting circuit, evoked a particularly strong reaction; Angel Baby (1961; remade as Leap of Faith [1992]) portrayed a manipulative faith-healing preacher around whom a genuine miracle occurs. Devil at 4 O’Clock (1961) continued the deconstruction of old stereotypes with a hard-drinking and cussing priest, Father Matthew Doonan, who sacrifices his life for a leper hospital. The optimism of the Kennedy era also showcased an ecumenical and international spirit. The Cardinal (1963), following the life of a young Rome-educated American priest as it moves from the backwoods to high office, challenged racism, abortion, and the complicity of the church during the rise of Nazism; Lilies in the Field (1963) examined interracial social work; and One Man’s Way (1964), based on the ministry of Norman Vincent Peale, emphasizes “the power of positive thinking.” Both Becket (1964) and A Man for All Seasons (1966) document the tension between the British crown and the Roman Catholic Church, using clergy as models for those who, during the Vietnam era, rejected arbitrary authority. This is not to suggest that portrayals of flawed clergy did not continue. In Night of the

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Iguana (1964), for example, the Reverend T. Lawrence Shannon is presented as a defrocked Episcopal clergyman leading cheap bus tours for gullible Baptist ladies. But harkening back to The Bells of St. Mary’s (1945), the early 1960s also ushered in lovely and lively nuns, with fresh, luminous faces adorning those who dedicated themselves to serve God and others, in such films as The Sound of Music (1965), Change of Habit (1969), and (on television) The Flying Nun (ABC, 1967–1970). This era also saw several retrograde clergy dotting the cinematic landscape, with such figures as Reverend Clayton Brooks, a minister leading his town to quit smoking in the comedy Cold Turkey (1971). The late 1960s and early 1970s would also usher in the unbelieving priest as well as portrayals of the abdication or impotence of good clergy in the face of evil. Seven Women (1966) emphasized the nobility and courage of an atheist doctor over a missionary in 1930s China, while Hawaii (1966) excoriated the strict, zealous, and self-righteous missionary Reverend Abner Hale. The bumbling and clueless chaplain Father John Patrick Mulcahy in M*A*S*H (1970) is given the nickname “Dago Red,” as a reference to the sacramental wine that is stolen from him. The “traditional values” debates in the 1980s and 1990s, embodied by film critic Michael Medved’s 1992 book Hollywood vs. America, revived the debate over popular culture’s impact on traditional values. In contrast to sympathetic portrayals of religious figures from the golden age of Hollywood, much of that with which Medved found fault evolved out of portrayals of “comic book clergy” of the 1980s, from ambitious and seductive Father John Flaherty in The Monsignor (1982) to the lighter-toned Mass Appeal (1984), with its indictment of church politics. And in Footloose (1984), a film with tremendous impact on popular culture, Reverend Shaw Moore is transformed from a Bible-quoting fundamentalist stick figure into a sympathetic father. A long line of severely damaged, alcoholic, inept, and downright evil ministers also inhabit the last decades of the 20th century, ranging from the sleazy cross-dressing peep-show voyeur and homicidal street preacher in Crimes of Passion (1984) and the Pentecostal cult leader in Children of the Corn (1984) to the ghostly cult leader in Poltergeist II (1986). In the troubled era of television evangelist scandals, several films mocked their money-grubbing hypocrisy, such as Heaven Help Us (1985), a coming-ofage comedy complete with repressive monks; Pass the Ammo (1988), with the corrupt Reverend Ray Porter; and The Pope Must Die (1991), about a case of mistaken identity. Even as caricatures, these ministers are vital reminders of the potential moral downfall of even the best men and women. However, a few memorable religious characters stand out in the 1980s, particularly in missionary films set in either a nostalgic or exotic past. The Academy Award–winning Chariots of Fire (1981) recreates the historic Olympic Games of 1924 with true-life Scottish missionary Eric Liddell. The Mission (1986) recreates

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the 18th-century Brazilian conflict between greedy Portuguese government authorities and Jesuit missionaries, while in Black Robe (1991), Jesuit Father Laforgue explores his own faith on missionary journeys among the Huron and Iroquois. As the new millennium approached, representations of the clergy were more balanced, with both critical and affirming portrayals. A tender humanity is captured in A River Runs through It (1992), in which a Presbyterian minister and his two sons connect in their shared avocation of fishing rather than in the father’s religious vocation. In the wake of Roman Catholic sexual abuse scandals, Sleepers (1996) follows abused boys from a Catholic parochial school who find a tough friend in Father Bobby. In comedies, clergy have often served as fodder for gags and are often portrayed as forgetful, generally benign, merrily incompetent, or just superfluous. Four Weddings and a Funeral (1994) portrays Father Gerald, a nervous cleric who prays in the name of the “holy goat”; cynical faith healer Jonas Nightengale is a barnstorming fraud in Leap of Faith; Dogma (1999) satirizes the Roman Catholic Church with the thumbs-up Cardinal Ignatius Glick. Capping the trend, a vulgar monk communicates both pathos and comic timing in Nacho Libre (2006). Notable international films have indelibly sculpted the images of clergy into more damaged characters, adding nuance with shades of doubt and ambiguity. Danish director Carl Theodor Dreyer, for example, presented his clerics as mostly oppressive (La Passion de Jeanne d’Arc), troubled (Vrendens dag [Day of Wrath, 1943]), or modernist skeptics who have lost faith in the miraculous (Ordet [The Word, 1955]). Similarly, Swedish director Ingmar Bergman’s angst-ridden and austere Lutheran pastors (Nattvardsgästerna [Winter Light, 1962]; Fanny och Alexander [Fanny and Alexander, 1982]) betray waning of faith during the 1950s and beyond. Robert Bresson’s classic country priest suffers like his Savoir, both spiritually and physically, in Journal d’un curé de campange (Diary of a Country Priest, 1951), and Spanish director Luis Buñuel satirizes the inability of clergy to live up to their ideals in Nazarín (1959). Priests fare well in some war films, like Roberto Rosselini’s neorealist classic Roma, citta aperta (Rome, Open City, 1945), where the cleric is finally martyred. After the war, French filmmakers mostly ignored clerics until La Religieuse (The Nun, 1966), in which a nun is driven to suicide by the perversity of other clergy. In contrast to the oppressive nature of the church, Louis Malle showcases the valor of a Roman Catholic priest in Au revoir, les enfants (1987), with the cleric seeking to hide a Jewish boy in Vichy, France, during World War II. More recent international representations have maintained many of these critiques. The righteousness and bliss of the Lutheran patriarch overshadows the narrative in Babettes gaestebud (Babette’s Feast, 1987), while the petty village priest in Nuovo cinema Paradiso (Cinema Paradiso, 1988) labors as the village censor,

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cutting kissing out of American films lest his young charges be led astray. In the French Canadian film Jésus de Montréal (Jesus of Montreal, 1989), Father Leclerc serves merely as a stale institutional cipher in the presence of a real Christ. Chocolat (2000) exposes the prejudice and judgmental dogmatism of a priest’s religious crusade against the earthly temptation of the confection and its sexual connotations, continuing the stereotype of a clergy obsessed with sexual immorality. Finally, controversy boils over in the graphic presentation of a young priest having an affair while serving a corrupt church hierarchy in El Crimen del Padre Amaro (The Crime of Father Amaro, 2002). Films portraying clergy have been made not only across the continents but also across the various genres that have developed over the century. For example, beginning in the silent era, a number of films were produced for predominantly African American audiences. Race films not only inaugurated a tradition of black filmmaking to counter Hollywood stereotypes but also included films that paralleled religious caricatures: the musical The Green Pastures (1936) portrays a reasonable and inventive Sunday school teacher who gently explains Bible stories to children. On the other hand, Hallelujah (1929), an early all-black “talking” drama, presents an eloquent and passionate minister torn between gospel and jazz. Body and Soul (1925) introduces the Right Reverend Isaiah T. Jenkins, a leering and rapacious charlatan minister; in The Blood of Jesus (1941), a gaggle of sisters struggle against the jazzy temptations of Satan; and in Go Down Death (1944), Sunday saints battle Saturday sinners in a clash of good versus evil in which a bar owner tries to blackmail a stalwart minister. Serious issues of race are addressed in Cry, the Beloved Country (1952; remade in 1995), in which preacher Stephen Jumala and Reverend Msimangy explore death, injustice, and grace in South Africa. Black ministers have often fared much better than their White counterparts and have been portrayed with interests in social justice, spiritual regeneration, and concern for the downtrodden, even in a slapstick comedy like Big Mama’s House (2000). On the other hand, even in the years immediately following the civil rights era, in which preachers often stood at the vanguard of social justice, African American clergy were often portrayed as comics, like the con man preacher in Buck and the Preacher (1972), “The Preacher” in Uptown Saturday Night (1974), and “Daddy Rich” in Car Wash (1976). The revival of upright black clergy would occur in the new millennium, with Pastor Jones (2005), the hilarious Tyler Perry Madea films—including Diary of a Mad Black Woman (2005) and Madea Goes to Jail (2009)—and Atlanta preacher T. D. Jakes in his church’s production of Woman, Thou Art Loosed! (2004). Clergy of any sort rarely find a place in science fiction, usually because its writers do not often expect religion to survive into the future. There are some notable exceptions, including white-collared Anglican priest in the original The War

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of the Worlds (1953) and the denominationally ambiguous priest in The Fifth Element (1997). On the other hand, because contemporary horror films are rooted in a historical tradition of war between good and evil, clergy are desperately needed in this genre, for their holy water and crucifixes if nothing else. For example, Sister Agnes is almost invisible in Rosemary’s Baby (1968), the young, angst-ridden Father Damien Karras does not have the faith of the physically frail and elderly Father Merrin in The Exorcist (1973), and none of the clergy in The Omen series (The Omen [1976]; Damien: Omen II [1978]; The Final Conflict [1981]; Omen IV: The Awakening [1991]) has any chance of stopping the onslaught of evil. The Amityville Horror (1979) places impotent clergy in a possessed house, and The Blob (1988), locates a deranged and maniacal fundamentalist pastor who identifies the toxic creature as a way to usher in the end of the world. Father Lancaster Merrin and Vatican emissary Father Lucci try to help prevent the end of the world in The Seventh Sign (1988); and in Stigmata (1999), Father Andrew Kiernan is sent by the Vatican to investigate signs of the crucifixion on a young hairdresser. Clergy also serve as sidekicks, like Friar Carl, who accompanies the vampire hunter in Van Helsing (2004), and Father Hennessy, the drunken, inept collaborator of the demon fighter in Constantine (2005). Sometimes, like Pastor Lowe in Silver Bullet (1985), clergy are just werewolves. Despite their dominance in American culture, not all portrayals of clergy have been of Christians. A number of films have presented rabbis, though usually opting for traditional, Orthodox, or ultra-Orthodox rather than Conservative or Reform members of the clergy, in part because the latter are less easily identifiable to filmgoing audiences. This was more important in silent films such as the German thriller Der Golem (The Golem, 1920), in which a rabbi invokes Jewish mysticism to animate a statue and save the Jews of the ghetto, and the first “talkie,” The Jazz Singer (1927; remade in 1952 and 1980), in which a young American struggles between his parents’ wish that he become a hazan (ritual chanter of Jewish liturgy) and his own dream of going into show business. One notable exception is Keeping the Faith (2000), in which a hip young Conservative rabbi struggles (barely) over the implications of his attraction for a non-Jewish woman (who, in the end, converts to avoid the matter entirely). Some films focusing entirely on the Jewish world have, of necessity, included portrayals of rabbis, but like many of the corresponding films portraying priests and ministers, these films—like Fiddler on the Roof (1971)—have located the rabbi in the background of the narrative. Others— like The Chosen (1981), Yentl (1983), and A Stranger Among Us (1992)—have centered on the world of rabbis and rabbinic students, while the western comedy The Frisco Kid (1979) pairs a central European Orthodox rabbi with an American gunslinger as they make their way across late-19th-century America. Representations of clergy from beyond Judaism and Christianity are significantly less common but are increasingly available even if many perpetuate cultural

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stereotypes (as in the solemn spirituality of Lost Horizon [1937]) or create comedy by challenging such stereotypes (as in the monastic fight scene in Anger Management [2003]). Films in which Buddhist and Hindu religious figures are presented by filmmakers sensitive to those religious traditions are increasingly available and include such notables as Little Buddha (1993), which interweaves the tale of the founder of Buddhism; Kundun (1997) and Seven Years in Tibet (1997), both about the Dalai Lama; or Phörpa (The Cup, 1999), in which Buddhists monks raise funds to rent a television set so that they can watch the World Cup soccer tournament. After a century of films, ministers are still portrayed as susceptible to the temptations of the flesh. Sex remains a primary temptation, as in Sirens (1994), where a progressive young minister and his wife find repressed sexual urges awakened. But ultimately, the normal, ordinary lives of clergy appear in nostalgically oriented films. A dependable old-fashioned priest appears in Rudy (1993); Preacher Purl and Reverend Doty stand as principled and quiet supporters of the new coach in Hoosiers (1986). Romero (1989) elevates the popularity of the archbishop and his resistance to the tyranny in 1980s El Salvador; Dead Man Walking (1995) highlights the role of clergy and the controversy over capital punishment in the account of Sister Helen Prejean’s ministry with a death-row murderer; and Amazing Grace (2006) powerfully adapts the story of William Wilberforce’s mission to abolish the British slave trade. Among the most authentic clergy to be portrayed in film are the straightforward Baptist Reverend Hotchkiss in Tender Mercies (1983) and the Texas radio preacher E. F. in The Apostle (1997). Films have modeled the life and vicissitudes of ministry, from the silent classic Shadows (1922), in which a Chinese character is converted by the integrity and grace of the local minister, to the ambiguity of Doubt (2009), where personal accountability, race, and moral authority complicate the lives of various clergy. It seems that the cinematic images of clergy will continue to contrast ironically with the public perception of actual clergy. Terry Lindvall See also: Altman, Robert; Bergman, Ingmar; Black Church, The; Bresson, Robert; Buñuel, Luis; Capra, Frank; Catholicism; Censorship in Hollywood; Dreyer, Carl Theodor; Europe (Continental); Horror; Jesus; Joan of Arc; Latin America; Protestantism; Science Fiction; Vampires; Westerns; Women.

Further Reading Lacy, Allen. “The Unbelieving Priest: Miguel de Unamuno’s Saint Emmanuel the Good Martyr and Bergman’s Winter Light.” Literature/Film Quarterly 10, no. 1 (1982): 53–61. Lindvall, Terry. “The Faint Image of the Chaplain in 20th Century Combat Films.” Military Chaplains’ Review 16 (1987): 1–26.

136 | Coen, Joel and Ethan Lindvall, Terry. “The Organ in the Sanctuary: Silent Film and Paradigmatic Images of the Suspect Clergy.” In Sex, Religion, Media, edited by Dane S. Claussen, 139–152. Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littelfield, 2002. Messer, Donald. Contemporary Images of Christian Ministry. Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 1990. Paietta, Ann C. Saints, Clergy and Other Religious Figures on Film and Television, 1895– 2003. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2005. Sanders, Teresa. Celluloid Saints: Images of Sanctity in Film. Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 2002.

Coen, Joel (1954– ) and Ethan (1957– ) The Coen brothers are critically acclaimed American filmmakers known for their quirky characters, rich detail, and quick-witted, provocative dialogue. Their films, hovering between “cult” status, highbrow artistic cachet, and mainstream success, are explorations in American mythology and morality or the lack thereof. The brothers’ first film, the lowbudget Blood Simple (1984), demonstrated early a complete mastery of directing and plotting technique as well many of the thematic and moral concerns that have come to inform their oeuvre to date, while the critical and commercial success of their second film, the comedy Raising Arizona (1987), helped secure their filmmaking future. Their fourth film, Barton Fink (1991), was nominated for three Academy Awards and won the coveted Palme d’Or for best film of the festival at the Cannes Film Festival, where Joel also won “Best Director” honors. That noteworthy success was followed with their biggest critical and commercial disappointment, The Hudsucker Proxy American directors Joel and Ethan Coen at the (1994). They quickly rebounded Toronto International Film Festival, 2009. AP Photo/Carlo Allegri. with Fargo (1996), which received

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seven Academy Award nominations and gave the brothers their first Academy Award (for “Best Original Screenplay”). O Brother, Where Art Thou? (2000) received two award nominations, including “Best Screenplay.” The pair have worked together closely on the set, and the current practice of each being listed as directors and producers is accurate, but until Intolerable Cruelty (2003), Joel was billed as the director of the brothers’ movies while Ethan was billed as producer. The duo have always written their films together and, under the pseudonym Roderick Jaynes, have also served as coeditors. All this suggests that the Coen brothers possess a rare degree of creative independence for those working within the Hollywood studio system. Their independence was rewarded when in 2007 they jointly won Academy Awards for writing, directing, and producing No Country for Old Men (2007). Despite the fact No Country is based on a Cormac McCarthy novel and hews fairly closely to the source novel’s plot and motifs, the film has many of the same religious themes as the Coens’ previous films. Rarely are the Coen brothers referred to as “religious” filmmakers; typically, critical analyses of the brothers describe them as masters of genre and technique and as ironic chroniclers of 20th-century America. Unlike others, such as Martin Scorsese, the Coens rarely depict visual representations of religion (such as clergy or churches), nor are they known to have a sincere spiritual vision. In most of the Coen brothers’ movies, religion appears in the background. Of course there are a few exceptions, notably biblical symbols and allusions. In Barton Fink, for example, the protagonist turns to the Bible placed in his hotel room, where he sees the words of his play, instead of the creation story, in Genesis 1. However, in two movies, O Brother, Where Art Thou? and The Ladykillers (2004), religion is central to the story and setting; perhaps not incidentally, both films take place in the American South. In O Brother, two of the characters are baptized and proclaim themselves “born again,” while the third offers a penitent prayer and receives a “miraculous” answer, which he quickly denies in the next scene. In The Ladykillers, the devout church-going landlady survives several attempts on her life through sometimes miraculous means and is rewarded at the end of the film. Both films’ soundtracks feature gospel music. Except in Ethan Coen’s short story “The Old Country” set at a Hebrew school, there is little evidence of the Coen’s own middle-class Jewish American background; Joel and Ethan were born in Minneapolis, Minnesota, in a semiobservant Jewish home, where they were sent to Hebrew school five days a week after the end of the regular school day. Today neither of the brothers is observant, and the few overtly Jewish characters in their films often conform to anti-Semitic stereotypes, notably in the back-stabbing loan shark Bernie Bernbaum in Miller’s Crossing (1990), the crass movie mogul Jack Lipnick in Barton Fink, and the Sabbath-observing, Theodor Herzl–quoting, overbearing Walter Sobchak in

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The Big Lebowski (1998). Nonetheless, beyond these representations of specific traditions, if one uses a broad definition of the term religion, the Coen brothers’ films are religious in several important ways. On one level of interpretation, some theorists argue that fan culture is religious and film going is a ritual. These arguments pertain especially to that small category known as “cult” films, which can be as commercially successful as Star Wars (1977) or as niche-marketed as The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975) but in any case inspire active audience participation. This might include seeing the movie numerous times, reciting lines of dialogue, dressing and acting like the characters, or obsessively acquiring details about the film. These cult films create community around shared interpretation of text, much like religions. The Big Lebowski is one of the few films of the 1990s that has achieved cult status. The plot involves the Dude, a bowling-obsessed stoner who, because he shares his name (“Jeff Lebowski”) with a shady millionaire, becomes involved in a kidnapping scheme. When this film was first released, this shaggy-dog comedynoir seemed like a minor work, but as fans have come to discover through multiple viewings, it possesses a rich, coherent subtext that incorporates war and revolution as well as sex and death. True Lebowski aficionados embrace all aspects of the film: the names of the quirky minor characters and the actors who played them and also the real people who served as models for the characters of the Dude and Sobchak. They might attend Lebowski Fest, an annual convention (held since 2002) dedicated to living like the Dude: bowling, drinking White Russians, and wearing “jelly” shoes. Most importantly, fans also take the gentle Dude’s ethic seriously—one fan even began the religion of “Dudeism” based on the Dude’s philosophy. The Big Lebowski may be the only Coen film to be an unintended “cult” film, but it is not their only film to contain a rich mythology, and all of their films give they impression that they are part of a larger coherent universe. The Coen brothers give viewers polyvalent narratives both within and about the films; these create a shared cultural meaning, in true mythic fashion. Foremost among the mythic narratives about the films is the mystique about the brothers themselves. Affectless and evasive in interviews and award acceptance speeches, they seem to exist in their own universe. They finish each other’s sentences and speak in a private language, including special jargon for film terms such as sound effects and camera shots. They are also known for their in-jokes: all their published screenplays have introductions allegedly written by scholars or associates but are in fact written by the brothers themselves, using pseudonyms (including their “nom-de-editor” Roderick Jaynes). The Coens are also known for using recurrent themes, references, actors, and visual motifs: many of their films have one lengthy sequence where only music plays as a major event unfolds, a certain phrase repeated throughout the

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movie or in a specific scene, and/or scenes featuring vomiting, large men shouting, and crass, untrustworthy men sitting behind desks. All their films have elaborate inside jokes and multiple layers of meaning. One film in particular seems to joke about the nature of mythology itself. O Brother purports to be about Greek mythology, and there are many references to Homer’s Odyssey: wily Ulysses encounters versions of the lotus eaters, the Sirens, a Cyclops, and a blind soothsayer, all in an effort to return home to his wife Penny (short for Penelope), though he has to fight off her suitor first. And yet this series of references unabashedly demonstrates a “Cliff Notes” knowledge of the Odyssey. In truth, the Coen brothers have admitted that they had not read Homer when they wrote the screenplay. Instead, one might argue that the clues referring to the Odyssey are red herrings, baiting film scholars to analyze the Homeric references while missing the true theme of the film. Even the pretentious phrasing of the opening credits—“Based upon the Odyssey by Homer”—should have given the game away, but it was enough to fool members voting for the Academy Awards, who nominated the film for “Best Adapted Screenplay.” (This is not the first time the brothers used the opening credits to play mythological games; Fargo claims, falsely, to be based on a true story.) The true theme of O Brother, Where Art Thou? is American mythology. Set in the Deep South during the Great Depression, the film portrays the electrification of the South by the WPA, the career of the bank robber “Babyface” Nelson, the rebirth of the Ku Klux Klan, and the bluesman who makes a deal with the Devil, all conveyed in a visual style that mimics Depression-era photography. Although these incidents may seem like nothing more than an American mythological pastiche, there is yet another layer of mythology—this one quite serious and based on sound historical research. This is the origin myth of American popular music and, one might argue, of America itself. O Brother reveals this origin as a miscegenation: a mix of black and white cultures (the protagonists are mistaken for black), folk and commercial cultures (their success on the quest is tied to their recording a hit song), and the sacred and secular (we hear the same music used for political campaigns and for religious revivals). O Brother may be the best example of how the Coens play with the myth of America, but it is not the only one. Virtually all their films are set at very specific times and places: the Texas border in 1980 (No Country); Los Angeles on the eve of World War II (Barton Fink) and the first Gulf War (The Big Lebowski); and a small town during the beginning of the UFO craze and postwar anomie (The Man Who Wasn’t There, 2001). But these films are not mere period pieces—rather, they are explorations of American mythology. Although the Coen brothers deny that their works carry any messages or morals, all can be interpreted as modern morality plays. According to the Coens, most people are motivated by greed and self-interest to perform evil acts. If they fail in

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their schemes, it is usually because of their stupidity and lack of self-knowledge. This basic bleak situation is best seen in the Coen brothers’ most used narrative device, the botched kidnapping plot. But the Coens’ moral critique extends beyond individual behavior to social institutions. Their business satire Hudsucker Proxy portrays the evils of corporate capitalism, but the amorality of the American business ethic is more subtly probed in films such as The Man Who Wasn’t There, Raising Arizona, and The Big Lebowski. In the Coens’ moral universe, however, there is something worse than quotidian greed and hypocrisy, and the Coens take seriously the existence of an apocalyptic and unredeemable evil that leaves destruction and spiritual desolation in its wake. This evil is often personified in the Coens’ films as an unstoppable violent killer. The character Anton Chigurh from No Country for Old Men is the most notable example, but this figure can be traced back to Leonard Smalls in Raising Arizona. This morally bleak universe is leavened by the Coens’ take on goodness. The true heroes of the Coens’ films are those who know their limitations and have the moral imagination to see others’ capacity for self-delusion and vanity. The hero list would include Miller’s Crossing’s Tom Regan, the Dude, Fargo’s Marge Gunderson, and Ed Tom Bell from No Country for Old Men. These last two have the most in common: both are plain-spoken law officers surrounded by evil and violence who embrace the true morality of domesticity and everyday life. For example, Marge, seven months pregnant, buys worms for her husband’s ice-fishing expedition. Ed talks with his wife about their horses. In Miller’s Crossing, Tom Regan must make the “right” decision, despite the fact that it forces him to turn his back on his boss, his girlfriend, and his way of life. Yet when he does, society at large returns to “normal.” Notes the first line of the film’s dialogue: “It’s a question of ethics.” And despite his goal to remain drunk, stoned, and unemployed in The Big Lebowski, the Dude has a true moral center and a philosophy of life that owes not a little to Taoism: “The Dude abides . . .” His morality stands out all the more as he faces off against pornographers, nihilists, snobs, frauds, and warmongers. Indeed, if the narrator is to be trusted, the Dude’s sloth has a redemptive function for the rest of us; he is “takin’ ‘er easy for us sinners.” Elijah Siegler and Tim Craig See also: Film as Religion; Judaism; Ritual.

Further Reading Allen, William Rodney, ed. The Coen Brothers: Interviews. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 2006. Falsani, Catherine. The Dude Abides: The Gospel According to the Coen Brothers. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2009.

Coppola, Francis Ford | 141 Lenzner, S. J. “A Cinematic Call for Self-Knowledge: An Interpretation of Miller’s Crossing.” Perspectives on Political Science 30, no. 2 (2001): 85–92. Mazur, Eric Michael. “ ‘I’d Rather Light a Candle Than Curse the Darkness’: Bringing Religion to Light in Raising Arizona.” In Art and the Religious Impulse, edited by Eric Michael Mazur, 104–124. Lewisburg, PA: Bucknell University Press, 2002. Rowell, Erica. The Brothers Grim: The Films of Joel and Ethan Coen. Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 2007.

Coppola, Francis Ford (1939– ) Francis Ford Coppola established his legacy with four films in the 1970s—The Godfather (1972), The Conversation (1974), The Godfather: Part II (1974), and Apocalypse Now (1979)—that most vividly capture his concerns: the family, a sense of guilt in the human condition, the dynamics of the American dream, and the consequences of unchecked human malice. They also show a pronounced interest in ritual—violent, familial, technological, and religious. Although Coppola’s films rarely address religion directly, their themes are aligned to—or displace— religious content, inviting viewers to reflect on religious questions. Coppola has often spoken with affection of his youth and his closest family ties. He has unapologetically transferred these experiences to his film productions, their narratives, and the characters therein. Indeed, he is renowned for generating on-set “family” environments and has had no qualms about hiring family members, most notably his father, who scored roughly half of his films, winning an Oscar for The Godfather: Part II. For Coppola, the family represents a form of communion, and where protagonists fall foul of it, they become lost souls, disconnected, by extension, from the larger world, and from God. Coppola’s first feature as writer and director—the low-budget horror film Dementia 13 (1963)—examines a family coping with the death of a young girl. Some unsettling sequences, with nods to the supernatural, are made memorable by Coppola’s detailing of the emotional destruction of family life, including a scene in which the family remembers the girl through ritual. His next film of note, The Rain People (1969), focuses less on the dynamics of family than on the fear of a family’s potential to disintegrate. Coppola’s later films, including his adaptations of The Outsiders (1983) and Rumble Fish (1983), achieve dramatic tension by exposing unflinchingly ragged family dynamics. Others explore other aspects of family: the joyful spontaneity of a large family (Tucker: The Man and his Dream, 1988); the relationship between a woman and her grandparents (Peggy Sue Got Married, 1986); and the supportive family (Jack, 1996). In the Godfather trilogy,

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Coppola portrays his most memorable family—the Corleones—in which an alignment of family and religion can be seen most clearly. Coppola has noted that segments in The Godfather films (weddings and meals especially) are drawn from his own experiences, showing Italian Americans with dignity and realism. His depiction of the united, even cozy Mafia family creates an inviting aura around criminal life. Traditional law enforcers in The Godfather are either corrupt or ineffective; the new “law” is the family—its struggle to dominate others and to look after its own—and is nostalgically linked to the law of the “old country”: loyalty, honor, and the wisdom of silence. This Sicilian code functions as a religious bond, which, if broken, results in severe punishment. For good or ill, The Godfather establishes a new paradigm for later crime dramas, including HBO’s The Sopranos (1999–2007). The language used to enforce the code is imbued with religious symbolism, most obviously in terms like godfather (with its ties to Catholicism) but also in the economy of men presenting offerings for forgiveness and protection. Particularly in The Godfather, family gatherings function as a surrogate church; the opening wedding scene may be the most spectacular example, with its pure joy and conspicuously absent priest. In another celebrated sequence, the murder of the five heads of the rival families is intercut with a baptism at which the newly appointed head of the family, Michael, serves as the godfather to his sister’s son. As Michael repeats the liturgical rites renouncing Satan, the brutal executions that he ordered are being carried out. Through Michael, the worlds of family, religion, and “the business” collide with violent consequences. The family is conspicuously absent in The Conversation, which centers entirely around the quiet and serious life of Harry Caul, an audio surveillance expert. Coppola chronicles Caul’s passage from paranoia to moral certitude and back again, offering an effective portrait of alienation and the desire for social connection. From the beginning, Harry is alone, struggling to connect, until he becomes personally invested in a case on which he is working, losing sight of the point of his work but sensing that something is deeply wrong and that it is up to him to remedy it. As he feels increasingly bewildered at the conspiratorial incidents swirling around him, he finds himself in his church, in confession, identifying his sins by rote: taking the Lord’s name in vain, stealing newspapers, impure thoughts, and his “work.” The mechanical response of the priest leaves no impression on Harry, but it magnifies the sense in which he is a lost soul, unable or unwilling to trust even the sanctified confidentiality of the confessional. The only way he finds release from his self-imposed guilt is when he plays his saxophone, accompanying a recording—a distinctly solitary form of escapism. Harry is incapable of forming meaningful relationships, refusing even to tell his own girlfriend where he lives. Like Michael Corleone in The Godfather: Part III (1990), he seeks reconciliation with his past, troubled by the memory of a professional error that led to the murder

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of a couple and their child. In the end, like Michael, he fails. Indeed, in one of Coppola’s most devastating film endings, Harry’s judgment is revealed once again to be fatally flawed and Harry to have lost all confidence in his skills and reputation (in which he has invested himself over and above all personal relationships). The final image, as with so many of Coppola’s films, is of an isolated, alienated protagonist, literally living in a shell of his own creation. Long after its release, Coppola saw Apocalypse Now as emblematic of his own experience of making it—an increasingly frightening and disorienting journey into madness. The circumstances of its production are now the stuff of movie lore and legend: shooting took more than nine months longer than scheduled; unable to get U.S. military support, Coppola had to rely on an erratic Philippine government to supply troops and decrepit helicopters; a typhoon demolished sets early on, adding $1.1 million to a budget that would balloon to $27 million. Even set design reflected the harrowing enterprise, particularly Colonel Kurtz’s compound, which was modeled on the Cambodian ruins of Angkor Wat and was so successfully made to resemble an ancient and decrepit temple of death that cast and crew were physically repelled. Coppola suffered terrible bouts of depression and lost a dangerous amount of weight; postproduction was prolonged more than two years as Coppola edited over a million feet of footage. Never confident of the final product, he provided three different endings, eventually settling on the one that audiences most preferred. Although The Conversation explores Coppola’s interest in the alienation of the individual, Apocalypse Now examines one person’s response to chaos and moral ambiguity. Like Caul and Michael Corleone, Willard is invested in an allconsuming search; the precise goal, however, remains unclear even at the end. On the surface his goal is to terminate a wayward commander, the brilliant Colonel Kurtz. Along the way, Willard becomes isolated, increasingly unsure of the legitimacy of his mission: is he any different from Kurtz, who rules by his own terms, with no regard for (or connection to) the wider world and its values? Initially, Willard is visibly shocked at Commander Kilgore’s callous disregard for human life. As the narrative progresses, Willard adopts the same ruthlessness, slaughtering a wounded and clearly innocent Vietnamese woman. Coppola’s success in capturing the disorientation of war was reflected by the strong support the film received from Vietnam veterans. Apocalypse Now is rich with mythological imagery. Kurtz leadership is modeled on Virgil’s Aenied and the medieval tale of The Fisher King. Coppola conceived of the film as a retelling of Conrad’s Heart of Darkness (1902), with elements of Homer’s Odyssey. Apocalypse Now certainly recalls the contemporary Werner Herzog film Aguirre, der Zorn Gottes (Aguirre: The Wrath of God, 1972), which chronicles the river-based search for the mythological city of El Dorado.

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Willard’s experience is rendered as a passage into night and back into day; as such, it has been understood by some as symbolic of death and resurrection. Ritual is prominent in the film, nowhere less so than in the ritual slaughter of a carabao (a domesticated water buffalo) performed by the Montagnard tribespeople of Kurtz’s compound. Coppola’s wife had witnessed the ceremony performed by local Ifugao tribespeople and convinced her husband to persuade them to re-enact the unforgettable spectacle for the cameras. Spray-painted across the walls of Kurtz’s compound, where the ceremonial slaughter takes place, is the religiously reminiscent motto “Apocalypse Now.” Although he denies the charge, in Coppola’s most critically regarded films he seems enamored with screen violence and its ritualized presentation. One interpretation of Coppola’s approach suggests that through his prolonged takes he allows viewers to reflect on the outcome of violent resolutions. Yet the scrutiny that lingering enables is confounded by the elegance with which it is executed. Viewers may both admire and be repulsed by Michael’s stylized murder of Sollozo in The Godfather or the now iconic chopper attack choreographed to Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyres in Apocalypse Now. Few of Coppola’s later films engage the probing themes that typified his work of the 1970s, and some that showed potential—and that Coppola selected as personal projects—failed to ask questions of significant depth. An example is Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1992), billed as a “faithful adaptation” of Stoker’s celebrated novel. It starts well, with an imaginative prologue that explains the origins of Vlad Dracul’s self-imposed excommunication from the church. Dracul’s wife Elisabeta commits suicide after being fooled into believing that Dracul was killed in battle, and Dracul returns to find that the church rejects her soul for the offense. He swears himself as an enemy and devotes himself to the undead. Coppola saw the story as a morality tale of what happens when people willingly cut themselves off from the creative spirit of God. But Dracula’s characters are two-dimensional ciphers and plot devices who ask no meaningful questions. And although the film is full of Christian imagery, any attempts at reflection are drowned by a frighteningly lurid stylistic palette. The Godfather: Part III is a partial return to Coppola’s querulous form; it fails to achieve the production and narrative quality of its prequels but is more interested than those films in Michael’s search for release from his violent past. Throughout, Michael is vulnerable and weakened by a loss of power within the family and his own diabetes. Scholars of religion and film often discuss one of the most memorable scenes in Part III: Michael’s visit to Rome and a warm-hearted cardinal there who is the only person he trusts in his compromised relations to the church. As Michael shares his concern that the Vatican is dealing dishonestly with him, the cardinal reflects on the corruption: “Look at this stone. It has been lying

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in the water for a very long time, but the water has not penetrated it.” He cracks open the small stone. “Look: perfectly dry. The same thing has happened to men in Europe for centuries. They have been surrounded by Christianity, but Christ has not penetrated. Christ doesn’t live within them.” This describes Michael as well as it does The Conversation’s Harry Caul. Christ and the communion of family and church are merely environments that the two inhabit. For Michael this becomes even clearer when the cardinal convinces him to confess his own sins, which he does, weeping as he relates his order to murder Fredo, his brother. The cardinal utters what we already suspect: “Your life could be redeemed. But I know that you don’t believe that. You will not change.” There is no doubt that Michael’s desire for redemption is genuine, but after years of deceit, compromise, and self-imposed alienation, Michael is unable to live at peace. Coppola is a man with an unrelenting self-belief, particularly in the face of virulent criticism. His best work shows an artist in restless pursuit of elusive goals. And if there is a religious legacy to Coppola’s films, it is perhaps found in his search for communion, for peaceful connection to one’s immediate family, and reconciliation to a haunting past. Eric S. Christianson See also: Catholicism; Ritual; Vampires.

Further Reading Blake, Richard A. Afterimage: The Indelible Catholic Imagination of Six American Filmmakers. Chicago: Loyola Press, 2000. Christianson, Eric S. “An Ethic You Can’t Refuse? Assessing The Godfather Trilogy.” In Cinéma Divinité: Religion, Theology and the Bible in Film, edited by Eric Christianson, Peter Francis, and William R. Telford, 110–123. London: SCM Press, 2005. Graham, Paul. “Revisiting Violence in The Godfather: The Ambiguous Space of the Victimage Model.” Journal of Religion and Film 9, no. 2 (2005): http://www.unomaha.edu/ jrf/Vol9No2/grahamGodfather.htm. Kreitzer, Larry J. “The Scandal of the Cross: Crucifixion Imagery and Bram Stoker’s Dracula.” In The Monstrous and the Unspeakable: The Bible as Fantastic Literature, edited by George Aichele and Tina Pippin, 181–219. Sheffield, UK: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997. May, John R. “The Godfather Films: Birth of a Don, Death of a Family.” In Image and Likeness: Religious Visions in American Film Classics, edited by John R. May, 65–75. New York: Paulist Press, 1991.

D DeMille, Cecil B. (1881–1959) Cecil B. DeMille can be credited with one of the earliest and arguably most successful uses of film as a tool for Christian evangelism. As more Americans became regular patrons of the silver screen, DeMille provided them with moralizing cinematic adaptations of religious narratives. In many of his movies, he tugged at the spiritual heartstrings of his ever-increasing audience with a sophistication unparalleled in American cinema. Best known for his remake of The Ten Commandments (1956), DeMille began his career in film with a studied attention to the religious power of film. From the making of his first picture, DeMille took advantage of the moving picture’s ability to concretize representations and narratives that, when presented in plays, relied upon the imagination of the viewer. The opening credits of the 1956 remake promise that the film’s viewers “will make a pilgrimage over the very ground that Moses trod more than 3,000 years ago.” Watching DeMille’s films, the epigraph seems to imply, was no substitute for religious experience; it was religious experience. DeMille was the son of Henry C. American director Cecil B. DeMille, 1949. AP Photo. DeMille, a successful New York 147

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playwright who was also a lay minister in the Episcopal Church, and the young DeMille saw an easy alliance between the two professions. As a young man, DeMille embarked on a series of cross-country tours in the traveling theater with his wife; but by the time he was 30, he had recognized the large-scale decline of playacting as popular entertainment. He teamed up with friend and theater colleague Jesse Lasky, who had orchestrated the formation of the Jesse Lasky Feature Play Company (which would later become Paramount Pictures) both to make a foray into the increasingly popular medium of film and to take a shot at success in the new genre. DeMille began making hugely popular marriage comedies that at once entertained audiences with their racy depictions of extramarital affairs and, with the moralizing resolutions of their plots, reinforced Victorian codes of conduct. DeMille was a master of the juicy cautionary tale; audiences paid not only for scenes of excess but also for the moral conscience that was always there to temper them. These early pictures sustained DeMille’s forays into what would become his hallmark, the religiohistorical epic. With The Ten Commandments (1923), The King of Kings (1927), and The Sign of the Cross (1932), DeMille provided the moviegoing public with what he would later consider his great religious trilogy. Allegedly, DeMille’s intent to make his first version of The Ten Commandments was solidified by a Los Angeles Times contest in which readers were asked to choose the story they most longed to see released as a film. Following the dictum included in the winning suggestion (“You cannot break the Ten Commandments— they will break you”), the script presented the religious narrative as an allegorical guide to a contemporary drama. Although the film’s biblical “prologue” shows Moses leading thousands of extras out of Egypt, the second half attempts to demonstrate the contemporary repercussions of all 10 laws being broken; a melodrama unfolds in which two rival brothers fight over Mary, a young waif brought home by their charitable but self-righteous mother. Whereas Dan, the pious son, pursues a modest career as a carpenter, John, his romantically victorious older brother, succeeds as a corrupt contractor. When years later the boys’ mother wanders into John’s shoddily constructed cathedral, she is crushed by a falling apse and buried in the ruins. The film’s structure barely coheres, but the contemporary appendage was at the time familiar territory for DeMille and his audience. Nonetheless, DeMille’s 1956 remake of the picture eliminated the present-day morality play entirely; the film’s legacy was the wide shots and special effects that gave the biblical narrative a new kind of reality for an audience already familiar with it. Indeed, besides being DeMille’s first filmic venture into biblical spectacle, The Ten Commandments gave viewers an idea of the lavishness of the religious pictures that DeMille was yet to make. The entrance alone for the prologue’s City of Rameses—dynamited and buried with the rest of the set following production— marked the largest set piece ever constructed for a single film.

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In his penultimate silent film, The King of Kings, DeMille abandoned the structure of embedded historical narrative, choosing to portray only the story of Christ. The film was financed in part by philanthropist Jeremiah Milbank, who with DeMille dedicated his share of the film’s proceeds to sustaining the film’s availability for churches and missionaries. Unadulterated by the contemporary allegory that weighed down The Ten Commandments, this film afforded DeMille the opportunity to present a Christology that would both inform and reflect viewers’ religious ideas. With a regal self-assurance, the Christ of The King of Kings is shown walking through the familiar stages of the Passion. Yet DeMille had made sure that more was familiar about the film than its depiction of the biblical text; appended to the Gospel narrative is an opening focus on the immoral eroticism of Mary Magdalene. Having left Judas, her lover, to follow Jesus (and thus more closely resembling the other female lead, Mary the Mother), DeMille’s Magdalene implies a feminine dichotomy in which the primary effect of Jesus’ teachings is to deeroticize the female. Leading her away from sexual licentiousness, Jesus guides his followers toward moral purity in much the same spirit as DeMille’s Moses come down from Mt. Sinai. (Indeed, if the Moses of both versions of The Ten Commandments is unmistakably Christ-like, then no less so is the Jesus of The King of Kings Mosaic.) Despite accusations of anti-Semitism, the film was hugely successful, and continued screenings demanded by church organizations meant that in less than a decade The King of Kings had grossed over $2 million. Less visible was the film’s contribution to DeMille’s growing belief in himself as a sort of cinematic prophet. As the final installment in his de facto religious trilogy, The Sign of the Cross is a morality play set in pre-Christian Rome. Intended as a sort of appendix to his previous Old and New Testament pictures, the film was, like many of DeMille’s “secular” endeavors, adapted from a late 19th-century play (written by Wilson Barrett). Owing to the pressure he was under to produce a successful film under budget, The Sign of the Cross is more tightly structured than The Ten Commandments and The King of Kings. The film begins with the burning of Rome, which a half-mad Nero decides to blame on the Christian minority. Responsible for arresting adherents of the faith, Roman prefect Marcus Superbus stumbles upon the beautiful and virtuous Mercia, with whom he quickly falls in love. The infatuation appears mutual, but DeMille preserves Mercia’s piety and lets Nero’s court supply the contrasting debauchery and titillation. Inspired by Mercia’s resistance to the tempting and taunting of Roman revelers, Marcus chooses to join her in Christian martyrdom. (Owing to DeMille’s incorporation of courtship into the religious drama, The Sign of the Cross ultimately links Christian piety to a certain romantic desirability.) In the film’s final sequence, the Roman Circus makes quite a spectacle of the carnival-like slaughter. Consistent with the moral code broadcast in

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all of DeMille’s films, the public depravity of the Circus contrasts nicely with the private, dimly lit scenes of Christian virtue. Though an odd problem for an ostensibly religious film, it is perhaps not surprising that The Sign of the Cross ran into some trouble with Hollywood censors. One scene in particular met with disapproval with a consulting pastor; Joyzelle Joyner, as the pagan temptress Ancaria, performs a provocative “lesbian dance” to tempt the Christian Mercia, which, according to DeMille, was necessary for plot development. Staying true to his admonitions against censorship, DeMille kept the film’s most risqué scenes and heard few complaints from his audience. He also succeeded in neutralizing any potential public outcry through his comparisons of Depression-era America with the declining Roman Empire. DeMille seemed to be suggesting that if one opposed The Sign of the Cross, one would be opposing the sacrifice of the righteous private citizens depicted in the film. Well suited to DeMille’s twin goals of entertainment and evangelism, the message seemed to resonate well with audiences, and the picture met with great success. Rereleased in 1944, it had a World War II prologue that drew analogies between Nero and Hitler. Amid numerous forays into westerns and other Americana, DeMille continued to make religiohistorical pictures for the rest of his career. The grand finale was his 1956 remake of The Ten Commandments, a nearly four-hour-long epic version of the 1923 biblical prologue, shot on location in Egypt, in which DeMille was at his most grandiose, pulling out all the stops in Technicolor and VistaVision, not to mention special effects that allowed for the monumental parting of the Red Sea. Indeed, of all his films, The Ten Commandments recapitulates most of the features that DeMille had spent his career cultivating. As the film begins—not in ancient Egypt, but in a modern theater—DeMille steps from behind a curtain and provides an introduction that confidently frames the unfolding drama as the archetypical Cold War narrative. “The theme of this picture,” proclaims the man outside the curtain, “is whether men ought to be ruled by God’s law or whether they are to be ruled by the whims of a dictator like Rameses. Are men the property of the state or are they free souls under God? This same battle continues throughout the world today.” Establishing both the historical authenticity and contemporary relevance of the picture about to be shown, DeMille and the opening credits cite Philo, Josephus, Eusebius, the Midrash, and the “Holy Scriptures” as sources and also give a nod to three more recent novels: Reverend J. H. Ingraham’s Pillar of Fire (1858), Reverend A. E. Southon’s On Eagles’ Wings (1937), and Dorothy Clarke Wilson’s Prince of Egypt (1949). Taking place within the peculiar logic of the Cold War milieu, where patriotic piety necessarily meant religious piety, The Ten Commandments remake allowed DeMille’s entrepreneurial and filmmaking skills to meet with his religious agenda like never before. Indeed, perhaps the most significant

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argument DeMille makes through the film concerns the relationship between religion and liberty. A free society is possible for Moses and the Israelites only because of their religion. DeMille took no pains to be subtle in conveying the message: With the assistance of the Fraternal Order of Eagles, he launched an elaborate publicity campaign to donate and dedicate stone replicas of the biblical commandments in public spaces such as courthouses across America. Such increasingly explicit references to contemporary political concerns notwithstanding, none of DeMille’s religious films shows any signs of a social gospel. Redemption is always framed privately, a structure that resonated particularly well with the “Red-hunting” evangelicism DeMille championed after the Second World War. And whether it was Rameses, Caiaphas, or Nero, powerful enemies of the privately righteous are regularly defeated by the overwhelming virtue of the private citizen. Individual morality and individual conversion, not social action, constitute the straight and narrow in the moral economy of a DeMille film. Contrary to the assaults of his numerous critics—and DeMille the auteur took a special pride in the poor regard of Hollywood intellectuals—he made his films with a view to much more than mere showmanship. As he claimed in an essay promoting The King of Kings, he saw the screen as a “religious teacher.” And though the content of his films ranged from biblical morality plays to westerns to bawdy sex comedies, the thrust of his work never strayed far from his evangelistic vision. Frank Pittenger See also: Bible Films; Jesus; Missionary Films; Silent Film.

Further Reading DeMille, Cecil B. “The Screen as Religious Teacher.” Theatre (March 1927): 45, 76. DeMille, Cecil B. “Teaching vs. Preaching as Related to the Production of Moving Pictures.” Moving Picture Age 3, no. 7 (1920): 10. Herman, Felicia. “ ‘The Most Dangerous Anti-Semitic Photoplay in Filmdom’: American Jews and The King of Kings (DeMille, 1927).” Velvet Light Trap 46 (Fall 2000): 12–25. Kozlovic, Anton Karl. “ The Whore of Babylon: Suggestibility, and the Art of Sexless Sex in Cecil B. DeMille’s Samson and Delilah (1949).” In Sex, Religion, Media, edited by Dane S. Claussen, 21–31. New York: Rowman and Littlefield, 2002. Nadel, Alan. “God’s Law and the Wide Screen: The Ten Commandments as Cold War Epic.” PMLA: Publications of the Modern Language Association of America 108, no. 3 (1993): 415–430. Noerdlinger, Henry S. Moses and Egypt: The Documentation to the Motion Picture The Ten Commandments. Los Angeles: University of Southern California Press, 1956.

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Devil In the earliest films portraying the Devil, the idea of featuring the fallen angel is suggested by the link between magicians and satanic powers. Georges Méliès, a magician who created hundreds of short films featuring astounding special effects that played as interludes in his stage act, exploited the idea that magic is a human manifestation of hellish supernatural abilities (frequently played up in advertising and theatrical business by illusionists) in many early films. The director and star himself portrayed the Devil, the better to connect his abilities with demonic favors. In Le Manoir du diable (Manor of the Devil, 1896), he produces supernatural creatures from a cauldron before being defeated by a crucifix. Similarly, Le Cabinet de Méphistophélès (The Cabinet of Mephistopheles, 1896) focuses on the Devil’s workroom, where objects and people appear and disappear, furniture flies around, and items pass through the bars of a large cage. The focus here is on the inexplicable (and therefore possibly nefarious) powers of the magician to make possible the impossible. In a few later efforts, the Devil is shown wreaking havoc in somewhat more detailed and plot-driven settings. In The Devil in the Convent (1899), the Devil preys on nuns by slowly transforming their holy house into a hellish dungeon. In one of the more elaborate short films, Le Diable géant ou Le Miracle de la madonne (The Devil and the Statue, 1902), the Devil appears to foil the romance of Romeo and Juliet by growing to enormous size, only to be shrunk and sent packing by a statue of the Madonna, who comes to life through Juliet’s prayers. As the personification of evil, the Devil has a natural role in cinema. Film is a visual medium, and a concrete figure representing illicit desires and immorality of all kinds proves most helpful in the visualization of existential conflict. In the silent era, an emphasis on melodrama and allegory rendered the Devil an integral part of many dramatic features and shorts. The various tales of Faust and Mephistopheles provide the underpinning to a number of early short films, like Bill Bumper’s Bargain (1911), while Edward Sloman’s Faust (1915) uses the Charles Gounod 1859 opera of the same name as its plot outline. Feature-length versions proliferated as the silent era reached its peak, perhaps the most famous being F. W. Murnau’s Faust—Eine deutsche Volkssage (Faust, A German Folktale, 1926), with titles by the German playwright Gerhard Hauptmann. Inspired by Faust’s bargain, the theme of selling one’s soul for love, talent, or money became a frequent and enduring theme. In The Black Crook (1916), the main character tries to get separated lovers to sell their souls to Satan in order to fulfill his own bargain to deliver fresh souls to his infernal master. Naturally, the Devil also appears in movies with biblical origins or inspirations; for example, the book of Job inspired D. W. Griffiths’ The Sorrows of Satan (1926), in which the Devil tries to prove that everyone

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is corruptible by luring a lovelorn writer to his doom. Bedazzled (1967) takes the theme in a comedic direction. As storytelling sophistication increased and the theatricality of early films gave way to a more naturalistic style, the Devil was relegated to films with fantastical elements and to animated shorts. As the “Night on Bald Mountain” segment of Walt Disney’s Fantasia (1940) illustrates, depictions of devils, demons, skeletons, ghosts, and other supernatural horror elements were not at all taboo in the first few decades of talking pictures. In fact, the Devil and the denizens of hell were frequently depicted in Disney’s cartoons and those of competing studios. One notable live-action example of the allegorical power of the Devil during this period is Fritz Lang’s Liliom (1934), based on Ferenc Molnár’s play. Liliom is a carnival barker in love with a Budapest maid, who is given a final chance at making amends for his life gone wrong after being frightened by hell’s terrors in purgatory. Most other feature-length examples between 1930 and 1955, however, occur in films with a comical or grotesque air, as in The Devil and Daniel Webster (1941) and Cabin in the Sky (1943). In the 1950s, Roger Corman’s American International Pictures began to change the face of the horror genre by churning out low-budget pictures to fill out multifilm bills at theaters and drive-ins. The Undead (1957) uses Satan as a character in the story of a prostitute sent back in time by psychic researchers and accused of being a witch. Following Corman’s lead, other shoestring studies began using Satanism as a plot device, suggested by the connection to witchcraft, long a horror staple: for instance, The Devil’s Partner (1962), The Devil’s Hand (1962), The Kiss of the Vampire (1963), and one of the most famous bad movies of all time, Manos: The Hands of Fate (1966). The profitability and popularity of these horror films, combined with social forces such as hysteria over juvenile delinquency and the accessibility of strange new religious movements, combined to produce the environment in which the Devil film became nearly ubiquitous. With the birth of the contemporary horror genre in the 1960s, the Devil took a starring role in an entire subgenre of exploitation and drive-in features that used satanic elements for shock value. Rosemary’s Baby (1968) can be credited with bringing the fear of Satanism that had been simmering in evangelical subcultures into the mainstream and combining this potent source of imagery with horror elements pioneered for a mass audience in Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960). In Rosemary’s Baby, a pregnant woman experiences misgivings and fears about her baby and learns that she has been impregnated by a coven of witches who are using her to carry Satan’s son. The Exorcist (1973), with its portrayal of a young girl possessed by the Devil, cemented the trend’s place in the esthetic of the 1970s. Although The Omen (1976) was about the Antichrist rather than Satanism, the

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popular linkage of the Antichrist with the offspring of Satan connected the endtimes and Satanic plot lines for the duration of the decade. Benefiting from the breakdown of production code standards in the 1960s and the rise of the MPAA ratings—which allowed far more explicit material on theatrical screens—exploitation films featuring Satanism proliferated throughout the decade. Some of the background material for these films can be traced to the Swedish documentary Häxan (The Witches, 1922), based on director Bernard Christensen’s research into the superstitions that led to medieval witch hunts. The film contained dramatized sequences interspersed with a slide show illustrating Christensen’s lecture, and these dramatic interludes, especially as seen in the shortened version Witchcraft Through the Ages (1968), narrated by William Burroughs, influenced the supernatural horror esthetic of the 1970s. Another possible source is the cult classic Incubus (1965), a surreal feature filmed entirely in Esperanto about demons luring weak, libertine men to perdition. Satanists seemed to motivate the plot in every other drive-in horror picture for several years, and these were often combined haphazardly with other bogey men of the period. In I Drink Your Blood (1970), hippie devil worshippers rape a farmer’s daughter, whose brother then feeds them pies laced with a rabid dog’s blood. Werewolves on Wheels (1971) brings together a biker gang with a monastic order engaged in Satanic rites. After the bikers destroy their monastery, the female member who was chosen as a sacrifice turns into a werewolf and terrorizes her former colleagues. Tom Selleck, just a few years before his TV breakout role in Magnum, P.I. (CBS, 1980–1988), starred in Daughters of Satan (1972), the story of a man whose wife is possessed by the spirit of witches living inside a painting. The Canadian thriller The Pyx (1973) featured Christopher Plummer as a detective investigating the death of prostitute Karen Black and finding evidence of a vast Satanist conspiracy. The key clues found on the victim’s body are a necklace with an upside-down cross and a pyx (container for consecrated communion wafers). John Travolta made his feature-film debut in The Devil’s Rain (1975), about a rural satanic cult who use their devil-granted powers to melt those who oppose them. Major studios also released films that cashed in on the fascination with the Devil and his followers. Columbia Pictures offered The Brotherhood of Satan (1971), starring a town doctor who apparently tries to help a young family caught in a town controlled by a group of strange children. However, the doctor is actually the leader of a coven of elders who are organizing the children into a Satanworshipping cult. Twentieth Century Fox produced Race with the Devil (1975), a classic of the genre, in which family patriarchs on vacation witness a Satanic sacrifice and cannot get anyone to believe them. The British film and television industry paralleled its American counterparts with regard to the Satanism craze. Indeed, an early entry in the craze was The

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Devil Rides Out (also known as The Devil’s Bride, 1968), a costume drama in which the Duke of Richeleau battles the forces of evil to win back his young ward from a group of Satan worshippers who aim to baptize him in darkness. Blood on Satan’s Claw (1971), another historical drama, portrays a group of 17th-century children in the grip of demon possession, featuring occult ceremonies led by an evil teenage girl. In Blue Blood (1973), a nobleman discovers that his servants have formed a devil-worshiping cult. To the Devil a Daughter (1976) featured an American novelist trying to save a friend’s daughter from a satanic ring run by an excommunicated priest. Satan’s Slave (1976) starred Michael Gough as the patriarch of a devil cult; he is pitted against his niece, who is trying to escape. Satan and Satanism were far from an underground phenomenon. To the contrary, several made-for-television movies and miniseries aired on major networks exploring the same fascination with the Devil. Paramount Television produced The Devil’s Daughter (1973), about a mother who sells her daughter’s soul to Satan, only to find that the Devil wants the girl to marry a demon. Later the same production company released the TV sequel Look What Happened to Rosemary’s Baby (1976). Aaron Spelling made Satan’s School for Girls (1973), featuring Kate Jackson and Cheryl Ladd, who would later star in Spelling’s hit series Charlie’s Angels (ABC, 1976– 1981). The plot involves a woman’s undercover investigation into a school where her sister committed suicide; naturally the school is less about academics than instruction in Satan worship. Spelling also produced Cruise into Terror (TV 1978), about an Egyptian sarcophagus containing the son of Satan that unleashes hellish fury on a cruise ship. In Universal’s House of Evil (1974), two sisters enter a pact with the Devil and terrorize their neighbors. Conspiracy of Terror (1975), based on a David Delman novel, is about husband-and-wife detectives trying to shine a light on murderous Satanic cults. Veteran TV actor-director Leo Penn led the miniseries The Dark Secret of Harvest Home (1978), based on the novel by Tom Tryon, about a Devil-worshipping cult in a New England town. CBS aired Devil Dog: The Hound of Hell (1978), perhaps the apotheosis of the genre, involving a father whose family is terrorized by a minion of Satan in the form of a vicious dog. A trend so pervasive naturally inspires spoofs and parodies. One of the first to take the theme lightly was Children Shouldn’t Play with Dead Things (1972), directed by the same man later responsible for A Christmas Story (1984). A group of friends decides to use a Satanist text to raise the dead, and soon the graveyard is overrun with living corpses. The over-the-top spoof Satan’s Cheerleaders (1977) had a high school janitor kidnapping the cheerleading squad to use in his coven’s ritual sacrifices. Innumerable knockoffs of both prestige and low-budget pictures came from Italy, Mexico, and South America during this period, with titles like La orgía de los muertos (Terror of the Living Dead, also known as The Hanging Woman, 1973), Riti, magie nere e segrete orge nel trecento (Black Magic Rites and the Secret

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Orgies of the Fourteenth Century, 1973), L’Anticristo (The Antichrist, 1974), Un urlo nelle tenebre (The Return of the Exorcist, 1975), and Tutti i colori del buio (All the Colors of the Dark, 1976). Many foreign productions utilized Englishspeaking actors, especially as horror icons; for instance, the Greek production The Devil’s Men (also known as Land of the Minotaur, 1976) starred Donald Pleasance and Peter Cushing. As the seventies gave way to the eighties, supernatural horror was supplanted by the slasher movie as the predominant shock genre in commercial film. Those films that continued to be based in the supernatural moved more toward an interest in psychic phenomena and ghosts, a trend that reached the mainstream and was popularized widely by Steven Spielberg’s Poltergeist (1982). A link between these two horror genres can be seen in The Visitor (1979), about a girl with psychic powers who becomes a battleground between the forces of God and Satan. Although horror movies with titles referencing the Devil or Satan continued to proliferate in the 1980s, the plots veered away from Satanism or demonic incarnations and focused more on vampires, werewolves, or other occult spirits. Donna Bowman See also: Animated Films; Catholicism; End-of-the-World Films; Horror; Protestantism; Science Fiction; Vampires.

Further Reading Fry, Carrol L. “The Devil You Know: Satanism in Angel Heart.” Literature/Film Quarterly 19, no. 3 (1991): 197–203. Malone, Peter. Movie Christs and Antichrists. New York: Crossroad Publishing, 1990. Mitchell, Charles P. The Devil On Screen: Feature Films Worldwide, 1913–2000. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2002. Poole, W. Scott. Satan in America: The Devil We Know. Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2009. Schreck, Nicholas. The Satanic Screen: An Illustrated Guide to the Devil in Cinema. London: Creation Books, 2001.

Dogme 95 “Auteur theory” is the school of thought that argues that for some film productions, the role of the director is not only central but vital to understanding the overall meaning of a film. Auteur is the French word for “author,” and the “politique des auteurs” (“politics of auteur”) were first articulated by director Francois

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Truffaut in his 1954 article “Une certaine tendance du cinema francais” (Cahiers du cinema). Truffaut postulated that one person, usually the director, bears the artistic responsibility for a film and reveals a personal worldview through the tensions among style, theme, and the conditions of production. In short, auteur theory argues that a film can be studied like a novel or painting as the product of an individual artist. Truffaut maintained that the work of an author could be found in many Hollywood films; it was the quality of the director that was the measure of the work, not necessarily the work itself, and filmmakers often referred to as auteurs include Stanley Kubrick, Alfred Hitchcock, and Woody Allen. Truffaut’s pronouncement helped defend the late 1950s Hollywood system of filmmaking against France’s popular criticism. In current film criticism, there is a general acknowledgement that films are not the product of merely one single auteur or creator but are collective efforts; most people now refer to the “new auteur theory.” Although the director still receives most of the credit for the voice of the film, many of the current directors who are considered auteurs use the same cast and crew for most (if not all) of their films. The new auteur theory raises the question of whether it is possible to distinguish the voice of the director from that of the collective (screenwriters, actors, and all those responsible for creative decision making) if the crew is virtually the same in every film, and contemporary auteurs such as the Coen brothers, Wes Anderson, and Christopher Guest almost always use the same creative team. Many comparisons can be made between auteur theory and aspects of religious study: the emphasis placed on authorship of sacred texts or the view of God as “author” in monotheistic traditions. One good example of auteur theory is the Dogme 95 movement. Drafted in 1995 by four avant garde directors—Thomas Vinterberg, Lars von Trier, Søren Krag Jacobsen, and Kristian Levring—Dogme 95 utilized some of the traditional categories of religious fundamentalism (hence the name, which is Danish for “dogma”), notably a vow of chastity, the need for confession, and the role of incarnation. The responsibility for adhering to the Dogme tenets rested upon the director as auteur. The challenge set forth through Dogme 95 was a call to directors to adhere to key tenets of “filmic piety” with the goal of maintaining artistic purity. In their description of the rationale for the Dogme 95 mandate, the founding directors of the movement decried the use of technology to fool audiences. The Dogme 95 10-point “vow of chastity” included the requirements that all shooting must be done “on location” without the introduction of foreign props; all sound had to be consistent with the location; and all shooting had to be done with handheld cameras, in color, without the use of special lighting or filters, and in 35 mm. In addition, “genre” films were prohibited, as was temporal and geographic “alienation,” and the director had to go uncredited. In order for a film to be

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considered a Dogme 95 film, the director had to adhere to this “vow of chastity” as well as certain other conditions, including a prohibition against the introduction of personal taste. As with strict dogma, there is the humble realization that human failings will fall short of the ideal, raising the need for confession. Thomas Vinterberg, the director of the first Dogme 95 film Festen (The Celebration, 1998), was the first to see the limits of human ability and creativity in relation to dogmatic regulations placed on directors striving for the vow of chastity addressed in the Dogme 95 movement. As he made Festen, he succumbed to the “temptation” to bend the rules in order to fulfill his artistic vision, ushering in the need for “confession.” Given that Dogme directors are left to their own consciences to adhere to the tenets of Dogme 95, they are also absolved by admitting wrong. Vinterberg listed his transgressions in relation to these rules and submitted to the authority of the Dogme directors by seeking “absolution.” As it stands, no one can forbid a director from calling his film a Dogme 95 film. The roles of confession, absolution, and reprimand play into the ongoing reality that films are public enterprises. The works would be measured against the tenets upon which they were said to have been formed and therefore judged by the critics and the audience, many of whom were very aware of the rules. The Dogme 95 manifesto was exclusively aimed at the filmmaking process and not the “afterlife” of the film (public relations, marketing, and distribution). The Dogme rules were considered to be symbolic and not meant to remain secret or hidden. They were an expression of the director’s wish to recede into the background and thus push other talent into the foreground. According to Vinterberg, the duty of the director was to record human interaction, not create it. While the role of Dogme 95 was to call auteurs to a “vow of chastity,” and to acknowledge the need for confession in the face of breaking this vow, the Dogme manifesto was also an attempt on the part of the directors to bring filmmaking into a more incarnational form. As Vinterberg stated, the role of Dogme 95’s rules was to free through and with form. He noted that films had to take risks, and that the makers of those films had to feel that risk. The goal of Dogme 95 was to get down to the basics of film; the strict rules were designed to liberate the filmmaker from conventions in conception as well as in production. Vinterberg even reflected that the prohibition against a soundtrack meant that he could let his characters sing. Although there was great excitement surrounding the movement in its first few years, fewer explicitly Dogme 95 films are being made today. Part of the challenge rests in the fact that every time a new Dogme 95 film was made and discussed, it became more difficult to determine what makes a truly Dogme 95 film. In addition, given that it has become increasingly difficult to get all the Dogme 95 directors together as they became occupied with their own new films, they

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did not always agree upon the “verdict.” For example, when one views Harmony Korinne’s Julian Donkey Boy (1999), one is certainly challenged to categorize the film within a genre such as Dogme 95, and one can understand the trouble the founding directors had; this tough description of a schizophrenic young man stretches the Dogme 95 rules to the limit. Jeff Keuss See also: Allen, Woody; Bazin, André; Coen, Joel and Ethan; Kubrick, Stanley; Truffaut, François; Trier, Lars von.

Further Reading Bainbridge, Caroline. The Cinema of Lars Von Trier: Authenticity and Artifice. New York: Wallflower Press, 2007. Hjort, Mette, and Scott Mackenzie. Purity and Provocation: Dogme ’95. London: British Film Institute, 2008. Stevenson, Jack. Dogme Uncut: Lars von Trier, Thomas Vinterberg, and the Gang That Took on Hollywood. Santa Monica, CA: Santa Monica Press, 2003.

Dreyer, Carl Theodor (1889–1968) Carl Theodor Dreyer, the most important director in Danish film history, is also one of the most relevant authors for a study on cinema and theology. His films are characterized by guilt and redemption, generally thought to be a consequence of his troubled childhood. Born Karl Nielsen to an unmarried Swedish housekeeper, Josefine Bernhardine Nilsson, who died very early in his life, Dreyer was adopted at the age of two by Carl Theodor and Inger Marie Dreyer, and he assumed his new father’s name. Thanks to his writing skills, he started a brilliant career as a journalist in the most prestigious Danish papers (Berlingske Tindede and Politiken) before turning to film. Because of a penchant for experimentation and innovation, Dreyer had difficulty raising funds for his film projects and was considered a risky director by most producers, who could not be assured of a profitable financial outcome. As a result, between 1913 and 1964 he shot only 15 feature films—very few when compared with the number he conceived. This difficulty in finding funds for his films led Dreyer to develop an international reputation as he traveled all over Europe to direct movies in Sweden, Germany, Norway, and France as well as in

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Denmark. Unfortunately, he never managed to find money for his project of a film on Jesus’ life. Dreyer’s courageous journey into new styles and techniques made him one of the very few authors who directed excellent sound films after an outstanding career in silent movies. The first film to give him international celebrity was Blade Af Satans Bog (Leaves from Satan’s Book, 1921), reminiscent of D. W. Griffith’s Intolerance (1916); the plot is organized in four stories (Palestine, the Inquisition, the French Revolution, and the Red Rose of Finland). Dreyer was less ideological than Griffith, as Blade Af Satans Bog tells the story of intolerance focusing especially on the body and the soul of his characters, who express betrayal, superstition, and misunderstanding. The four episodes focus on Satan tempting human beings. The narrative is less fragmented than Intolerance, with Satan present in all four episodes. In other words, as a connecting element between the episodes, Dreyer’s Satan is different from Griffith’s young mother, as he is a decisive actor in the daily story of intolerance, while she represents the universal background; he is a character internal to the stories, while she is an external element. For this reason Blade Af Satans Bog more closely resembles F. W. Murnau’s Satanas (1920), which is less familiar than Intolerance. In 1926, after few successful films, the Societé Générale des Films invited Dreyer to Paris, where he spent the following year and a half in shooting his silent masterpiece: La Passion de Jeanne d’Arc (1928). This film is characterized by the encounter of extremes, both in the making and in the plot. The static plot is shot in an extraordinary (and sometimes imperceptibly) dynamic way; the silence of the film contrasts with the verbal excess typical of a trial; the violence of the judges contrasts with Jeanne’s harmlessness. Ultimately, the destruction of Jeanne affirms her innocence and holiness. Especially in this last point one can see the difference between Dreyer’s Joan of Arc and other representations of the heroine, particularly in the influence of the Lutheran doctrine of the deus absconditus (the hidden God). God is hidden in the helpless figure of Jeanne as the mob shouts “You killed a saint,” just as the centurion under the cross said “Truly this man was the son of God.” Another interesting aspect is what many critics define as the reduction of five months of trial to the final day, which concludes with the Jeanne’s execution. It is quite clear that Dreyer is not interested in the chronos of the trial but in the kairos (the time of God); in other words, the viewer is not watching a chronicle of a historical event but the eternal moment of the holy person persecuted by the unholy ones, of the powerless one tortured by the powerful ones. In La Passion de Jeanne d’Arc, Dreyer explores the link between the time of a movie and the time of God. In fact, as the encounter with God is a suspension of the chronological stream of events, likewise cinemagoers experience a similar suspension when they watch a film (or when a story is being told or a book is read).

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Unfortunately, La Passion de Jeanne d’Arc (together with Dreyer’s following feature film) was a commercial failure, leading to yet more difficulty for Dreyer in finding funds for his movies. Eventually returning to Denmark, he directed Vredens Dag (Day of Wrath, 1943), a film set in a context of witch hunting in the 17th-century Danish countryside. In Vredens Dag, Anne is the second wife of Absalon, an old Lutheran minister who has a son (Martin) from his previous marriage. Martin and Anne are approximately the same age. Merete, Absalon’s mother, lives in the manse. All of Anne’s doubts about her relationship with Absalon explode when she learns that her mother had been a witch and falls in love with Martin. Dreyer’s preoccupation with contrasts continues in Vredens Dag, as Anne develops her own witchcraft as a spontaneous and natural spirituality in opposition to the organized religion of rules and repression represented by Absalon and Merete. Absalon’s religion acquires a magical value similar to Anne’s; he invisibly “feeds” on her, absorbing her young, vital, and erotic potentials, just like a vampire. (This vampiresque vision of organized religion continues to influence Danish cinema, especially in the Dogme 95 movement.) It is the “religion of life” against the “religion of death.” This is confirmed by Absalon’s death, which comes when Anne states that she does not love him; when Absalon is denied access to Anne’s vitality, youth, and eroticism, he cannot continue living. Unfortunately for Anne, Absalon’s death does not save her but accelerates her own path toward death. She does not fight the power and violence of organized religion but renounces all offences, strongly affirming the organized vampirism of her enemies. In this attitude she is very similar to Joan of Arc, who is not a warrior but a lamb led to slaughter; yet Anne’s death does not reveal any hidden sanctity but is just the end of a fragile life of one who opposed greater powers. Vredens Dag was another commercial failure, causing Dreyer to temporarily “migrate” to Sweden and, when he returned to Denmark, to shoot only short documentaries. Another decade was to pass before Dreyer was able to direct his spoken masterpiece, Ordet (The Word, 1955), based on the play by Kaj Munk. The film is set at the beginning of the 20th century in rural Denmark; the protagonist (Johannes) is the son of a farmer who, after studying Kierkegaard, behaves and talks as if he were Jesus, weeping over the lack of faith among his family and his fellow villagers. (The reference to Kierkegaard is very important; the Danish philosopher focused on the importance of a spontaneous religiosity as opposed to an established one.) Although Johannes is related to Dreyer’s previous protagonists (Jeanne and Anne), he is quite different; he is not persecuted. Nobody wants to kill him or to put him on trial. Nevertheless, he is already condemned, with no need of a trial, since everyone regards him as alienated. Nobody seeks to kill him for the “scandalous” things that he says; his words are somehow already “dead” and they are simply ignored. Additionally, whereas the two women may be considered to

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be two “Christ-like” characters, Johannes directly refers to the words and deeds of Jesus of Nazareth. The most significant difference is that Johannes does not fight a violent religious establishment, which is either criminally linked with the political power (La Passion de Jeanne d’Arc) or feeds off of spiritually oriented people (Vredens Dag). In Ordet, the religious people are honest, even if naïve and blind. The established church is more acceptable in Ordet than in Dreyer’s previous movies. Harsh criticism of two visions of church revival collapses in the presence of the death of Inger (Johannes’s sister-in-law), while true unity (or redemption) comes when she comes back to life. This “sign” is not the consequence of the little faith of the great church but of the great faith of Inger’s little daughter in Johannes’s power to save her mother from death. Again, Ordet was not a success at the box office, although it was awarded the Golden Lion at the Venice Film Festival. Dreyer’s importance does not lie only on his great masterpieces La Passion de Jeanne d’Arc and Ordet but also on the influence he had on northern European cinema. Often he is associated with Ingmar Bergman; the similarities between the two can be seen mostly in the common milieu (Scandinavian Lutheranism) and the influence on both authors of Strindberg’s Kammarspel. Their theological visions differ substantially. Dreyer presents a spontaneous spirituality that is totally alien to Bergman’s understanding of faith and remains a humanist who brings a universal message that is valid in the past, present, and future. Bergman’s vision is directly related to the challenges of the 20th century. More obvious is Dreyer’s legacy on the Danish Dogme 95 movement and on its founder and main representative, Lars von Trier. Peter Ciaccio See also: Bergman, Ingmar; Dogme 95; Europe (Continental); Trier, Lars von.

Further Reading Dreyer, Carl Theodor. Carl Theodor Dreyer’s Jesus. New York: Dial Press, 1972. Drouzy, Martin, and Lisbeth Nannestad Jørgensen, eds. Letters about the Jesus Film: 16 Years of Correspondence between Carl Th. Dreyer and Blevins Davis. Copenhagen: University of Copenhagen, 1989. Monty, I., ed. Carl Theodor Dreyer’s Jesus: A Great Filmmaker’s Final Masterwork. New York: Dell, 1971. O’Brien, Charles. “Rethinking National Cinema: Dreyer’s La Passion de Jeanne d’Arc and the Academic Aesthetic.” Cinema Journal 35, no. 4 (1996): 3–30. Schrader, Paul. Transcendental Style in Cinema: Ozu, Bresson, Dreyer. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1972. Tybjerg, Casper. “Forms of the Intangible: Carl Th. Dreyer and the Concept of ‘Transcendental Style.’ ” Northern Lights 6 (2008): 59–73.

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Dystopia It may seem odd to consider dystopia—an imagined place where everything is negative/bad—alongside religion. Yet, the attempt to transform the ideals of faith into a way of living is actually readily distorted by the dystopic genre, where frequently a minority dictates the rules of society and attempts to force them on others. The film based on Margaret Atwood’s 1985 novel The Handmaid’s Tale perfectly illustrates the parallels detectable in religious and dystopian societies by focusing on the corruption of religion by a minority to oppress the members of society, particularly women. Examining the overt connection of dystopia and religion as represented in The Handmaid’s Tale (1990) provides a lens through which to examine other films’ dystopian societies and their more implied religious links, as in Nineteen Eighty-Four (1984) and Minority Report (2002). The patriarchal authorities of the futuristic society of Gilead in The Handmaid’s Tale underpin their ideologies with a distortion of Old Testament scripture, as the name of the society suggests. The aim of society to procreate in a relatively infertile environment is blamed on women’s previous use of contraception and on abortion but is quite likely due to environmental ruin. The ensuing surrogacy upon which efforts to procreate are based finds a grounding in the surrogacy of Bilhah in Genesis 30:1–3 (which is cited in the epigraph of Atwood’s novel): And when Rachel saw that she bare Jacob no children, Rachel envied her sister; and said to Jacob, Give me children or else I die. And Jacob’s anger was kindled against Rachel; and he said, Am I in God’s stead, who hath withheld from thee the fruit of the womb? And she said, Behold my maid Bilhah, go in unto her; and she shall bear upon my knees, that I may also have children by her.

In the film, this part of scripture is read by the male prior to the institutionalized rape that occurs on the nights of the sex ceremony, where the Handmaid, lying in the lap of the Wife of the husband, undergoes penetration. The whole society is founded upon this manipulation of scripture. Women are classified according to their ability to bear children: Handmaids as the young fertile women, Wives as the older women married to men high in the hierarchy, Econowives as women useful for domestic work, Aunts as trainers of Handmaids, and others who are cast out to work in dangerous places. The strict regime forms a kind of distorted caste system for both women and men, but the gender imbalance prevails in that it is unquestionable that the older men might not be fertile. In this society we thus see religion subsumed for the purposes of the state. The young women are rounded up and sent off in cattle trucks, in an image eerily resonant of the Holocaust, to the Red Centre, to be trained as Handmaids; they are told

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by the Aunts to “serve God and your country.” The Red Centre envelops prayers to God and hymns in its socialization of these women and at the ceremony where they are “ordained” Handmaids by a minister, he declares, “We pledge allegiance to the Bible [. . .]. The Old Testament shall be our sole constitution [. . .]. I pronounce you Handmaids.” The language here pertinently echoes U.S. nationalistic ceremonies, pledging allegiance to a flag and having a constitution, but inserts the Bible and Old Testament in these roles. It also echoes the marriage ceremony in the final phrase, sealing religious and social positioning of the women. There are further key scenes in the film that indicate the warped institutionalism of the Bible in Gilead, notably the idea of scapegoating in the Salvaging ceremonies, the idea of a scapegoat as atonement for sins stemming from Leviticus 16. These ceremonies function as a safety valve to let out the anger of the Handmaids upon supposed criminals, where the women are made to partake in public executions of these victims of the Gileadean regime. “Crimes” might be “gender treachery” (homosexuality in a time where procreation is paramount) or rape, though such crimes, it is suggested, may well be fabricated in order to dispose of political prisoners. For example, Deuteronomy 23:25 is invoked to substantiate putting to death an alleged rapist of a Handmaid: “Suppose a man out in the countryside rapes a girl who is engaged to someone else. Then only the man is to be put to death.” As the man is killed in an hysterical frenzy instilled in the women, Ofglen, a member of the underground resistance, secretly states to Offred, the central protagonist, that he was a political victim. This rigidly structured society cannot sustain itself without breaking the rules, even the men in the highest echelons, such as Offred’s owner, the Commander (her name, like that of all Handmaids, indicating his ownership of her). There is a kind of acceptable rule breaking in a secret microcosm, a place whose name, Jezebels, again resonates with Old Testament implications, Jezebel being an insulting term for a woman. Jezebels in Gilead is a secret prostitution den, a kind of nightclub where women who have escaped the system are secretly permitted to work. The nightclub is an echo of a regular club from the time before Gilead came into being, making it current with the film’s mid-1980s date. The women who work here wear old skimpy dresses, a remnant of the time before that draws a sharp contrast with the current society, because in Gilead women wear habits according to their roles, Handmaids red, Wives blue, Econowives grey, and so on. The Handmaids’ habits are constructed to conceal their physique and sexual potential, rather like nuns’ habits or burkas. Like burkas or other forms of religiously sanctioned dress among women, the concealment has a dual purpose: restriction and protection. Foregrounding the possible connections between religion and dystopia so explicitly, The Handmaid’s Tale performs a critique of fundamentalism of any kind and of empowerment of a minority manipulated to control the many. Through

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its ideological machinations—the way the society is mediated—the dangers of religious distortion and extremism are displayed also in Nineteen-Eighty Four, a remake of 1984 (1956) based on George Orwell’s novel of the same name. In both The Handmaid’s Tale and Nineteen Eighty-Four, access to language and information is severely restricted, and there is a sense that language creates reality and sets the limits of thought. This again is something of a distortion of extreme religion’s restriction of freedom and its dependence usually on some form of scripture to substantiate its ideals. Both films deal with the erasure of individualism in favor of a collective subject to a higher power. Nineteen Eighty-Four is less overtly critical of religion, yet the required worship of a dominant figure, Big Brother, resonates with the worship of a deity, although the film’s more specific critique is of communist societies, both producing a kind of theocracy. Members of the society are expected to “love” Big Brother and not only to follow the rule, but also to have a faith instilled in them for the leader of the corrupt system. The leader is never seen by anyone in any way other than as an iconic image portrayed everywhere—in screens in individuals’ homes, for example. His omniscience and omnipotence (the all-seeing, all-knowing, all-powerful godlike figure) is exaggerated in the fact that there are cameras throughout this society and in people’s homes; thus they can be seen and controlled at virtually all times. Here we see the orderly imposition of rules without a faith, rules attempting to produce a faith, in a corrupt inversion of religious doctrines. The imposition of the ideology goes so far as to torture individuals until they believe—an inversion of the torture that those persecuted for their beliefs can undergo. As can be seen in each of these films, the dystopias raise the question of individual freedom versus the following of orders imposed by a minority. Individual freedom, destiny, and fate are topics with religious significance also raised by the film Minority Report, where the prophetic visions of three individuals who can foresee murders are harnessed by Department of Precrime in 2054 in Washington, DC. In acting to change the future based on the visions of the prophets—preventing murders by imprisoning “perpetrators” before the crime—the police might be seen as usurping the power of God. A murder-free city might be deemed a utopia rather than a dystopia, but questions surrounding free will as constitutive to being human are incorporated by the film. Notions of agency and of moral responsibility are pitted against the saving of lives. When it becomes clear that the future is not preordained if the perpetrator of the murderer is forewarned of her or his own crime and can choose not to kill the proposed victim, the pre-emptive saving of lives becomes highly questionable. In addition, the treatment of the “precognitives” (the prophets) themselves is problematic. These people are human but are kept half alive, used merely as conduits for the crime predictions. As one character states, it is better if they do not think of them as human, and near the close of the

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film, the central precognitive, Agatha, having been kidnapped by the lead character to aid in his quest, states that she is neither dead nor alive. As with The Handmaid’s Tale, Minority Report does foreground the religious usurpation of roles by individuals, though to a much lesser extent. For example, the space in which the precognitives are kept is nicknamed the “temple” and some members of the society have begun to deify them. One character points out the need to believe in something now that science has taken away the notion of miracles, suggesting that the precognitives give hope of the existence of the divine and, as with all religious hierarchies, it is the priests (here the cops) who have the power rather than the oracle itself. In response to this, one of the cops states they are more like clergy than cops in the changing of destiny. The fact that humans are ultimately in control of the system is what brings its downfall: the instigator of precrime is found to have murdered Agatha’s mother in order to keep the system intact and maintain his power. In some respects, he represents the overreacher, and his power is imminently expanding as the system is about to go national following a six-year trial in Washington, D.C. Underlying each of these dystopian societies, then, is the religious motif of good versus evil, of individual will versus fate and/or predestined constraint. Each film possesses central protagonists morally at odds with the society in which they find themselves. Such figures might be read as upholders of moral values in the face of increasing secularization in Minority Report, or, in the case of The Handmaid’s Tale, in the face of the distortion of religious ideals, and, in Nineteen Eighty-Four, in the face of the building of a false theocracy. The films each stress the importance of the Christian concept of free will in the composition of humanity and exhibit the struggles that occur when this is threatened. Julie Scanlon See also: End-of-the-World Films; Horror; The Matrix Trilogy.

Further Reading Griffiths, Paul J. “Orwell for Christians.” First Things: A Monthly Journal of Religion and Public Life 148 (December 2004): 32–40. Moylan, Tom. Scraps of the Untainted Sky: Science Fiction, Utopia, Dystopia. Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 2000. Torry, Robert. “Apocalypse Then: Benefits of the Bomb in Fifties Science Fiction Films.” Cinema Journal 31, no. 1 (1991): 7–21. Wanner, Adrian. “The Underground Man as Big Brother: Dostoevsky’s and Orwell’s AntiUtopia.” Utopian Studies 8, no. 1 (1997): 77–88.

E End-of-the-World Films Traditionally, the end of the world has been associated with the belief in God’s coming judgment upon a sinful earth, in which fire rains from the sky, the sun and moon are blotted out, and godless multitudes perish. The end of days has tended to elicit images of doomed populations desperately praying for heaven to send a savior, or of wretched hordes scratching for what little sustenance their bleak “postapocalyptic” terrain can provide. Anguish, agony, torment, a world filled with hopelessness and despair: these are the dramatic features that most end-time films draw upon to excite, entertain, and instruct moviegoers. Evil need not be divine or satanic to be destructive. Indeed, evil might be embodied in a demented ecoterrorist, as in Twelve Monkeys (1995), a psychotic spaceship computer programmer, as in The Apocalypse (1997), the end-time visions of a troubled teen, as in Donnie Darko (2001), an army of cyborgs, as in The Terminator (1984) and its sequels (Terminator 2: Judgment Day [1991]; Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines [2003]), or even in the misunderstanding and mistrust among nuclear superpowers, as in Dr. Strangelove (1964)—or in any number of science fiction films in which the trademark “mad scientist” unleashes misery and death upon an unsuspecting world. Although the end of the world is a religious belief, few films that depict world-ending disasters or near-disasters actually treat identifiably religious concerns in their story lines. Often, the end of the world becomes not the focus of the film but the setting through which many stories can be told; a plot device, a vehicle that conveys a dramatic sense of urgency that audiences immediately recognize and generally find appealing. It becomes the perfect medium through which to examine timely issues and to exhibit the latest in cinematographic effects. Typically, films depicting the destruction of the world—whether by natural or supernatural forces—are called “apocalyptic,” while those set in the aftermath of a catastrophic event are labeled “postapocalyptic.” In both, the word apocalyptic 167

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is used metaphorically. Properly defined, an apocalypse is a type of revelatory literature (apocalypsis being Greek for “revelation” or “an unveiling”) whose source of authority is divine or otherworldly. Although the context of the revelation may include a prediction of the world’s destruction, additional features likewise define this literary genre: the triumph of good over evil, the judgment of the wicked, the dispensing of heavenly rewards and hellish punishments, and the restoration of paradise. Other aspects that lend themselves to a filmmaker’s imagination include signs of the last days, dreams and prophetic visions, angelic and demonic visitations, a gathering of diabolic forces, heavenly warfare, and the revealing of cosmic secrets, such as in the opening of heavenly seals or scrolls, as well as the appearance a messianic figure, either to save the world from an Antichrist figure or to bring about cosmic rebirth and renewal. Much of this end-time imagery comes from the Bible, most notably from the Book of Revelation (also titled The Apocalypse). Thematically, this text has proved to be an abundant source of hope and horror for Christian and non-Christian filmmakers. The Book of Revelation relates the end-time vision of Jesus’ beloved disciple the Apostle John, whom the Roman authorities banished to the Greek island of Patmos. In his vision, John is caught up (or “raptured”) to heaven, where he beholds the future judgment and destruction of the world and the appearing of Zion, the heavenly city come to Earth. After a series of disasters befall the Earth and its people (called the Tribulation), the forces of good and evil array themselves along the Plain of Megiddo (Armageddon) for the final battle. The Antichrist and his armies are utterly destroyed by Christ and his divine forces. The text ends with Satan being cast into the lake of fire and brimstone (Rev. 20:10) and with Christ establishing his eternal kingdom in Jerusalem, the city of peace (Rev. 21:1–2). The dwelling place of God is once more among his people, “and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain, for the former things are passed away” (Rev. 21:3, 4). Over the past several decades, a small but influential number of Christian films have sought to depict aspects of the Apostle John’s vision. Perhaps the bestknown example is A Thief in the Night (1972), a film widely viewed in evangelical and fundamentalist churches. Thief follows the harrowing experiences of Patty Myers, a lukewarm Christian who had scoffed at the idea of a coming Rapture. To her shock and horror, the Rapture takes place as predicted: Patty’s husband and other believers suddenly disappear, the Antichrist (the leader of the United Nations, now called “United Nations Imperium of Total Emergency” or “UNITE”) takes control of the Earth, and Patty is left behind to suffer through the Tribulation while trying to elude UNITE’s evil agents. Though ponderous and preachy, Thief proved effective as an evangelistic tool designed to reach young adults drifting into the counterculture of the 1970s, inspiring three sequels, each following the

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experiences of Patty and other persecuted Christians left behind to witness the unfolding Apocalypse firsthand. These sequels included A Distant Thunder (1978; in which Patty, captured and awaiting execution, remains ambivalent about committing her life to Christ); Image of the Beast (1980; which begins with Patty’s execution and continues the Tribulation saga in which it is revealed that the “Mark of the Beast” [666] is none other than the UPC label [at that time newly introduced on retail packaging]); and The Prodigal Planet (1983; which chronicles the desperate last days of Antichrist’s rule). Thief and its sequels went virtually unnoticed by mainstream American audiences and critics during the 1970s and 1980s. However, several films produced during this same period did attract secular as well as religious audiences. Chief among them was The Late Great Planet Earth (1979), a documentary-style rendering of Hal Lindsey’s best-selling prophecy book of the same title narrated by actor and director Orson Welles. Lindsey’s book was essentially an updated interpretation of the Book of Revelation, in which Lindsey argued that biblical prophecies concerning the end times were being fulfilled. Although this film piqued some interest (Lindsey’s book sold over 15 million copies during the 1970s), it would not be until the 1990s that Christian end-time films would attract the attention of the general viewing public. In 1999, with the new millennium approaching, Trinity Broadcasting Network (TBN) produced The Omega Code (1999), which capitalized on the popularity of such best-selling books as The Bible Code (1998), and its apocalyptic sequel, Bible Code II: The Countdown (2002). The film relates the pre-Rapture efforts of sinister men seeking the code to unlock the sacred power of the Bible. Once discovered, the Bible’s power could then be used to control the world. In the wrong hands—say, the Antichrist’s—this power could be devastating. Surprisingly, The Omega Code was a box office hit and was soon followed by the prequel Megiddo: The Omega Code 2 (2001). In this film, the audience is taken back to the childhood of Stone Alexander, the future Antichrist, and David, his younger brother, whose rivalry began when their mother died giving birth to David. After attempting to murder David and their father, Stone is sent off to military school, where he is placed under the tutelage of “The Guardian,” an emissary of Satan. Although Stone’s path leads him toward a military career, David is drawn into American politics, soon becoming vice president. As leader of the European Union, Stone seeks to unify and dominate the world, offering to engineer events to make his younger brother president of the United States. Realizing that Stone is the prophesied Antichrist, David, now president, gathers a coalition of forces to stop his evil brother. Bible prophecy is fulfilled when both armies engage at Megiddo. What is interesting about this series and other overtly Christian films of the period is their producers’ attempts to gain respectability for their films by putting

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recognizable actors on the marquee. Despite their best efforts, however, most or all evangelical filmmakers have found their works panned by secular critics. Nonetheless, contemporary Christian filmmakers have learned that, whether or not the story line makes sense, it is not a movie unless someone dies or something gets blown up. Such is the case with Apocalypse III: Tribulation (2000; also known simply as Tribulation), part of a series of four films (including Apocalypse: Caught in the Eye of the Storm [1998]; Apocalypse II: Revelation [1999; also known simply as Revelation], and Apocalypse IV: Judgment [2001; also known simply as Judgment]), written and produced by Canadian televangelistic doomsayers Paul and Peter Lalonde, which anticipates the success of the Left Behind films. Although Tribulation sought to cross over into the secular market, the film basically rehearsed much of the same prophetic and personalized terror covered in A Thief in the Night. Like Thief, in the Apocalypse series the focus is on the aftermath of the Rapture. Here, the Antichrist rules the world through a United Nations–style organization called O.N.E. (One Nation Earth) aimed at consolidating political and military power. Much of the action focuses on a cat-and-mouse game between O.N.E. agents and the “left behind” Christians (and their new converts, known as the Haters), whom the Antichrist seeks to round up and eliminate. Currently, the best-known and most successful end-time film franchise has been Left Behind, based on a popular series of fictionalized accounts of the Tribulation period authored by evangelist Tim LaHaye and Jerry B. Jenkins, with screenplays by the Lalonde brothers. Left Behind: The Movie (2000) revolves around Buck Williams, a secular TV journalist trying to make sense first of the sudden disappearance of millions (the Rapture) and then of the ominous signs that point to the rise of a world dictator (the Antichrist). In the sequel, Left Behind II: Tribulation Force (2002), Buck and the three main protagonists finally get what’s going on and “get religion.” Calling themselves the “Tribulation Force,” they seek to warn the world of the demonic power behind the leader of the United Nations, the rising Antichrist. Left Behind: World at War (2005) continued this fictionalized chronicle of Earth’s last days. It would be easy to dismiss these end-time films and every other movie that gives credence to the prophecy beliefs of conservative Protestants were it not for the release of The Rapture (1991), written and directed by Michael Tolkin. Although The Rapture may not actually have given respectability to films featuring fundamentalist teachings about the end of the world, its dark and psychologically disturbing treatment of end-time beliefs did give audiences a moment’s reflective pause. The Rapture, which presents Bible prophecy and end-time belief in matter-of-fact fashion, follows the personal and spiritual transformation of Sharon, a telephone operator who seeks to escape the boredom of life through sexual

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pleasure. All is well until Sharon meets Jesus and becomes a devout Christian. Up to this point in the story, The Rapture seems to be just an “R” rated version of an evangelical film about religious conversion. But this is not an evangelistic film about finding God. Rather, it is about the irrationality of faith and the extremes to which religious fanaticism can lead. Here, we do not witness the transformation of a woman from sinner to saint. Instead, we witness a woman’s descent into religious madness—or rather, a person’s slow seething hatred of God for the evils He allows to befall her. Sharon’s otherwise uninteresting conversion to evangelical Christianity takes a distressing turn when Randy, her equally devout husband, is brutally murdered. Faith-shaken and disoriented by her loss, Sharon retreats to the desert with her daughter to await the coming Rapture. What appears to viewers as utter madness—she shoots her young daughter to hasten her reunion with her father in the afterlife—takes an unexpected turn when the Rapture then does take place. Suspended between heaven and hell in a Bergmanesque landscape, Sharon is invited by God and her pleading family to join them in heaven. With teeth-gnashing defiance, Sharon refuses, preferring to live in the darkness of hell rather than spend an eternity in the presence of a God whom she thoroughly despises. Although The Rapture is not a religious film, it does appear to stand between Christian films that seek to evangelize audiences and secular films that draw upon end-time themes to give moviegoers a good scare. Around the same time that evangelical filmmakers were setting the Apocalypse to celluloid, secular filmmakers began to draw upon end-time themes to frighten their audiences. Although The Exorcist (1973) is an example of a films in which good battles against demonic forces, the most prevalent examples of apocalyptic films concern the Antichrist, an evil force often depicted as the spawn of Satan. One of the best-known films in this category is Rosemary’s Baby (1968), about the unexplained events that accompany Rosemary and Guy Woodhouse, a young couple who have just moved into a Manhattan apartment complex next to an unusual elderly couple. Strange things begin to happen; after Rosemary experiences an unsettling dream in which she is raped by some sort of beast, she discovers that she is expecting a child. But this is no ordinary pregnancy and certainly no ordinary child. Although the connection in Rosemary’s Baby between Rosemary’s demon child and the coming Antichrist is not direct, the film did inspire a number of similar “son of Satan” sagas, including the Omen trilogy (possibly the most sinister), which bears the closest resemblance to the evangelical and fundamentalist understanding of the rise of the Antichrist. The Omen trilogy, with a preview tagline “you are one day closer to the end of the world,” concerns the childhood (Omen [1976]), adolescence (Damien: Omen II [1978]), and young adulthood (Omen III: The Final Conflict [1981]) of Damien, the Antichrist, as well as the evil that befalls all who cross his path. In the third film of the trilogy, Christ returns to earth

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as a child whose destiny it is to destroy Damien. In most of these types of films good does ultimately triumph over evil, but in this case heaven’s victory may not be complete. When Omen III ends, the audience is left wondering if the Antichrist may yet return to complete his wicked plans. In fact, a decade later, in the madefor-television movie, Omen IV: The Awakening (1991), the Antichrist does return, but this time as a little girl. Apart, however, from religious films that attempt to dramatize the end-time prophecies of the Bible and secular films that trade on themes associated with the end of days, almost all other films that would be typed as apocalyptic or postapocalyptic are merely a hybrid of the conventional disaster movie. Indeed, the shock and awe of the world’s destructive end becomes the context into which filmmakers can place any number of film types. Some are set in the moments before the catastrophe occurs and are usually intended as cautionary tales. More often, however, the story is set in the aftermath of a devastating event, a “postapocalyptic” landscape replete with roving bands of outlaws or flesh-eating mutants terrorizing a frightened population. Specific examples of pre- or postnuclear disaster settings—of varying levels of sophistication—include the classic The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951) as well as other great films such as On the Beach (1959), FailSafe (1964), and the Planet of the Apes series (Planet of the Apes [1968]; Beneath the Planet of the Apes [1970]; Escape from Planet of the Apes [1971]; Conquest of Planet of the Apes [1972]; Battle for the Planet of the Apes [1973]) as well as later films like WarGames (1983), The Apocalypse, and The Postman (1997), among many others. Perhaps the best-known “postnuke” films are in the Mad Max/Road Warrior trilogy (Mad Max [1979]; Mad Max 2 [1981; also known as The Road Warrior]; Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome [1985]). Some films (like The Shepherd [1999; also known as Cybercity]) draw upon specific religious themes, while others (like Offret [The Sacrifice, 1986], in which a man offers himself to God in exchange for his son’s safety and to protect the planet from a nuclear holocaust) are overtly religious. Other films fall generally under the heading of biological disaster or epidemic plague films (also pre- and postapocalyptic); closely related are films that concern coming environmental, astronomical, climatic, reproductive, or other looming disasters and their catastrophic effects on humanity. Even An Inconvenient Truth (2006) fits this category, with former Vice President Al Gore effectively recast in the role of doomsday prophet. But whether the impending disaster is an approaching asteroid, a spreading alien virus, an evil villain with a nuclear or biohazardous device, a superpower arms race gone awry, renegade angels wreaking havoc on Earth, the accidental unsealing of a prophetic book, the cataclysmic results of environmental changes, or technology run amok, the story line is essentially the same: unless a solution is found or a savior appears, the world as we know it will cease to exist.

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Fritz Lang’s classic Metropolis (1927), set in the year 2000, inspired a number of later futuristic films that consider the benefits and detriments of technology. In the years between the world wars, technology comes to the rescue of war-devastated world in Things to Come (1936). However, in the Cold War and postmodern periods, films such as Colossus: The Forbin Project (1970), Demon Seed (1977)— featuring a frisky computer and a scientist’s soon-to-be-pregnant wife—The Terminator series, and The Matrix trilogy (The Matrix [1999], The Matrix Reloaded [2003], and The Matrix Revolutions [2003]) depict humanity’s heroic fight against anthropomorphized technologies that seek to enslave or exterminate mankind. In the latter two, there is also a strong a messianic component. Thus, in comparing films that portray the Apocalypse with those normally referred to as “apocalyptic”—whether nuclear, biological, environmental, or technological—it is apparent that apocalyptic fiction films are not apocalyptic in the true sense of the word (revelatory) but only as the term is applied metaphorically. In most cases, overtly religious themes and revelatory elements of these end-ofthe-world films have been abandoned in favor of quasi-religious allusions. Angels and demons have been replaced with extraterrestrial beings. Satan has become a sinister force or an evil presence. Otherworldly journeys have been replaced with space and time travel. Eschatological judgment has been replaced with worldending catastrophes. The persecuted faithful have been transformed into an underground resistance movement or a small band of freedom fighters. And, while visions and dreams that portend end have remained, these are usually attributed to a psychological disorder or ESP. Indeed, had St. John lived in our time, his vision might very well have relied upon the staples of science fiction for its inspiration. As in his revelation, the moral of these end-of-the-world films is clear: although the heavens may fall and the world be consumed by evils too horrible to imagine, the human spirit remains indomitable. In the end, love and justice—backed by plenty of firepower—will always triumph over hatred and evil. Jon R. Stone See also: Devil; Dystopia; Horror; The Matrix Trilogy; Protestantism; Science Fiction; Tolkin, Michael.

Further Reading Lamm, Robert. “Can We Laugh at God: Apocalyptic Comedy in Film.” Journal of Popular Film and Television 19, no. 2 (1991): 81–90. Lindvall, Terry, and J. Dennis Bounds. “The Late Great Planet Hollywood: The Apocalyptic Imagination in Popular Film.” Christianity and the Arts 6 (Fall 1999): 31–34. Mitchell, Charles P. A Guide to Apocalyptic Cinema. London: Greenwood, 2001.

174 | Eucatastrophe Newman, Kim. Apocalypse Movies: End of the World Cinema. New York: St. Martin’s/ Griffin, 1999. Stone, Jon R. “A Fire in the Sky: Apocalyptic Themes on the Silver Screen.” In God in the Details: American Religion in Popular Culture, edited by Eric Michael Mazur and Kate McCarthy, 65–82. New York: Routledge, 2001. Strug, Cordell. “Apocalypse Now What?: Apocalyptic Themes in Modern Movies.” Word and World 15, no. 2 (1995): 159–165.

Eucatastrophe A neologism coined by author J.R.R. Tolkien, this term refers to a joyful turn in a narrative when all seems lost, often taking the form of a consoling, happy ending. Tolkien connected eucatastrophe to glimpses of the Christian Gospel (“the Great Eucatastrophe”) and the outlook that, ultimately, the world is not doomed but destined for restoration. Eucatastrophe in film privileges the creation of authentic happiness above other objectives, such as realism or iconoclasm. Its use implicitly suggests that joy is something humans can hope to experience despite otherwise bleak circumstances. The concept is increasingly used in religious reflections on film. The term likely entered popular consciousness through Time magazine’s article “Eucatastrophe,” on September 17, 1973, which used Tolkien’s own oft-quoted definition: “a catch of breath, a beat and lifting of the heart, a piercing glimpse of joy and heart’s desire.” In addition to its ubiquity in popular discussions of faith and film, the concept also resonates with many academic approaches to religion and culture. It has been discussed in relation to Irenaeus of British author and Oxford University professor Lyons’s treatment of Christ’s life as J.R.R. Tolkien, 1967. AP Photo.

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“recapitulation” or reworking of cosmic history, the symbolic redemptive pattern identified in Carl Jung’s psychology, the theme of longing for paradise described in Mircea Eliade’s work on primitive religion, the “rescue from without” of Joseph Campbell’s work on mythology, and the yearning for meaning in the existential therapy of Viktor Frankl. Eucatastrophe is not synonymous with deus ex machina (literally “god in the machine”), which is an implausible or inept plot device used to escape a storyline quagmire, nor is it used merely for commercial appeal. Rather, eucatastrophe makes the bold claim that the arc of human history ultimately curves toward justice, restoration, and hope. From this perspective, rescue comes not from a conveniently inserted god but is part of the very fabric of a fictive world. The approach is easily distinguished from films that seek to demonstrate the gritty reality of human existence, such as one might find in film noir. Cinematic eucatastrophe confronts viewers’ assumptions by asking them to entertain an outlook of hope, at least for the duration of a film. When this is effective, audience members cannot respond dispassionately; they must either indulge the joyful sense of meaning presented or scoff with cynical disdain. Although eucatastrophe need not be understood in terms of Christianity, Tolkien made an explicit connection to the Gospels, arguing in his essay “On Fairy Stories” that the birth of the Christ was the eucatastrophe of human history and the Resurrection was the eucatastrophe of the Christ narrative. In reply to the charge that eucatastrophe involves mere escapism, Tolkien differentiated two kinds of escape. During war, he argued, deserters wrongly escape a just battle but prisoners of war rightly escape from prisons. Narrative escape, therefore, is a healthy form of escape, since it attempts to break free from hopeless perspectives. Given the term’s origins, obvious instances of eucatastrophe occur in the Lord of the Rings films, directed by Peter Jackson. Examples include Arwen’s magical rescue and restoration of the wounded Frodo in Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring (2001), Gandalf’s “unlooked for” return with a rescuing cavalry in Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers (2002), and the culmination of the whole tale in Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King (2003). Often influenced by Tolkien’s work (directly or indirectly), fantasy films lend themselves to eucatastrophe. This is primarily because audiences are expecting to suspend disbelief—and cynicism with it. Examples of eucatastrophe in fantasy films include Neo’s death and resurrection in The Matrix (1999) and the destruction of the Death Star in Star Wars (1977). The cinematic adaptation of C. S. Lewis’s 1950 classic novel The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe: A Story for Children (The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, 2005) provides further examples.

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Eucatastrophe is not restricted to fantasy. For example, unanticipated grace is well depicted in O Brother, Where Art Thou? (2000), when Everett, the hero who is not only (as he sings several times) “a man of constant sorrows” but also a model of Homer’s Odysseus, escapes from prison, is pursued by the authorities, and faces numerous trials throughout, only to be pardoned for his help in a political campaign and is literally washed clean in a salvific flood. Tom Tykwer’s Lola rennt (Run Lola Run, 1998) provides another example in its “final ending,” in which a woman races to save her beloved. After a desperate prayer, she not only experiences death’s reversal but also a blessing that exceeds anything she could have anticipated. The ending of The Shawshank Redemption (1994) provides a further example, when the innocent protagonist/prisoner tunnels underground to escape prison and flees to paradise. In each example, the good fortune of seemingly doomed characters makes the narratives scandalous (in the same sense that the Resurrection was a scandal in the early Christian church). However, simply far-fetched success of a protagonist does not suffice. Thus, eucatastrophe is rarely achieved when studios append happy endings to plots, hoping to make them palatable to general audiences. Such films rarely make a larger claim about the ultimate meaning of existence. Examples of happy endings that are not eucatastrophic abound in the dénouement of formulaic action films and teen romance movies. Effective eucatastrophe often retains elements of tragedy and the memory of sorrow. An acute example of this occurs in The Return of The King, in which, though Frodo has saved Middle Earth from the evil army of Sauron and has been saved from death by eagles, he is so scarred by his life’s events that he cannot fully enjoy existence in his old home. Thus, eucatastrophe does not deny suffering and evil (what Tolkien called dyscatastrophe) but rather denies its ultimate victory. For this reason, eucatastrophic films sometimes provide glimpses of ultimate hope rather than a direct representation of the world’s end. As the literature on faith and film grows, the discussion of eucatastrophe will likely increase. Already, the term has been used in popular and scholarly essays to refer to everything from the “environmental eucatastrophe” in Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within (2001) to the upset of the New York Yankees by the Boston Red Sox in the 2004 World Series. Actual occurrences of eucatastrophe will depend on larger cultural and intellectual trends. Arguably, its frequency in North American cinema is cyclical. Yet even in periods saturated with irony and gloom, films including eucatastrophe are likely to emerge as long as sparks of hope remain among writers, directors, and audiences. Jeffrey Mallinson See also: Belief; Capra, Frank; Coen, Joel and Ethan; The Matrix Trilogy.

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Further Reading Garbowski, Christopher. Spiritual Values in Peter Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings. Lublin: Maria Curie-Sklodowska University Press, 2005. Mallinson, Jeffrey. “A Potion too Strong?: Challenges in Translating the Religious Significance of Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings to Film.” Journal of Religion and Popular Culture 1 (Spring 2002): http://www.usask.ca /relst /jrpc/article-tolkien.html. Montgomery, J. W., ed. Myth, Allegory, and Gospel: An Interpretation of J.R.R. Tolkien, C. S. Lewis, G. K. Chesterton, Charles Williams. Minneapolis: Bethany, 1974. Tolkien, J.R.R. “On Fairy-Stories.” In The Tolkien Reader, edited by J.R.R. Tolkien, 33–90. New York: Ballantine, 1966.

Europe (Continental) The countries of Europe have produced films that draw not only from a collective history but also from particular national religious patterns. In the Scandinavian countries, films and filmmakers have been influenced by Lutheran theological and philosophical trends, which have lent many of their films an almost existential air, while in the Mediterranean countries, one of the most significant influences has been the Roman Catholic Church. In the heart of the European continent, where different religious traditions have come in close contact, many of the films reflect the struggle of identity in confrontation. In Denmark, filmmaker Carl Theodor Dreyer, raised Lutheran, set the tone by suffusing his films with spirituality. The silent film La Passion de Jeanne d’Arc (The Passion of Joan of Arc, 1928) is a straightforward account of the trial of Joan of Arc but was censored by the Catholic Church in France and banned in England. Vrendens dag (Day of Wrath, 1943), set during the 17th century, tells the story of a woman who is tried and burned as a witch after her pastor husband dies. And Ordet (The Word, 1955), based on the 1925 play by Kaj Munk, is about a man who believes he is Christ; no one takes him seriously until he begins to perform miracles. Other filmmakers have followed in Dreyer’s footsteps, creating personal works with religious overtones. Bille August, born 60 years after Dreyer, directed Pelle erobreren (Pelle the Conqueror, 1987), a classic example of a morality tale about a Job-like character who, despite all of his misfortunes, remains selfless and loving. August also directed Den goda viljan (Best Intentions, 1992)—based on the lives of Ingmar Bergman’s parents—about the trials and tribulations of a poor theology student and his rich wife, and Jerusalem (1996), another story of hardship and disillusionment about a town that becomes divided after a preacher convinces some of the inhabitants to leave behind their worldly possessions and

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go on a pilgrimage to Israel to build a new Jerusalem. Gabriel Axel’s Babettes gaestebud (Babette’s Feast, 1987), critically acclaimed on both sides of the Atlantic, is set during the 19th century and centers on two elderly spinsters—who have upheld the religious ways of their father—and a French woman who prepares for them a sumptuous feast that not only makes them reconsider their austere lives but the meaning of life itself. Arguably the most important Danish filmmaker working today is Lars von Trier, a convert to Catholicism, whose films question the very nature of faith. In Riget and Riget II (The Kingdom and The Kingdom II, 1994; 1997), the miniseries he directed for the Danish Broadcasting Company, he explores death and the world that exists beyond it, and in his Oscar-award winning Breaking the Waves (1996) he takes his heroine, Bess, on a journey of love, faith, suffering, and ultimately redemption. In Sweden, Ingmar Bergman has served as the model of the quintessential religiophilosopher, relying on allegory and symbolism in his early films. Many of the dozens of films he directed over the course of his career can serve to provide insight into humanity’s inner life. In Det Sjunde Inseglet (The Seventh Seal, 1957), considered by many to be his masterpiece, a knight returning from the Crusades is challenged by Death to a game of chess. Jungfrukallan (The Virgin Spring, 1960) explores a “universe in which God understands the vengeance of the righteous and forgives it,” while three other films form a “crisis of faith” trilogy: Såsom i en spegel (Through a Glass Darkly, 1961), Nattvardsgästerna (Winter Light, 1962), and Tystnaden (The Silence, 1963). Following in Bergman’s footsteps, Lasse Hallstrom directed Chocolat (2000), an overtly religious film that explores the struggle between the patriarchal church and the more free-spirited feminine sense of spirituality. The portrayal of religion has developed significantly differently in Italy, where many of the films have taken a more tradition-based approach. Filmmaker Roberto Rossellini, who began his career making wartime films, did not turn to overtly religious subjects until the end of the 1940s. In Il Miracolo (The Miracle, 1948), a film on which he collaborated with Federico Fellini, a peasant woman believes that she is carrying a holy child. Another Fellini collaboration, Francesco, guillare di Dio (The Flowers of St. Francis, 1950), examines the life of St. Francis of Assisi and his acolytes. And like Dreyer, Rossellini found inspiration in the story of Joan of Arc, making Giovanna d’Arco al Rogo (Joan of Arc at the Stake, 1954). At the end of his career, he explored the life of St. Augustine in a televised version of Agostino di Ippone (Augustine of Hippo, 1972). Fellow Italian Vittorio de Sica, after gaining considerable acclaim for Ladri di Biciclette (The Bicycle Thief, 1948), directed Miracolo a Milano (Miracle in Milan, 1951), a fable about heavenly intervention. Pier Paolo Pasolini—although basically an unbeliever— was preoccupied with the nature of belief, and his Mamma Roma (1962)—which

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was banned as immoral—mingles eroticism with Catholicism. For Il vangelo secondo Matteo (The Gospel According to St. Matthew, 1964), he lifted dialogue directly from the Christian scripture; he then interpreted medieval morality tales in Il Decameron (The Decameron, 1971), Racconti di Canterbury (The Canterbury Tales, 1972), and Il fiore delle mille e una notte (Arabian Nights, 1974). Similarly, a number of notable Spanish films have addressed religion in its tradition-based and institutional forms. Luis Buñuel, best known for collaborating with Salvador Dali for cinematic exercises in Surrealism, by midcareer had turned his attention to films with more of a religious bent, including Nazarín (1959), which portrays a wandering priest encountering incidents from the Gospels, Simón del desierto (Simon of the Desert, 1965), which focuses on Christian ascetic Simon Stylites, who spent nearly 40 years perched on a pedestal, and La Voie Lactee (The Milky Way, 1969), which follows a couple of tramps on a pilgrimage. Fellow Spaniard and controversial filmmaker Pedro Almodovar mined experiences from his youth of being sexually abused by local priests for La Mala educación (Bad Education, 2004), and created a zany story about a nightclub singer who seeks shelter at the Convent of Humble Redeemers in Entre Tinieblas (Dark Habits, 1983). Despite the seeming similarity to Sister Act (1992), it is unlikely that one will encounter nuns such as these in any other film. And Alejandro Amenabar, who was born in Chile but raised in Spain, examines the afterlife in the Gothic ghost tale The Others (2001), while in Mar Adentro (The Sea Inside, 2004), based on the true story of Ramon Sampedro, he tackles the moral dilemmas of euthanasia and the right to die. The rich and dramatic history of the Catholic Church in France seems to have had an effect on French filmmakers. Director Robert Bresson, among the most notable of these, can be seen as a Catholic filmmaker in every sense of the term. His films explore every facet of religiosity, usually within the confines of a religious institution. Les anges du péché (Angels of the Streets, 1943) takes place in a nunnery, and Journal d’un curé de campagne (Diary of a Country Priest, 1951) examines the life and death of a priest. Even films such as Un condamné à mort s’est échappé ou Le vent soufflé où il veut (A Man Escaped, or The Wind Bloweth Where it Listeth, 1956), which takes place in a prison cell, and Au hasard Balthazar (Balthazar, 1966), in which a donkey (named after one of the Three Wise Men) stars in a parable about man’s aptitude for cruelty and love, demonstrate the possibility of faith. In his later years, Bresson remained preoccupied with morality, directing L’Argent (Money, 1983), which explores how sin manages to affect even the innocent. His work also mines French history, giving audiences yet another look at the female saint in Procès de Jeanne d’Arc (Trial of Joan of Arc, 1962). Other French directors have approached traditional forms of religion, often turning to the lives of the saints and religious figures for inspiration. Maurice

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Cloche’s Monsieur Vincent (1947) is the true story of a 17th-century priest who encouraged aristocrats to give to the poor, while Maurice Pialat’s Sous le Soleil de Satan (Under the Sun of Satan, 1987), portrays a troubled priest caught between good and evil. Jean-Luc Godard courts controversy by giving the Virgin Birth a modern setting in “Je vous salue, Marie” (Hail Mary, 1985), Alain Cavalier takes on the subject of St. Thérèse of Liseux in Thérèse (1986), and in Le Fabuleaux Destin d’Amelie Poulain (The Fabulous Destiny of Amelie Poulain, 2001), the lead character is inspired by the death of Lady Diana to make the world a better place. In Marcel Carne’s film La Merveilleuse Visite (The Marvelous Visit, 1974), based on H. G. Wells’s novel (The Wonderful Visit, 1895), an angel comes to Earth and provokes only hostility and unhappiness. Following his fellow Frenchman Robert Bresson, Luc Besson also interpreted the story of Jeanne d’Arc with The Messenger: The Story of Joan of Arc (1999), and has developed other saving heroines, such as the female lead in The Fifth Element (1997), whose mission it is to save the world. Jean-Jacques Annaud made several films with a religious setting, including Der Name der Rose (The Name of the Rose, 1986), based on Umberto Eco’s 1980 novel whose hero is a sleuthing Franciscan monk. Similarly, in Poland, filmmaker Krzysztof Kies´ lowski found inspiration in the Bible. Of his Trois couleurs films, Rouge (Three Colors: Red, 1994) covers more traditionally religious ground, exploring the themes of faith and destiny. But he tackled the Ten Commandments in his Dekalog television series (1989), letting each film explore a commandment, and although he left behind a religious trilogy when he died, German filmmaker Tom Tykwer completed Heaven (2002), and Bosnian director Danis Tanovic finished the second, l’Enfer (Hell, 2005), leaving only Purgatory unfilmed. In Germany, Werner Herzog has used both documentarian and feature filmmaking skills to explore religious tradition in such films as Aguirre, der Zorn Gottes (Aguirre: The Wrath of God, 1972), about a conquistador on a maddened quest for gold, and Jeder fur Sich un Gott Gegen Alle (Every Man for Himself and God Against All, also known as The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser, 1974), a modern fable about a holy innocent. Dusseldorf-born Wim Wenders explores what is meant to be human through the eyes of an angel in Der Himmel uber Berlin (The Skies Over Berlin, also known as Wings of Desire, 1989; remade as City of Angels, 1998). The long-awaited sequel, In weiter Ferne, so nah! (Faraway, So Close!, 1993) proved to be a considerable disappointment. With the German Occupation in the rearview mirror, several filmmakers have re-examined World War II, including French directors such as Louis Malle, who drew on his own childhood for Au Revoir Les Enfants (1987), François Truffaut, who directed Le Dernier Metro (The Last Metro, 1981), Claude Lanzmann, who produced the documentary Shoah (1985), a nine-hour meditation on the Holocaust,

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and Jean-Pierre Melville, whose film Léon Morin, prête (The Forgiven Sinner, 1961) recounts the tale of a priest living during World War II France. Polish director Roman Polanski turned to the biography of Wladyslaw Szpilman, a Polish Jew who survived the Nazis, for his critically acclaimed film The Pianist (2002), while fellow Polish director Agnieszka Holland, born to a Catholic mother and a Jewish father, explores the collision of religion and politics in society in such films as Bittere Ernte (Angry Harvest, 1986), which examines the World War II-era relationship of a Jew and a Catholic, and Europa, Europa (1991), in which a Jew escapes harm by joining the Hitler Youth. Finally, Italian director de Sica directed Il Giardino dei Finzi-Contini (The Garden of the Finzi-Continis, 1970), about a Jewish-Italian family during World War II. Generally Jews and Judaism have been handled gingerly in Germany; Swiss filmmaker Dani Levy’s critically acclaimed comedy Alles auf Zucker! (Go for Zucker!, 2004) therefore stands out, poking fun at Jews and non-Jews alike. An earlier film, Meschugge (Don’t, 1998), covered less comical territory, and drew the lead characters back to 1940s Germany. But German directors have also explored this aspect of their history, with films such as Volker Schlöndorff’s Der Unhold (The Ogre, 1996), an adaptation of Michel Tournier’s 1970 fable-like novel Le Roi des Aulnes, about a man used by the Nazis to round up young boys, and Der Junge Törless (Young Torless, 1966), an adaptation of Robert Musil’s 1906 novel about a Jewish lad whose torture and humiliation is overlooked by his classmates. Not all European films addressing religion are so preoccupied with Christianity and World War II. Some, like French filmmaker Claude Berri’s Mazel Tov au le Mariage (Marry Me! Marry Me!, 1969), about a poor Jewish Frenchman who falls in love with a rich Jewish Belgian, take a lighter approach. Others have looked beyond the western religious traditions and explored Buddhism, including Italian filmmaker Bernardo Bertolucci, whose film Little Buddha (1994) alternates between a fantastic biography of Siddhartha and the modern story of a boy thought to be a reincarnated Tibetan lama; Jean-Jacques Annaud, whose film Seven Years in Tibet (1997) retells the story of ace mountaineer Heinrich Harrer, who befriends a young Dalai Lama; and Werner Herzog, a German filmmaker whose documentary Wheel of Time (2003) examines one of the largest Buddhist rituals in Bodh Gaya, India. Herzog also explores aboriginal beliefs and the clash with nonaboriginal cultures in Wo die grünen Ameisen träumen (Where the Green Ants Dream, 1984). Almost reassuringly, European filmmakers have also produced their share of dark psychological thrillers, most notably those of the Polish-born director Roman Polanski, who pursued a penchant for the diabolical most profoundly in Rosemary’s Baby (1968), adapted from Ira Levin’s 1967 novel about a woman who is

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the target of a satanic cult, and The Ninth Gate (1999), about a rare book dealer searching for a 17th-century satanic text. Julien R. Fielding See also: Bergman, Ingmar; Besson, Luc; Bresson Robert; Buñuel, Luis; Catholicism; Clergy; Dreyer, Carl Theodor; Fellini, Federico; Horror; Joan of Arc; Judaism; Kies´lowski, Krzysztof; The Miracle Controversy; Pasolini, Pier Paolo; Trier, Lars von; Truffaut, François.

Further Reading Falkowska, Janina. “Religious Themes in Polish Cinema.” In The New Polish Cinema, edited by Janina Falkowska and Marek Haltof, 65–80. Wiltshire, UK: Flick Books, 2003. Pasolini, Pier Paolo. “The Catholic Irrationalism of Fellini,” translated by Frank and Pina Demers. Film Criticism 11, nos. 1–2 (1986–1987): 190–200. Sorlin, Pierce. “Jewish Images in the French Cinema of the 1930s.” Historical Journal of Film, Radio, and Television 1, no. 2 (1981): 139–150. Wright, Rochelle. The Visible Wall: Jews and Other Ethnic Outsiders in Swedish Film. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1998.

F Fellini, Federico (1920–1993) Federico Fellini, Italy’s most important director, has been called the world’s greatest filmmaker. The quintessential auteur, Fellini’s work is synonymous with the “art film.” His uncanny insight into the human condition and unique comic vision have worked together to yield films that stand among the strangest and most memorable in the history of cinema, European or otherwise. Fellini’s films are infused with an odd, often grotesque commingling of sex, humor, politics, and, repeatedly, religion, specifically the Catholicism of his background. So influential has been his style and imagery that the adjective Fellinian (or Felliniesque) has come to connote lavishness, extravagance, self-indulgence, and outrageous fantasy. Fellini was born on January 20, 1920, in Rimini, on Italy’s Adriatic coast. The landscape of this place was a key influence, especially the sea and its beaches, and nearly all of his films utilize this imagery to dazzling effect to evoke a wide range of emotion. His family was comparatively small and solidly middle class, and Fellini was characteristically elusive about his unremarkable beginnings. He was educated in Catholic schools; his strict, devout mother hoped that her son would become a priest, while his uncle dabbled in the occult and exposed young Federico to books on black magic. This early influence, coupled with the general religious superstition characteristic of everyday life in his hometown, contributed to Fellini’s fascination with religion and, later, to an adult interest in astrology and psychic consultation. The fascist Italy of Mussolini was the setting of Fellini’s youth. The Catholic Church sought to guarantee its survival in such adverse circumstances by acquiescing to the state; as a result, the Catholic schools Fellini attended approached education with an almost fascist heavy-handedness. In his films, Fellini’s disdain for institutional authority is frequently directed at both church and state. But however harsh his criticism of these dominant “powers” might have been, his attitude toward Roman Catholicism and Italy is—though deliberately ambiguous—much more charitable. 183

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While still a young man, Fellini moved to Rome in 1939 and began pursuing a law degree, which he never completed. He got his professional start in journalism as a cartoonist / caricaturist and writer, working primarily for the magazine Marc’Aurelio (1939–1942). The writers he met during this time helped pave his way into the world of cinema, where his first work was as a rewriter, adding comic gags to dull scripts. In 1943, Fellini met and soon married Giulietta Masina, who later starred in a number of his films (La strada [The Road, 1954], La notti di Cabiria [The Nights of Cabiria, 1957], Guilietta degli spiriti [Juliet of the Spirits, 1965]) and was destined to be a significant influence on his work. He collaborated with Roberto Rossellini (1906–1977) on the screenplay for the Neo-Realist manifesto Roma, citta aperta (Rome, Open City, 1945) and contributed also to the script for Francesco, giullare di Dio (literally, “Francis, God’s Jester,” but also known as The Flowers of St. Francis, 1950). Fellini’s first foray into acting was as a villainous parody of St. Joseph in Il miracolo (The Miracle, 1948), one part of a two-film set in of Rossellini’s scandalous L’amore (Love), which Fellini also cowrote. This particular film concerned Catholic critics and was denounced by the Vatican as “a sacrilegious blasphemy.” But while Fellini’s earliest film work is associated with Italian Neo-Realism, his own oeuvre is a decided break from the Neo-Realist school; as his career developed, his style became more closely associated with fantasy, dreamscapes, and surrealism. The imagination, illusion, symbolism, and what Peter Bondanella calls “Christian humanism” (and his contemporary Pasolini regarded negatively as “Catholic irrationalism”) that would come to define his own films are already evident in these early efforts. In adulthood, Fellini was devoted to Jungian psychoanalysis, with its quest for inner unity and the well-being of the soul (in Italian, anima; in Jungian terms anima refers to every man’s unconscious feminine identity). This prompts the repeated phrase “asa nisi masa,” a sort of scrambled version of “anima,” in 8½ (1963), Fellini’s autobiographical film about a director in creative crisis. Jung’s theories about dreams and imagination—that their source was the “collective unconscious”— were very important to Fellini. Critics surmise that his interest in Jung and his belief that dreams were the source of creativity influenced the filmmaker’s decision to abandon realism and develop his distinctive, allusive, imaginative style. Clearly the early Catholic influence on Fellini’s sexuality and creativity was more stifling than nurturing, but had it not been for Fellini’s ecclesiastical upbringing and education—its disdain for sex and the body while paradoxically exalting the crucified body of Jesus Christ and the emphatically virginal, female body of his mother—this visionary director’s imagination would have been made up of altogether different material. For Fellini, who admitted that religion was a source of guilt (especially regarding sexuality), an inextricable connection always existed between women/sexuality, religion, and the cinema. Fellini’s films are full of nearly as many kind-hearted prostitutes and heartbreakingly beautiful

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bombshells as they are of catastrophically inept, if not downright cruel men of the cloth; one wonders if, for Fellini, celibacy and a suspect character are fundamentally linked. For example, in Amarcord (I Remember, 1973), a young boy (a cipher for Fellini’s own adolescent libido) confesses his juvenile lust to a indecorous priest who takes disturbing pleasure in both the boy’s sin and his penance; in 8½, a young Guido (yet another Fellini figure) is made to stand before a tribunal of priests and admonished for his perverse desire for the beastly yet voluptuous prostitute La Saraghina. These instances are the workings out of a sense of moralism that can be repeatedly disregarded but perhaps never entirely shaken; Fellini seeks to embrace the source of his early shame and to redeem it toward his own psychic healing. At times it is anger and not shame that prompt his most imaginative and scathing imagery. His deep criticism of clergy and church authority and hierarchy is evident in the “clerical fashion show” sequence in Roma (1972), which depicts bishops and cardinals showing off absurdly elaborate (and, as the scene develops, increasingly lavish) vestments, tackily adorned with flashing lights—eventually reaching fever pitch in a parade of raiments emptied of their bodies, costumes with no content—all for the amusement and applause of the audience (congregation) seated around the catwalk. We might infer from this that Fellini regarded Christianity as utterly farcical and devoid of meaning. However, he retained a certain reverence for the Catholic Church, for its symbolism and rituals. He was committed especially to Christianity’s central teaching: the profound love for others demonstrated by Jesus Christ, who, he believed, lives on in anyone who lays down his life for his neighbor. In this sense Fellini, perhaps reluctantly, considered his works to be “Christian” films. One scholar refers to Fellini’s “trilogy of grace”: Il bidone (The Swindle, 1955), Le notti di Cabiria, and the most remarkable of the three, La strada. These films involve central characters who, like Gelsomina, sacrificially impart salvation—albeit in a more “this worldly,” humanist sense—to those whose lives they touch. They are “holy fools” or, in St. Paul’s terminology, “fools for Christ,” secular saints who lay down their lives and kenotically empty themselves for the sake of others in acts of pure love. In an almost sacramental sense, they bring about the redemption that is such a central theme in Fellini’s work. That the face of sacrificial love, this love that effects transformation, even conversion, is often that of his wife speaks volumes of their relationship, and all the more so in light of Fellini’s historic infidelity. The opening scene of La dolce vita (The Sweet Life, 1960)—Fellini’s masterful reflection on a world without grace, God, or a cultural center (“2000 Years After Jesus Christ” and “Babylon 2000” were considered as alternative titles)—is one of his most recognizable: a helicopter transports a statue of Christ to the Vatican; as the silent stone Savior looks down, dangling beneath the modern machine, several sunbathing beauties notice the flying Jesus but are quickly distracted by the young, handsome helicopter pilots, to whom they wave and call out, but to no

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avail. This juxtaposition of the old and new, tradition and progress, religion and sexuality, history and youth, presents once again the ambiguity so characteristic of Fellini and his work. The film’s religious symbolism ranges from the overt, as in the Christ statue, and, to a lesser degree, Sylvia’s “baptism” in the Trevi Fountain, to the implicit, such as Marcello’s encounter with the giant sea monster at the end of the film—perhaps an intertextual nod to the great white whale in Melville’s Moby Dick, another fish representative of the Divine. However, in Melville’s case, the fish (a traditional Christian symbol) represents all that is mythical and ungraspable about the Divine, whereas Fellini’s creature is pathetic, dead, bloated, and so tangibly incarnate that we can almost smell it through the celluloid. Rome, the Eternal City, also plays a prominent role in several films (La dolce vita; Roma; Satyricon [1969]) not simply as backdrop but almost as a character itself. In a cameo appearance in Roma, writer Gore Vidal reflects: “This is the city of illusions. It’s a city, after all, of the Church, of government, of movies. They’re all makers of illusions. I’m one too, and so are you.” This could sum up Fellini’s attitude toward religion, politics, and art, which is not entirely disparaging but rather, or at least in part, affectionate, for Fellini maintained a lifelong love affair with illusion. A full catalogue of the religious imagery in Fellini’s film would fill a volume, and even one interpreter’s explication of that imagery would comprise several more. Fellini’s films are often described as poetic, and indeed, like great poems, they are endlessly interpretable. But they also share this characteristic, and an added (if hidden) element of ethical teaching, with Jesus’ parables. This should come as no surprise. Like the man himself, religion is part of the very fabric of the mythopoetic world of Fellini’s films; the sense of the sacred fills with significance frames that would otherwise be hollow spectacle or trite melodrama. The role religion plays in Fellini’s films, and indeed played in his life, might cut both ways, eliciting as much pain as it does healing, but both the man and his work would be impoverished were it not for its inextricable and ubiquitous influence. In all, Fellini wrote and directed 21 feature films and several shorter works. In August 1993, having earlier in the year undergone cardiac bypass surgery, Fellini suffered a stroke that left him partially paralyzed; another more massive stroke followed two months later. A Catholic in birth and in death, he received final unction and died on October 31, 1993, the day after his 50th wedding anniversary. His body lay in state at Cinecittà’s massive Teatro 5, which had served many times as the canvas for his artistic imagination. Fellini’s death ended his lifelong feud with the Catholic Church; many prominent church leaders were involved in his funeral, including those who had previously accused him of perversion and sacrilege. Brannon Hancock See also: Catholicism; Dogme 95; Europe (Continental); The Miracle Controversy.

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Further Reading Bondanella, Peter. The Films of Federico Fellini. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2002. Costantini, Costanzo, ed. Conversations with Fellini. New York: Harcourt / Harvest Books, 1997. Fellini, Federico. Fellini on Fellini. New York: Da Capo, 1996. Ketcham, Charles B. Federico Fellini: The Search for a New Mythology. New York: Paulist Press, 1976. Pasolini, Pier Paolo. “The Catholic Irrationalism of Fellini,” translated by Frank and Pina Demers. Film Criticism 11, nos. 1/2 (1986–1987): 190–200.

Film as Religion Most Americans spend far more time watching and thinking about film than they do attending church or considering traditionally religious ideas. In an era where mainstream Christian churches are losing congregants and both fundamentalism and eclectic new religious movements are growing rapidly, film has become a culturewide touchstone whose forms and content are appreciated by both the religious right and religious left, as well, perhaps, as by the more casual religious center. Using a variety of approaches, scholars have begun to explore seriously the religious impact of film. When film is treated as a partner in theological dialogue, a given film may or may not be seen as having a unique religious message, but it may still powerfully articulate cultural themes. The messages of popular films can productively challenge and expand theology, whether by causing theologians to revise their message or by offering criticisms of mainstream society’s values. For example, in Explorations in Theology and Film (1997, with Gaye Ortiz), Clive Marsh suggests a three part-model to understand how Christ and culture relate—Christ in opposition to culture, Christ in agreement with culture, and Christ in dialogue with culture. Marsh puts most of his emphasis for the study of film on the third category, seeing film as providing both confirmations of the content of Christian theology and challenges to it. This approach relies heavily on the work of Protestant theologian Paul Tillich, who saw all art as potentially religious, as it orients itself toward issues of meaning and value most fundamental to human beings. Like fellow religion and film scholar John R. May, whose edited volume Religion in Film (1982) helped establish the field, Marsh argues that both theology and film must retain their autonomy in order for them to interact productively. Robert K. Johnston also advocates a dialogic model of theology and film. In his work Reel Spirituality (2000), he arranges his five approaches on a scale

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between ethics and aesthetics: (1) avoidance, in which religious people boycott films that are offensive to their religious beliefs and pressure filmmakers to submit themselves to censorship; (2) caution, in which religious people view films that may conflict with their moral values, but still evaluate them primarily from a theological and ethical standpoint; (3) dialogue, in which films are first understood as self-contained texts with their own meaning, and are only then brought into dialogue with theology and ethical values; (4) appropriation, in which films are examined for religious wisdom and insight but are not baptized as “unconsciously Christian”; and (5) divine encounter, in which films provide opportunities to experience the sacred outside of any specific religious tradition. As an advocate for the approaches that fall more on the side of esthetics (dialogue, appropriation, and divine encounter), Johnston suggests that film may provide opportunities for genuinely religious insight and experience. Using a different approach, scholars have explored the use of film to communicate ethical norms and ideology. Films present values in both content and form, often doing so as convincingly as traditional religions. For better or worse, film is portrayed as an important shaper of popular morality. For example, in Seeing and Believing: Religion and Values in the Movies (1996), Margaret Miles approaches film primarily through its social context. Concentrating on popular films because of their cultural impact, Miles argues that, because of their accessibility and pervasiveness, such films must be investigated in detail for ethical and religious values, particularly in those films that culture dismisses as “harmless entertainment.” She identifies film as an important site for both the representation and production of culture. Miles is relatively uninterested in films as art, portraying them as vehicles for cultural values, not as artistic ends in themselves. She emphasizes that the need to make a film successful at the box office often undermines its potential for liberating ethical or religious messages. To the degree a film is “entertaining,” she argues, it cannot be genuinely religious. Others represent the ethical impact of popular films more positively. In The Gospel According to Disney: Faith, Trust, and Pixie Dust (2004), journalist Mark I. Pinsky interprets Disney films as consistently reinforcing values of optimism, hard work, and faith in oneself and in a higher power. In many of the essays in Marsh and Ortiz’s Explorations in Theology and Film, as well as in Bryan Stone’s Faith and Film: Theological Themes at the Cinema (2000), theology and film are brought into dialogue with the assumption that some popular films effectively communicate such important religious values as compassion, community, hope, and forgiveness. Although scholars of religion and film disagree as to whether films express desirable ethical values, there is widespread agreement that they do present such values convincingly and to a wide audience.

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Using a third approach, other scholars have examined films as expressions of myth where films present not just values, but systems of meaning-making narrative that may offer entire cosmologies for understanding the world. In their edited volume Screening the Sacred: Religion, Myth, and Ideology in Popular American Film (1995), Joel Martin and Conrad Ostwalt define mythological criticism as broadly equating religion with universal archetypes and symbols rather than merely with widely recognized religious traditions such as Islam, Christianity, or Buddhism. Accordingly, their collection contains a number of essays arguing for the mythic, meaning-making function of contemporary films. Particularly notable is Andrew Gordon’s “Star Wars: A Myth for Our Time,” which charts the connections of the Star Wars series to Joseph Campbell’s notion of the monomyth, the narrative of the hero’s journey that Campbell believed could be found cross culturally. Gordon sees Star Wars (1977) as having a deliberately old-fashioned plot that borrows heavily from fairy tales and American popular fantasy. According to Gordon, the film creates a pastiche that resonates deeply with the narratives and archetypes with which Americans have grown up, and he concludes that the “passion for Star Wars is akin to the fervor of a religious revival” (82). Gordon asserts that popular film can fill the gap left by the lack of shared mythic narratives—a gap once filled by religious narratives. Because of the power of myth to bind communities together in a shared sense of meaning, it is important to study exactly what narratives Americans are embracing through popular film. The mythic approach to film is particularly relevant when studying science fiction, a genre that confronts present social trends with utopian and dystopian futures, often for the purpose of examining questions of ultimate concern. Last, scholars have approached film through the lens of ritual studies, enabling them to see films as venues for ritualized performance of community myths and values, whether in the physical act of viewing, the psychological act of identifying with characters in the film, or the elaborately staged enactment of subcultural community values that accompanies the screening of some “cult” films. In Film as Religion: Myths, Morals, and Rituals (2003), John C. Lyden sees films as providing a number of possible ritual functions, many of them through the ability of the spectator to identify with the characters in films. Using Rene Girard’s concept of scapegoating, he suggests that film can offer a cathartic exploration of suffering, sacrifice, and redemption. As in Aristotle’s theory of tragedy, films offer audiences the opportunity to express emotions and suggest cognitive strategies for dealing with life. Lyden further argues that films can support mainstream culture by presenting myths that reinforce the status quo, or undermine it by presenting alternatives. The viewing of a film can enable an experience similar to Victor Turner’s communitas, a state where a group of people enter a liminal (in-between, uncertain, initiatory) space together, undergo a period of self-exploration and bonding

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while outside normal social structures, and then return to society. The utopian experience of communitas, though it cannot be fully carried back into “the real world,” nevertheless can affect one’s behavior in the period of integration and possibly provide an opportunity for personal or social reform. The viewing of a film, therefore, can be considered as a performative ritual that may well have lasting effects outside of the theatre. Other scholars have followed the same reasoning. Michael Jindra has examined fans who have been so profoundly affected by Star Trek’s optimistic, humanistic philosophy that they consider the world of the television series to be a way of life. Jennifer E. Porter has examined Star Trek conventions as pilgrimages, where fans gather to celebrate shared values in an egalitarian community that—like the series and its films—transcends lines of social division. The viewing of Star Trek becomes a ritualized activity around which fans can organize their utopian hopes for the future, as well as temporarily create a miniature version of that future in the form of group gatherings with like-minded others. In its extreme, the study of the ritualization of film has led scholars to ponder the “cult film” genre, the quintessential example being The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975). Since the film’s release, its costumed fans have attended viewings at which a cast of actors mirrors the action on the screen. Viewers chant along with the dialogue and songs; shout scripted, catty comments back at the screen; throw toast; squirt water guns; dance the “Time Warp”; and generally do their best to blur the line between the screen and the audience—in other words, as Lyden suggests, they become a part of the story. Rocky Horror performances represent an elaborate ritual practice that celebrates values such as sexuality and freedom. Among the largely unchurched and countercultural young people who attend, these activities may provide the sense of community and the opportunity to affirm shared values that more mainstream Americans experience in church. It is not, however, just the unchurched who find profound spiritual experiences in the ritual of viewing film. Queer Christian theologian Gerard Loughlin suggests in Alien Sex: The Body and Desire in Cinema and Theology (2004) that the emotional, bodily reactions provoked by films provide opportunities to connect with the divine as experienced in human embodiment and sexuality, and Johnston writes in Reel Spirituality that he received his call to Christian ministry while watching the film Becket (1964). For these writers, film is not something that is passively consumed by the viewer; it is participatory and potentially transformative, and may even help to build and sustain community. Although most scholars have tended to favor one or another of the four dominant approaches to the study of religion and film outlined here (film in dialogue with theology, film as communicator of ethics, film as expression of myth, and film as venue for ritual), Lyden has synthesized them. In Film as Religion: Myths,

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Morals, and Rituals, he develops the provocative argument that film may fulfill so many religious functions in American life that it is useful to consider it a religion in its own right. Using “myth” to mean “a story that expresses the worldview and values of a community” (4), he suggests that films are sites where modern myths are created and spread. The act of viewing a film is a ritual, a participatory performance that shows both the world as it is and a vision of the world as it should be. Films express moral values and offer opportunities for audiences to engage with these values through vicarious experiences of liminality, redemptive suffering, and sacrifice. Lyden is aware of the way imposing alien theological norms on films mutes their unique religious voices, as critics have sometimes done in an attempt to use film to spread orthodox Christian theology. Instead, he proposes a model of interreligious dialogue between religions and films, where the critic seeks to hear and understand films’ religious messages before bringing them into dialogue with other religious traditions. Finally, Lyden considers both the individual viewer and the community of viewers to be integral to the experience of a film, and he emphasizes the fact that film does not simply broadcast values that are then passively taken in by the audience. This model suggests that films may have a pervasive religious afterlife that extends far beyond the moment when the lights come up and everyone leaves the theater. Although Lyden makes a strong case for film’s functioning as a religion in American society, his model does not go quite far enough in addressing audience reaction to and interaction with films. He advocates the greater use of viewerresponse studies in religion and film criticism and rejects the idea that “meaning rests first of all in the film rather than in the spectator” (29). His model, however, still implicitly portrays the process of meaning creation as having stopped after the film has been viewed and interpreted. If the “film as religion” model is to be a meaningful one, scholars need to study the cultural afterlife of films. Such an exploration might delve into how these filmic “modern myths” influence the religious beliefs and practices of viewers, the ways in which the world views they represent are reproduced and changed in the productions of fan fiction writers, or the new meanings films take on by becoming the sacred texts of particular countercultural communities. For example, films such as Star Wars and The Matrix (1999) have provided a religious vocabulary that has become pervasive in popular culture in the years after their release. In language drawn from the Matrix trilogy, a 2004 ad posted by the Vineyard Christian Church in Boston-area subway stations advertised, “I never knew friendship could be like this. I feel like I’ve taken the red pill.” The explosion of interest in Zen Buddhism and Gnosticism in the wake of the Matrix films (The Matrix [1999]; The Matrix Reloaded [2003]; The Matrix Revolutions [2003]) suggests a religious impact on viewers that may extend well beyond the specific images and rhetoric they contain.

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Lyden’s notion of film as religion falls short when popular films are compared to established religious traditions, traditions that have developed in the conscious attempt to define ethics and seek meaning. Although the fan culture surrounding films adds significantly to the complexity of their meaning and the depth of their impact, it is inevitable that films will seem shallow in comparison. However, it is clear that films are playing a vital and influential religious role in contemporary popular culture, and may be filling some of the gaps left by disillusionment with organized religion. Christine Hoff Kraemer See also: Dystopia; The Matrix Trilogy; Myth; Ritual; Theology and Film.

Note Portions of this entry are reprinted from Christine Hoff Kraemer’s “From Theological to Cinematic Criticism: Extricating the Study of Religion and Film from Theology.” Religious Studies Review (January 2009): 243–250. Reprinted with permission from John Wiley & Sons, Inc. (www.interscience.wiley.com).

Further Reading Austin, R., ed. “Screening Mystery: The Religious Imagination in Contemporary Film.” Special issue, Image: A Journal of the Arts and Religion 20 (Summer 1998). Austin, Ron. “The Spiritual Frontiers of Film.” Image: A Journal of the Arts and Religion 31 (2001): 95–104. Comstock, W. Richard. “Myth and Contemporary Cinema.” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 43 (1975): 598–600. Deacy, Christopher. Screen Christologies: Redemption and the Medium of Film. Cardiff, UK: University of Wales Press, 2001. Gordon, Andrew. “Star Wars: A Myth for Our Time.” In Screening the Sacred: Religion, Myth, and Ideology in Popular American Film, edited by Joel W. Martin and Conrad Ostwalt Jr., 73–82. Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1995. Holloway, Ronald. Beyond the Image: Approaches to the Religious Dimension in the Cinema. Geneva: World Council of Churches, 1977. Lyden, John C. Film as Religion: Myths, Morals, and Rituals. New York: New York University Press, 2003. McDowell, John C. The Gospel According to Star Wars: Faith, Hope, and the Force. Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 2007. Peavy, Charles D. “The Secularized Christ in Contemporary Cinema.” Journal of Popular Film and Television 3, no. 2 (1974): 139–155.

G Gilliam, Terry (1940– ) Seen through the films of Terry Gilliam, the search for meaning in the modern age is something of a fool’s quest. Gilliam’s career as a filmmaker began with Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975), a movie he wrote about the Grail Quest as told by the modern-day fools (comedians) of Monty Python’s Flying Circus. The climax of this spoof comes as King Arthur and his knights are rounded up and thrown into a paddy wagon by a band of modern policemen. For all their cinematic variety, Gilliam’s subsequent films return to the theme of the individual’s quest for meaning, which—narrated by a trickster like Gilliam—never turns out as expected by either character or audience. He has noted that, even in films not based on his own scripts, he prefers situations involving individuals who have unrealized dreams and are struggling in society to find romance. Identifying with the fool-heroes of various quests, Gilliam straddles the genres of comedy and tragedy. On the one hand, a sense of the absurd and/or the grotesque pervades his decidedly fantastical worlds, in which the homeless break out into show tunes, a psychiatric patient liberates animals from zoos, and plastic surgeons shrink-wrap their patients’ heads. On the other hand, his characters are typically frustrated in their fantasies, as fairy tales turn into nightmares. Romantic love leads to imprisonment and torture, bacchanalia usher in madness and death, and a hero’s quest ends in death. The immediate context for understanding both the director’s embrace of tragicomedy and the public’s reception of his work is found in the social tumult of the 1960s. As the animator for Monty Python’s Flying Circus, Gilliam entered the entertainment industry as the sole American-born member of a British comedy troupe whose skillful use of parody rendered absurd the conventions of bourgeois culture. Although it would be a misnomer to designate the humor of Monty Python as “political,” it was nevertheless the radical cultural politics of the 1960s that fueled the acerbic wit of its creators and whetted the appetites of its viewers throughout Europe and, to a lesser extent, the United States. Despite its late-night 193

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showings and frequent cancellations, Monty Python’s Flying Circus (BBC, 1969– 1972) became something of a subcultural fad in Great Britain almost immediately following the airing of its first episode in 1969, prompting BBC to air three subsequent series from 1970 to 1973. In the meantime, economic support for Monty Python films came from countercultural icons in the British rock scene, including George Harrison of the Beatles and the bands Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd. In his autobiographical reflections, Gilliam recalls his own growing awareness of social injustices in the United States throughout his adolescent years and his realization of film’s potential to expose the repressed political and cultural truths of his country. By the time he joined Monty Python in the late 1960s, Gilliam’s humor (his first job was as an illustrator for Mad magazine), his interest in visual art and film, and his countercultural political sensibilities were well defined. It was through the vehicle of Monty Python that they first reached a widespread modern audience. Gilliam’s emergence as an independent director came with the release of Jabberwocky (1977), a tale of a medieval peasant swept up against his will into heroism—which bars him from marrying his true love. Gilliam’s oeuvre portrays characters trapped in hermetically sealed psychological or social worlds that thwart their dreams of love and freedom. A sampling of a few plot climaxes illustrates this. For example, a little boy travels with angels throughout Creation and meets God face to face—only to watch as his parents vanish from the earth (Time Bandits, 1981); a clerk follows his dreams to meet the perfect woman—only to be arrested, tortured, and driven insane (Brazil, 1985); a time traveler from the future unravels a plot to destroy the world—only to be shot to death moments before he can avert the Apocalypse (Twelve Monkeys, 1995). Other movies with decidedly happier endings are nevertheless set against a backdrop of chronic and ineradicable suffering: a bard enchants his audience for the last time before the Age of Reason disenchants the world (Adventures of Baron Munchausen, 1988), and a professor regains his sanity after watching his wife’s head being blown to bits by a stray gunman (The Fisher King, 1991). In their graphic and relentless exposure of suffering, death, and insanity—juxtaposed always with beauty, hope, and love— Gilliam’s films emerge as a testimony to the ambiguous and double-sided nature of existence. Gilliam’s film magic echoes the cinematic styles of George Méliès and Federico Fellini, and his crafting or choice of screenplays reflects his love of fairy tales, legends, and the English nonsense tradition, particularly the work of Lewis Carroll. Jabberwocky (inspired by the Carroll poem of the same title), Time Bandits, and The Adventures of Baron Munchausen all bring to life imaginary landscapes with little regard for realism. But even his most fantastical films seek to explore the contours of reality in everyday life, and Gilliam creates fantasy worlds to remind his viewers of their limitations. The princess in Jabberwocky absurdly clings to her

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fairytale expectations of reality; the little boy wakes up as if from a dream after his cosmic travels in Time Bandits; and Baron Munchausen spins outlandish yarns that only partly deliver his audience from the atrocities of warfare. At the same time, Gilliam exposes the absurdity of what might be called “naïve realism”—an uncritical acceptance of inherited psychological, social, and political conventions. The time traveler from the future in Twelve Monkeys—who is institutionalized for his “psychotic” rants about an impending Apocalypse—is ultimately vindicated, and the psychiatric “experts” who have dismissed him throughout the film are discredited. Sam Lowry, the protagonist in Brazil, meanders through a labyrinth of modern political propaganda and commercialism in his search for truth and love. The Fisher King relentlessly exposes the greed and pettiness of corporate America. In the Gilliam universe, there are no simple answers. Sometimes fantasy liberates, but sometimes it destroys. Political, social, and economic “realities” are based on lies or fantasy, but not always. Besides death, the only constant in the Gilliam oeuvre is relentless questioning. Gilliam’s films make many overt references to organized religion or religious themes. More explicitly than his other films, the screenplay of Time Bandits explores the Christian cosmology of heaven, hell, angels, and demons. Other movies include scenes or at least shots of monastics, like the fanatical penitents in Jabberwocky or the nuns wandering through Grand Central Station in The Fisher King. But the most “religious” aspects of Gilliam’s work—the director’s contribution to questions of ultimacy—come in and through the vision of the sacred clown. Clowns or fools appear in sacred ceremonies as embodiments of what Carl Jung called the principle of coincidentia oppositorum (the union of opposing principles, affects, or powers) and as symbols of transformation. The etymology of the English word clown reveals its association with the words clot and clod—merging of internally incongruous elements. The clown unites such structural dichotomies as sacred/profane, culture/nature, and custom/taboo. Because of their association with boundaries or thresholds, clowns are also associated with transformation and transition. They have serious religious work to do in healing and giving new life to those who are befuddled or oppressed by the contradictory or limiting structures of their societies. The protagonists of Gilliam’s films—who are both comic and tragic, insightful and mad, agents and victims—are clowns or fools in this religious sense; through their quests, they come to know the contradictions and complexities of life and are therefore transformed, in some completely unforeseen way, through this experience and knowledge. Gilliam’s films preclude any easy religious or ideological “answers” to the perennial questions of suffering, injustice, and death, but they both honor and encourage the questions. Gilliam’s serious playfulness reflects a maturation of the Pythonesque sensibility in the years following the 1960s. His movies can be read in part as a fool’s

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indictment of the romantic quests of that era. To his filmic rendition of Hunter S. Thompson’s 1989 work Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (1998), Gilliam brings to bear not only the full weight of his craftsmanship in creating altered states of viewing consciousness but also his experience of living through and beyond a decade of naïve idealism. Midway through the movie—based on Thompson’s autobiographical account of his alcohol and drug binge in the hotels and casinos of Las Vegas—Gilliam inserts an edited version of the journalist’s own reminiscences of a past Golden Age: Has it been five years? Six? It seems like a lifetime, the kind of peak that never comes again. San Francisco in the middle sixties was a very special time and place to be part of, but no explanation, no mix of words or music or memories, can touch that sense of knowing that you were there and alive in that corner of the world, whatever it meant. You could strike sparks anywhere. There was a fantastic, universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning. And that, I think, was the handle. That sense of inevitable victory over the forces of old and evil. Not in any mean or military sense—we didn’t need that. Our energy would simply prevail. We had all the momentum. We were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave. So now, less than five years later, you can go to a steep hill in Las Vegas and look west, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high water mark, that place where the wave finally broke, and rolled back.

Thompson’s words poignantly capture the pathos of Gilliam’s works. Magic is real, but it has its limits. No less than Thompson, Gilliam quickly outgrew the comic or utopian ethos of the decade that had shaped him both politically and artistically, while still retaining many of the emancipatory ideals of the 1960s. “That was the fatal flaw in Tim Leary’s trip,” the drug connoisseur concludes in the penultimate scene: “He crashed around America selling ‘consciousness expansion’ without ever giving a thought to the grim meat-hook realities that were lying in wait for all those people who took him seriously.” In the final analysis, Gilliam’s work is the legacy of an American “sacred clown” of the late 20th and early 21st centuries. His works are not unlike some of the literary texts of the 19th-century American Renaissance writers, which eulogized the end of American innocence. Yet Gilliam’s films are also a product of postmodern American society, a world described by Jean Baudrillard as “hyperreality,” where high-tech virtual realities—like Las Vegas, Disneyland, and the Internet—render the quest for truth and justice even more daunting. In such a world, the need for sacred clowns becomes especially apparent. Clowns are always one step ahead of the illusory worlds they inhabit. They encourage their onlookers to enjoy the faux—even as they point to the limits of illusion. Gilliam’s fantastical

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worlds and plots revel in the pleasures of hyperreality even as they underscore the pervasiveness of suffering, injustice, and death. In an era when religion (together with art and ideology) has failed for many to provide compelling answers, the clownish films of Gilliam take seriously the urgency and timelessness of religious questions. Darryl V. Caterine See also: God; Jesus; Magic.

Further Reading Gilliam, Terry. Gilliam on Gilliam. Edited by Ian Christie. London: Faber and Faber, 2000. Gilliam, Terry, and Bob McCabe. Dark Knights and Holy Fools. London: Orion Media, 1999. Morgan, David, ed. Monty Python Speaks. New York: Avon Books, 1999. Sterritt, David, and Lucille Rhodes, eds. Terry Gilliam: Interviews. Jackson: University of Mississippi Press, 2004.

God God—specifically, the Judeo-Christian God—occasionally appears as a character in feature films. Although each film has idiosyncratic features in its portrayal of God, there are also a few common themes that cut across a number of films. Issues of theodicy—attempts to defend God’s goodness in light of human suffering—arise prominently in Bruce Almighty (2003) and Oh, God! (1977), although these films emphasize different responses. In Bruce Almighty, Bruce Nolan complains that God is not doing his job; God, Bruce avers, could “fix everything in five minutes” but has inexplicably declined to do so. In Oh, God!, Jerry Landers is less whiny and more polite than Bruce but nevertheless asks God similar questions. The answer to questions of theodicy in Oh, God! is straightforward and simple. When Jerry asks why God does not “do something” about the world’s problems, God replies, “I did! I gave you each other.” Jerry seems to think that the world would be better served if God used supernatural means, but God’s answer asserts that Earth already contains all the resources necessary to “fix” the world— namely people, who can and must work together to improve their collective lot. The approach to theodicy in Oh, God!, then, is to “shift the burden” for solving the world’s problems from God to humanity.

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Oh, God! Book II (1980) takes a slightly different tack, suggesting constraints on God’s creative options. During a particularly bleak moment, Tracy asks God, “Why do you let bad things happen?” After a nod to a “bigger picture” type of theodicy—“things that you might think are bad are not always bad”—God cites necessity to explain those things that are genuinely bad (such as Tracy’s example of children with terminal illnesses). “I know this sounds like a copout,” God tells Tracy, “but there’s nothing I can really do about pain and suffering. It’s built into the system.” According to God, everything implies its own opposite; just as “front” implies “back” and “top” requires “bottom,” so “there can’t be good without bad, life without death, pleasure without pain. That’s how it is. If I take sad away, happy has to go with it. If anyone knows another way, I wish they’d put it in the suggestion box.” Bruce Almighty, although sounding themes similar to Oh, God! about humanity itself as God’s answer to humanity’s problems, strikes a different note. Bruce’s assertion that “the only one not doing his job around here is [God]” is “rewarded” with the opportunity for Bruce to “fill in” for God while God goes on vacation. Although at first reveling in his new powers, Bruce soon finds that being God is no easy task. Managing prayers seems especially difficult for Bruce. Filtering prayers through an e-mail interface on his computer, Bruce sets up an “automatic reply” of “yes” to all prayers. Havoc ensues when multiple conflicting prayers are all answered “yes”—for example, when thousands of people all win the same lottery. Bruce’s bumbling attempts to “play God” resemble the biblical Job’s inability to fill the same role. To this extent, Bruce Almighty’s theodicy is quite in line with Job’s; being God is exceptionally difficult, and human objections to the way that God performs the divine job stem from ignorance of the true complexities involved. In a different way, Time Bandits (1981) might also be considered to explore themes of theodicy, although the film seems at first to question God’s goodness less than God’s competence. Time Bandits is a quirky film in which God, more frequently called “the Supreme Being,” is a constant presence even when not visible. God first appears on screen as a disembodied head chasing the movie’s titular thieves down a hallway in a British home, demanding that the gang return a stolen map. The time bandits, essentially subcontractors to whom God had assigned the work of designing trees and shrubs, had incurred God’s wrath by designing the pink bungadoo, a bright-red 600-foot tree that smelled terrible. As a disciplinary measure, God transferred the bandits to the repair department. Because the creation of the world was a rushed job, crammed into seven days, the fabric of the universe contained a number of holes. Instead of repairing these holes, however, the time bandits stole God’s map charting the locations of the holes and traveled through the holes to try to get rich through larceny. God always seems to be one

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Morgan Freeman as God, chatting with Steve Carell as a modern-day Noah, in Evan Almighty, the sequel to Bruce Almighty. AP Photo/HO/Ralph Nelson/Courtesy of Universal Studios.

or two steps behind the bandits, appearing until the end of the movie as a disembodied head. Evil personified criticizes God for creating such “riff-raff ” as the bandits and for spending all his time creating parrots and butterflies instead of focusing on lasers and digital technology. Evil intends to master the knowledge of digital watches, cellular telephones, and computers, which would make him the Supreme Being instead of God. At the end of the movie, when the bandits have exhausted their best efforts to retrieve the map from Evil, God appears and destroys death, then proceeds to assign the bandits to cleanup detail. When Randall, the bandits’ leader, tries to apologize to God for stealing the map, God tells Randall that God had planned the entire caper all along as a way of testing his creation, Evil—which God considers to be a great success. God turns out not to be so incompetent after all. The somewhat ridiculous criticisms hurled at God by Evil and the hints that the bandits might yet elude God are all revealed to be misdirections. God knew exactly what he was doing from the beginning. And yet this vindication of God’s competence comes at the price of God’s beneficence. The theodicy of Time Bandits is quite unconventional, laying the existence of evil firmly at God’s feet. In the vision of Time Bandits, God remains omnipotent and omniscient but comes off as uncaring and manipulative, interested

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in experimenting with creation but disinterested in the effects these experiments might have on humanity or other created beings. Time Bandits leaves viewers with the uncomfortable idea that Evil exists because God created it, and God created it because, well, God is creative. Despite its ubiquitous yet superficial irreverence, Dogma (1999) addresses some poignant if not profound theological concepts. One of the major tropes in Dogma is the fragility and riskiness of incarnation. The film opens with three young hooligans viciously attacking an old man outside of a skeeball arcade. As the film unfolds, the victim of this assault—dubbed “John Doe Jersey” by the news media—is maintained on life support in a New Jersey hospital. Eventually, the Metatron, the Muse, and the Apostle reveal to Bethany Sloane that God likes to take on human form and visit Earth to play skeeball. While in human form, God is subject to all human biological frailties, but biological death releases God from the selected human form and returns God to heaven. God, however, has gone missing, and none of the heavenly host know where to look for her. At the climax of the film, Bethany realizes that John Doe Jersey is God’s latest human guise, and that the life support machinery that keeps John Doe Jersey biologically alive also keeps God trapped in human form. By pulling the plug on John Doe Jersey, Bethany frees God from this human prison. Earlier in the film, the Metatron, who speaks for God because no human can survive the sound of God’s true voice, opines to Bethany that Jesus’ incarnation was “unfair.” When Bethany protests her role in saving the world, saying “I don’t want this. It’s too big,” Metatron responds, That’s what Jesus said. I had to tell him. You can imagine how that hurt the Father: not to be able to tell the Son himself because one word from his lips would destroy the boy’s frail human form. So I had to deliver the news to a scared child who wanted nothing more than to play with other children. I had to tell this little boy that he was God’s only son, and it meant a life of persecution and eventual crucifixion at the hands of the very people that he’d come to enlighten and redeem.

From the Metatron’s point of view, Jesus’ incarnation causes a rift between the Father and the Son—not because of any metaphysical transference of sin from humanity to Jesus at Jesus’ crucifixion but simply because of the inherent frailties of the human body in contrast to divine glory and omnipotence. Paradoxically, divine glory and omnipotence limit God’s interactions with humanity. The entire plot of Dogma centers around a “loophole” that threatens to undo all of existence precisely because of God’s inflexible infallibility. Near the beginning of the film, the Metatron explains to Bethany that just after the tenth plague, Loki,

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the angel of death, was convinced by his angelic friend Bartleby to resign from his position. Angry, God decreed that neither Loki nor Bartleby could ever re-enter heaven. However, the Catholic Church created a loophole through the doctrine of plenary indulgence, or forgiveness for all past sins. (The inaccuracies in Dogma’s portrayal of Catholic dogma are left aside here for purposes of considering the story on its own terms.) Since Jesus Christ had given the power of “loosing and binding” to Peter, taken by Catholics to be the first pope, God was bound to respect the church’s doctrines. When Loki and Bartleby learn that plenary indulgence is to be invoked at a particular New Jersey church during a special grand reopening ceremony, they decide to take advantage of plenary indulgence so that they can be forgiven and re-enter heaven. If this should happen, the Metatron tells Bethany, God would be proven wrong (since God had decreed that Loki and Bartleby could never re-enter heaven). According to the Metatron, “Existence in all its form and splendor functions solely on one principle: God is infallible. To prove him wrong would undo reality and everything that is.” Therefore if Loki and Bartleby managed to circumvent God’s will and find re-entry into heaven through the plenary indulgence loophole, they would, in the Metatron’s words, “unmake the world.” By opening incarnation and infallibility as doors onto divine vulnerability, Dogma raises fascinating questions about the nature of divine power itself. Dogma entangles viewers in relatively sophisticated version of the question whether God could create a rock that God could not lift—a question that philosophers of religion still debate. Here, the question is what would happen if two divine decrees turned out to be incompatible in such a way that adherence to one would violate the other. The film’s answer is that divine infallibility must be preserved at all costs. Bethany’s task is to prevent Loki and Bartleby from entering St. Michael’s Church in Red Bank, New Jersey, and receiving plenary indulgence. In the end, Loki and Bartleby (having become human by the severing of their angelic wings) are both killed (Loki by Bartleby, and Bartleby by God) before they can enter the church. Presumably, the two former angels spend the rest of eternity in hell, but God’s competing decrees (the banishment of Loki and Bartleby and the grant to Peter of ecclesiastical “binding and loosing” power)—and thus God’s infallibility— are preserved. The God portrayed in Oh, God! is in some ways the polar opposite of the one portrayed in Dogma. In the former, God appears in physical form, but selectively, visible at times only to Jerry Landers, at other times more publicly, but never with a sense of physical vulnerability. Infallibility, though, is explicitly disclaimed by this God. God admits to various mistakes (such as making the avocado pit too big, or, in Oh, God! Book II, making mathematics too difficult) and to an ignorance of the future until it becomes the past—anticipating by almost two decades the “open theism” debate.

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In most theatrical films that feature God as a character, the God character is meant to really represent the God of the Judeo-Christian tradition. Star Trek V: The Final Frontier (1989) offers a different approach. Sybok, a renegade Vulcan and half-brother of Spock, uses his telepathic/empathic abilities to seduce the crew of the starship Enterprise into helping him pursue his quest to find God within the “great barrier” at the center of the galaxy. According to Sybok, all of the godconcepts of the humans, Vulcans, Romulans, Klingons, and other species in the Milky Way converge on this one figure and location. Apparently, all the major species in the Star Trek universe are monotheistic, at least on Sybok’s telling. Upon arriving at the planet behind the barrier, Sybok contacts God, who appears to Sybok, Spock, Captain Kirk and Doctor McCoy as a large, bearded Caucasian head. Sybok offers the Enterprise as a “chariot” to carry God’s power beyond the barrier, until Kirk poses the impertinent question, “What does God need with a starship?” “God’s” violent reaction reveals him to be a powerful alien imprisoned within the barrier by some yet superior force. After the alien has been defeated (by Starfleet photon torpedos and Klingon blasters), Spock and McCoy stare into space through an Enterprise viewport, wondering, as McCoy puts it, “Is God really out there?” Kirk replies, “Maybe he’s not out there, Bones. Maybe he’s right here”—Kirk points to his own chest—“in the human heart.” Kirk’s encounter with an alien deceptively posing as an external, cosmic god has apparently led him to question whether such a God exists at all and to instead identify God with humanity’s best impulses. In placing God within the human heart, however, both Kirk and the filmmakers miss an opportunity to explore the intriguing question of whether and how one might interpret the god concepts not just of individual cultures but indeed of intelligent species separated by galactic distances in a fashion that coheres in a single god concept without erasing cultural differences. Star Trek V avoids these harder questions by collapsing religious differences into a kind of weak pantheism or, even more weakly, an appeal to pangalactic ideals. R. Christopher Heard See also: Catholicism; Gilliam, Terry; Science Fiction; Smith, Kevin.

Further Reading Anker, Roy M. Catching Light: Looking for God in the Movies. Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans, 2004. Cawkwell, Tim. The Filmgoer’s Guide to God. London: Darton, Longman and Todd, 2004. Elkin, Frederick. “God, Radio, and the Movies.” Hollywood Quarterly 5, no. 2 (1950): 105–114.

Greek and Roman Myths | 203 Pilkington, Ace G. “Star Trek V: The Search for God.” Literature/Film Quarterly 24, no. 2 (1996): 169–175. Walsh, Richard. “Recent Fictional Portrayals of God, or: Disney, Shirley MacLaine, and Hamlet.” In Culture, Entertainment, and the Bible, edited by George Aichele, 44–65. Sheffield, UK: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000.

Greek and Roman Myths Films inspired by classical literature, myth, and history have abounded since the silent era, with a noticeable increase from the mid-1950s to the mid-1960s. MGM’s production of Cleopatra (1963), with its cost overruns and scandals, is generally considered to have made Hollywood wary of the large-scale classically themed epic. Nevertheless, films on classical themes appeared sporadically throughout the 1970s and into the 1990s, when a resurgence of interest in the genre became apparent. The popularity of the television series Hercules: The Legendary Journeys (USA Network, 1995–1999)—and, more recently, of such classically themed blockbusters as Gladiator (2000), Troy (2004), Alexander (2004), and 300 (2006)—indicates the renewed popularity of this kind of film. The specific representation of classical myth in film has taken many forms. One form provides a rendition of a specific work that recounts a myth. Examples include The Odyssey (1997), Troy, director Mihalis Kakogiannis’ The Trojan Women (1971), Ifigeneia (Iphigenia, 1977), and even Pier Paolo Pasolini’s Edipo Re (Oedipus Rex, 1967). Despite a modern setting and a new prologue in this last film, the essence of Sophocles’ Oedipus the King and Oedipus at Colonus can still be discerned. A second form attempts to retell an ancient myth without following a specific literary work. Examples include Teseo contro il minotauro (The Minotaur, 1960), and Clash of the Titans (1981) as well as the numerous “Hercules” films of the 1960s and 1970s. A third form uses elements from or aspects of myth in an entirely new context. Some films borrow ancient narrative patterns, like the use of the Iliad in Unforgiven (1992) or the Odyssey in O Brother, Where Art Thou? (2000). Others focus on mythological motifs like katabasis, or trip to the underworld (often signifying death and rebirth); these include The Searchers (1956), Apocalypse Now (1979), and Star Wars: Episode V—The Empire Strikes Back (1980). The aspects of classical myth that receive emphasis in a film can also vary. On the one hand, a film can emphasize the story of a myth (the sequence of events) and turn this story into a cinematic narrative that is interesting and accessible to a modern audience. On the other hand, films can emphasize the essential meaning of the myth and pay less attention to the sequence of events.

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One example of classical myth in film, Clash of the Titans, retells the myth of Perseus, referred to frequently in classical literature, while condensing and altering the story in several important ways. In the traditional myth, the reader is presented with a heroic story with a quest (to obtain the Gorgon’s head), the denied birthright (Perseus’ banishment by Acrisius), a damsel in distress (Andromeda and the sea monster), gender anxiety (the threat of Medusa’s gaze), several wicked surrogate parents (Acrisius and Polydectes), and the theme of mortal hubris and the vengeance of the gods (Cassiopeia’s vanity). Perhaps the most striking difference in the film is its emphasis on the love story. In the myth, Perseus falls in love with Andromeda upon seeing her chained to the rock. In Clash of the Titans, he falls in love with Andromeda much earlier in the plot, and most of the adventures in the film are keyed toward the eventual reunion of the lovers. Perseus must first defeat a made-up monster (Kalabos), to whom Andromeda had initially been betrothed. Then Perseus must obtain the Gorgon’s head in order to defeat the sea monster (here called the Kraken) who threatens Andromeda. As in the myth, it is Cassiopeia’s vanity that nearly brings about the destruction of her daughter at the hands of the sea monster. But in the film this episode is subordinated to the love story of Perseus and Andromeda. Cassiopeia’s folly, as well as the Kraken himself, are just more obstacles in the way of love. Hence the theme of the myth (the impossible quest) is reduced to a subsidiary role within the context of the love story. Even the denied birthright theme is short-circuited by Acrisius’ demise early in the film at the hands of the Kraken. Spectacle is also obviously central to this film, as the prominence of the special effects attests. Love and adventure take center stage in this retelling of the Perseus myth. The two versions of Jason and the Argonauts (1963; 2000) both perform similar transformations. In this myth, most famously portrayed in Apollonius’ Argonautica, Jason, the rightful heir to the throne of Iolcus, is sent on a seemingly impossible task—to obtain the Golden Fleece from King Aeetes at the edge of the world—by his wicked uncle Pelias. Along the way Jason and his companions, the Argonauts, encounter various obstacles and creatures. Upon reaching Aeetes’ kingdom, Jason is assisted by Medea, the king’s daughter, and her magic. Medea then escapes with the Argonauts who return to Greece by a circuitous route. Although the impossible quest narrative remains central to both modern versions, they both play up the love story between Jason and Medea and downplay Jason’s weakness and Medea’s treachery. Like Clash of the Titans, both versions are more interested in presenting a heroic quest with an integral love story. The ambivalence of Jason’s love for Medea, so pronounced in Apollonius’ version, is entirely absent from the modern versions. Indeed both resolve into the “happily ever after” motif for the lovers; Jason is a suitably robust and moral male protagonist, with none of the indecision and depression that characterizes his epic incarnation. Love

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prevails, and hence the love story tends to overshadow the thematic elements of the ancient story. Troy does something similar to the story of Achilles, since the character Briseis is turned from a war prize into a love interest. There is more to Troy than this, but this preference to present a novelistic narrative pattern instead of interrogating the “deep” meaning of the myth can be seen as a characteristic of many modern cinematic retellings of classical myths. A rather different cinematic approach to the Jason and Medea myth may be seen in Pasolini’s Medea (1969) and Jules Dassin’s Kravigi Gynaikon (A Dream of Passion, 1978). Both of these films dwell on Medea’s terrifying nature and her ability to murder her children. Pasolini emphasizes cultural reasons (Medea “loses her religion” in her transit to Greece/the West) while Dassin explores the psychology of a “real” child killer in an actress’s attempt to play the role of Medea in a production of the Euripides play. Pasolini portrays Medea’s anguish over human sacrifice and ritual purification in her native culture, then her remorse at having rejected these very rites in her passage to Greece. She slaughters her children to take revenge not on Jason per se but to re-embrace the sacred through human sacrifice and to reject the secularism (and even nihilism) of Jason’s Greece. In A Dream of Passion, the actress, Maya, attempts to understand the character of Medea by visiting Brenda, a mother who is serving a life sentence for killing her children. The film explores the tensions between Brenda’s ideologies (her religion, her ethical beliefs about marriage) and her love for her children. The film also hints at the shared anguish of all women as Maya comes to identify with Brenda’s (and Medea’s) pain. In these two films it is evident that the story/plot has been subordinated to the exploration of meaning. What is important is the presentation of the essential conflicts and “truths” found in the myth. These two films get at the heart of the original myth in much the same way that Euripides’ tragedy does. The emphasis on uncovering a myth’s meaning may also be seen in Cocteau’s Orphée (Orpheus, 1950). As noted above, katabasis is a common motif found in many modern films. The mythical journey to the underworld seems to signify the death and rebirth (real or metaphorical) of the hero of the mythic narrative. One of the most famous katabases in Greco-Roman myth is that of Orpheus, the putative first poet, who goes to the underworld in search of his beloved Eurydice, who has been snatched away by the god of death. This story has been treated cinematically many times. In Cocteau’s version Orpheus, a modern poet, meets a mysterious “princess” (his “death”) and becomes obsessed with her. Meanwhile, Eurydice, Orpheus’ wife, is killed by the princess’s motorcyclists. Orpheus follows Eurydice to the “underworld” and obtains her return, only to lose her again by looking at her. Then Orpheus himself is accidentally killed. In the end Orpheus and Eurydice are returned to their comfortable bourgeois life through the self-sacrifice of Heurtebise and the princess. Cocteau’s version presents a particular challenge

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because the writer once claimed that the film, in spite of its modern setting and modernist sensibilities, was no more than a retelling of the ancient myth. Indeed the princess at one point in the film tells a befuddled Orpheus, “You try too hard to understand—and that is a mistake.” These statements obviously raise problems of meaning for both the film and for the myth. At the end of the film, Orpheus’ return to “normalcy” involves him forgetting his “descent” to the underworld. This perhaps is a comment on Cocteau’s part upon the meaning (or meaninglessness) of the katabasis theme of death and rebirth: in the film it is as if katabasis has never happened. In Troy, we are presented with a film version of Homer’s Iliad, in which the gods have been removed and Achilles does not die until after Troy has fallen. The film does, however, dwell on one central theme of the Iliad: mortality. The theme of the mortality of the epic hero appears to be a very ancient one, going back as least as far as the Gilgamesh story from the third millennium bce. In the Iliad, Achilles has been told by his mother, the goddess Thetis, that he has a choice: to live a short but glorious life or a long but obscure one. Achilles’ privileged knowledge about his own death propels much of the tragedy of the Iliad. In Troy, Achilles’ choice is dramatized by a tension between his almost reckless desire for martial glory and his new-found attraction for Briseis (now a captured daughter of Priam and priestess of Apollo). When Agamemnon threatens to take Briseis away from Achilles and Achilles is about to kill Agamemnon, it is Briseis, not Athena, who intervenes, saying “enough blood has been spilled.” In Troy, Briseis represents the world of peace and love that Achilles could have if he could give up his penchant for seeking glory in war. In this way Briseis also serves as a constant reminder of the cost of war. In spite of all this, the inevitable tragic return of the epic hero occurs when Patroclus, Achilles’ companion, is killed by Hector. Thereupon Achilles kills Hector, then returns the body to Priam after mutilating it. So far so good, the film matches the poem. Troy diverges, however, when Achilles releases Briseis (symbolically renouncing what she represents while at the same time embracing it). Then, after participating in the Trojan Horse stratagem, Achilles seeks out Briseis, is shot down by Paris, and has a final moment of redemption. We are left with the impression that Achilles finally “understands” what life is about and what life is worth, and although he meets a tragic and somewhat antiheroic end (killed by the weakling Paris), his internal conflict seems to have been resolved: the life with love, even a short one, is worth it in the end. The translation of classical myth into film inevitably involves strategies of “familiarization” that make the new versions accessible and interesting to a modern audience. Films can alter the plot to a more recognizable pattern (the love stories in Clash of the Titans and Jason and the Argonauts), remove the gods (as in Troy), update the context (as in Orphée), or attempt to get at the myth’s “deep meaning”

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(as in the Medea films). Whatever approach they take, classically themed films perpetually renegotiate the meaning of the myths they recount, sometimes leading to a deeper vision of the original myth and sometimes creating something entirely new. Christopher Chinn See also: Coen, Joel and Ethan; Coppola, Francis Ford; Myth; Pasolini, Pier Paolo; Westerns.

Further Reading Blundell, Mary Whitlock, and Kirk Ormand. “Western Values, or the Peoples’ Homer: Unforgiven as a Reading of the Iliad.” Poetics Today 18, no. 4 (1997): 533–569. Christie, Ian. “Between Magic and Realism: Medea on Film.” In Medea in Performance 1500–2000, edited by Edith Hall, Fionna Macintosh, and Oliver Taplin, 144–165. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2000. Clauss, James J. “A Course on Classical Mythology in Film.” Classical Journal 91 (1996): 287–295. Elley, Derek. The Epic Film: Myth and History. London: Routledge, 1984. Winkler, Martin M. “Classical Mythology and the Western Film.” Comparative Literature Studies 22 (1985): 516–540.

H Heaven How can film create an image of the afterlife without reducing heaven to a series of visual clichés? Visions of a holy and happy afterlife are notoriously difficult to represent in cinematic form. If hell is no longer widely believed in as the final dwelling place of those souls subjected to eternal punishment, it is often used as an epithet for countless bleak and desperate locations on Earth. These nightmares are frequently replicated on celluloid, appearing, for example, in the filthy battlefields of war movies and in the claustrophobic, deathly spaces that pervade the many sub-genres of horror. Yet filmmakers have never quite found an appropriate grammar with which to represent heaven. We are surrounded by violence, abuse, greed, and destruction to such an extent that it becomes a familiar set of images. The hope of heaven, by contrast, seems if not quite absurd, then certainly beyond the scope of standard cinematic idiom. Redemption, resurrection, and eternal life: all of these terms belong to what has been collectively named “the sublime”—a form of experience that is unrepresentable or that exists beyond the limits of frail and deceptive language. Screenwriters and directors continue to construct imaginative (if inevitably limited) interpretations of life after death and the possibility of eternal redemption. Earlier models of the future life, even when no longer widely believed, unavoidably influence even the most startlingly innovative cinematic visions of eternity. In contemporary western societies, visions of heaven, even in post-Christian cultures, are dependent on forms of eschatology. What place can such ideas find outside of traditional theology? In fact, the absence of a single coherent religious faith that might act as a common bond in contemporary western culture has given rise to more rather than fewer visions of heaven. “Heaven” films frequently engage with material rather than spiritual issues. A significant number of films blur the line between romantic and spiritual desire but, at their best, challenge traditional ways of viewing the relationship between film and religion. Successive generations of screenwriters and directors have 209

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continually sought to envision a transcendent world, one that exists beyond the present, material sphere, and these alternative, imagined versions of paradise illuminate both contemporary political and theological anxieties. How can a film that emerges from the cruelty of world war conceive of a peaceful afterlife? A Matter of Life and Death (1946), perhaps the most esthetically impressive “heaven” film of the last century, is defined by a compelling series of contradictions and defamiliarizing incongruities. Set in the final days of the last century’s bloodiest global conflict and what should be the last moments of a pilot’s life, this uncanny film mediates between a series of binary opposites; the boundaries between skepticism and miracle, reality and fantasy, violence and love, law and justice, transience and eternity are explored and ultimately viewed as temporary fictions. The film wrestles not just with angels but, more specifically, with their mythic origin: it is both a comic masterpiece and a visual essay on human constructions of the heavenly realm. For all the film’s metaphysical concerns, A Matter of Life and Death has a very distinctive political context: it materialized from the violent, uncertain years of World War II. The filmmakers were working in a world traumatized by death as a daily occurrence, and this film, from the melodramatic English title to its central narrative, is always conscious of the fragility of human life. Yet what the film’s strange blending of heaven/ Earth, time/eternity, and reason/faith achieves is a new approach to representing a world so bizarre that standard film conventions were no longer sufficient. In the screenplay’s remarkable but straightforward movement between heaven and Earth, A Matter of Life and Death has become an exemplary “two worlds” movie. The concept was later used in the comedy Heaven Can Wait (1978), itself a remake of Here Comes Mr. Jordan (1941). In this film, heaven is literally deferred and the dead protagonist, along with the audience, is given only intimations of eternity via a waiting station in the clouds (a classic cliché used to denote a benign supernatural world) and a now-entertainingly dated form of heavenly transport—a model of the Concorde jet airplane that sits in the clouds waiting to take the righteous to heaven. This motif of luxury reveals much about the way in which heaven might have been viewed in the late 1970s: rather than as a space of eternal redemption, the afterlife could simply be a place of earthly fulfillment. The rather simple, materialistic version of heaven resonates with scholars’ claims that images of the afterlife have changed in American culture since World War II. Both Heaven Can Wait and A Matter of Life and Death struggle to find a visual language to represent eternity. They are both more confident in their depictions of the present, flawed, material world. A Matter of Life and Death, however, uses an estranging cinematic device to distinguish the movement between its “two worlds” of heaven and earth, the alternative spaces of eternity and history. The director’s decision to shoot the scenes of heaven in black and white with the action on Earth filmed in Technicolor

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is a brilliantly counterintuitive, reversing device used in The Wizard of Oz (1939), one of the first films to make bold use of the new color technology. The pilot/ poet Peter Carter is determined to exploit the bureaucratic error in heaven that has allowed him, perhaps briefly, to remain on earth and to fall in love. A simplistic reading might suggest that by representing heaven as a monochrome bureaucracy and the Earth as a vibrant, colorful paradise in which simple pleasures are a route to happiness, the filmmakers were belittling any hope of eternal life. In fact, the unexpected visual contrast prevents the heavenly realm from being pure spectacle to be consumed by passive viewers. There is a distinctive contrast with more recent visions of the afterlife, particularly Vincent Ward’s What Dreams May Come (1998), in which heaven is viewed as subjective—and rather solipsistic—painterly paradise. Ward’s film, one of a series of late 1990s attempts by Hollywood movies to explore spirituality, constructs a gorgeous, computer-generated vision of eternity; Chris Neilsen enters a heaven of his own choosing that is based on his wife’s paintings. These images resemble romantic attempts to represent the sublime. Although the images are striking, they also lack the otherness and the uncanny peculiarity of the orderly, black-and-white future life that the dead heroes of World War II enter in A Matter of Life and Death. This is partly because we know that Neilsen is initially utterly at home in these paintings: rather than divine, these vistas, beautiful as they are, seem to represent the limits of human creativity rather than the limitless, impossible world of a divine kingdom. Yet cultural representations of heaven are always compromised by the artistic and philosophical constraints of their historical moment. A safe, popular vision of heaven as a consumerist fantasy is not always conformed to by screenwriters and directors. Peter Carter’s dream of heaven is far more troubling than a conventional, sentimental paradise. The image of thousands of dead servicepeople—nurses, soldiers, airmen—as they walk, resurrected, the streets of heaven must have been an enormous visual shock for audiences in 1946. One of the most striking set pieces in the film is the celestial escalator that connects heaven and Earth. In a film littered with literary allusion, this reworking of the story of Jacob’s dream (Gen. 28:12) is one of the only explicit references to the Bible. The brief appearance of John Bunyan, author of The Pilgrims Progress (1678), the most famous Christian allegory in the English language, is a further allusion that encourages a symbolic reading of this heavenly space. The U.S. title of the film (Stairway to Heaven) makes the religious citations still more explicit. The climactic courtroom drama, deployed to explore the distinctively nonspiritual but rather secular or worldly issues of Anglo-American relations, also echoes biblical imagery; the sequence anticipates eschatological ideas regarding the inevitability of divine judgment. In a sense, these traditional theological ideas are subverted to become a defense of human rather than divine love.

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A figure missing from this view of heaven is God; A Matter of Life and Death avoids the problem of representing the Godhead, presumably to avoid allegations of blasphemy, but also to allow spectators to participate in imagining an alternative reality. A God-centered vision of heaven is frequently avoided in films that attempt to imagine the afterlife. Theological accounts of the afterlife have traditionally emphasized the reconciliation between creator and created in a time beyond human history. Yet God seems to be either hidden or nonexistent in many heaven films. In What Dreams May Come, for example, the bemused Neilsen asks his heavenly guide where God is in this paradise, only to be told, in strikingly earthly terms, that the creator is somewhere above, looking down and offering divine love from afar. Heaven Can Wait is almost entirely bereft of references to divinity, judgment, or faith. A Matter of Life and Death, by contrast, combines a skeptical tone—we are told from the outset that the “other world” resides in Peter’s consciousness—with a sincere hope that this violent and fractured world might yet be a space of potential and realized miracles. The film might bear the traces of a distinctly British romanticism in its allusions to Shakespeare, Shelley, Marvell, Yeats, and Wordsworth, but it is also strongly internationalist, particularly in its vision of heaven. The tribute that it pays to America, for example, is that, at its best, the United States has brought together multiple nationalities, religions, and traditions. The use of the supernatural in an otherwise recognizable reality was not unique; 1946 was also the year of another “two worlds” movie. Frank Capra’s first postwar film, It’s a Wonderful Life (1946)—a famous box-office flop that is now a sentimental fixture of festive viewing—also deals with the depressing realities of life after the war via the collision of the angelic with the everyday. The film’s forthright and witty use of the miraculous—in particular, its emphasis on the intimate relationship between the everyday and the sacred—had an incalculable influence on future generations of moviemakers. It certainly foreshadows the late-20th-century obsession with angels. Wim Wenders’s Der Himmel über Berlin (Wings of Desire, 1987), for example, follows melancholy ministering angels around the then divided city of Berlin and tracks the fine line between eternity and fallen human history. In Bill & Ted’s Bogus Journey (1991), a comic fantasy about the misadventures of two naïve Californian teenagers, the titular heroes are brought before a heavenly court in what appears to be a conscious if playful allusion to Peter Carter’s experience in A Matter of Life and Death. Steven Spielberg’s Always (1989), a remake of A Guy Named Joe (1943), has a similar narrative to A Matter of Life and Death and explores the intervention of the supernatural world in the violence of war. Yet the experimental approach of A Matter of Life and Death that pioneered this innovative blending of fantasy and reality was not well received in the 1940s; the director was prepared to experiment

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with the visionary and strange, to rewrite the conventions of cinematic realism that have become dominant in British cinema. In their experiments with visionary experience, Powell and Pressburger prefigured the postmodern re-enchantment of popular culture by several decades. A Matter of Life and Death is emphatically not a work of creedal Christian faith, but it does attest to the limits of secular reason that had been challenged since World War I; the widely accepted story of continual human progress and the fetish of technological revolution was less credible after the shockingly inhumane ways in which this scientific knowledge was used. The aura generated by the first and final scenes of this strange film is less like simple magic—illusion and seductive visual deceit—and closer to the troubling and transformative experience of miracle. In the beginning, the film’s hero is facing an ending: the pilot faces death with wit, dignity, courage, and hope for what might lie beyond. In the final frames of the film, both Peter and June are prepared to sacrifice their own lives to save the other. This offer of vicarious sacrifice—a reworking of scapegoat stories, including that of Jesus—is the film’s most explicitly religious narrative strategy. Heaven, the film suggests, can be discovered only via radical, selfless love. This emphasis on willing personal sacrifice is an explicit echo of Jewish and Christian ideas. By contrast, Heaven Can Wait and What Dreams May Come have a more syncretistic approach to world religion: both films intimate at the possibility of reincarnation, for example. The latter does draw on the image of the resurrected body but suggests that this too is temporary and that eternity is only one alternative in an array of possibilities, including that of being endlessly reborn on earth. Paradoxically, one of the most arresting films to focus on themes of eternity and the hope of redemption avoids deploying the supernatural almost entirely. Tom Tykwer’s Heaven (2002), adapted from a screenplay by Krzysztof Piesiwicz and the late Krzysztof Kies´lowski—one of the most distinctively religious filmmakers of the late 20th century—depicts a journey from sin to a mystical moment of redemption. The film represents a collision between stark realism—set in contemporary Turin, the narrative is driven by a story of police corruption, drug dealing, and an act of revenge—with an atmosphere that is closer to the strict economy of a parable. Philippa’s violent action is portrayed vividly and sympathetically, but the spectator, like the character, is also forced to recognize the consequences of her actions. The escape enacted is not simply a matter of a criminal and her accomplice fleeing the police; it is a kind of pilgrimage toward repentance and possible redemption. Controversially, the narrative implies that this salvation has nothing to do with human law: Philippa confesses her sins to Filippo in a church but not inside the confessional. The final image of the film is striking and bizarre; as the stolen helicopter soars into the sky it disappears, inexplicably, and seems to merge with heaven. It is a clear image of ascension. The characters avoid human law

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but it is implied that they willingly face divine justice. This moment might be described as a kind of secular epiphany—a moment of intense personal revelation— but the language of the film (including the title) is explicitly religious. Philippa wants to be judged for her crimes and, unlike the other films discussed, those of Tykwer, Kies´lowski, and Piesiwicz explore the human search for heaven in a way that seems dependent on notions of repentance, judgment, and possibly grace. Can we judge a society or an individual on the basis of the ability to envision a life beyond the present? If heaven is knowable only via dream, prophecy, and speculation, these cinematic images, comic or elegant, bound up in the limits of their historical moment, might help audiences to recover a sense of hope. Cinema cannot replace the ongoing need for spiritual vision, but it can, in the unlikely shapes projected by its temporary light, sustain the quest to rediscover paradise. Andrew Tate See also: Angels; Capra, Frank; God; Kies´lowski, Krzysztof.

Further Reading Fiddes, Paul S. The Promised End: Eschatology in Theology and Literature. Oxford, UK: Blackwell, 2000. Hughes, Robert. Heaven and Hell in Western Art. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1968. Russell, Jeffrey Burton. A History of Heaven: The Singing Silence. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1997. Wuthnow, Robert. After Heaven: Spirituality in America Since the 1950s. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998.

Hinduism The use of Hinduism in English language–accessible films falls into four categories: first, films made by non-Hindus who often use South Asian culture/religion as exotica; second, films by American or English filmmakers of Indian heritage that may use Hinduism to express diaspora cultural issues; third, films that focus on religion to address social concerns; and fourth, films that focus specifically on Hinduism. The presentation of religious traditions in each of these has variations, but certain patterns are visible. These patterns seem to reflect the experience of Hinduism in the larger cultural context of the filmmakers. In films made by non-Indian westerners, romantic orientalism is the dominant trend. Hinduism is used as the colorful “other” in both positive and negative ways,

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but both treatments are extremely simplistic. Positive portrayals generally have Hindu holy men or women bringing great wisdom to a troubled westerner who is seeking meaning in life. An early example of this may be seen in the 1946 production of The Razor’s Edge, based on Somerset Maugham’s novel of the same name. The protagonist, who is dissatisfied with the emptiness of European society after World War I, goes on a search for meaning that leads him to India and the guidance of a Hindu guru. But no time is devoted to the teachings of the guru, and the audience never gets to actually hear any great philosophies expounded. There is an assumption that the guru is wise because he is an exotic figure, not because of defined actions or dialogue. Orientalism also operates by selecting a few aspects of Hinduism for emphasis while avoiding the complexity of lived religion. In negative treatments, this leads to a focus on deity imagery and rituals that are considered unacceptable by western standards. The rich iconic traditions of India, with multiarmed deities and half-animal gods, still trigger the “idolatry” reflex in many outsiders. Daily ritual offerings to those images are part of everyday Hinduism in both homes and temples. Films seeking the most “exotic” imagery focus on temple rituals in which priests chant (untranslated) Sanskrit hymns while sacrificing animals or even people to the idols. The most infamous example of this is Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (1984), in which Indiana Jones accidentally lands in a north India community being terrorized by a group of Kali worshipers. The priest of the goddess Kali has enslaved the village children to work in mines and enforces his rule with periodic rituals during which he makes offerings of human hearts taken from still-living victims. Although the film has been universally condemned by Hindus for taking a historical detail (there was a cult of assassins called Thugees who worshipped the goddess Kali) and seemingly presenting it as normative Hinduism, the film is intriguing for its presentation of Hinduism as efficacious magic. The priest really does have the ability to manipulate people in ways that are beyond the norm. The villagers are experiencing a drought and famine caused by the priest’s theft of their Shiva-lingam, a stone idol of Shiva; later, when Indiana Jones chants a Sanskrit prayer to three Shiva-lingams, the stones heat up and burn the priest, causing him to fall to his death. At the end of the film, these idols are returned to their villages along with the liberated children; rain and prosperity are presumed to follow. This is entirely in keeping with Hindu village traditions about fertility and prosperity resulting from honoring the gods. The distinction between the positive and negative uses of Hinduism in these films is largely a difference in emphasis—one focuses on philosophy and the other on ritual. The philosophies are perceived as full of wisdom that may be useful to westerners, whereas the rituals are seen as foreign and weird, part of a premodern,

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magical worldview. And yet the fascination these “weird” rituals hold for the western audience, and the efficacy with which they are credited in the films, may indicate a subconscious belief that in some way these too might be meaningful for the westerner. Having reached a point in which non-Christian philosophy is understood to be as legitimate as Christian philosophy, there is now a growing interest in non-Christian rituals, perhaps because middle-class Protestant Christianity has so few rituals of its own. Movies made by Indian American and Indian English filmmakers tend to treat Hinduism as a cultural category rather than an active religion. The main characters in these films are second-generation residents of western countries, the biggest issues with which they struggle having to do with the differences between their parents’ old-world expectations and the new-world cultures to which they belong. One rarely sees a character engaged in personal religious practices such as puja, meditation, or visiting a temple, but there is usually a traditional wedding performed by a priest. These wedding scenes do not include commentary or explanation, so the ritual is a visual part of the culture rather than an active form of religious practice. The priest does not inform the audience of the meanings behind the ritual elements (walking around the fire, repeating Sanskrit prayers, use of kumkum, turmeric, and henna, eating certain foods), and the characters do not ask questions or express interest in understanding these proceedings. The wedding is simply a cultural ritual, a dynamic wallpaper at the back of the scene. A particularly striking example of this may be seen in Bride and Prejudice (2004), loosely based on Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice (1813). This film uses misunderstandings based on culture to create a conflict and romance between an American hotelier named William Darcy and a Punjabi woman named Lalita. The Golden Temple of Amritsar, the center of the Sikh religion, appears in the background of several scenes, and yet Darcy, who seems singularly ignorant about India for a man whose college roommate and friend is Punjabi, never asks about it. Hindu Lalita wants him to have greater respect for her country and its cultural traditions, but when she takes him on a tour and tries to impress him, she never mentions religion or takes him to any religious sites. The avoidance of religion as spiritual tradition is even more striking in a wedding scene. Darcy has come to Amritsar with his friend Balraj to attend a wedding, after which the two will go to Goa to check out a possible hotel acquisition. The film presents a traditional wedding scene during which Darcy cannot take his eyes off of Lalita. In earlier scenes, Balraj had explained some of the cultural traditions to his clueless American friend, but no one explains the wedding ritual and Darcy asks no questions, even as he sees the bride and groom, with their clothing knotted together, circumambulating the sacred fire while a priest chants in Sanskrit. This is in keeping with the pattern of other films such as Monsoon Wedding (2001), where the wedding

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ritual is part of the culture and is not presented as a spiritual event, but the lack of any interest in the meaning of the ritual is made more noticeable in Bride and Prejudice by the presence of an American character who asks no questions and is offered no explanations. A few filmmakers have taken this very disjunction and used it to express the cultural divide between the first and second generations of South Asians living in western countries. A good example of this is ABCD (1999)—“American-born confused Desi,” referring to Indians born in western countries and struggling to find their own sense of identity—where Hinduism divides the generations. In ABCD, a devout mother, who has raised her children in the United States, utilizes Hindu rituals to pray for the welfare of her son and daughter and consults an astrologer to arrange marriages for them. But her grown children have no interest in their natal religion; they go to temple only if their mother insists on it and they barely take part in the service when there. In one scene, Raj, the son, tells his sister Nina that the images make him uncomfortable because their eyes seem to follow him wherever one goes. The images seem to symbolize the burden of Indian culture for two people who wish to be fully “American.” Nina finally expresses her rejection of this burden by marrying a European American in a church. To her, church weddings are “happy” and celebrate love, whereas Hindu weddings are sorrowful and symbolize a culture that oppresses women. Wedding rituals are treated as cultural symbols rather than religious activities. In most Indian films (many of which are available with English subtitles), Hinduism is part of the daily life and is simply incorporated into the movies as part of the cultural context. In these cases, it is usually not a major focus. But some filmmakers use religion to explore social issues, like women’s experiences and political communalism. Perhaps one of the most striking uses of this motif occurs in Phoolan Devi (Bandit Queen, 1994). Phoolan Devi is a low-caste girl who was abused by her husband and his family and has ended up living among bandits. The few decent people she encounters are depicted as being strongly devout even though they are living outside regular society. Vikram, the man with whom Phoolan Devi has a fairly stable relationship, sets up a protection racket and uses the village shrine as the location for pledging to protect the village in exchange for payment. He engages in regular religious rituals, such as morning puja at the river (gun in hand), and also takes money from slain bandits to give to the poor. He is respectful of women because he believes in the Hindu identification of women with the goddess. Religion plays the same roles in the bandits’ lives as in regular village life. In setting out on a new venture, the bandits go to the temple to pray, but here the venture for which they seek blessings is one of vengeance. When Phoolan Devi beats her former husband in revenge for his treatment of her as a child bride, she claims to feel the kind of peace that comes from going on a pilgrimage. When she

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finally loses all options and is about to be arrested, she feels that the goddess must be angry with her. Two major themes emerge here. First, traditional devotional behavior signifies a decent person like Vikram, who may be a bandit, but has a code of ethics. The same theme occurs in other Indian films where seeing a character perform religious activities tells the audience that this person is virtuous. Second, depicting the bandits as taking part in Hindu (and Muslim) religious practices makes them part of the larger Indian culture. The viewer is confronted with the fact that these people are part of Indian society and they are not bandits simply because they have rejected social values. By including religion in bandit life, the film broadens the perspective beyond simple moral claims to force the audience to consider larger cultural issues. Satyajit Ray also does this in the film Devi (The Goddess, 1960), in which he examines social and family dynamics in late-19th-century India by depicting the life of a young wife who comes to be seen by her father-in-law as a manifestation of the goddess Kali. Here, the filmmaker looks at the ramifications of the Hindu belief in human deities, not as a philosophical issue but as it relates to relationships, especially the role of women within the family and society. The “modern” husband tries to rescue his wife from her role as goddess, but she herself has become convinced of it by the miraculous recovery of a sick child brought into her presence. Later, when she fails to cure her beloved nephew, she goes mad and runs away. The story uses Hinduism to explore the stresses women face living in their husbands’ family homes and also the difficulties between the generations as sons move into a world of knowledge that differs from that of their fathers. Ray makes similar use of Hinduism to explore how faith beliefs may compromise wisdom in Ganashatru (An Enemy of the People, 1989). In this film, a doctor tries to warn his industrialist brother that the holy water in the local temple may be contaminated by poor pipes. Because of religious beliefs about the purity of holy water and financial concerns about compromising the value of a temple that brings wealth from pilgrims, no one will listen to him. The doctor comes to be seen as the enemy rather than a man trying to protect people. The film is based on Ibsen’s An Enemy of the People (1882), but Hinduism provides the setting for contemplating how good intentions can fail in the face of stubborn faith and how tradition clashes with modernity. Mystic Masseur (2001) is a lighter film about Hinduism and politics. Set in 1940s Trinidad, the story follows the life of Ganesh, who settles in a village to write books. Instead of great novels, however, he produces books on questions and answers about Hinduism. He becomes a success as a masseur with a reputation for healing, after learning to spice up his presentation with a turban and some “spiritual” touches. He then gains such status in the local community that he becomes

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a politician. The film does not really denigrate the mixture of religion, money, and politics, it just observes the way a reputation for spirituality elevates a person in the eyes of others. Since one of the issues over which the politicians compete is who represents true Hinduism, this film can be seen as a comment on the way politicians all over the world use religion to build communal ties. But it is also one of the few films to make Hinduism an important part of the characters’ lives. Finally, there are films that focus on Hinduism. A whole genre of films depicting Hindu myths exists in India, but only a few are available in English. One notable entry in this area is The Mahabharata (1989) production put together by Peter Brooks, who used an international cast to symbolize the universality of Hindu teachings. The film records a stagelike production of the great epic, focusing on some of the most famous episodes from the story about the battle between the Pandavas and the Kauravas. The scenes chosen for the film emphasize the Hindu philosophy from the epic, illustrating how to live a moral life by doing one’s duty to family and society without being attached to the physical or social world. There are also examples of the power of devotion and God’s role in ensuring that order triumphs over chaos. Rituals appear in scenes to provide the actors with busy work, but they are not explained, since the primary focus is the universal philosophy rather than the culturally specific ritual activity. Although made for an international audience, the production requires that viewers enter into the worldview of the myth without any extra explanation about who the gods are or how the society is organized, and this can make the film confusing. Sometimes the effort to make a film universal actually de-Hinduizes a subject that should include Hinduism. One remarkable example of this is the film Gandhi (1982), which manages to portray Mahatma Gandhi as a Hindu saint without including a single scene of a temple or a daily household ritual. There are no yogis or sadhus (renouncers) in any of the crowd scenes and Gandhi is never seen interacting with any other religious people. There is no mention of Hindu beliefs, and the only reference to a scripture comes in a scene in which Gandhi makes passing reference to the “Gita” and the Qur’an in the same sentence. When assassinated, Gandhi says “Oh God” rather than the Hindu term “Ram.” Perhaps the filmmaker thought Hinduism too complicated a subject to explain, or perhaps he wanted to universalize Gandhi and make him an ethical example for any person regardless of religious affiliation. But the elimination of all reference to the traditions that shaped the Mahatma’s personal philosophy seems curious. A reverse pattern is evident in films that attempt to express Hindu philosophy without including Indian culture. The Legend of Bagger Vance (2000), adapted from the book of the same title, transposes the Bhagavad Gita onto a golf course. There, the lessons about seeking to understand one’s true self-nature and learning to act without attachment to the fruits of one’s actions are conveyed during the

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battle of a golf tournament. The ideas do, of course, shift slightly when taken out of their original cultural context. The caste system of ancient India, which sets some of the context for the scripture, is not part of the film world, and karma in relation to golf is not quite the same as karma in relation to the cycle of rebirth. But it is an interesting attempt to present Hindu ideas to a non-Hindu audience in a way that lets people focus on the ideas rather than the romantic trappings. When Hinduism is treated positively in English-language films, it is usually as a source of exotic wisdom or as a universal teaching. It is valued in western films as a source of philosophy—not as a tradition enriched by rituals, art, music, dance, food, and all the devotional practices of daily life. Western films are more likely to use the ritual aspects of Hinduism negatively, to empower evil characters. Films made by Indian Americans also include Hindu ritual, but they use it to express the disjunction between the parental generation, which practices these rites, and the Americanized children who may not be comfortable in temples. Hinduism becomes a cultural symbol rather than a source of spirituality. Films made in India present a fuller vision of Hinduism and use it to comment on social issues such as inequality, women’s lives, politics, and modernization. The uses of Hinduism in film reflect the many roles it plays in the lives of those who make and view the films. Cybelle Shattuck See also: Bollywood.

Further Reading Derné, Steve. “Market Forces at Work: Religious Themes in Commercial Hindi Films.” In Media and the Transformation of Religion in South Asia, edited by Lawrence A. Babb and Susan S. Wadley, 191–216. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1995. Dwyer, Rachel. Filming the Gods: Religion and Indian Cinema. New York: Routledge, 2006. O’Connor, Garry. The Mahabharata: Peter Brook’s Epic in the Making. San Francisco: Mercury House, 1990. Vasudevan, Ravi. Making Meaning in Indian Cinema. New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2000.

Holidays Films involving holidays have been around since the early days of cinema— including such silent films as A Christmas Carol (1908) and The Right to be Happy (1916), and, since the 1940s, holiday films like Holiday Inn (1942) and It’s a Wonderful Life (1946). Films of this kind have become an established genre. Although

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many consist of plots in which the holiday component is atmospheric, there are a number of movies in which a holiday is central to the theme. Frequently religion even enters as a primary element of the holiday portrayed, revealing something of relationship between religion and holidays in American culture. The analysis of this relationship is by no means a new field. Recent studies have contributed critical insights on the dynamic relationship between holidays and religion; however, none have focused exclusively on the depiction of this relationship in film. Based on the role religion plays in relation to the depiction of the holiday, holiday films can be grouped into three general types. The first category examines how religion is presented in the film, either explicitly or implicitly. The second identifies the type of religion featured in the film, either cosmological or transcendental. And the third category is predicated on a paradox and/or inversion in the depiction of various components of the holiday, its portrayal, or in the way it is traditionally understood. Holiday films in which religious themes are explicitly presented are the easiest to recognize, since they present religion overtly in the context of the holiday being depicted. However, movies that merely contain a scene in a cathedral or a scene

Jimmy Stewart as George Bailey, wandering Bedford Falls, in It’s a Wonderful Life, 1946. AP Photo.

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with a crèche in the background are not explicitly religious. Explicitly religious films not only contain religious ideas and imagery but the religious features are also essential to the plot. Thus films presenting the birth narrative of Christ—for example, The Nativity (1986) and The Nativity Story (2006)—are explicitly religious. Their release during the Christmas season also tie them to the Christmas experience in the United States. With commercials on television and posters in malls advertising them, these films are insinuated as part of the holiday celebration. Some explicitly religious films become identified with holidays because of when they are released or rebroadcast. The Passion of the Christ (2004) is an explicitly religious film that has become part of the Easter holiday in America because it was rereleased in March of 2005. The film, which is a depiction of the crucifixion and (ironically) not the resurrection, is nonetheless promoted as part of the Easter holiday tradition. The Ten Commandments (1956), the cinematic retelling of the Exodus story, is another example of an explicitly religious film that is considered a holiday film, mostly because it is traditionally broadcast on Easter weekend. Therefore, just as films depicting the birth of Christ function within Christmas (and Easter), viewing The Ten Commandments has become part of the holiday experience. Although the Exodus narrative is not part of the Christian resurrection narrative but rather central to the Jewish holiday of Passover, which falls at roughly the same time as Easter—watching this film is still considered by many Christians to be an inherent part of their Easter tradition. Although explicitly religious holiday films are not difficult to identify, implicitly religious holiday films can be more of a challenge. Such movies are not grandiose visual presentations of unmistakably religious narratives; rather, they are holiday films in which the overall theme or message is religious in character. Perhaps the most commonly encountered implicitly religious holiday films are those that convey the idea of the “Christmas spirit,” which is often understood as an overwhelming feeling of munificence and generosity experienced during the Christmas season. Whether it is an overly kind bestowing of largesse or generous words, the Christmas spirit causes someone to act in a charitable manner. The most powerful portrayals of this Christmas spirit are those that focus on a callous individual who is transformed through the power of this inescapable spirit and who then immediately seeks redemption through an act of uncharacteristic kindheartedness. Examples include the various retellings of Charles Dickens’s novel A Christmas Carol (1843) and the various versions of the “Dr. Seuss” book How the Grinch Stole Christmas! (1957), written by Theodor Seuss Geisel. When religion is present in holiday films, it appears as either cosmological (locating the ultimate power in nature) or transcendental (locating the ultimate power apart from nature). Cosmological religion seems to be the more common of the two in both implicitly and explicitly religious films: both The Santa Clause

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trilogy (The Santa Clause [1994]; The Santa Clause 2 [2002]; The Santa Clause 3: The Escape Clause [2006]) and The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993) are all implicitly religious holiday films containing cosmological religious themes, while The Ten Commandments and The Passion of the Christ are explicitly religious holiday films that also contain predominantly cosmological religious themes. The Nightmare Before Christmas is an excellent example of a holiday film proliferating with cosmological imagery. The protagonist, Jack Skellington, is a shamanlike character for Halloween town—“The Pumpkin King,” as he is called to by the townspeople. He has exclusive access to the sacred, Halloween, and the various Halloween rituals cannot properly be done without him, much like the tribal rituals of primal cultures. Parallel to Jack’s status in Halloween town is Santa Claus in Christmas town; when Jack attempts to usurp Santa and perform the rituals of Christmas town, chaos ensues. The shamanistic roles of both Jack Skellington and Santa Claus are essential to the plot. Although The Ten Commandments and The Passion of the Christ are certainly sacred narratives of transcendental religions, the themes of these holiday films are strikingly cosmological. The Ten Commandments presents the story of Moses becoming a shaman; his staff (which possesses mystical powers), his exclusive access to the sacred, and his status as the only spiritual leader of the Hebrews qualify him as a shaman. Since The Ten Commandments is essentially the tale of a shaman leading a nomadic tribal society through adversity and hardships, it accentuates the cosmological dimensions of the biblical narrative. The Passion of the Christ is also a primarily cosmological film. Whereas the idea of a transcendental deity is certainly present, the very notion that Jesus is an incarnated form of God is inherently cosmological. This film tells the story of the presumed messiah’s last hours on earth before he is sacrificed for the iniquities of the world, an analogy to animal sacrifices performed by various other ancient civilizations. With its focus on the sacrifice and not the resurrection, The Passion of the Christ depicts an innately cosmological narrative. In the third category, paradox or inversion films depict various components of the holiday in an exceedingly ironic and incongruous manner, and traditional portrayals and understandings of the holiday are inverted and shown paradoxically. Religion is often implicitly presented, but within the context of the inversion; meaning that the paradoxical presentation of the various components of the holiday provide the framework within which the implicitly religious themes must develop. One such example, National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation (1989), is a wild tale of how the Griswolds’ plan to have an “old fashioned family Christmas” turns into a circus of bad luck and unforgettable mishaps. The typical Christmas rituals are ridiculously magnified and every aspect of a traditional American Christmas is inverted and turned in to a disaster; Clark Griswold completely covers the exterior

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of his home with lights, the family cat is electrocuted by the Christmas tree lights, the Christmas tree catches fire, and cousin Eddie kidnaps Clark’s boss because he did not give Clark the Christmas bonus he expected. However, the implicitly religious themes of transformation and redemption appear in this wacky Christmas story; Clark’s boss experiences that ever-present spirit of Christmas and gives every employee the Christmas bonus he or she deserves. The paradox/inversion aspect of the film is most apparent at the end, when a lit cigar ignites sewage in the front yard and launches a Santa decoration into the air. The movie ends as the Christmas spirit manifests itself in everyone as they all watch this flaming Santa soar through the sky. Another example of paradox/inversion, Bad Santa (2003), is a story about Willy Soke, a womanizer, alcoholic, and criminal who happens to play Santa Claus in the mall each Christmas. Actor Billy Bob Thornton’s portrayal of Claus is an obvious inversion of the iconic, godlike depiction of Santa that has been an established part of American culture since the late 19th century; even his elf is a criminal married to a prostitute. Santa and elf work in a different mall each Christmas season, robbing the mall safe on Christmas Eve before they leave town. However, this Christmas season is different because of Soke’s encounter with a young boy (“the kid,” as he nicknames him), whom he finds to be rich and therefore a good robbery target. However, the implicitly religious themes of transformation and redemption move Soke to give the kid a Christmas gift and to write a note confessing his crimes. The film ends with a transformed Soke intending to form a family with the kid and his mother. Films in the “holiday film” genre provide us with some insight into what is most meaningful in our various holidays. Regardless of the category into which the film is placed, the ideas of transformation, redemption, and altruism are often present, and the popularity of this motif reveals and reinforces deeply held American beliefs and values. Although religion is not explicitly presented in most holiday films, it is present implicitly in nearly all of them, frequently through the theme of transformation. This implicit presence of religion permeates American culture and is thus reflected in films that portray some of America’s most treasured experiences—the experiences related to the observation of religious holidays. Don Surrency See also: Jesus; The Passion of the Christ Controversy; Protestantism; Ritual.

Further Reading Connelly, Mark, ed. Christmas at the Movies: Images of Christmas in American, British, and European Cinema. New York: I. B. Tauris, 2000.

Holocaust, The | 225 deChant, Dell. The Sacred Santa: Religious Dimensions of Consumer Culture. Cleveland, OH: Pilgrim Press, 2002. Horsley, Richard, and James Tracy, eds. Christmas Unwrapped: Consumerism, Christ, and Culture. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 2001. Marling, Karal. Merry Christmas! Celebrating America’s Favorite Holiday. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2000. Schmidt, Lee Eric. Consumer Rites. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1995.

Holocaust, The Discussing and evaluating Holocaust films that address religion requires awareness of two significant questions about the relationships between art and the Holocaust: Can art deal with a disaster and atrocities of the magnitude of the Holocaust in a meaningful and authentic way? More particularly, what of cinematic art’s ability to record, interpret, and evaluate the Holocaust? The answers have led to a number of perspectives that shape our understanding of what is at stake in representing the Holocaust in any medium. Generally these perspectives suggest limits to Holocaust representation—limits that define what makes artists and viewers morally uneasy about a representation’s claim to truth; that define the balance between memory and forgetting tipping back and forth as survivors and new generations of Jews and Gentiles work through their relationship to the event in art and cinema; and that define representations of the Holocaust that have been made to serve a number of political, social, and cultural ideologies and agendas. Three key themes emerge related to these perspectives: God’s absence; the fate of Judaism and Jewish rituals after being severely threatened and tested by this catastrophe; and the complex nature of Christian–Jewish relationships, whose connections and tensions result either in positive support, conversion, or betrayal. The first theme’s theological focus asks if God deserted the Jews, and if so, why? In Eli Cohen’s The Quarrel (1991), two long-lost friends who had survived the Holocaust heatedly debate the issue. Chaim, now a secular Jew and a writer, charges that God betrayed his people and did nothing to stop the destruction, especially of the children. He asserts that God should be put on trial. Hersh, who has become a rabbi, responds that the Jews abandoned God, not vice versa, and that mankind was to blame for this evil. The argument ends in a stalemate. Questions about God’s position during the Holocaust also arise in Andras Jeles’s film Senkiföldje (Why Wasn’t He There? 1993). During the Nazi occupation of Hungary, 13-year-old Eva records in her diary the rise of anti-Semitism and

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the gradual dissolution of her world. Through her, audiences witness various depredations to her family and to the Jews in her town—curfews, confiscations of Jewish households, deportation to Poland and to labor camps, the fear and anxiety that gradually engulf the adults around her. As Eva’s life descends into misery and hopelessness, she finds solace and an emotional correlative, in the character of David Copperfield from the Charles Dickens’s novel; but scenes of countless deportations function as confirmation that there will be no deliverance from evil for her. A final and perhaps more subtle issue raised in some films focuses on whether or not there will be divine punishment and retribution for these crimes against humanity. Though not as explicitly stated, this is explored in Paul Mazursky’s Enemies, A Love Story (1989), Sidney Lumet’s The Pawnbroker (1964), and George Stevens’s The Diary of Anne Frank (1959), wherein the pain of loss seems to carry with it a desire for ultimate justice. Yet in all these films, the arguments, thoughts, and implications about God’s presence or absence remain unresolved, and questions about retribution and final judgment go unanswered. The second theme focuses on questions of religious and cultural continuity. A number of films show Jews deepening their religious commitments in the midst of, and despite, violence, deprivation, and suffering. In arguments with his friend Chaim in The Quarrel, Hersh still looks to God and believes in His intercessions and in His gifts and provisions to mankind. As for the Holocaust, mankind, not God, is to blame. In response to Chaim’s claim that what makes people moral and care for others resides in us as human beings, Hersh counters that there is a great need for a higher being. Only God can provide meaning, protect us, and give us hope to overcome our human frailties, especially the limitations of reason. Hersh now teaches the Torah to young Jews at a yeshiva, and he urges Claim to return to one—to return to the kind of educational and cultural center in which they had studied together in Poland before the Holocaust. They part as friends, but only Hersh remains committed to Judaism. The Frank and Van Daan families in The Diary of Anne Frank both remain faithful to Judaism during their ordeal of confinement in an attic while hiding from the Nazis. Otto Frank, Anne’s father, even conducts school for the children to teach them Jewish traditions. Together they celebrate Hannukah. They ask for God’s blessing and hope for deliverance, like their ancestors thousands of years before. Their continued confinement stimulates Anne to want to believe in something and to appreciate the freedom and beauties of the outside world. As Anne muses further about God, she looks to the open sky, birds, and clouds that symbolize both the promise of heaven, or (in the case of the clouds) the fate of those sent to the crematoriums. Nevertheless, Anne remains optimistic and retains her faith in a universal order which “we are too little to understand.”

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More challenging are those films that focus on Jews who depart from or cast away Judaism. In Henry Bean’s The Believer (2001), Danny, a Jew, embraces Neo-Nazism and blames the Jews for not standing up to the Nazis in the camps. In an interchange between his group of skinheads and Holocaust survivors, Danny calls the survivors unprincipled cowards for not resisting and then asserts that he and his friends have nothing to learn from them. Significantly, when Danny and his friends raid a Jewish temple, he reacts strongly against the mishandling of the Torah; he takes it away from the others and tries to repair the damage. Subsequently, he finds himself drawn to a woman who wants to learn more about the Torah. In the final act, Danny’s conflicted loyalties lead him to save the lives of his old Jewish schoolmates by urging them to leave the synagogue where he himself had planted explosives set to detonate during High Holiday services. Danny dies in the explosion and, at the end of the film, is seen running up stairs. Is he ascending to heaven as a believing Jew or does he remain forever on the stairs, never arriving at a final destination? The films Sunshine (1999) and Europa, Europa (1990) deal with situations in which Jews must abjure Judaism or hide their Jewish identity in order to adapt to political systems or survive the Nazis. Istvan Szabo’s Sunshine follows three generations of the Hungarian Sonnenschein family as they make political and social bargains that they hope will propel them forward in the Gentile world. Ignaz changes the family’s Jewish name to the more Hungarian Schorsch, a name they will keep for three generations. Later, to advance a career in fencing, his son Adam becomes a Roman Catholic, raising the question of where his loyalties ultimately lie—with Judaism, his country, or fencing. Despite all these maneuvers, as the Holocaust develops Adam still faces anti-Semitism and various state-sponsored restrictions on Jews. When the Nazis enter Hungary, Adam is sent to a camp where his son Ivan sees him beaten to death. When the Communists take over after World War II, Ivan joins them and becomes a police investigator. Eventually, prejudices against Jews as conspirators against the Communist regime arise, and when Ivan wants to acquit a Holocaust survivor, he is warned to be careful or he himself could be investigated. At the film’s end, Ivan leaves the police force, changes his name back to Sonnenschein, and returns to Judaism. He now feels that he can breathe freely and looks to religion “as a boat to get you to the safe shore.” The focus of Agnieszka Holland’s Europa, Europa is on the life of young Solomon Perel, who assumes different roles to survive the Holocaust. To escape the Nazis, Solly and his brother Isaak leave their family in Lodz and go further east, where they are separated. Solly ends up with the Russians and is taught Communist doctrine, especially the tenet that religion is the opiate of the masses. In a letter, his father urges him to remain faithful to Judaism and to remember his roots, but Solly must maintain the appearance of a Communist. When Hitler invades

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Russia, Solly is captured by the Germans and changes his identity to survive. He assumes the German name Josef Peters and gains favor because he can translate Russian for the German military leaders. In a meeting with an officer, he is told that this conflict is a holy war against the Jews. Later, as he works his way into the good graces of the Germans, they decide to send him (as Josef Peters) to a Hitler Youth school. In his new identity, he swears allegiance to Hitler and becomes an inside witness to anti-Jewish hatred and Nazi rituals. He is taught all the stereotypical attitudes and beliefs about the heinous Jews and the perfect Nordics. But he is also at risk of revealing the one ineffaceable mark of his Jewish identity, his circumcision, a bodily reminder of the covenant between Jews and God. Through a painful stratagem, Solly manages to pass, and, ironically, he is declared to be a true Aryan. When the war turns against the Nazis, Solly defects to the Russians and tells them he is a Jew, but, in another irony, he is not believed. He is about to be killed when his brother Isaak miraculously appears and saves him. Once the brothers are reunited, Solly finds out that the rest of his family was murdered. Therefore he returns to Judaism and migrates to Israel. His life illustrates the psychological costs of religious “passing” during the war as well as the solace and “naturalness” of self-selected Jewish community. One last variation of this second theme, from Enemies, A Love Story, concerns the seeming absence of religious morality and belief in God among Holocaust survivors. Adapted from the novel by Isaac Bashevis Singer, the story revolves around Herman Broder, now a ghostwriter for an American rabbi, who tries to juggle three relationships—with his Polish wife Jadwiga (with whom he currently lives), with his Jewish mistress Masha, and with his first wife Tamara, who he thought was killed in the camps but who unexpectedly returns, as if from the dead. They live their lives without faith or rituals, although Jadwiga, a Polish Christian who saved Herman’s life, persuades him to maintain some Jewish religious customs, primarily because she wants to keep him from straying. Indeed, Masha (also a survivor) and Herman question God’s presence and concern for them, and both prefer to lose themselves in a life of passionate, sensual pleasures. Tamara, on the other hand, embodies a stoic attitude toward the absence of God. She seems to accept the injustices of human existence; expert at managing her pain, she offers to help Herman manage his life. Herman, though, is looking for an escape from the trauma of the Holocaust. At one point, under pressure from Jadwiga, he makes a stab at keeping the holidays and traditional observance; however, Herman’s solution to the issue of his three “wives” is to disappear. After failing to follow through on his suicide pact with Masha, Herman simply runs away, leaving Jadwiga and her child under Tamara’s care and sending them occasional letters with money. As a figure of the withdrawn patriarch, Herman’s character is a resonant theological allusion.

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Thus the fate of Judaism and Jewish rituals during the Holocaust era, as expressed in these films, is complicated and diverse. Some Jews remain faithful and even deepen their commitments to religious tradition. Others reject or ignore tradition and rituals. Still others make adaptations in their religiosity in order to advance politically and socially or even to survive, but then they eventually return to Judaism or ultimately reaffirm their Jewish identity. The third theme in these films, Christian–Jewish relationships under the impact of the Holocaust, raises several complex issues, such as the suggestion that Jewishness is somehow flawed and inadequate and that advancement or salvation lies in Christianity in one form or another. This is evident in The Pawnbroker. Sol Nazerman is a Holocaust survivor, plagued by survivor guilt, who has barred himself against any emotional involvements with, or feelings for, his poor and predominantly Christian customers. Nazerman exploits them mercilessly, explaining to his Christian assistant Jesus Ortiz that, historically, Jews were forced into pawnbroking because of their exclusion from farming and from Christian society. Christianity is seen to subsume and supplant Judaism in the film’s climax, when Jesus and others attempt to rob the shop. During the robbery, violence erupts and Jesus sacrifices his life to save Nazerman by stepping in front of him and taking a bullet meant for the pawnbroker. Jesus’ name and sacrifice are all too suggestive. In anguish over Jesus’ death, Nazerman then pierces his hand on a spike in the shop, a kind of crucifixion that signals his moral and spiritual transformation. In several scholars’ interpretation of the film, Nazerman achieves redemption through this re-enactment of Christian self-sacrifice. Yet interpreting Nazerman this way is controversial; the film’s climax could also be read as Nazerman’s traumatic reexperience of his powerlessness in the concentration camp. A second issue raised in films that picture Christian–Jewish relationships during the Holocaust is their potential for overstating or understating Christian sympathy and aid for Jews. The Diary of Anne Frank is illustrative here as well. The Krallers, a Christian family who operate a business downstairs from the Frank’s attic, show great respect for Otto Frank and his family. During the Franks’ confinement, the Krallers provide them with food and even a radio to get outside news. Some have observed that when favorable news is reported on the radio, ringing church bells on the film’s soundtrack seem to reinforce a warm Jewish–Christian friendship. And viewers appreciate the full impact of the Krallers’ actions knowing that if discovered, such aid would condemn them to the same fate as the Jews. In the film’s conclusion, Otto Frank, the sole survivor, returns to the apartment, where Mr. Kraller declares that he would do it all again if necessary. Although the historical truth of this particular relationship is not in doubt, the film is often read as a metonymy for Christian regard toward Jewish victims. The danger is that such a feel-good movie about Christian–Jewish relations, in prodding viewers to

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see this story as standing in for all such relations during the war, misrepresents a complicated and fraught subject whose dynamics were different in different occupied countries. How complicated these relationships were is evident in a quick comparison of the made-for-television film Leni (1994) and Steven Spielberg’s Schindler’s List (1993), films that provide opposing images of German Catholics. In Leo Hiemer’s Leni, Catholics are seen as complicit and cooperating with the Nazis. Leni deals with the birth in a convent of a Jewish girl, who is then taken by a nun to be raised in the country by an elderly couple. Brought up as a Christian, Leni enjoys life on her adoptive parents’ farm until the fervent Nazi mayor begins to question her origins. He forces the couple to return Leni to the convent, from which all the Jewish children are then deported to the camps. The Catholic Church does not exert itself to protect them. In Spielberg’s film, the Catholic Schindler is the very model of the righteous Gentile. His skill and dedication in shielding Jews from the Nazis is portrayed in the film as a moral lesson in the right use of power. When Amon Goeth, the new Nazi commandant of Plaszow, enforces harsher measures against the Jews, Schindler tries to persuade him to exercise restraint by implicitly asking whether power is the ability to take life or to spare it. Schindler exemplifies the latter definition, and when Goeth allows him to transfer his Jewish workers to a safer locale in Czechoslovakia, Schindler specifically encourages them to practice their religion inside the factory. When the war ends, his workers show their admiration and love for him by presenting him with a ring inscribed with a passage from the Talmud: “Whoever saves one life saves the world entire.” Thus references to religion in the film function as discreet reminders of Schindler’s moral role—the example par excellence of Christian sympathy and aid for Jews during the Holocaust. A third and final issue is the way in which Christian–Jewish relationships in these films contribute to and help promote the concept of a “Judeo–Christian” tradition and value system. This issue is given particular expression in Grzegorz Linkowski’s documentary film Wpisany w gwiazde Davida (Cross Inscribed in the Star of David, 1997). The film introduces viewers to Father Romuald Jakub Weksler-Waskinel, a Polish Catholic priest who discovers that he was born a Jew during the Holocaust and was given to a Polish woman outside the ghetto, who raised him. As some have observed, the film’s message becomes clear when the priest declares, “I am a Jew from Jesus. I survived to speak of it with a loud voice.” Throughout, the film explores the ambiguity of religious identity in a country whose history and culture were intertwined for close to 700 years with Jews and Judaism. As the film suggests, the priest’s solution to this ambiguity, wearing the Star of David with the cross inside, ultimately signifies a symbolic fusing of the two religions, though quite obviously Christianity is the executor of this Christian–Jewish inheritance.

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Thus Christian–Jewish relationships under the impact of the Holocaust are portrayed as varied and complicated. Christians provide positive support and protection to Jews in danger; Christians and their organizations at times cooperate with the Nazis and adopt their anti-Semitism. And some films suggest that Judaism is flawed and Jews in need of redemption through Christian intervention, while others, like Cross Inscribed in the Star of David, present Judaism and Christianity as linked religions. The extent to which film is capable of providing stable meanings or enabling clear understandings of the Holocaust remains debatable. However, in films that address its relation to religion, it is evident that the characters, actions, and theology in these films offer cinematic studies of the Holocaust’s effect on faith, Judaism, and Christian–Jewish relationships. In that respect, their illustrations of the vagaries of representation, memory, and ideology add significantly to our knowledge, if not our comprehension, of this horrific event. John Longaker, Laurence Roth, and Shannon Nagy See also: Catholicism; Judaism.

Further Reading Avisar, Ilan. Screening the Holocaust: Cinema’s Image of the Unimaginable. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1988. Doneson, Judith E. The Holocaust in American Film, 2nd ed. Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, 2002. Insdorf, Annette. Indelible Shadows: Film and the Holocaust, 3rd ed. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003. Levinson, Julian. “The Maimed Body and the Tortured Soul: Holocaust Survivors in American Film.” The Yale Journal of Criticism 17, no. 1 (2004): 141–160. Loshitzky, Yosefa, ed. Spielberg’s Holocaust: Critical Perspectives on Schindler’s List. Bloomington: University of Indiana Press, 1997. Wright, Melanie J. “ ‘Don’t Touch My Holocaust’: Responding to Life Is Beautiful.” The Journal of Holocaust Education 9, no. 1 (2000): 19–32.

Horror Horror films have been a staple of American movies since the dawn of the motion picture. Drawing on western folklore, European Gothic literature, and the Victorian ghost story, filmmakers early on recognized the aesthetic and commercial possibilities of horror themes. Silent masterpieces from Europe—such as Paul

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Wegener’s Der Golem (The Golem, 1920), Benjamin Christensen’s Häxan (The Witches, 1922), and F. W. Murnau’s Nosferatu (1922)—soon gave way to the socalled Golden Age of Hollywood horror, catalyzed by Tod Browning’s Dracula (1931) and James Whale’s Frankenstein (1931). Since that time, horror film production, both in the United States and abroad, has remained high. Horror films are consistently among the most profitable genres in the movie industry. The persistent popularity of horror films begs the question “Why?” Ever since the rise of the Gothic novel in the late 18th century, critics have puzzled over the appeal of horror literature, given its morbid preoccupations with fear, death, and monsters. The horror film, reaching a far broader audience and achieving even greater heights of popularity, has only made the question more urgent. A veritable academic industry of horror criticism has risen in response. Most critics have been naturalistic in their presuppositions. They assume that horror films hide meanings of psychological, sociological, or ideological import. A few, however, have detected religious meanings in these films. Horror films are narratives designed to evoke both profound fear and fascination. That this combination of emotions is the sine qua non of horror tales is generally upheld by critical consensus, although some critics debate the precise quality of fear that defines horror. Ann Radcliffe, an early-18th-century pioneer of the Gothic novel, insisted on a clear distinction between what she called “terror” and “horror”: the fascinating fear of “terror” is that of the sublime, while the fascinating fear of horror is that of disgust. And yet such a restricted definition does not accord well with the popular definition. Zombie films such as Night of the Living Dead (1968) or slashers like Friday the 13th (1980) may indeed evoke disgust to delight the squeamish, but the giant ape of King Kong (1933; 1976; 2005) and the ghosts of The Haunting (1999) are clearly more awe-inspiring than disgusting, at least before the killing starts. In the case of cinema, then, the horror “canon” frequently includes films that display both terror and horror in the same film. As with most other film genres, the narrative structure of the horror film is exceedingly simple: a stable situation is upset by the introduction of some disturbing force, which is then resisted in the hope of restoring the status quo by story’s end. Where the horror genre differs from all other genres, however, is that the agent of conflict is invariably a monster, a being anomalous in form or psychology who is dangerous if not malevolent. Drawing on the work of anthropologist Mary Douglas and psychologist Julia Kristeva, critics have noted that anomalous beings, by their very nature, blur cultural boundaries. They thus challenge the classificatory systems so important for the stability of human society and individual identity, which instinctively renders them objects of fear and fascination. And yet, this alone is not enough to qualify an anomalous being as a horror monster. John Merrick, the grotesquely malformed protagonist of The Elephant Man (1980), is definitely

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an anomaly evoking disgust and fascination, but The Elephant Man is definitely not a horror film, for no gentler creature than Merrick could be imagined. Frankenstein’s creature, on the other hand, though beginning his life as an innocent, is rejected because of his anomalousness and earns his designation of monster by degenerating into a brutal killer. Monsters, therefore, are anomalous beings that actively bring death, destruction, and chaos into the world; they confirm our unconscious fears of anomalous beings by committing the violence to which we assume their warped natures make them heir. The range of possible monsters is potentially as vast as the human imagination, but in the West certain types of monsters occur regularly. These can be classified as either supernatural or supranatural (i.e., products of nature but rare or novel). In the supernatural group fall ghosts and evil spirits, witches, demons, and Satan himself, with the most popular being vampires, werewolves, and reanimated mummies. In the supranatural category belong such man-made monsters as Frankenstein’s creature and Godzilla, while unaided nature is implicated in the production of such monstrous animals as King Kong, the ravenous shark in Jaws (1975), and the bloodthirsty arthropod in Alien (1979). Finally, and growing in popularity since the 1960s, are the human monsters, serial killers, psychotics, and chainsawwielding cannibals. A few popular monsters are difficult to classify in this way (are zombies super- or supranatural beings?), and others seem to cross over (for example, Michael Myers in Halloween [1978]). Most, however, fall clearly in one category or the other. Critics are divided on whether this distinction has any bearing on the religious meanings of a horror film. Religious studies scholars reading the above definition of horror will probably experience a sense of déjà vu, for it bears a striking resemblance to the definition of religious experience adduced by theologian Rudolf Otto in The Idea of the Holy (1917). Otto defined religious experience as a sense of mysterium tremendum et fascinans, or, put another way, that “the numinous” (the supernatural object of religious feeling) ineluctably provokes intense feelings of both fear and fascination. Otto further subdivided this complex of emotions into a “daemonic” form, in which fear originates in loathing, and a higher “sublime” form, in which fear proceeds from an overpowering sense of wonder and awe. Both sets of emotions are fundamentally religious and constitute a continuum of possible responses to the numinous. Not surprisingly, therefore, some literary critics have seized on Otto’s work as the most adequate explanation for the peculiar hold that the horror genre has on its audiences. Since both the numinous and the horror tale produce similar emotional effects, these critics argue that horror and the holy must somehow be related. Monsters have played prominent roles in the mythologies of many ancient religions, and such stories as Leviathan, Behemoth, and the dragon of the Apocalypse

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are included not simply to inspire horror but to legitimate the biblical worldview in a particularly effective way. It could be argued that today’s movie monsters continue to function along the same lines. Although shorn of overt religious contexts, Dracula, the shark in Jaws, the demon in The Exorcist (1973), and Hannibal Lector in The Silence of the Lambs (1991) all represent the same ancient cosmology—a cosmology that apparently still resonates strongly in the minds of many. Perhaps it is in this sense that we can see horror cinema as a distant echo of ancient rites. Some critics who cite the mysterium tremendum et fascinans as the reason for horror’s continued popularity deny that it arises through contact with some numinous object embedded in a dualistic cosmos but rather occur when human beings are confronted with the fearful prospect of transcending their own finitude. If religion is not necessarily about the supernatural but about human beings’ attempts to transcend their biological natures, then horror stories can more easily be considered religious. According to one scholar, horror films can be broken into two categories depending on the kind of transcendence they illustrate. In the first, the monster threatens to reduce us to nothing and thereby annihilate us, while in the second, we are shown what would happen if one were to aspire to know cosmic secrets. The Incredible Shrinking Man (1957) and “X”: The Man With the X-Ray Eyes (1963) are good illustrations of this. In the first, the hapless hero is exposed to a radioactive gas that causes him to shrink uncontrollably. By the film’s end, he is reduced to fighting off a spider with a sewing needle before slipping off forever into the subatomic world and oblivion. Despite an improbably happy ending, The Incredible Shrinking Man is a truly frightening imagining of what it might be like to become infinitesimal. At the other end of the scale, the scientist-hero of “X”: The Man with the X-Ray Eyes seeks to expand his sight infinitely, even though a colleague warns him that “only the gods see everything.” Successful in his enterprise, the scientist peers deeper and deeper into the cosmos, leading inevitably to madness and mayhem. The film ends with the scientist dying in an evangelist’s tent after confessing the sin of hubris. In both films, according to Schneider’s thesis, a sense of the mysterium is generated through depictions of infinite transcendence of one’s humanity. Another approach focuses as much on the content of the tale as on the specific emotions it generates. Critics who take this approach have tacitly adopted the intellectualist definition of religion as a belief in supernatural beings. These critics thus see an important distinction between supernatural horror and supranatural horror, for while both can provoke strong emotions, only the former is properly labeled religious. The question remains, though, “What makes the supernatural more attractive when it is presented through horror?” One response is that supernatural horror functions to reinforce beliefs in the supernatural in general. Such might be the case of many modern horror films. William Peter Blatty, author and

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producer of The Exorcist, wrote that he found transcendence in his story. Similarly, Stanley Kubrick reportedly observed to horror novelist Stephen King before filming The Shining (1980) that ghost stories imply life after death. On the other hand, some argue that believers are not the target audience of modern supernatural tales—skeptics are. According to this argument, during periods when there is no consensus about the supernatural, horror tales function to permit speculation. In other words, horror tales satisfy a yearning for “otherworldly” gratification without the burden of having to take it seriously. Recent research seems to suggest that, in terms of the audiences for these films, both interpretations may be correct. One scholar has argued that the increasing assertiveness of Evangelical Christians, with their belief in the active presence of Satan in the world, ironically contributed to the explosion of horror films from the 1970s on, since their beliefs made such films more plausible. Conversely, in interviews with secular families, scholars found that many relished the experience of supernatural monsters and cited horror films as a source of much of their information on afterlife beliefs. Few, however, connected horror films with organized religion or morality. Finally, it is interesting to note that during the 1950s, a period in which arguably there did exist in the United States a social consensus on the supernatural, there was a dearth of supernatural horror films. It might be that this was because the then high levels of traditional religiosity obviated the need. Traditional religious concepts and symbolism have often been featured in horror films. Until the 1960s, though, Christian symbols were carefully decontextualized and not identified with any one denomination so as not to offend any “important” segment of the film’s audience. When specific religious traditions were invoked in horror films, “exotic” traditions were used, for example, ancient Egyptian religion in The Mummy (1999) or, even more insistently, voodoo. For many westerners, White Zombie (1932) was their first contact with voodoo, and many thought it a wholly Hollywood creation. White Zombie established all the prominent elements of the “voodoo picture,” and all subsequent examples, from I Walked with a Zombie (1943) to The Serpent and the Rainbow (1988), have recycled such elements as zombie dust, voodoo dolls, and the evil zombie master first introduced in that earlier film. Despite the obvious racism of the “voodoo picture,” moviemakers have found the ready identification of voodoo as a sinister cult too bankable a horror premise to discard entirely (perhaps for this reason zombies unaffiliated with any religious tradition have become a thriving subgenre of their own, e.g., Night of the Living Dead and its progeny). For practitioners and scholars of voodoo, however, disentangling the actual tradition from that portrayed in the movies has been a formidable problem; in the United States, at least, practitioners find it expedient to maintain a low profile and keep their worship services out of the public eye to avoid stigmatization.

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Perhaps inevitably, given horror’s roots in the Gothic novel, Roman Catholicism eventually provided fodder for Hollywood horror films. The church’s ritualism, hierarchy, and complex mythology, a source of endless fear and fascination for many Protestants, figures prominently in the Satan movies that became popular in the late 1960s. In the seminal Rosemary’s Baby (1968), for example, Catholic hierarchy and ritual are conflated with those of a Satanist coven in a lurid dream sequence that managed to include the Kennedys, the Pope, and Satan. In 1976, audiences were treated to another appearance of the Devil, this time in the guise of Damien the Antichrist in The Omen (1976). That film and its sequels were nothing less than primers on the mythology of premillennialism, and their success proved that the baroque horrors of the Book of Revelation never go out of style. True to Reformation sensibilities, Catholics are the villains of The Omen; in an egregious bit of Catholic bashing, a priest and nun protect the baby Antichrist and arrange his advantageous adoption by a politically well-connected American Catholic family, thus setting Damien up to be president of United States by the second sequel. Similar anti-Catholic themes can be found in such films as The Amityville Horror (1979), Amityville II: The Possession (1982), and Evilspeak (1981). Not all Catholic-themed horror films cast the church in a negative light. Despite the fact that many Catholics denounced Rosemary’s Baby, members of the church actively collaborated with the making of what is arguably the greatest Devil picture of all time, The Exorcist. Several Jesuit priests appeared in the movie, and the filmmakers counted on the cooperation of Catholic Georgetown University to give the film an authentic look. Indeed, in the wake of the tremendous response to the movie, which one critic tagged “the greatest advert for Catholicism that the world has ever seen,” vocations to the priesthood actually increased for a time, as did visits to the confessional. From that point on, the pro-Catholic horror film proved to be as enduringly popular as the anti-Catholic horror film; in addition to four Exorcist sequels, one can also point to such examples as The Unholy (1988), Stigmata (1999), and The Order (2003). Perhaps the most ludicrous example of this subgenre was Van Helsing (2004), in which our eponymous hero is a hit man for the Vatican tracking down such famous movieland monsters as Dr. Jekyll, the Wolf Man, Frankenstein, and, of course, Dracula. Cecil B. DeMille once said “God is box office,” and films such as The Ten Commandments (1956) and The Greatest Story Ever Told (1965) seem to confirm this dictum. And yet, religiously themed horror films have been far more popular and far more abundant than straight religious films. Why is it that audiences seem to be more responsive to traditional religious themes when they are presented through horror? One naturalistic explanation is that horror helps to underscore the “otherness” of other people’s religions, thus articulating our subconscious fears

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in this regard. However, thousands of Catholics were thrilled to see their own tradition in The Exorcist, and Catholics and Protestants alike flocked to see Satan preside over the torture of Jesus in Mel Gibson’s fantastically gruesome The Passion of the Christ (2004). This could be yet another confirmation of the continued power of the dualistic worldview discussed above. In such a culture, even the benevolent side of religion must be closely linked to evil and pain to be believable. According to this thesis, then, horror films are among the few venues in contemporary culture where traditionally religious concepts and symbols can be employed with potency and persuasiveness. Are horror films intrinsically religious? As should be clear from the foregoing, it depends on whom you ask. According to the “religious experience” camp, all horror films that effectively evoke the correct combination and strength of emotions (or at least promise to do so) are irreducibly religious. According to the “religious ideas” camp, although horror films can be effective vehicles for religious expression, they are only as religious as the explicit religious concepts and symbols featured in them. However, what is ultimately important in such a discussion is not a final agreement on a particular religious interpretation but that horror films can be so interpreted at all. As mentioned above, most critical interpretation of horror films has been predominantly naturalistic. That is, most critics attribute the popularity of these films to the fact that they are symbolic expressions of psychosexual repression, sociological anxieties, or evolving constructions of race, class, and gender. These interpretations may indeed be valid, but what has been shown above is that naturalistic interpretations do not exhaust the hermeneutical possibilities of these films. Religious interpretations, and thus more broadly humanistic interpretations, are not only possible but, for many, compelling as well. Brian Wilson See also: Catholicism; Devil; Kubrick, Stanley; Vampires; Voodoo.

Further Reading Benshoff, Harry M. “Blaxploitation Horror Films: Generic Reappropriation or Reinscription?” Cinema Journal 39, no. 2 (2000): 31–50. Cowan, Douglas E. Sacred Terror: Religion and Horror on the Silver Screen. Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2008. Edmundson, Mark. Nightmare on Main Street: Angels, Sadomasochism, and the Culture of Gothic. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1997. Jones, Darryl. Horror: A Thematic History in Fiction and Film. London: Arnold Press, 2002.

238 | Horror Leggett, Paul. Terence Fisher: Horror, Myth, and Religion. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2002. Schneider, Kirk J. Horror and the Holy: Wisdom Teachings of the Monster Tale. Chicago: Open Court, 1993. Skal, David J. The Monster Show: A Cultural History of Horror. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2001.

I Indigenous Religions Indigenous peoples and their religions have been grossly misrepresented in cinema. Successful comedic films such as The Gods Must Be Crazy (1980), Joe Versus the Volcano (1990), and Crocodile Dundee (1986) present indigenous peoples as animal-like, unsophisticated, ignorant, and superstitious. In most films, indigenous peoples are portrayed as everything westerners are not; they are either extremely childlike or barbaric, they wear little or no clothing, and they are sensual in their dance and ritual. Whether films have depicted actual people—as is the case with African bushmen of The Gods Must be Crazy—or “fictional” people, like those from the island of Waponi Woo in Joe Versus the Volcano, the stereotypes remain much the same. Since its advent, cinema has been linked to—and has had an intimate relationship with—colonization, ethnography, and entertainment. One of the first films to depict indigenous peoples was recorded by Félix-Louis Regnault in Paris in 1895. Regnault, an amateur anthropologist and physician, documented the “savage locomotion” of West Africans—that is, he compared and contrasted the way “savage” people walked with the way that Europeans or “civilized” people walked. This film established the standard by which indigenous peoples would come to be represented. The immensely popular Cannibals of the South Seas (1912), for instance, claims to present “real” cannibals in the South Pacific and tells of the attempted abduction of a white woman. The success of this film (and others like it) ensured the production of countless other “ethnographic” movies. Even films not directly dealing with indigenous peoples, such as D. W. Griffith’s The Birth of a Nation (1915), have had an impact on how indigenous peoples have come to be represented. Although The Birth of a Nation, an adaptation of Thomas Dixon’s The Clansman (1905), is ostensibly concerned with what white southerners called “Redemption”—that is, the deliberate destruction of the North’s Reconstruction effort in the South and the return of white supremacy, 239

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it celebrates the Ku Klux Klan’s effort to re-establish social order by violently putting the “primitives” in its midst back into their proper place of servitude and obedience. Nonetheless, The Birth of a Nation asserts that without the benevolent and disciplining institution of slavery, African Americans would inevitably return to their uncivilized ways. Emancipated African Americans (whites in blackface) are depicted by Griffith as reverting to their primitive or savage state. Every genre has contributed to the negative portrayal of indigenous peoples and their cultures, languages, and religions. Dramas such as Tabu (1931), but especially action–adventure films—such as the various depictions of Tarzan and all three versions of King Kong (1933; 1976; 2005)—are responsible for the resilience and informing power of the derogatory depictions of indigenous peoples and their religions, particularly the two aspects most commonly depicted in film: superstition and ritual sacrifice. Superstition—that is, the irrational belief in the supernatural power of objects, things, animals, people, or beings, real or imagined—is the most fundamental and commonly emphasized aspect of indigenous religion in film. Indeed, indigenous religions are portrayed as nothing more than belief systems built upon superstitions. In some films, superstitious beliefs are presented as harmless, silly, or nonsensical, while in others, superstitious beliefs have dangerous ramifications. An example of the former occurs in the comedy The Gods Must be Crazy, in which a brave African bushman attempts to dispose of an empty soda pop bottle by tossing it off of the “edge of the world.” The bottle had been discarded by a careless airplane pilot and found by tribesmen. In their ignorance, the tribesmen assume that the empty bottle was a gift from the gods. However, there is only one bottle to go around, and soon tension enters the once peaceful and noble tribe. A lone African bushman resolves to purge the sacred object from their midst, ridding the world of its chaotic powers. In the drama Tabu, the silly beliefs of the indigenous people have serious consequences. Set in Bora Bora, the film depicts two young islanders in love. The royal priest of a neighboring island arrives and selects Reri, one of the young lovers, to be the sacred maiden of the people. She objects—as a sacred maiden she is “tabu,” and it is forbidden for any man to look, desire, or touch her—but tradition and law demand that she fulfill her duty. In the dark of night her lover abducts her and they flee to a French-occupied island “where the white man rules and the old gods are forgotten.” On this new island they are content; the young man has a job diving for pearls and the young woman stays home. Eventually the royal priest locates Reri and warns (threatens) her that if she does not return with her lover, he will die within three days. She reluctantly agrees to return with the royal priest in the hope that her lover’s life might be spared. In the middle of the night, the priest escorts Reri to his boat. Moments after they launch, the young man discovers what has happened and swims out into the open sea in pursuit of Reri. She is ignorant

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of his efforts but the priest has seen the young man, and, in the final scene of the movie, the young man gets close enough to grip a rope hanging from the ship, the royal priest cuts it, and the young man drowns. The message is clear. Superstitious beliefs not only interfere with industry, happiness, and love but also kill. Additionally, indigenous priests or tribal religious leaders are commonly portrayed as petty tyrants or fanatics for the “old ways,” which is not in keeping with indigenous religions of the Pacific islands, the Americas, and Africa; the religions there, unlike those in the West, are generally neither inclined to hierarchical thinking nor obsessed with notions of orthodoxy. Another aspect that has fired the imaginations of generations of film directors is ritual sacrifice. Such rites, performed by savage tribes to appease gods, monsters, and volcanoes or for the purpose of cannibalism, probably offer the most popular images of indigenous religions. In the King Kong films, a beautiful white woman is abducted from the security of her ship by “savages” to be ritually sacrificed to Kong, an overgrown ape on a mysterious island forgotten by time. In all three versions of the film, the unfortunate white woman is taken, bound, and left to face Kong alone. When her disappearance is discovered, the white men attack the islanders and pursue Kong into the interior. With grit, pure determination, and a little help from western firepower, the hero rescues the screaming woman from her captor. Not only are the white men able to save the white woman but—with their brains and guns—they manage to subdue and abduct Kong himself. In the romantic comedy Joe Versus the Volcano, a man named Joe is duped into believing that he is terminally ill with a “brain cloud.” Joe quits his job and is offered an opportunity to live lavishly if he will sacrifice himself by jumping into a volcano. The man making the offer is a wealthy entrepreneur who is interested in mining minerals on an island named Waponi Woo in the Pacific Ocean. Unbeknownst to Joe, the inhabitants need to sacrifice a human at least once a century and have agreed to let the entrepreneur mine their island if he can provide a sacrifice for them, since none of the inhabitants are willing. At the end of the film, Joe follows through on his commitment after an impromptu wedding to one of the entrepreneur’s daughters. Husband and wife descend into the volcano together but are miraculously ejected by volcanic gases and descend safely into the ocean. The eruption, however, destroys the island, so that it and (presumably) its inhabitants sink into the ocean. Mel Gibson’s Apocalypto (2006) shows a different sort of sacrifice from Joe Versus the Volcano. In this action–adventure film set just prior to the arrival and subsequent conquest of New Spain by the Spanish, Gibson presents Mayan civilization as brutal, decadent, and overtly sensual. The film’s protagonist, a “noble savage” named Jaguar Paw, and his fellow tribesmen are violently abducted from their idyllic forest village by brutal raiders and taken to a Mayan city either to be sold as slaves or sacrificed to the gods. The women are inspected and sold on

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the auction block to highest bidder; the men are marched to the temple to have their hearts cut out and their corpses tossed into a heap below. The temple priests presiding over the sacrificial rites are portrayed as power-drunk charlatans. Fortunately for Jaguar Paw, an eclipse occurs just seconds before he is to be killed by one of the priests, and he is spared. He and his cohorts are then taken to an open field to be killed for sport, but Jaguar Paw makes his escape by sprinting into the forest. The rest of the film consists of a long pursuit on foot; Jaguar Paw is saved only by the serendipitous arrival of the Spanish conquistadores. Besides confusing Mayan brutality with the reign of terror the Spanish would unleash on all of the indigenous inhabitants of New Spain and being little more than a preapocalyptic Mesoamerican remake of Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome (1985), Apocalypto is filled with a number of historical inaccuracies, none more pronounced than the depiction of human sacrifice. Mayan methods of temple sacrifice are inaccurately shown as occurring one after another, day after day, in an attempt to appease the gods and bring back the maize. In reality, the Maya had all but abandoned their urban centers centuries before the arrival of the Spanish and, with the collapse of the urban centers, large-scale temple sacrifices had ceased. If Mayan human sacrifice was still occurring at the time of Spain’s invasion—the Mexica (or Aztecs) were conquered in 1521, the Maya were not conquered until 1546—it would have occurred at the village level. In Apocalypto, human sacrifice occurs on such a large scale that mass graves are located outside of the city, but no mass graves linked to pre-Columbian sacrifices have ever been discovered in Yucatan or Central America. Still, human sacrifice in the film is shown as an act performed simply to appease the blood lust of the cheering crowds and for the pleasure of corrupt rulers. What is not shown is that Mesoamerican peoples who did practice human sacrifice did it because they actually believed that the world would end if human blood were not spilled. Overtly missing in the history of cinema—with rare exception—are honest attempts to represent indigenous religions accurately. Complex forms of abstract thought, notions of hospitality, concepts concerning the universal humanity of man, laws of morality, political philosophies, rigid rules about sexuality and the body, and the history of traditional place names are ignored. Instead, what is presented is a picture of peoples—animal-like at worst or childlike at best—who worship empty soda bottles, cannibalize foreigners, and abduct pretty white women to give to their gods or monsters. In this way, cinema has never accurately portrayed the Manobo of Mindanao, Igorot of Luzon, Aymara of the Andes, and Maya of the Yucatan. To be sure, the negative depictions exist not solely because of belief, misinformation, or simple ignorance. These representations exist in film because they work; they work because audiences enjoy seeing indigenous peoples in a particular way. There are signs, however, that change is occurring. Whale Rider

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(2002), for example, takes seriously the sanctity of oral traditions and examines the social and economic conditions affecting an indigenous people. Whatever its shortcomings, it is a step in the right direction. Robert L. Green Jr. See also: Africa; American Indian Religion; Australia.

Further Reading Bernardi, Daniel, ed. The Birth of Whiteness: Race and the Emergence of U.S. Cinema. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1996. Bernardi, Daniel, ed. Classic Hollywood, Classic Whiteness. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2001. Rony, Fatimah Tobing. The Third Eye: Race, Cinema, and the Ethnographic Spectacle. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1996. Smith, Linda Tuhiwai. Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous People. New York: Zed Books, 1999.

Islam Long before September 11, 2001, films like True Lies (1994), Executive Decision (1996), Air Force One (1997), The Peacemaker (1997), and especially The Siege (1998) presented villains that were all Muslim and all terrorists. Indeed, a realistically complex representation of Islam for most Americans is almost exclusively limited to films of non-American origin, in which Islam often appears not as the point of the film itself but rather as the natural backdrop for the lives of characters. Some of the most realistic renderings of Muslim life that have most easily made it into mainstream video outlets in America include a number of cinematically rich Iranian films like Bacheha—Ye aseman (Children of Heaven, 1997), Bad ma ra khahad bord (The Wind Will Carry Us, 1999), and Raye makhfi (Secret Ballot, 2001). Also popular on U.S. shelves are issue-based films that touch on Muslim life, such as the Afghani–Canadian film Safar e Ghandehar (Kandahar, 2001), about struggles under Taliban rule; the British film My Son the Fanatic (1997), about generational and cultural clashes within a British Muslim family; and Kashmir (1951), a nuanced and sophisticated film about survival and tough choices in a wartorn region where violence seems unavoidable. The British film Hideous Kinky (1998), although somewhat narrow in its depiction of Moroccan women, does sympathetically portray the appeal of the Sufi faith for some people, and it shows a desperately devoted if confused male Muslim character. Viewers looking for positive

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representations of Islam will appreciate the Muslim-produced film The Message (1976), which tells the story of Muhammad’s life and the early Muslim community. Out of reverence for the prophet, no actor plays the role of Muhammad; instead, those scenes in which the prophet is present are filmed as if through his eyes. Whereas foreign films often more readily recognize Islam’s role as an integral part of the fabric of many people’s lives, American films tend to represent Islam almost exclusively through plots driven by the supposed irrational rage of fanatical Muslims bent on destroying the freedom of others. Furthermore, despite the fact that only a small percentage of the world’s Muslims are Arab, filmmakers repeatedly depict Arabs and Muslims as identical. This raw identification encourages viewers to draw some clumsy conclusions, such that Islam is practiced only in Arabic-speaking nations, that Iranians and Turks are Arab (and also all Muslim), or that all Muslims confront exactly the same set of political and social concerns in relation to “western” powers. Unfortunately, in their distilled dualistic view of the world, many American films contribute to ongoing misperceptions about Islam, perpetuating misleading stereotypes that are not easily disentangled from larger international cultural and political conflicts. There are six repeated and easily recognizable stereotypes that recur with relative frequency in American film, many of them dependent upon the facile identification of Muslims with Arabs. The first stereotype is that Muslims (as Arabs) are exceedingly wealthy, exercising a choke hold on American economics through monopolies on oil—an image stoked by American frustration with the 1973 Arab OPEC oil embargo. One of the most politically charged films to be produced in the wake of new oil power in Saudi Arabia was the PBS film Death of a Princess (1980), a docudrama purporting to uncover the “true story” of the beheading of a Saudi princess and her lover for adultery. The film sparked outrage among Saudi royalty and guilty titillation among American viewers, many of whom failed to detect the film’s subtle interweaving of fact and fiction. Death of a Princess portrays numerous inaccuracies about Islam and a few outright ridiculous charges, as when it suggests that Saudi royal women, so constrained by their societal limitations under Islam, commonly cavort with lovers in the dressing rooms of boutiques or prowl the desert at night looking for mates, watching these potential lovers perform elaborate sword dances by firelight before selecting the most suitable sexual partners. Through its editing sequences of remote desert areas juxtaposed with rapid urban growth, the film also taps into a related stereotype about Islam that crops up in many films: the idea that Muslims (as Arabs) lack the sophistication to know how to use their new oil wealth and are in desperate need of western assistance to make “progress” toward modernity. The stereotype of the morally degenerate wealthy Arab also appears in the American romantic comedy Father of the Bride II (1995), in which an Arab/Muslim

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man castigates his wife and bargains for kitchen accessories for her, throwing his money around and failing to appreciate the joys of American family life. Similar representations of irresponsible and wealthy Muslims (as Arabs) appear in two 1980s blockbusters: Protocol (1984) and The Jewel of the Nile (1985). Similarly, in Bugs Bunny’s Third Movie: 1001 Rabbit Tales (1982), Yosemite Sam plays the unreasonable, phenomenally wealthy Sultan Sam, who forces Bugs to tell stories to his unruly and selfish son Prince Abadaba, threatening to boil him in oil if he refuses. The stereotype of the selfish, wealthy Muslim/Arab is also used in the numerous American retellings of the story of Alladin (“debt to Allah”—the name is misspelled “Aladdin” for western audiences). Filmmakers typically revise the young Aladdin’s heroic status as a Robin Hood type of figure, recreating Aladdin as an American-looking hero of western values of individualism and hard work (as in Disney’s Aladdin [1992]) or lumping Aladdin together with the thieves he defeats, completely ignoring his own representation as a Muslim hero in the original Persian tales. The clashing stereotypes take on ludicrous proportions in the early cartoon Popeye Meets Ali Baba and His Forty Thieves (1937); the cartoon resolves inconsistent stereotypes of Arab oil wealth alongside the stereotype of primitivism by showing characters filling up camels with gasoline. The second stereotype of Muslims in American film is that Muslim women are unconditionally and cruelly repressed and demeaned by Muslim men. The most powerful example of this stereotype is Not Without My Daughter (1991), a docudrama still replayed frequently on cable television. The film directly attacks Islam, building on the real-life accounts of Betty Mahmoody’s travels to Iran with her husband. The film exploits Betty’s many misunderstandings about Iranian culture and her fear of Islam arguing that Muslim men, once they return to their home countries, become violent, bestial, and dishonest, belittle women, and expect rigid adherence to fixed and irrational principles of behavior. Radically oversimplifying the quality and experience of the varied responses to the Iranian Revolution, the film invites viewers to condemn all of Iran and all of Islam, showing only the worst abuses of power and none of the beauty of the faith. Similarly, Protocol presents viewers with a fictional Arab sheikh attempting to purchase an American woman’s affections. Never Say Never Again (1983) portrays Bedouin Arabs haggling over a sumptuous American blonde. Whereas American women are sometimes captured and treated as chattel by filmic Arabs (as Muslims), Muslim women themselves are often mute. The Sheltering Sky (1990) presents a common image of Muslim women, silent and covered in a monotonous sea of black fabric. Juxtaposed with the image of the silent, oppressed woman is the image of the belly-dancing, hypersexualized Muslim woman hungry for male attention.

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Assuming the popular identification of Middle Eastern culture with Islam, we can find a children’s version of this image in Disney’s Aladdin, with Jasmine’s diaphanous silks, her exposed abdomen, and her bare shoulders as she strives to overcome her father’s overbearing and apparently anachronistic expectations of her role in marriage. Similarly, in Sahara (2005), a group of Germans ask a Muslim leader to pay for arms shipments, to which the Muslim replies that first “prayers must be said and the women must be pleasured.” To some scholars, these images are faulty; the image of the hypersexualized Muslim women depends upon the assumption that women are indeed viewed as mere sexual chattel by Muslim men. Sadly absent from most portrayals of Muslim women in American film is the obvious fact that Muslim women deal with the same human struggles that all women around the world must confront, living their lives with the burqa and without, in loving relationships and in troubled ones, experiencing human life in as much variety of experience as any women of any faith or culture. The third stereotype, perhaps the most common one in American action films, is the direct association of Islam with terrorism and violence, to the near exclusion of any nonviolent representations of the faith. One of the most chilling depictions of this stereotype appears in the final scenes of The Siege. A female FBI agent discovers that her lover is a terrorist when she watches him performing a sadistic form of wudu, or purification before prayer, as a prelude to killing innocent civilians. Given the fact that this character has previously been portrayed as violating the most basic expectations for Muslim behavior, to portray him as here identifying prayer with terrorism—and by association to invite viewers to uncritically associate Islam with violence—is grossly misleading. A similar association appears in Ernest in the Army (1998), which features an Arab terrorist who gleefully admires his pluton missile while shouting “Allah be praised” and “I will bring the infidels to their knees!” Executive Decision directly links Islam with terrorism and violence, portraying Palestinian Muslim fanatics waving the Qur’an around with a bomb. The film also shows the camera zooming in on a terrorist’s ring emblazoned with the name of Allah and depicts one Muslim character claiming that the Qur’an justifies abuse. This same character shouts “Allahu Akbar” as he brags that he and his partners are “the true soldiers of Islam.” In a similar vein, Ground Zero (1987) presents viewers with a Muslim terrorist who prays for martyrdom. The Hitman (1991) features the death of a Muslim “bad guy” who is shot with the happy exclamation, “So much for Allah!” Another lopsided depiction appears in Black Hawk Down (2001), which purports to be based on the “real” events of the Marine intervention in Somalia in 1994 but uncritically blends fact with fiction to depict unsympathetic Somalis violently attacking downed U.S. helicopters without also depicting the personal struggles of these same Somalis in their everyday lives or offering any explanation

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for their apparent rage. Similar one-sided editing in Midnight Express (1978) results in the disturbing scene of a dead cat hanging from a ceiling beam in the dawn light while the call to prayer is intoned in the cityscape in the distance. Rules of Engagement (2000) resembles these films in its dependence on irrational, violent Muslims as characters. In one scene, the film portrays terrorists who lay down their weapons to pray and then immediately take them up again afterwards. In another scene, marines open fire on Yemeni women and children, killing dozens of them in a massacre that is seemingly justified by the film’s representation of them as hiding guns and other weapons beneath burqas and inside children’s clothing. One scholar has noted that when he first viewed the film, fellow audience members cheered when the Yemenis were gunned down. This film, along with True Lies and Executive Decision, credits the U.S. Department of Defense and the U.S. Marine Corps, revealing that the final stamp of approval on plot and representation was determined by these governmental agencies. The fourth stereotype is of Muslims who engage in outright anti-Semitic behavior, often also exhibiting pronounced anti-Christian bias. In The Delta Force (1986), raging Palestinians hijack a plane. One terrorist emerges from the lavatory fully armed and raging “God be praised” in Arabic, announcing his willingness to die as a martyr if necessary. Unable to control their hatred of Jews, the terrorists in this one-sided film re-enact a mock Holocaust, segregating Jews in a separate cabin and smashing their guns against people’s heads, refusing the pleas of a blond-haired blue-eyed stewardess with a thick German accent, and bellowing that although millions of Jews died in the Holocaust, it was “not enough!” It becomes difficult to tease out the film’s plot from its political functions when one realizes that The Delta Force, Chain of Command (1994), King Solomon’s Mines (1985), American Ninja 3: Blood Hunt (1989), American Ninja 4: The Annihilation (1990), and other similar films were produced by an Israeli–American film company, Cannon Productions, with distinctive ideological leanings. The English Patient (1996) offers a more complex portrait of Islam in relation to other faiths, showing a Muslim nurse willing to slice off a patient’s thumbs as punishment but also representing Muslims, Christians, and Sikhs as being deeply respectful of one another. A similarly rich and multidimensioned film is Earth (1998), which depicts Muslims, Hindus, and Sikhs all caught up in the horror of Partition, trying to cope as best they can with forces largely beyond their control. The fifth stereotype is that Muslims are unpleasant in character: crass, obese, corrupt, and generally uncouth. In the midst of his rage at being imprisoned for years in Turkey for drug smuggling, the lead character in Midnight Express belts out to his unyielding judge, “For a nation of pigs, it sure is funny that you don’t eat pork!” In the meantime, in the bowels of the prison, sullen, insane, and filthy prisoners walk counterclockwise in a dismal parody of the circumambulation of the Ka’bah in Mecca.

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Some have noted of the supporting characters in Disney’s Aladdin that they reflect stereotypes about Islam (that the religion is violent; that women are demeaned; that the religion endorses magic), making it impossible to separate stereotypes about Arabs from stereotypes about Islam, as all are lumped together into an unattractive and uncouth stew of attributes. The sixth stereotype is that Muslims are irrational and/or crazy, often driven by a frenzied desire to commit terrorist acts and harm others, especially Americans. Because The Siege represents Islam as the terrorist’s prime motivating force, viewers are invited to view Islam itself as the irrational cause for violence in the real world and encouraged to view complex governmental and political situations very simplistically. Viewers are also encouraged to view all Muslims, like the terrorist, as blithely ignoring the Qur’an’s qualified acceptance of violence only as a form of selfdefense. The film’s representation of a “good” Muslim family, supportive of wholesome American values and actively seeking assimilation, does little to undo the stereotypes it presents, since this family is subjected to the same forms of discrimination as other Arabs in the film. The binary oppositions (“us” versus “them”; “good” versus “evil”; “the West” versus “Islam”) reinforced by the denigration of Islam in many American films are, for many people, comforting in their sinister simplicity. It may be fruitless to inquire whether these films simply reflect already existing misperceptions about Islam or if the films contribute to the manufacture of these misperceptions. Both are apparently true to some degree. Viewers interested in a fuller picture of Islam are encouraged to check out the foreign film section of their local video libraries and to actively seek out films produced in predominantly Muslim countries to find a more balanced view of life within the world’s many Muslim communities. Rachel Wagner See also: Arab Film.

Further Reading Dönmez-Colin, Gönül. Women, Islam, and Cinema. London: Reaktion, 2004. Esposito, John. Islam: The Straight Path. New York: Oxford University Press, 1997. Lawrence, Bruce. Shattering the Myth: Islam Beyond Violence. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2000. Ramji, Rubina. “Representations of Islam in American News and Film: Becoming the ‘Other.’ ” In Mediating Religion: Conversations in Media, Religion, and Culture, edited by Jolyon Mitchell and Sophia Marriage, 65–72. London: Continuum, 2003. Shaheen, Jack. Reel Bad Arabs: How Hollywood Vilifies a People. New York: Olive Branch Press, 2001.

J Japan Motion picture technology entered Japan at the end of the 19th century, with the Association of Japanese Motion Pictures forming in 1899. This began a century of prolific film production whose vitality continues into the present day. Indeed, prior to World War II, Japan stood second only to Hollywood in volume of film production, putting out 500 films per year by the start of the war. The immense popularity of Japanese film has its roots in a period of political and cultural isolation. Few foreign films found their way into the 2,500 theaters of prewar Japan and virtually no Japanese films appeared abroad. In its early period, Japanese film was produced by and for the Japanese. This isolation laid the foundations for a distinctively Japanese style of filmmaking. Film historian Donald Richie has identified two major features of this style. First, Japanese film followed the traditions of theater rather than film’s technological ancestor, photography. Early Japanese films staged kabuki dramas and relied on a benshi (a live narrator) operating behind the screen and filling the gaps between scenes. Second, this theatrical heritage moved Japanese film into a more “presentational” mode in which the representation of reality was less important than adherence to certain esthetic conventions of visual composition and narrative structure. Although later Japanese film developed a tradition of realism paralleling that of western film, a more poetic and self-consciously artificial style has continued to inform Japanese filmmaking at the most basic levels of cinematography, art, and subject matter. As the sharp distinction between religious and secular life is not indigenous to Japanese culture, Japanese films tend to bear their religious heritage in a more casual, implicit way rather than in explicit presentations of doctrine or institutionalized religious practices. For example, the Japanese concept of mono no aware (an appreciation for ephemeral beauty and the acceptance of its passing) finds expression in the naturalistic environs of Shinto temples, the simplicity of Zen Buddhist drawings, and the carefully composed scenes of Yasujiro¯ Ozu’s films. In Bakushû (Early Summer, 1951), an enormous statue of the Buddha provides the frame for 249

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the passing of three generations: during a casual afternoon in the park, carefree children test their great-uncle’s deafness as he leans against the Buddha’s knees, while, as a businessman lights incense in the background, their aunt discusses the possibilities of her impending marriage. The Buddha, who represents transcendence of the transience of life, serves as the literal and metaphorical background for this picture of human frailty, the innocence of childhood, and the passing from one life stage to another. In Kenji Mizoguchi’s Ugetsu monogatari (Tales of Ugestu, 1953), a seduction provides strikingly beautiful scenes that are later revealed as the product of supernatural deception: a ghost has fed the greed and wishful thinking of the protagonist and nearly draws him into death. Drawing on Japan’s indigenous religious themes, Mizoguchi has a spirit prey on the moral weakness of a man who values wealth and pleasure over his commitment to his family. In both of these films, the precarious grip of human attachments finds expression within religious frames, but without explicit discussion. Occasionally religious themes take a more prominent position within Japanese film, and here the contours of Japanese religion require closer discussion. Shinto, which dates from the earliest periods of Japan’s history, guides the relationship between humans and a myriad of spirits that infuse both the natural and social worlds. These kami (spirits) may inhabit natural features such as streams, trees, or mountains, but they may also exist without specific location or take a more general form, as indicated in a person’s genius or skill. Over the centuries, the ubiquitous presence of kami has found reflection in innumerable temples and shrines, often of modest size and lacking ornamentation, which provide regular and convenient access to kami. Although devotion to kami has declined in contemporary Japan, this heritage lives on in film and finds particularly fertile ground in Japanese animation, or anime. Unfettered by the strictures of live-action filmmaking, films such as Hayao Miyazaki’s Mononoke Hime (Princess Mononoke, 1997) depict fantastic metamorphoses that link humans and kami. In this film the economic exploitation of natural resources results in the appearance of a vengeful evil spirit that threatens to destroy the city. Whereas Princess Mononoke emphasizes harmony and balance in relation to the land, Miyazaki’s Sen to Chihiro no Kamikakushi (Spirited Away, 2000) portrays the spiritual maturation of a young girl. In this film, an abandoned amusement park turns into a bathhouse for kami each night, and the film’s protagonist must work within the spirit world to free her parents, who have fallen under a spell. In these films Shinto themes of respectful negotiation with the spirit world find expression in fantastic narratives and spectacular transformations. Although Shinto concerns itself with the spiritual dimension that underlies everyday concerns and surroundings, Japan’s Buddhist traditions have proved particularly important in funerary ritual and the cult of ancestors. While the highest goal of Buddhism is the pursuit of enlightenment, including a state of detachment

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from the transience of life, many popular forms of Buddhism assume that such a goal may be achieved only after multiple lifetimes within cycles of rebirth. For this reason many Buddhists, and particularly the Japanese, practice their Buddhist traditions by praying for the posthumous prosperity of family members and maintaining a domestic shrine in their honor. An example of such concerns can be found in Kon Ichikawa’s Biruma no tategoto (The Burmese Harp, 1956), which sets a Buddhist approach toward death within the frame of national consciousness. Set in Burma near the end of the Second World War, this film tells the story of a Japanese soldier who, after being separated from his unit, disguises himself as a Buddhist priest and walks 200 miles to rejoin his comrades. During his journey he encounters so many dead compatriots that, upon finding his unit as it prepares to return to Japan, he decides to stay and become a priest, burying and praying for the dead. From a more satirical perspective and targeting the economic aspects of the Buddhist funeral industry, Juzo Itami’s Ososhiki (The Funeral, 1984) shows the decline of the cult of ancestors as a family debates and tries to remember the proper customs for caring for the dead. Buddhism represents only one nonindigenous tradition that has played a highly influential role within Japanese culture. One may also note the influence of Chinese traditions such as Confucianism, with its elevation of the family order to the status of the sacred, and Taoism, with its numerous health practices and calendar of auspicious dates. Indeed, despite its isolation, Japan has long maintained a fascination with foreign cultures, often assuming the validity and superiority of foreign customs while fashioning uniquely Japanese versions of them. Such a tendency can be seen very early in the history of Japanese film. Minoru Murata’s Rojo no Reikon (Souls on the Road, 1921) adapts Maxim Gorky’s The Lower Depths (1902) and opens with the following quotation from that work: “We, as human beings, must have pity for those about us. Christ had this quality and we also must cultivate it. There is a time for us to express this—this we must watch for.” Drawing on a Russian socialist’s appreciation for Christian values, Murata here creates a religious frame for an audience who could hardly be familiar with the broader context of the quotation, thus creating an opening for a distinctively new and Japanese perspective on Christian pity. Japan’s defeat in 1945 and the American occupation that followed left an enduring imprint on Japan’s reception of foreign cultures. The desacralization of the emperor, who had claimed divine status up until Japan’s surrender, propelled a secularization of Japanese culture and of Japanese film in particular. On the one hand, overt celebrations of Japanese religion would have raised concerns among the American occupiers (and censors) who wished to denationalize cultural expression. On the other, the Japanese themselves became disillusioned with the intense religious devotion that had accompanied the militarism that had driven

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the country into war. Given this climate, Japanese filmmakers moved toward a complex cosmopolitanism (with the important exception of Ozu, who turned inward into the Japanese home), refusing to produce films that could serve as icons of Japanese nationality. Foremost among such filmmakers stands Akira Kurosawa. His Yojimbo (1961) adapts the American genre of the western to a Japanese context, with the itinerant gunslinger now an unemployed, morally ambivalent samurai of 19th-century Japan, and ends on a religiously ambiguous note. After the final bloodbath which resolves the drama, a villager walks among the bodies, beating a prayer drum, while the dying villain rejects the prayers and pledges to meet the protagonist in hell. Kurosawa’s Ran (1985) combines the story of a 16thcentury Japanese warlord with elements of Shakespeare’s King Lear. After the catastrophic dissolution of his family, the aging lord declares that Buddha is absent from the world. The film ends with a blind man, wandering through the ruins of his family’s castle, stumbling and dropping a Buddhist scroll over a precipice. In his films, Kurosawa draws on a number of cultural and religious traditions, always in a critical vein. More recently, Japanese anime has offered some of the most eclectic uses of religious themes within a secular context. Mamoru Oshii’s Kôkaku kidôtai (Ghost in the Shell, 1995), based on the comic book by Masamune Shirow, gives a religious cast to the emergence of artificial intelligence: a disembodied voice intones 1 Corinthians 13:12 to announce a new era and life form: “for now we see through a glass, darkly.” Rintaro’s Metoroporisu (Metropolis, 2001), based on the comic book by Osamu Tezuka, can be read as an adaptation of the story of the Tower of Babel, opening with a triumphant announcement of the creation of a ziggurat (a temple of the type built by the ancient Babylonians) that would reach to the heavens and effect a technological acquisition of divine power. In these films, religious allusions address the philosophical and social consequences of an increasingly technological society, one that holds capabilities that were formerly the exclusive province of the gods. Beyond explicit allusions, one can see the influence of religion in Japanese treatments of existential themes more broadly. In Hirokazu Koreeda’s Wandâfuru raifu (After Life, 1998), the recently dead visit a special agency that prepares them for the rest of their afterlife. They must choose a memory that the agency will then recreate, with sets and actors, in order to create a short film that the dead person in question will watch for eternity. Many find the choice of memory difficult and some refuse entirely. Those who refuse, the viewer learns, join the agency and help others in their choice. In terms of religion, the bureaucratic, technical, and managerial dimensions of the agency speak to conceptions of the afterlife drawn largely from Chinese religious traditions. The characters who stay behind reflect the Buddhist notion of the bodhisattva, a figure who has achieved enlightenment

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but who remains in the world of illusion out of compassion for those who continue to labor and suffer therein. Although secularization has by no means eliminated religion from Japanese film, it has engendered an eclecticism and ambivalence with respect to religious tradition. The Burmese Harp and After Life display inverted bodhisattvas, figures who remain with the dead rather than the living, or who create illusions in their refusal to accept them. Kurosawa’s Yojimbo gives a picture of hell on earth, but its hero is neither demon nor angel and its ending is hardly hopeful. Japanese films rarely “preach,” and their religious statements often contain an underside or complication that negates any simple affirmation. Finally, one cannot ignore the shock value of religious themes and images. Japanese film has made use of the figure of the nun, either Catholic or Buddhist, to give a perverse charge to pornographic images. Norifumi Suzuki’s Seijû gakuen (School of the Holy Beast, 1974), a prototype of the “nunsploitation” genre of Japanese film, emphasizes sadomasochism and bondage in its portrayal of religious penitential practices. More recently, Japanese anime has developed a subgenre of “demon porn” (a contribution to a more long-standing tradition of eroguro, the “erotic grotesque”) in which fantastic creatures star in orgies of sexual violation, death, and destruction. For example, in Hideki Takayama’s Chôjin densetsu Urotsukidôji (Legend of the Overfiend, 1989), a mythic prophecy states that every 3,000 years an archdemon will come to unify the three worlds of demons, humans, and man/beasts. The plot centers on the demonic impregnation of a young girl. Even the catastrophe of nuclear destruction has not escaped esthetic exploitation. Whereas the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki receive more somber treatments in Isao Takahata’s Hotaru no haka (Grave of the Fireflies, 1988), and Shohei Imamura’s Kuroi ame (Black Rain, 1989), atomic explosions become apocalyptic spectacles of destruction and renewal in anime works such as Katsuhiro Otomo’s Akira (1988). Japanese film here imparts mythic overtones to spectacles of destruction and violation, thus fusing sensory bombardment and religious meaning. Religious expression in Japanese film follows the trends of Japanese religiosity in general. In Japan, most associate the category of “religion” with specific sets of beliefs and a sense of exclusive group identification (the category is closer to the western conception of “sect” or “cult”). For this reason only a minority of Japanese consider themselves “religious.” However, scholars have noted that while lacking in religious belief, a majority of Japanese participate in prayers, holidays, and festivals. Multiple religious affiliations are therefore the rule, not the exception: many households maintain both Shinto and Buddhist shrines and celebrate religious holidays from a variety of traditions. From this perspective, prayers and religious celebrations are often seen simply as social and cultural traditions: the background of life. When religious features appear in film, therefore, one should

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not be surprised if they play a role whose significance is not highlighted. Religiously significant figures and events may flow in and out of Japanese films without taking center stage or demanding elaboration on the part of the filmmaker. Kerry Mitchell See also: Buddhism; Kurosawa, Akira; Miyazaki, Hayao; Mizoguchi, Kenji; Ozu, Yasujiro¯.

Further Reading Bordwell, David. Ozu and the Poetics of Cinema. London: British Film Institute, 1988. Cavallaro, Dani. The Anime Art of Hayao Miyazaki. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2006. Le Fanu, Mark. Mizoguchi and Japan. London: British Film Institute, 2005. Napier, Susan J. Anime from Akira to Princess Mononoke: Experiencing Contemporary Japanese Animation. New York: Palgrave, 2001. Prince, Stephen. The Warrior’s Camera: The Cinema of Akira Kurosawa. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1999. Washburn, Dennis, and Carole Cavanaugh, eds. Word and Image in Japanese Cinema. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2001.

Jesus Jesus’ life, especially the last week of it, has been a favorite topic of filmmakers since the beginning of the film industry. Even in recent years, with the viewing public supposedly less religious, filmmakers as diverse and popular as Martin Scorsese and Mel Gibson have felt the urge to make a cinematic statement on the life of Jesus. In both of these recent cases, great controversy erupted, along with both critical acclaim and derision; in the case of Gibson, it also resulted in one of the topgrossing movies of all time. One common thread that runs through all of these films—whether they are intended to edify or merely entertain, whether they are from the most agnostic or even atheist perspective or from the most conservatively Christian—is how these filmmakers play with the Gospel narratives, frequently (and usually without any acknowledgment) supplementing them with extrabiblical details or even relying on a later novelization of the Gospel accounts. The silent-film industry produced several versions of Jesus’ life, but the master of epics, Cecil B. DeMille, made the most memorable one—The King of Kings (1927). It begins with a long sequence of a beautiful and seductive Mary Magdalene, who is angry because her lover Judas has left her to follow a Galilean

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preacher. Besides the nonbiblical detail of a Mary–Judas liaison, there is also the equally nonbiblical but visually stunning sight of her driving a chariot pulled by a team of zebras. The first time we are shown Jesus in the film it is also in a nonbiblical scene, through the eyes of a blind girl whom he has healed. When Mary meets Jesus, she seems mesmerized by him, so that Judas looks quite jealous. Judas is also shown in the film as disappointed that Jesus will not establish an earthly kingdom, a theme found in several of the movies. The love triangle and the failed revolution both give some plausibility and explanation to Judas’s betrayal of Jesus. Following on decades of films more indirectly or peripherally depicting Jesus’ life—such as The Robe (1953) and Ben-Hur (1959)—director Nicholas Ray, best known for the film Rebel without a Cause (1955), made his own King of Kings (1961). Here again we have the addition of scenes to make it seem that Jesus is specifically rejecting the promptings of others—in this version, led by Barabbas and helped by Judas—to raise a rebellion against Rome. Some scenes are also added just for excitement, including two large and extravagantly violent (by the day’s standards) battle scenes. The film also works in the famous theory of Thomas DeQuincey (1785–1859) that Judas betrayed Jesus in an attempt to force Jesus to fight against the Romans. Shortly after King of Kings, one of the best-known Jesus movies was released, The Greatest Story Ever Told (1965), directed by George Stevens. The film is a big epic in the worst sense of the term—two of the more noticeable shortcomings are how it has every part, no matter how small, played by a famous actor, and how intent Stevens was on presenting visually stunning scenes, but with little attempt at drama or characterization. This is brought out especially during the Passion, where we see the deaths of both Judas and Jesus from such a long distance that the scenes are unemotional and merely spectacular but not engaging. Nonbiblical additions include the repeated appearances of Satan, and Judas’s death by throwing himself into a huge fire. Two rock musicals were based on the life of Jesus, Jesus Christ Superstar (1973) by Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice, and Godspell (1973), with songs by Stephen Schwartz. Stage versions of both are still produced and popular. Movie versions of both were released in 1973, with Superstar directed by Norman Jewison and Godspell directed by David Greene. In Superstar, Jesus seems out of control in general—an early scene in which he is overwhelmed by zombielike lepers brings this out very vividly, as does his inability to make himself understood by either Mary or Judas, both of whom seem devoted to Jesus but frustrated by his enigmatic and unresponsive communications. With regard to Judas, the musical essentially inverts the proposed scenario of DeQuincey and is more similar to that of Dorothy Sayers (1893–1957) in her novel The Man Born to Be King (1943). Judas believes that Jesus’ message and popularity are

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Max von Sydow portrays Jesus in The Greatest Story Ever Told, 1965. AP Photo.

dangerous to himself and his followers; therefore Judas tries to protect Jesus by turning him over to the authorities, as fatal as his actions turn out to be. Judas’s deeds seem in the end to have been positively motivated and/or forgiven, as he returns after his death for a final triumphal song. The movie version was rendered much more controversial by the casting of Carl Anderson, an African American, in the role of Judas, though his ambiguously dual role as both Jesus’ betrayer and the hero of the story make it difficult to know what further twist his race is supposed to imply. Godspell, on the other hand, is a more lighthearted retelling of the gospel story. Among Jesus movies, which sometimes downplay Jesus’ ethical teachings in preference for his miracles and his passion, the musical includes both direct statements of some of Jesus’ teachings as well as re-enactments of some of the parables. The musical is problematic for some Christians in its depiction of the disciples and especially of Judas. The disciples in general are shown much more positively than they are in the canonical Gospels—they obey Jesus throughout, help enact some of the parables, suffer in crucifixion postures along with Jesus, and tend to his body after his death. And Judas is only following Jesus’ command

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to betray him, the explanation also found in The Last Temptation of Christ (1988) as well as in the apocryphal Gospel of Judas. Jesus appears a playful, clownish figure, leading disciples who are not very much in need of redemption because they are not as sinful and disobedient as they are in the Gospels. Shortly after, what is probably the most widely viewed Jesus film appeared as a television miniseries, Jesus of Nazareth (1977), directed by Franco Zeffirelli. Although the production promised a more human Jesus, his actions and demeanor seemed more detached and angelic than most other performances of Jesus on screen. And although there is more time spent on the setup and beginning of Jesus’ life, and seemingly more attention to biblical accuracy, again this is not the whole story. The plot is to a large extent driven by Zerah, a wholly nonbiblical character, who tricks Judas into handing Jesus over to the Sanhedrin. The whole story in general seems intent on making one feel good about Jesus, or even Judas, by not having anyone behave in a wicked or provocative manner and by having Jesus behave in as inoffensive and misunderstood a way as possible. In the next decade, Martin Scorsese produced his version of Jesus’ life; however, he did not claim to base it on the Gospels directly but instead on the 1951 novel The Last Temptation of Christ by Nikos Kazantzakis. The film was controversial when it was released because in many ways it did deliver on the promise of a more human Jesus, a Jesus with doubts and weaknesses, and such a depiction was not acceptable to some believers. The “temptation” of the title is, in fact, the temptation offered by the attractiveness of being human, of being an ordinary person who is not called to some world-changing or world-saving mission. Such a temptation seems to be felt by Jesus throughout the film, but it reaches its climax on the cross. While dying, Jesus imagines the Devil coming to him in the form of a beautiful little girl who takes him down from the cross and leads him away to live a normal life. He imagines the pleasant normalcy of such a life, which would include sex (including adultery), work, raising children, and dying a peaceful death many years hence. But this reverie is shattered when his loyal friend Judas appears in the dream and reminds Jesus of his responsibility, especially his responsibility to Judas, who had helped bring about Jesus’ crucifixion by following Jesus’ command to turn him over to the authorities. And although Jesus being tempted in this way is troubling to some, it should be noted that in the end Jesus rejects even this last and most powerful temptation and accomplishes his sacrificial death. The following year, French Canadian director Denys Arcand released Jésus de Montréal (Jesus of Montreal, 1989). Unlike most of the Jesus films, this one is set in modern times, though it is not just a story of a Christ figure, but a full retelling or reimagining of the Gospel story. In it, Daniel and four friends are asked by a Father Leclerc to put on a play of Jesus’ life. The friends do some research

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to come up with a version that is a sort of pastiche of various theories, almost a parody of the historical–critical method: the virgin birth is rationalized away and Jesus is the illegitimate son of a Roman soldier (the exact scenario for Brian of Nazareth, who is mistaken for Jesus in Monty Python’s Life of Brian [1979]). Much like modern critics in the Jesus Seminar—a colloquium of scholars investigating the sources of the New Testament—the actors depict Jesus’ miracles as superstitious antics similar to those performed by many other men of his time; they excise from his teaching anything apocalyptic or judgmental; and they spiritualize his resurrection to suggest merely that Jesus will live on in the hearts of his followers. Although the audiences enjoy the play’s novelty, Father Leclerc and his superiors demand that it be shut down. But outside the play, Daniel’s own life starts to bear a frightening resemblance to many of the excised parts of the Gospel story: defending a female friend who has prostituted herself to do commercials, Daniel wields a scourge of video cables against the wicked directors; in an office high in a skyscraper, he is tempted by a devilish lawyer to sell out to market demands; he is actually killed in the crucifixion scene and held by the one female character in a pose deliberately meant to evoke a pietá; finally, his dead body is laid with its arms sticking straight out and dismembered to provide literal “resurrection” with the organs thus harvested. The film works as a moving indictment of both the institutional church and the scant value of the historical–critical method in light of the mysterious power of the Gospel to transform lives. Finally, the most recent and most commercially successful of Jesus films is The Passion of the Christ (2004). Gibson’s film does not attempt much acknowledgment of Jesus’ life or even his last week but focuses steadily on his last hours. It is known for its extremely graphic violence, which has been defended as an appropriate way to focus on Jesus’ sacrifice. However, it has also been criticized because it lacks much in the way of context—Jesus’ life and his resurrection are barely hinted at. The film makes high claims for verisimilitude, going so far as to be filmed in Aramaic and Latin with subtitles. But, as noted with the other films, such claims again must be set against the extrabiblical influences—in this case, The Dolorous Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ of Anne Catherine Emmerich (1774–1824), which provides some of the nonbiblical details and may account for some of the alleged anti-Semitism of Gibson’s film. Although many would admit that the Gospels themselves are not wholly free of anti-Semitism, especially the most damaging verse of the “blood libel” in Matthew 27:25, the director’s choice of which verses to ignore and which to highlight in his film do make a difference in how the overall action is perceived and interpreted by the audience. Accusations of anti-Semitism seemed confirmed when Gibson was later pulled over for drunken driving and proceeded to launch into an antiSemitic rant against the policeman. Whatever the director’s personal flaws, many

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obviously found The Passion an enlightening and powerful presentation of the end of Jesus’ life. Kim Paffenroth See also: Bible Films; DeMille, Cecil B.; The Last Temptation of Christ Controversy; The Passion of the Christ Controversy; Scorsese, Martin.

Further Reading Baugh, Lloyd. Imaging the Divine: Jesus and Christ-Figures in Film. Kansas City, MO: Sheed and Ward, 1997. Humphries-Brooks, Stephenson. Cinematic Savior: Hollywood’s Making of the American Christ. Westport, CT: Praeger, 2006. Kinnard, Roy, and Tim Davis. Divine Images: A History of Jesus on the Screen. New York: Citadel Press, 1992. Reinhartz, Adele. Jesus of Hollywood. New York: Oxford University Press, 2007. Stern, Richard, Clayton Jefford, and Guerric DeBona. Savior on the Silver Screen. Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press, 1999. Tatum, W. Barnes. Jesus at the Movies: A Guide to the First Hundred Years. Santa Rosa, CA: Polebridge Press, 1997 (revised and expanded edition, 2004). Walsh, Richard. Reading the Gospels in the Dark: Portrayals of Jesus in Film. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 2003.

Joan of Arc Considered France’s most famous daughter, Joan of Arc was a pious peasant born at Domremy on January 6, 1412; she died at Rouen on May 30, 1431. Unable to read or write, she was inspired by heavenly “voices” that she believed were sent by God. When she was 16, Joan obeyed those voices to assist the crown prince of France. After passing a number of tests devised by the prince, learned theologians, and doctors and despite her youthfulness, gender, and lack of education or military training, she was given the rank of captain and led French soldiers into battle against the English, who were invading France during the Hundred Years War (1337–1453). Joan had great personal charisma and proved to be a fierce, relentless, and effective warrior/leader who actively participated in the battles and even survived a severe arrow wound. Joan achieved a miraculous military victory over the English in the Siege of Orleans in May 1429, resulting in the crowning of the prince to become King Charles VII at a coronation in Rheims Cathedral on July 17, 1429,

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with Joan standing in a position of honor. In March 1430, Joan was captured by the Burgundians while defending the town of Compiegne and later sold to the hated English. The apathetic King Charles refused to pay her ransom, thus effectively abandoning her to her fate. Joan was tried in ecclesiastical court for being a witch, a schismatic, and a male impersonator, yet she defended herself with such eloquence and subtlety that her accusers canceled their public hearings and harassed her behind closed doors. After 14 months of grueling interrogation and harsh prison life, Joan weakened, signed a confession, and was sentenced to life imprisonment. However, she quickly recovered, recanted, and was subsequently found guilty of being a relapsed heretic and witch, while her supernatural “voices” were deemed false and diabolical. She was sentenced to death and burned at the stake; her ashes were thrown into the Seine. In 1449, her conviction was appealed, and in 1456, a commission of ecclesiastical lawyers declared Joan’s trial null and void; thus her conviction was overturned. Joan was beatified by the Roman Catholic Church on April 11, 1909, canonized by Pope Benedict XV on May 16, 1920, and ultimately became the patron saint of France. She has become one of the Catholic Church’s most celebrated saints. The story of Joan of Arc has been interpreted and reinterpreted many times and has become a powerful cultural artifact that is frequently appropriated and reconstructed to fit the sociopolitical ideals of the day. In addition to the wealth of historical, artistic, and literary treatments based on her life, she is a much-favored film icon, second only to Jesus Christ. In general, religion, myth, history, art, and politics have converged to the point where Joan of Arc has achieved cinematic immortality as the female symbol of heroism and/or profound religious faith. Many Joan of Arc films were made immediately after the birth of the cinema, including one from the studios of inventor Thomas Alva Edison, Joan of Arc (1895), and another by film pioneer Georges Méliès, Jeanne d’Arc (1899). This latter film consisted of 12 tableaux depicting vast crowds and elaborate costumes, thus making it the grand spectacle of its day. Regrettably, many Joan of Arc films are lost to history; those that have survived are few but significant, such as Widgey R. Newman’s one-reel Saint Joan (1927), which focuses on the cathedral scene from George Bernard Shaw’s play. However, the crowning glory of the silent genre (and some argue the entire Joan of Arc genre) is Carl Theodor Dreyer’s La Passion de Jeanne d’Arc (The Passion of Joan of Arc, 1928). Based upon actual court records and concentrating heavily upon her inquisitors and the trial process, it was shot mostly in tightly framed closeups that brought the human side of Joan vividly to life, thus proving Dreyer to be the master of communicating human tragedy via the face. The film still inspires audiences today, especially the harrowing burning shots from Joan’s point of view. Ironically, this powerful story

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of medieval Catholicism was directed by a German Protestant. Dreyer’s intention was not to make a religious spectacle or a historical documentary but rather an emotional drama out of the intense questioning that Joan had to endure throughout the trial. She is portrayed as a pious victim, full of naïvete, innocence, and spiritual wisdom, who was subjected to intense terror by the sophisticated perfidy of the clerical judges. Dreyer’s Joan was not a saint, a political symbol, or a nationalistic hero but rather a soul in turmoil. Dreyer became the target of some opprobrium as a result of his negative depictions of church officials. Cecil B. DeMille’s Joan the Woman (1917), in a flashback sequence that mixed fantasy with reality and the past with the present, focuses powerfully upon Joan as a normal woman. However, the Episcopalian DeMille was vilified for infusing romance into his bifurcated plot, and like Dreyer, for maligning the Catholic clergy. The posturing of the prosecuting bishop and his shadowy cohorts—in their dark cassocks and cowls—became the very image of cruelty, vanity, self-indulgence, inhumanity, and inscrutability. It was the first Joan of Arc film done entirely as a spectacle, and it emphasized Joan’s dignified humanity over her otherworldly saintliness. The other major silent film in this genre was Marc[o] de Gastyne’s La Merveilleuse vie de Jeanne d’Arc (Saint Joan the Maid, 1929). Unfortunately it has been overlooked by historians because of the earlier release of Dreyer’s masterpiece. Unlike Dreyer’s haunting Joan or DeMille’s dignified Joan, de Gastyne’s Joan is of boyish build but still a poignant and powerful if also reluctant hero. De Gastyne focused on Joan’s attachment to, and forced renunciation of, her male dress, which supposedly underpinned her voices and sense of divine mission. Dramatically speaking, it contains powerful battles and an elaborate coronation scene, which was shot in front of the real Rheims Cathedral (with its Joan of Arc statue temporarily removed). Despite the dramatic power of silent films, the introduction of sound to film ushered in a new wave of Joan of Arc films to further tantalize, amaze, and inspire audiences. One of the most prominent offerings was Gustav Ucicky’s Das Mädchen Johanna (Joan the Maid, 1935), a Nazi propaganda film. It was officially sanctioned by the Nazis for its patriotic, artistic, nationalistic, militaristic, and anti-English qualities. Ucicky’s Joan was portrayed as a martyr sent to restore a sense of divine mission to France; however, she was a divinity rooted in the ideal of the “superman,” not of Christianity. Not surprisingly, the film was considered blasphemous by the Roman Catholic Church. Victor Fleming’s color film Joan of Arc (1948) portrayed Joan as diffident, self-effacing, boisterous, persecuted yet pure tomboy heroine who could rouse a crowd. However, Joan the warrior is emphasized at the expense of her spirituality. Roberto Rossellini’s Giovanna d’Arco al Rogo (Joan of Arc at the Stake, 1954) emphasizes the Christian miracle and

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supernatural flavor of the Joan story but lacks poetic forcefulness, although this Joan is here presented as a more reflective character than she is in earlier versions. The “Jeanne” segment in Jean Delannoy’s Destinees (1954) was designed to illustrate the concept of faith. The segment focuses upon the moment that the king and soldiers desert Joan. She is portrayed as triumphing through hope, not as a victim but as an agent who used war to help her fulfill her cosmic destiny. Irwin Allen’s The Story of Mankind (1957) is a fantasy film about humankind being judged in the court of heaven over its newly acquired super H-bomb, which could destroy all life on earth. In defense of humanity, the Spirit of Man evokes the story of Joan of Arc as an example of both human triumph and tragedy. Otto Preminger’s Saint Joan (1957) continued in the tradition of Joan as a boyish person of waiflike build. She is portrayed as a holy innocent, not a calculating heroine, who conveys truthfulness and sincerity in a very restrained fashion. Robert Bresson’s Procès de Jeanne d’Arc (Trial of Joan of Arc, 1962) was adapted from actual court transcripts and attempts to recreate her trial and execution, including an imitation of medieval scholastic dialectics. Bresson focused upon the psychological and physical torture that Joan had to endure. He used nonprofessional actors and a muted, low-key, cinema verité style that was the antithesis of Hollywood pageantry, commercialism, and anti-intellectualism. Bresson depicted his Joan as a sophisticated, calculating woman who was not naïve, and he compared Joan’s fiery end with Jesus’ passion. Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure (1989) concerns two teenage, rock ’n’ roll airheads who are about to flunk their history course but are given the opportunity to travel in time to meet historical figures, including Joan of Arc. In the process, they provide an alternative view of the sources of Joan’s heavenly voices. Luc Besson’s The Messenger: The Story of Joan of Arc (1999) is an epic rendition of Joan’s story that focuses on the nation-founding aspects of the narrative and the brutality of the trial process but not on Joan’s spiritual qualities. Besson was more interested in the political struggles and court maneuvering of the time than Joan’s voices, which are represented as hallucinations and dreams supposedly coming from her unflagging passion for revenge against the English for raping and killing her sister (fury rather than faith). Besson portrayed Joan as a warrior and a feminist (carrying the torch of womankind into a man’s world) who was terribly disturbed by the violence and injustice of war. Besson portrays her as being plagued by mental demons, suggesting that she was hysterical, confused, demented, misled, guilt-ridden, and thus a religious phony, thereby reducing Joan’s divine mission into poor historical fiction. This is an innovative twist in the tale, but overall the film failed to comprehend (let alone express) the miraculous. Instead, it opted for fashionable skepticism.

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Many versions of the Joan of Arc story exist around the world, as well as many innovative Joan of Arc figures, Joan-related objects of desire, or Joan references both within the popular cinema and on TV. For example, George Willoughby’s silent Australian film The Joan of Arc of Loos (1916) is about World War I patriotism; after seeing a vision of an angel, Emilienne Moreau, a young peasant woman, leads the Allied attack at the village of Loos, which is under German occupation. In George Loane Tucker’s silent World War I propaganda comedy Joan of Plattsburg (1918), Joan, a modern-day orphan girl, overhears voices, but they belong to a nest of German spies, not saints. Taking matters into her own hands, Joan brings the spies to justice and earns the undying gratitude of the army training camp in Plattsburg, New York. Joseph Santley’s Joan of Ozark (1942) is a musical comedy about Judy Hull, an Ozark maiden who bags a Nazi spy pigeon and becomes a U.S. hero-cum-counterespionage agent, while Robert Stevenson’s wartime drama Joan of Paris (1942) has its protagonist a Joan who idolizes Joan of Arc, her patron saint, who sacrifices herself to save some downed British pilots from a Nazi firing squad. Frank McDonald’s crime film The Big Tip Off (1955) has as its heroine a skeptical nun called Sister Mary Joan of Arc, which at least links Joan with pious religiosity, while Patrick Ledoux’s French drama film Klann— Grand Guignol (1969) tells the story of a successful megalomaniac film director who is seeking an ideal present-day Joan of Arc for his next film. However, after confusing women and actresses, work and life, and failing to impose his will upon a succession of applicants for the role, he realizes that his ideal Joan is unobtainable. Sam Wells’s black-and-white experimental film Wired Angel (1999) is a retelling of the story of Joan of Arc in a postindustrial setting. Its gritty, high-tech urban style set in a modern industrial landscape belies the historical Joan’s rustic origins. Nonetheless, it evokes the essence of the Joan mythology. Drawing upon transcripts from the trial, it offers a brooding psychological portrait of Joan that explores aspects of her interior life from childhood to death. No doubt many more renditions of France’s most famous female martyr will be produced in the future and thus will reflect the cultural and sociopolitical concerns of their director, day, age, and culture. Anton Karl Kozlovic See also: Besson, Luc; Catholicism; DeMille, Cecil B.; Dreyer, Carl Theodor.

Further Reading Blaetz, Robin. Visions of the Maid: Joan of Arc in American Film and Culture. Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2001.

264 | Judaism Bordwell, David. Filmguide to La Passion de Jeanne d’Arc. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1973. Maddox, Peggy. “Retiring the Maid: The Last Joan of Arc Movie.” Journal of Religion and Popular Culture 3 (Spring 2003): http://www.usask.ca/relst/jrpc/art-joanofarc-print.html. Margolis, N. Joan of Arc in History, Literature, and Film: A Select, Annotated Bibliography. New York: Garland, 1990. Scalia, B. “Contrasting Visions of a Saint: Carl Dreyer’s The Passion of Joan of Arc and Luc Besson’s The Messenger.” Literature/Film Quarterly 32, no. 3 (2004): 181–185.

Judaism Judaism, a religious tradition that originated in the Middle East some 4,000 years ago, has undergone much subsequent change and development. Although conversion to Judaism is possible, Jewish identity has been closely associated with a multicultural community, the Jewish people, since biblical times. Not all Jews are adherents of Judaism; particularly in Israel and the United States (the countries with the largest Jewish populations), many understand their identity in ethnic– cultural terms. However, this discussion concentrates on representations of Jewish religious culture. The early cinema was more accessible to immigrants than were most established industries, and many of the Hollywood studios were founded by Jews who had only recently arrived in the United States. Not atypically, Adolph Zucker (Paramount) and Samuel Goldwyn (Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer) studied in European yeshivot (institutions of traditional Jewish religious education) before immigrating to America. More recently, numerous people who have risen to prominence since the studio system’s decline (from the 1960s onward) are of Jewish descent (including directors Woody Allen, Darren Aronofsky, Sidney Lumet, Joan Micklin Silver, and Steven Spielberg). Given these realities and the persistent perception among cineastes and scholars that Jews have played a disproportionately significant role in the film industry, there are surprisingly few positive screen images of Judaism. Until the last 30 years, most films were negatively stereotypical in their representation of Jewish culture. Even those that were not explicitly so tended to be assimilationist, focusing less on Judaism and other Jewish “differences” than on common values and experiences. Some positive images emerge in contemporary films, but sympathetic, nuanced treatments remain rare. As a “structuring absence,” this lack of representation throws into relief those images of Judaism that are present in film, demanding investigation of the reasons for their inclusion and appeal.

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Films with biblical themes provide some of the earliest, most widely consumed images of Jewish religion. Biblical films are significant because of their enduring popularity and because their images of Judaism are, within the conventions of the genre, presented as authoritative. Pre-1960, these images were generally cursory and disapproving, providing negative foils for Christianity. Often referenced as an illustration of D. W. Griffith’s progressive politics, Intolerance (1916) depicts ostentatious prayers by tallit- and tefillin- (prayer shawl and phylactery) wearing Pharisees who thank God that they are better than other men, in a scene that melds the New Testament (Matt. 6:5) and a distortion of birkhot hashachar (blessings traditionally recited by Jewish men each morning). Moreover, Intolerance presents itself as a credible guide to Judaism, when intertitles in a scene depicting the marriage at Cana announce dependence on biblical scholarship and instruct viewers that the consumption of wine, and its offering to God, is “an important part” of the Jewish religion. In this respect, Intolerance epitomizes a genre that tends to downplay both historical change and diversity within Judaism. Contemporaneous with Griffith’s work and the growth of Hollywood was the rapid development of another transnational industry: Yiddish cinema. Often secular in orientation, depicting the shtetl (“little town”—the name for a small Jewish settlement in central eastern Europe) as stiflingly primitive and advocating a move away from tradition, it nevertheless drew on novels and plays steeped in Judaism, especially Hasidism (a mysticism infused movement, dominant in Europe in the late 18th and early 19th centuries). Like the satirical plays traditionally associated with Purim (a festival commemorating events described in the Book of Esther), Yiddish films juxtapose dance and song with pietistic, symbolic scenes. The best known example is Der Dibuk (The Dybbuk, 1937), a film inspired by the writings of ethnographer S. Ansky, who documented shtetl life in 1912–1914. In this film, two friends who are making their annual visit to their tzaddik (charismatic religious leader within Hasidic Judaism) betroth their unborn children. Years later, the children meet when one (Khonnon) travels to the town where the other (Leah) lives. Drawn irresistibly to Leah, Khonnon experiments with kabbalah (Judaism’s mystical tradition) in order to win her. He dies—historically, Judaism regarded kabbalah study as dangerous, suitable only for men of mature age and character— and his dybbuk (spirit) possesses Leah. Leah’s family take her to the tzaddik for exorcism, but, shockingly, she prefers to die with Khonnon inside her rather than live alone. The film’s handling of Hasidism is sympathetic but not uncritical. Leah and Khonnon fall in love over a Sabbath meal. Before the exorcism, the tzaddik offers a psak din (judgment on a question of religious law, or halakhah) on the betrothal made by the two fathers. There are many hints at the spiritual core underpinning observant Orthodoxy. Simultaneously, shtetl culture appears unfavorably in scenes accentuating the divisions between rich and poor. In the film’s closing

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moments, the figure of the ailing tzaddik—wearied by his followers’ problems and lacking the powers of his predecessors—suggests an embattled, declining tradition, perhaps the perceptions of more assimilated Jews like Ansky and director Michal Waszynski. Yiddish cinema was largely destroyed by the Holocaust. This near genocide of European Jewry inevitably signaled a shift in images of Jews. Other factors, including the rise of multiculturalism (which meant that filmmakers no longer felt the need to shy away from portraying Jewish life) and the general impetus toward self-examination and self-consciousness (triggered in the United States by events like the King and Kennedy assassinations), have also had an impact on screen representation of Judaism. Several postwar biblical films are notable for their attempts to avoid earlier pitfalls. Jesus of Nazareth (1977) was partly motivated by the desire to show its protagonist as a faithful Jew, in keeping with post-Holocaust reassessments of Catholic teachings on Judaism. Jesus’ circumcision and bar mitzvah (rite marking the attainment of religious majority) are depicted, as is the betrothal and marriage of Joseph and Mary according to halakhah. Recitation of the shema (the oldest fixed daily prayer in Judaism) punctuates the action. Nevertheless, director Zeffirelli’s wish to show Jesus’ message as both a continuation and a fulfillment of Judaism leads to tensions, and the anachronistic projection of later rituals (the bar mitzvah scene, for example, owes much to ceremonies that developed in Germany as late as the 15th century) constructs a Judaism that is at best ahistorical and at worst a living fossil. The Holocaust is itself the subject of many films, but religious questions prompted by events are rarely to the fore. Films like The Quarrel (1991), in which two survivors—one secular, the other Orthodox—debate issues of theodicy and survivor guilt in a Montreal park on Rosh Hashanah (Jewish new year, the beginning of a period of self-reflection and repentance) are rare. More commonly, rituals and imagery function as cursory devices to establish a character’s Jewish identity. In Europa, Europa (1990), Solomon Perel’s circumcised penis (the consequence of the rite commemorating God’s covenant with Abraham and his descendants) is the persistent factor reminding him (and audiences) of his Jewishness when he poses as first a Communist and later as a Fascist in his quest for survival. Schindler’s List (1993)—the most significant Holocaust film of the 1990s—opens with the inauguration of the Sabbath, signaled by the lighting of candles and making of kiddush over wine. Toward the film’s end, the now freed laborers in Schindler’s factory again light Sabbath candles. In this and numerous other films, such images of comparatively well-known practices function as brief “Jewish moments” enacted by characters of otherwise indeterminate origin and allegiance.

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If few Holocaust films feature characters living Judaism-filled lives, even fewer capture the diversity of modern European Jewry. Unusually, Left Luggage (1998) juxtaposes a dysfunctional family headed by secular survivors and a Hasidic family, the Kalmans. The Kalmans are also traumatized by the father’s survivor guilt (as a child, he watched as his father and brother were hanged in a concentration camp for refusing to curse the Torah), but the film suggests that religious observance functions positively, providing a sense of continuity and meaning amid anomie and despair. Although both the possibility and the morality of representing genocide on the screen are questionable, only a small minority of Jews interpret Exodus 20:4 as prohibiting any reproduction of human images. The absence of Judaism from Holocaust films therefore requires explanation. It may be prompted by the need to appeal to a predominantly non-Jewish audience or by a conviction that Jews are defined not by intrinsic differences but by their identification as such by antiSemites. Thus in the Academy Award–winning Gentleman’s Agreement (1947), over which the Holocaust casts a lengthy if ill-defined shadow, the protagonist is a Presbyterian journalist (Phil) who poses as Jewish in order to investigate antiSemitism. Narrative and dialogue assume a non-Jewish audience for whom Phil (the non-Jewish Jew) mediates the experience of the Jewish “other.” Identity is a garment one can change at will, and Judaism receives scant treatment when Phil describes it to his son as just another kind of “church.” Similarly suggestive absences characterize recent Academy Award winners with Holocaust themes, including La Vita é bella (Life is Beautiful, 1997), The Pianist (2002), and Nirgendwo in Afrika (Nowhere in Africa, 2001). Judaism is more prominently represented in two categories of films popular since the 1980s—those depicting romance between Jews and non-Jews and those set in locations that are commonly regarded as quintessentially Jewish, like New York’s Lower East Side. Romance between a religious Jew and a Christian was a common motif in the early cinema. In The Jazz Singer (1927), secular stardom and marriage to a Christian are the prizes awaiting Jake Rabinowitz, son of a cantor (a community official who leads synagogue services) when, on the eve of Yom Kippur (the Day of Atonement, or high point of the Jewish year) he abandons Judaism. Judaism functions here as an example of the ties one must abandon in order to join the American mainstream. Partly because of The Jazz Singer’s status as the first real “talkie,” subsequent depictions of Jewish/non-Jewish romance are either elaborations of or responses to its approach. Suzie Gold (2004) is notable for its attention to rituals surrounding marriage and death and its setting in north London (the most significant area of Jewish population in Britain). But it is essentially a variation on the older theme: Jewish life is depicted as shallow and brash (Suzie’s Jewish

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suitor asks her for a date during shiva—the seven-day period of mourning following a relative’s burial); viewers are encouraged to prefer, like Suzie, Darren, her non-Jewish boyfriend. Keeping the Faith (2000) both acknowledges and subverts established trends. Its protagonist, too, is a Jake whose moment of decision is Yom Kippur. However, Keeping the Faith’s Jake is a rabbi, positively depicted as a loving son, friend, and charismatic speaker. The film is generally in keeping with the advocacy of individual happiness and integrity over communal expectation and habit. But when Jake declares his love for non-Jewish Anna, it is she who converts to Judaism at the film’s close, not vice versa. Although Suzie Gold and Keeping the Faith represent mainline Judaism (modern Orthodoxy and Conservative Judaism respectively), filmmakers seem increasingly interested in depicting Haredi (carefully observant/“ultraOrthodox”) Judaism, especially its largest subgrouping, Hasidism. The attractiveness of Hasidism for filmmakers is readily explained. Nostalgia is a factor. Not all nostalgic films represent Judaism positively, however—witness Woody Allen’s Radio Days (1987), with its strict disciplinarian rabbi and a family who observe Yom Kippur but lack understanding of religion. Thus the appeal of Hester Street (1975), which charts processes of acculturation and assimilation in fin de siècle New York, lies partly in its recreation of a moment in American Jewish history and partly in its accentuation of more universal values. On the one hand, the film painfully depicts Gitl’s trauma when her husband (Jake) demands that she abandon her wig and scarf (which she wears because of the halakhic requirement that a married woman cover her head). On the other hand, broader American notions of liberation and newness, and of economic advancement and opportunity, are to the fore when, as a condition of agreeing to receive a get (bill of religious divorce) from Jake, Gitl secures sufficient funds to open a business and remarry. The success of Peter Weir’s Witness (1985), in which a policeman goes undercover in an Amish community, has provided further impetus. Like the Amish, Hasidic Jews provide filmmakers with a highly visible, linguistically and philosophically distinctive community. In Sidney Lumet’s A Stranger Among Us (1992), plot is secondary; policewoman Emily’s need to go undercover in order to investigate a murder functions as a device (like Phil’s project in Gentleman’s Agreement) for the mediation of Hasidic belief and practice. The film captures the rhythm of life centered on prayer and Torah study and structured by regulations governing food preparation and sexual modesty. Not all images of Hasidic Jews are positive, however. A group using Hebrew numerology or gematria (converting words into numbers by assigning each letter a numerical value) to search for the divine name (the pronunciation of which was largely proscribed in ancient Judaism, and was subsequently lost) is among the range of sinister

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figures encountered by mathematician Max Cohen in π (Pi, 1998). Menachem, the hero of the Israeli film Ha-Hesder (Time of Favor, 2000), is a participant in the Hesder Yeshiva program (which allows men to combine Torah studies with military service), but it suggests that religion poses a threat to modern Israel’s largely secular values when one of Menachem’s fellow settlers, inspired by the teachings of their rebbe, plots to bomb the Dome of the Rock. Judaism also fares badly in several films where gender concerns are uppermost. Whereas A Stranger Among Us offers some nuance in its representation of Jewish women (Leah is quiet and gracious; Shayna decisive and intellectual), in A Price Above Rubies (1998), which takes its name from Proverbs 31 (a text traditionally recited by husbands to wives on the Sabbath eve), Judaism appears as a patriarchal society, oppressive of women. Sonia’s passions (sexual; spiritual) increasingly distance her from the Hasidic community. Kadosh (meaning “sacred”; 1999) offers a negative portrayal of life in Mea Shearim, Jerusalem’s haredi (ultra-Orthodox) quarter. Loving couple Meir and Rivka are ordered by their rebbe to divorce so that Meir may remarry and fulfil the commandment to procreate (Gen. 1:28). Malka, Rivka’s sister, is caught up in a violent arranged marriage. As in A Price Above Rubies, rituals surrounding food and the mikveh (ritual bath, visited by carefully observant women after each menstrual period) appear as elements of a claustrophobic, sterile culture. Screen representations of Judaism are, then, many and diverse, but they also display a number of tendencies. They may be intended to serve as negative comparators for images of another religious or ethnic culture. Alternatively, they may function as a sort of visual shorthand to establish the identity of a character or to add “exoticism” to a plot’s setting. The representation of Judaism is scarcely ever the primary motivation behind film production. However, if Judaism often seems to be of little import to the film industry, this does not mean that film is of little consequence to Judaism. In the television comedy The Hebrew Hammer (2003), the eponymous hero distributes videocassettes of Yentl (1983) and Fiddler on the Roof (1971) to Jewish children who are attracted by Christmas holiday celebrations. The scene’s point is humorous, but its linking of film with Jewish continuity gestures toward bigger issues. The images discussed in this article are all part of what Judaism “is” for many Jews as well as non-Jews. Although the cinema is a vehicle of fantasy (one that allowed many early filmmakers to bury—and many later filmmakers to recreate—their Jewish roots), it also affords moments of Jewish community, intimacy, memory, and transcendence. Melanie J. Wright See also: Allen, Woody; Bible Films; Brooks, Mel; Holocaust, The; Jesus; Mamet, David.

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Further Reading Bartov, Omer. The “Jew” in Cinema: From The Golem to Don’t Touch My Holocaust. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2005. Erens, Patricia. The Jew in American Cinema. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1984. Friedman, Lester D. The Jewish Image in American Film: 70 Years of Hollywood’s Vision of Jewish Characters and Themes. Secaucus, NJ: Citadel Press, 1987. Gabler, Neal. An Empire of Their Own: How the Jews Invented Hollywood. New York: Anchor, 1989. Gertel, Elliot B. Over the Top Judaism: Precedents and Trends in the Depiction of Jewish Beliefs and Observances in Film and Television. Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 2003. Hoberman, Jim, and Jeffrey Shandler: Entertaining America: Jews, Movies, and Broadcasting. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2003. Paskin, Sylvia, ed. When Joseph Met Molly: A Reader on Yiddish Film. Nottingham, UK: Five Leaves Publications (in association with the European Jewish Publication Society), 1999. Samberg, Joel. Reel Jewish: A Century of Jewish Movies. Middle Village, NY: Jonathan David Publishers, 2000.

K Kies´lowski, Krzysztof (1941–1996) Krzysztof Kies´lowski is one of eastern Europe’s most important filmmakers. His professional work, which gradually shifted from documentaries to introspective fictional narratives, is European art cinema in its ideal form, suggestive and abstract without approaching obscurantism. Kies´lowski’s films are not explicitly religious or strewn with overt religious symbolism; but as his subject matter grew increasingly interior, even spiritual, the religious undercurrents of his cinema were brought into clearer focus. His mature work invites religious reflection, as his recurrent themes—communion, human relationships, life and death, coincidence and providence, love, longing, revelation—share much in common with the themes of religion. To fully appreciate Kies´lowski’s unique vision, one must place it in the context of recent Polish history. Kies´lowski was born in Warsaw on June 27, 1941, two years after Poland had been invaded by Germany and the Soviet Union. After the war, with the Polish population diminished by millions, Poland fell entirely under Stalin’s control; even after Stalin’s death in 1953, Poland remained a Communist Sovietbloc nation. The rise of Solidarity, Polish director Krzysztof Kies´lowski, 1994. AP Photo/Michel Lipchitz. the oppositionist movement in the 271

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late 1970s, led to the institution of martial law between 1981 and 1983. Although it was certainly no overnight success story, Poland became a democracy in 1989 but still faced several transitional years of political and economic unrest, which finally began to moderate in the years following Kies´lowski’s death. Kies´lowski’s life was shaped by two inescapable influences: his identity as a Pole and his identity as a Catholic. It is significant to note that prior to World War II, Poland was Catholic by a modest majority; but after the war, nearly all of the remaining population was Catholic. This national and religious identity gave the Polish people a sense of unity, which was heightened in 1978, when Polish Cardinal Karol Wojtyla was elevated to the papacy as Pope John Paul II. However, Kies´lowski always maintained an uneasy relationship with both his religion and his nationality while still regarding both as an undeniable part of his character. For Kies´lowski, being Polish was synonymous with being Catholic. Kies´lowski’s childhood is paradigmatic of the national condition. His early years were unsettled by his father’s itinerant visits to tuberculosis sanatoria throughout the country, each one involving the relocation of the entire family. Further, Kies´lowski’s parents feared that he was a weak, sickly child, possibly prone to the same debilitating condition as his father. As is often recounted, when he was not at school or in the hospital, his boyhood was spent reading and climbing to the roof of a local cinema, where he and his friends could glimpse only a fraction of the movie screen through the openings in a ventilation unit (and also spit on those inside the theater who were privileged with the means to gain admission). His father finally lost his battle with tuberculosis, dying when Kies´lowski was still a student. His mother died in an automobile accident in 1981. These two deaths reappear in various ways in his films. It has even been suggested that Kies´lowski prefigures his own death at least once in his films, in La double vie de Véronique (The Double Life of Véronique, 1991), which depicts two women of different nationalities leading startlingly similar lives: like Kies´lowski, both characters suffer from weak hearts, a fact that only one discovers soon enough to prevent tragedy, while the other gives her life for her art (in her case, singing). At age 54 and at the height of his international acclaim (and many would say the height of his artistic ability), Krzysztof Kies´lowski died after suffering a second heart attack on March 13, 1996, just two days after undergoing bypass surgery. Oddly enough, Kies´lowski professed no aspirations of working in cinema and claimed that his career in filmmaking was largely an accident. Around the time he was accepted to film school, he was most interested in avoiding the compulsory military service expected of every young man of his generation, which he did by convincing the authorities that he was schizophrenic and thus being declared unfit for service. Relieved of this burden, he trained at the College for

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Theatre Technicians in Warsaw, and from 1964 to 1968 studied directing at the famous Lodz Film School, which had produced his predecessors of the “Polish school” (such as Andrzej Wadja, Jerzy Kawalerowicz, and Andrzej Munk). Here Kies´lowski first became acquainted with those colleagues who would come to be known collectively as the “cinema of moral anxiety” (alternately translated by some members as “distrust” or “concern”), a movement of like-minded filmmakers of Kies´lowski’s generation spanning roughly from the mid-1970s to the early 1980s, including Janusz Kijowski, who coined the term, as well as Krzysztof Zanussi, Agnieszka Holland, Edek Z˙ ebrowski, and Andrzej Wadja, who would serve as a mentor figure for Kies´lowski. During and immediately following his training at Lodz, Kies´lowski focused primarily on documentary films depicting the everyday lives of ordinary Poles. As a young filmmaker, he believed that it was the unique ability of cinema to authentically capture day-to-day existence; but he later abandoned this idealism and accepted the camera’s role as a mediator of reality, as that which shapes and manipulates rather than merely observes. He learned to embrace this vision, exploring and attempting to portray those aspects of human experience which are ineffable. According to Kies´lowski, if the gaze of the documentary filmmaker is directed out toward the world, recording things “as they really are,” his move away from documentary was related to a decisive gaze inward, into the enigmatic realm of the spiritual and emotional. Kies´lowski was never quite comfortable with his association with the cinema of moral anxiety, and his films were set apart by their ambivalent or ambiguous attitude toward the protagonist and his (or her) actions. His characters often face moral or ethical dilemmas, but it is difficult to judge the motivation or virtue behind their actions. In cinematic fictions, he explores the relational, emotional, spiritual, and—to a lesser though always-present degree—political quandaries that plague contemporary life. Kies´lowski despised being labeled a moralist (or worse, a moralizer), but he was quite happy with the title “metaphysician,” an apt description of his mature work, which is acutely aware of the spiritual realm insofar as the spiritual has as much to do with relationships between persons as with one’s relationship to God or the supernatural. His films are preoccupied with the relationship between chance, the necessary by-product of free will, and providence (that is, fate or destiny), the necessary by-product of belief in a sovereign God. Kies´lowski struggled with his conception of God, no doubt invoked by the disparity between the mysterious and mystical faith given him by Catholicism and the bleak reality of his surrounding world. Contrary to critics who characterize him as an atheist or agnostic, Kies´lowski confessed his belief in the existence of “an absolute point of

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reference” or “authority,” but he had difficultly reconciling the “demanding, cruel” God of the Old Testament and the “merciful, kind-hearted” God of the New. He maintained a degree of distrust of therapists, politicians, priests, and teachers, because of their claims to be able to show people how to live their lives. Kies´lowski was not an atheist but a believer, one with a profound faith in faith, the certainty of things unseen, certainty about the essentially uncertain. Kies´lowski’s tumultuous relationship with his national and religious identity may stem in part from the criticism he received throughout his career. Despite the decidedly apolitical (or at least politically neutral) perspective of his films, all sides of Poland’s political struggles considered him noncompliant with their agendas. The state authorities (who funded his films and on several occasions delayed or prevented their release) were displeased with his sympathy toward the opposition in both Przypadek (Blind Chance, 1987) and Bez Kon´ca (No End, 1985), and Solidarity was consistently disappointed with his bleak and rather defeatist depiction of the national situation, desiring instead a univocal statement in their favor. Additionally, the Catholic Church was often dissatisfied with what they perceived as gratuitous eroticism and moral relativism in both of the films mentioned previously, especially regarding Urszula’s suicide in Bez Kon´ca. Kies´lowski’s work remained relatively unknown outside eastern Europe before the completion of Dekalog (1989), now considered his masterpiece. First conceived by his cowriter Krzysztof Piesiewicz, Dekalog is a series of ten short films based loosely on the Ten Commandments. The episodes depict the dilemmas and decisions of characters all living in the same Warsaw housing block. Although the connections are hardly explicit, the series as a whole might be considered a meditation on the Ten Commandments or a reflection on certain fundamental human values, such as life, love, family, and trust, which persist in contemporary (that is, increasingly secular) society despite the seeming withdrawal of God. Two episodes, Dekalog “V” and “VI,” were extended and renamed Krótki film o zabijaniu (A Short Film About Killing, 1988) and Krótki film o mił os´ ci (A Short Film About Love, 1988), respectively. These two films ¯ were given theatrical release independent of the series and were heralded by critics and audiences. In the winter of 1988–1989, the completed Dekalog series aired on Polish television and was met immediately with much acclaim, a boost to the filmmaker’s reputation after the ambivalent responses to his previous features. Following Dekalog, Kies´lowski’s career took a markedly different stylistic direction while maintaining the centrality of his distinctive themes of transcendence, destiny, and human interdependence. Maintaining much of his collaborative team, he left his native Poland for France. Following La double vie de Véronique, Kies´lowski embarked on his final project, considered by some a masterpiece to rival

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Dekalog: a three-film cycle based around the colors and themes (liberty, equality, and fraternity) represented in the French flag—Trois couleurs: Bleu (Three Colors: Blue, 1993), Trois couleurs: Rouge (Three Colors: Red, 1994), Trzy kolory: Bialy (Three Colors: White, 1994), which might be considered a reflection on the nature of grace and providence. As with his previous film cycle, Kies´lowski employed different cameramen for each film (all three of whom had worked on Dekalog), and the thematic unity of the three films is cloaked in typical Kies´lowskian ambiguity. Despite announcing his retirement in 1994, Kieslowski continued to collaborate with Piesiewicz on scripts, and what is known of these twilight endeavors confirms that, had he lived longer, Kieslowski would have continued to gravitate toward themes of a religious or spiritual nature. At the time of his death in 1996, the two were working on screenplays for a new trilogy tentatively titled Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory. Only the script for Heaven was completed prior to Kies´lowski’s death, and Piesiewicz finished the screenplay for L’Enfer (Hell, 2005). The future of the final film, for which Kies´lowski produced only a basic plot outline, remains uncertain. Heaven (2002) was brought to the screen by German director Tom Tykwer, yet it does not achieve the subtle brilliance that characterizes Kies´lowski’s work. Still, the film attests to Kies´lowski’s unwavering commitment to a body of work centered around metaphysical, spiritual, and religious themes, which he consistently expressed with eloquence, singularity of vision, and a spirit of compassion for humankind. Brannon Hancock See also: Belief; Europe (Continental).

Further Reading Coates, Paul, ed. Lucid Dreams: The Films of Krzysztof Kies´lowski. Wiltshire, UK: Flick Books, 1999. Garbowski, Christopher. Krzysztof Kies´lowski’s Decalogue Series: The Problem of the Protagonists and Their Self-Transcendance [sic]. New York: Columbia University Press, 1996. Haltof, Marek. The Cinema of Krzysztof Kies´lowski: Variations on Destiny and Chance. London: Wallflower Press, 2004. Perlmutter, Ruth. “Testament of the Father: Kieslowski’s The Decalogue.” Film Criticism 22, no. 2 (1997): 51–65. Wilson, Emma. Memory and Survival: The French Cinema of Krzysztof Kies´lowski. Oxford, UK: Legenda, 2000. Žižek, Slavoj. The Fright of Real Tears: Krzysztof Kies´lowski Between Theory and PostTheory. London: British Film Institute, 2001.

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Kubrick, Stanley (1928–1999) Part of the significance of Stanley Kubrick’s impact as a director was that he immersed himself in the world of words as well as vision. He began his adult career as a photographer before moving to film but was always deeply interested in narrative. Born on July 26, 1928, in New York City, he remains one of the most talked about film directors of the past century. His work was highly regarded by his peers: he received four Academy Award nominations for directing, five for screenplays, and another two for “Best Picture,” but he was associated with only one film actually to win an Academy Award: 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), for special effects. In 1999, Kubrick began shooting Eyes Wide Shut, based on the Frederic Raphael novel, marking his return to filmmaking after a decade of cinematic silence. It would be his last film; he died on March 7, 1999, after submitting the final cut of the film, which was released posthumously to mixed reviews. One aspect not fully addressed by scholars is Kubrick’s deep concern with the religious aspects of life. When 2001 premiered at the Vatican, he called it an agnostic prayer that could serve as the organizing impetus for his filmic oeuvre. While not making any overtly dogmatic pronouncements, Kubrick provides ample evidence in his work as a director of being one who invokes an experience of the numinous and the predestined. It is a mystical experience, an ecstasy at the end of things, that continually threatens to consume or immerse the subjects of his films and ultimately draws us as viewers into this experience of the holy as well. To read Kubrick’s films is to partake of works that display a profound discontent with the state of modern humanity, a feeling akin to the fervor of an evangelist calling for an encounter with something more, something larger, and ultimately something transcendent. As a filmmaker Kubrick is known as much for his command of cinematic form as for the controversial content of many of his films. This is exemplified as early as his 1962 film, Lolita, based on Vladimir Nabokov’s controversial 1955 novella. Filmed directly after the completion of Spartacus (1960), Lolita was shot in long master shots, sometimes up to 10 minutes per take. Kubrick was able to bring out the essence of the story’s deep themes of ethical transgression by using cinema as a trope for voyeurism into spiritual and moral decline. What we notice in Kubrick’s command of the camera is the way he not only shows us the images on the screen but also communicates in no uncertain terms that he knows what we are watching and, more importantly, why we are watching and what we are truly looking for in our viewing. In short, the cinema becomes a confessional par excellence where the moviegoer is the confessor; we are being watched as we watch. One aspect of Lolita’s power is the illusion of looking in on a private world, the ordinary magnified to the scale of spectacle, from our vantage of security and

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anonymity. In a representative scene, Kubrick draws the viewer into the temptation of the protagonist Humbert Humbert as he gazes upon young Lolita while in the company of her mother, Charlotte. As the viewer is drawn to look upon Lolita Haze—whose surname evokes the dreamlike quality of Nabokov’s character, well framed by Kubrick—swirling with her hula hoop, we are brought to account for our “viewing” by the burst of the flash from Charlotte’s camera. The dream/temptation bursts apart with a burst of light that breaks the clouds or “haze” away. Cinematically, we have been caught in the act of “looking.” A whole body of critical literature has developed out of this argument concerning cinema’s manipulation of the gaze and how it reflects our deep psychological obsessions and the society that produces them. Throughout this film of temptation, Kubrick continues slowly to allow the approach of Lolita and Humbert, but as in the classic tale of Tristan and Isolde, they are continually pushed back, leaving desire rather than consummation as the mark of the human dilemma. Kubrick’s films were manifestations of the search for what theologian Paul Tillich called “this infinite and inexhaustible depth and ground of all being,” calling moviegoers to account as to that which they seek and desire. By acknowledging that moviegoers are both readers and watchers, Kubrick was a true theologian in exposing them to their own desire for the transcendent amid the decadence filling the screen. One need only look to Kubrick’s work in A Clockwork Orange (1971) for multiple instances in which he exposes the nature of desire as both a key to our downfall and a mark of the divine spark in all of us. In his 1980 retelling of Stephen King’s 1977 horror classic The Shining, Kubrick again uses the camera to take the viewer “along for the ride,” engaging in what French cultural theorist Jacques Lacan called le regard, or the director’s cinematic control of the viewer’s gaze with interpretational precision. With every purposeful selection of camera angle, every jump cut between scenes, and every nuance of lighting and blocking (choreographing the movement of the actors), film directors control the viewer’s perception of what is real. With Kubrick, this control of the gaze sustains a deeply theological foundation as well. For example, in The Shining, Kubrick introduced the Steadicam, which at the time was revolutionary in allowing the director to forego typical dolly apparatuses and tracking cameras. Prior to this new camera’s adoption, film production would produce sets around bulky camera tracks and dollies; with the Steadicam, it became possible to “free” the camera and move within scenes as fluidly as a person would. The ability to control the viewers’ gaze was thus profoundly shifted; filmmakers no longer needed to begin with a set and then construct the right shots by adjusting the camera technology. Rather, they could begin with the foundation of how things are to be seen—the angle of the shot first—and then build their vision around that. In The Shining, for example, Kubrick could employ natural lighting—something he

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had used to great effect in his 1975 production of Barry Lyndon—for the interior scenes of the Overlook Hotel, itself a central protagonist in the film. In Kubrick’s universe, seen especially in The Shining and 2001, the camera angles acheived with the Steadicam give the viewer a steady view of fear: the anxiety of not being able to “see” what is about to come around the next corner. This reminds the audience that in addition to desire, they must acknowledge the nature of fear; unlimited space does not solve this but in many ways makes us realize how little we do “know” and apprehend. What Kubrick proposes through his use of infinite space is that freedom is not found in a lack of boundaries. Ironically, it is the seemingly infinite space that is both physically and psychologically imprisoning for the hotel occupants of The Shining and the space travelers of 2001. In many of Kubrick’s films, human identity is theologically framed as both a seeking after something transcendent just beyond one’s grasp—the unapproachable and forbidden lust of Lolita, the vast endless universe of 2001, and, with the possibility of crucifixion in Spartacus (1960), the life beyond martyrdom as legions of slaves cry “I’m Spartacus!”—and an exploration of the labyrinthine inner life, where the sacred and profane find a nexus point. In The Shining, the Overlook Hotel as a haunted and therefore living thing is an anthropomorphized example of the human search for meaning, with doors upon doors constantly being opened but leading only into ever larger spaces. In a converse yet similar manner, Kubrick’s war epic Full Metal Jacket (1987)—which followed The Shining by seven years—encloses the protagonists on their last night of boot camp on Parris Island in a claustrophobic scene in the barracks bathroom, bringing the search for meaning inward and deathly close. In a scene reminiscent of the famed “Here’s Johnny” bathroom scene of The Shining, Private Pyle recalls both the insanity of The Shining’s vastness of space and yet the inner claustrophobia of the human condition. When asked by Private Joker what he is doing in the cloistered restroom, Pyle evokes the name of God from Exodus 3:14, uttering a sinister “I am” prior to killing the drill sergeant and himself. Whether in the vastness of space or the interior labyrinth of human longing, despair, and wonder, Kubrick continues to find something of the sacred amid the profane. This is not the Interior Castle of St. Theresa of Avila, where, through the many rooms and water wheels, one finds the unifying embrace of God. More akin to finding the Minotaur or the curse of Narcissus, Kubrick’s films suggest an amorality where perhaps the greatest fear is that we are truly isolated—that around each corner is another corner and another hallway, and we have been “abandoned” to our fears. With God displaced, the weak and conflicted self moves to the center, but often alone. Whether with the grizzled and wild-eyed Jack Torrance in The Shining, the suicidal Private Pyle in Full Metal Jacket, or the drifting astronaut David Bowman in 2001, Kubrick’s protagonists are often men at a loss in a world without the

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divine. They are set adrift, often slowly slipping into insanity as they strive to see the face of God yet only see their own horrified reflections framed in the screen, filling most of the view. Jeff Keuss See also: Dogme 95; Mysticism.

Further Reading Chion, Michel. Kubrick’s Cinema Odyssey. London: British Film Institute, 2001. Kolker, Robert. A Cinema of Loneliness: Penn, Stone, Kubrick, Scorsese, Spielberg, Altman, 3rd ed. New York: Oxford University Press, 2000. Mainar, Luis Garcia. Narrative and Stylistic Patterns in the Films of Stanley Kubrick. London: Camden House, 1999. Nelson, Thomas Allen. Kubrick: Inside a Film Artist’s Maze. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1982. Smith, Jeff. “Careening Through Kubrick’s Space.” Chicago Review 33, no. 1 (1981): 62–73.

Kurosawa, Akira (1910–1998) Akira Kurosawa is without question Japan’s most famous filmmaker and among the dozen most influential directors in film history. Over a 50-year period—from the release of Sugata Sanshirô (1943) to that of Madadayo (1993)—Kurosawa produced 30 films, 8 to 10 of which are considered to be masterpieces. One of the most remarkable works of world cinema, Kurosawa’s Rashômon (1950) was adapted from two short stories by the early-20th-century writer Ryu¯nosuke Akutagawa (1892–1927). Famously, the film tells a tale—of the rape of a woman and the murder of a samurai—from four different perspectives, thereby deconstructing the viewer’s sense of truth and fact. The most overtly philosophical of Kurosawa’s major works, Rashômon sets in motion the director’s unique brand of skeptical humanism. Four characters provide conflicting reports of the events—a nameless woodcutter, a bandit, the samurai’s wife, and even, via a miko (medium), the murdered samurai—while a Buddhist priest and a commoner respectively narrate and provide commentary on the various stories. Given the whirlwind mix of sex, death, power, honor, punishment, guilt, and shame, it is hardly surprising that each of the characters has something to lose from a purely factual recounting of the events. Who killed whom? Was the death an honorable suicide, the result of a heroic (or comic) duel, or a shameful defeat by the sword of a dirty bandit? Was the woman raped or did she willingly go with the bandit,

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casting off her husband? Kurosawa, here as in his later samurai films, turns a critical though not wholly dismissive eye toward values such as loyalty and honor, which seem so often to be swallowed up by our very worst tendencies: greed, pride, malice. It is not so much that each of the Rashômon characters is engaged in outright falsehood but that they may be deceiving themselves most of all, caught up in their respective webs of self-justifying illusions. This, if anything, is their sin—the inability or unwillingness to see through the illusions that ground their very identities as consistent and unchangeable “selves.” Interpreted this way, Rashômon takes on a distinctively Buddhist Japanese director Akira Kurosawa at the Cannes flavor. From a Buddhist perspective, International Film Festival, 1980. AP Photo/Levy. the moral failure of the characters can be attributed in large part to their egos, which bind them to an illusory world—one that is ultimately as harmful to themselves as to those around them. At the end of the film, the humble priest is clearly shaken by learning of the evil ways of all those involved—including the woodcutter, who eventually confesses to witnessing the crime and afterwards stealing the woman’s valuable dagger. The final scene—added by Kurosawa to the original story—restores the priest’s faith in humanity, as the woodcutter repents of his sins and offers to raise an abandoned baby discovered by the interlocutors. Inspired by Leo Tolstoy’s 1886 novella The Death of Ivan Ilyich, Ikiru (1952; literally “to live”) is a powerful meditation on the meaning of one man’s actions amid the seeming absurdity of life. Trapped in a dead-end job and surrounded by a selfish and loveless family, Kanji Watanabe discovers that he has six months left to live. This sets up a classic and universal dilemma: how should he spend his last days on earth, knowing that the end is imminent? Watanabe’s attempts at live the life of pleasure are soon abandoned—la dolce vita strikes him as hollow and frivolous. Inspired by an encounter with a vivacious young coworker who finds meaning in her job as a toy maker, Watanabe makes it the goal of his remaining

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time to transform a filthy neighborhood area into a children’s playground. Despite encountering frustrating setbacks from the local bureaucracy, his persistence pays off and the old man dies in peace. At his wake, his drunken coworkers vow to change their own lives, but the sober light of dawn finds them immersed in the same routines as the day before. Although some critics have read Ikiru as a Christian allegory of sacrifice (Watanabe as the “suffering servant”)—which is plausible given the Tolstoyan roots of the story—upon closer inspection the “spiritual” themes of Ikiru do not fit so easily into Christian understanding. For one, there is little to indicate that Watanabe acquires any sort of faith in a higher power. Watanabe’s enlightenment can be best interpreted from a Buddhist perspective as a sudden but dramatic recognition of the reality of change and the consequent acceptance of death. Despite some readings of the director’s work, of Ikiru and others, Kurosawa is not interested in positing a (western) heroic individualism against the confining structures of (Japanese) society and family. Rather, he contrasts the possibility of an open and dynamic “self ” based on compassion for others, with the closed and ultimately illusory “self ” ostensibly bound to social codes but in fact rooted in human weaknesses such as greed, anger, and delusion. Finally, it is worth noting that the young lady who provides inspiration for Watanabe is, for all her boundless energy, a rather ordinary person. When asked about her life, she responds that she simply “works and eats”—a line reflective of the earthy realism of some currents of Zen Buddhism, where awakening is to be found in a concentrated awareness amid the vagaries of life. Or, in a more existentialist vein, the meaning of life can be found only in concentrated action—in the meaning that we give to what we do. The connection between Kurosawa’s samurai films and American westerns runs deep. Yet Kurosawa’s jidai-geki (period pieces) are frequently satirical and darkly comic—deconstructing in fundamental ways the very basis of the traditional samurai drama (or western, for that matter). This is most evident in the character of Sanjûrô in both Yojimbo (1961) and Tsubaki Sanjûrô (1962). Essentially amoral though heroic in his determination and fighting skills, he is a figure who goes out of his way to reject the ideals of “proper” samurai behavior. (It is not incidental that Kurosawa’s samurai heroes are ro¯nin—masterless warriors— who are poor, hungry, and literally looking for something to do.) In these films, those who attempt to follow bushido¯ (the samurai code) most strictly come across as pompous or at best ridiculous. Bushido¯ values of loyalty, self-sacrifice, and honor are held up to ridicule in Yojimbo and (especially) Sanjûrô and are questioned throughout Kakushi-toride no san-akunin (The Hidden Fortress, 1958) and Shichinin no samurai (Seven Samurai, 1954), where the good and bad alike are

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ultimately trumped by the ugly. It is often unclear what the warriors are fighting for other than their daily bread and a bit of amusement. Violence appears real and thus is rarely glorified—more often it verges on the comic or the grotesque. All of this might be read as a rejection by Kurosawa of traditional Japanese values, but it is more plausibly seen as his rejection of the illusions of an idealized and imagined past or present in favor of a focus on the world as it really is, with all its blights and boils. The truly heroic man (in Kurosawa the heroes are inevitably men) is one who is able to face the ugliness of reality (especially of human beings) and still, through his actions, find meaning and purpose in life. Ultimately, the truth lies less in the telling than in the doing—a message that resonates well within Japanese religion, which tends to favor orthopraxis over orthodoxy. Our very beliefs and assumptions—especially if they do not account for change—may be the biggest stumbling blocks in our human quest. Kumonosu jô (Throne of Blood, 1957), Kurosawa’s adaptation of Macbeth, is transformed by being set in early modern Japan. It draws heavily on Noh theater for its visual and dramatic techniques—a reliance that injects a good measure of Buddhism into the film, taking it far away from the Shakespearean original. Most notably, the emotions of the characters in Throne of Blood are abstracted from the characters themselves; they become objectified. Thus the sins of ambition, pride, lust, and cruelty become corruptions of the general human condition and perhaps the very condition of nature itself. In Throne of Blood and to varying degrees in Donzoko (The Lower Depths, 1957), Kagemusha (1980), and Ran (1985; literally “chaos”), Kurosawa’s sceptical (and quixotic) humanism is overtaken by despair at the fallen state of humanity, the brevity of life, and the inexorable workings of fate (or karma). Ironically, the final scenes of Ran include a number of Buddhist images, yet here the emphasis is clearly on the darker, more world-denying aspects of Buddhism: the sufferings of the Avı‐ci hells, the battles of the Asura demons, and the emergence of the age of mappo¯, the “end of the Dharma.” Kurosawa’s final films, produced while he was in his eighties, step back from the awful precipice to which Ran appears to have led. In these three films, made over a four-year period, the tone is quiet, thoughtful, and decidedly less pessimistic. The heroes are themselves elderly men and children, evoking a theme of innocence not seen in Kurosawa since the 1940s. Although sometimes criticized in his homeland for being too “western” in both his technique and his choice of stories of his films—many of which, like Ikiru, Throne of Blood, Tengoku to jigoku (High and Low, 1963), and Ran were adapted from western literature—Kurosawa was also indebted to both Kabuki (Tora no o wo fumu otokotachi [The Men Who Tread on the Tiger’s Tail], 1945) and Noh (Throne of Blood) traditions as well as Japanese jidai-geki (Rashômon and the samurai films). As a result of such eclecticism and given his own self-description

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as a citoyen du monde, it is hardly surprising to find a wide range of religious elements in Kurosawa’s oeuvre. Taken as a whole, Kurosawa’s films display a deep and abiding humanism, yet one that refuses to get lost in lofty ideals or otherworldly realms. It is a humanism that pushes on in spite of the facts, including, most importantly, the blurred lines that exist between right and wrong, good and evil, friend and foe, heaven and hell. Something like the doctrine of karma—which in its simplest form teaches that acts breed (moral) consequences—seems to underlie Kurosawa’s ethos. At least in his earlier works, karmic law is tempered by an emphasis on the power of the will to transform oneself, one’s behavior, and one’s surroundings by a kind of contagion of goodness. This is also the correct Buddhist interpretation of karma, although it has often been taken in a more deterministic manner, akin to what we find in Kurosawa’s later films, like Kagemusha and Ran. Kurosawa’s heroes go through a period of internal—perhaps spiritual—crisis, leading them to change the way they live. For all the implied criticism of Japanese (especially Confucian-derived) social norms, the Kurosawan hero, at least in the earlier films, combines a very Japanese mixture of dogged determination and stoic patience—along with a touch of the quixotic. The film’s resolution becomes an acting out—a realization in both senses of the term—of the hero’s awakening experience. Yet things are rarely perfectly resolved, as the final scenes of Ikiru and Seven Samurai indicate. Indeed, it appears that the better nature of the hero will often be what causes or nearly causes his downfall (as in Yojimbo). One of the ironies of Kurosawan enlightenment is that it entails the knowledge that the lines between good and evil are blurred, and thus compassion—while still a virtue— may not lead to happiness, at least in any worldly sense. All we can do is to keep our eyes wide open and be assiduous. James Mark Shields See also: Buddhism; Japan; Leone, Sergio.

Further Reading Galbraith, Stuart IV. The Emperor and the Wolf: The Lives and Films of Akira Kurosawa and Toshio Mifume. New York: Faber and Faber, 2001. Goodwin, James, ed. Perspectives on Akira Kurosawa. New York: Macmillan, 1994. Kurosawa, Akira. Something Like an Autobiography. New York: Knopf, 1982. Prince, Stephen. The Warrior’s Camera: The Cinema of Akira Kurosawa. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1999. Richie, Donald. The Films of Akira Kurosawa, 3rd revised and expanded ed. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996.

L The Last Temptation of Christ Controversy Director Martin Scorsese began work on his film adaptation of The Last Temptation of Christ (1988) in the 1970s. A former aspirant to the Catholic priesthood, he had been fascinated by Nikos Kazantzakis’s 1955 Greek novel since Barbara Hershey gave it to him on the set of Boxcar Bertha (1972) and had aspired since the beginning of his filmmaking days to create a life of Christ on film. The screenplay by Paul Schrader, another lapsed Catholic and a frequent Scorsese collaborator, substituted a potent visual language for the interior dialogues of the novel. The relatively low-budget project ($7 million)—a labor of love 11 years in the making—was filmed in Morocco. Paramount Pictures pulled out of the project in 1983 and Universal Pictures released the film in 1988. Abbreviating the narrative of Kazantzakis’s short novel as well as supplementing it with reinterpretations of biblical material, Scorsese’s film emphasizes the humanity of its central character. The film begins with a title card reading: “This film is not based on the Gospels but is a fictional exploration of the eternal spiritual conflict,” followed by a quotation from Kazantzakis’s novel: “The dual substance of Christ—the yearning, so human, so superhuman, of man to attain God . . . has always been a deep inscrutable mystery to me. My principal anguish and source of all my joys and sorrows from my youth onward has been the incessant merciless battle between the spirit and the flesh . . . and my soul is the arena where these two armies have clashed and met.” In the film, Jesus struggles to submit his will to God’s and to understand why God wants him to die. Satan tempts Jesus with sensual satisfaction and the emotional release of violence. The disciples are obtuse and naïve, so Jesus leans most heavily on Judas Iscariot, making him promise to help Jesus fulfill his strange destiny. In the film’s most analyzed sequence, Jesus is visited on the cross by a young girl, an angel, who says that God does not want him to die. She leads Jesus away from the cross and stays at his side as he resumes a normal life: marrying Mary Magdalene, having children, meeting the 285

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fanatical preacher Paul of Tarsus and trying to set him straight, and finally lying on his deathbed in old age, being visited by his former disciples. At that point in what is now revealed to be a fantasy sequence, Jesus realizes that this is not God’s will. He protests and finds himself back on the cross, where he proclaims with a triumphant smile, “It is accomplished!” Anticipating that the film would touch upon sensitive topics for evangelical Christians, Universal hired a liaison to the born-again community in early 1988 and arranged for advance screenings for Christian leaders. Far from alleviating their concerns, the screenings ignited demands for Universal to pull the film from release. A network of over 1,000 Christian radio stations in California denounced the film, and the Christian media ministry Mastermedia (headed by Larry Poland, who had worked closely with the Universal liaison as a consultant) called for a boycott of businesses owned by Universal’s parent company MCA. Universal responded to the prerelease controversy with an open letter, printed in newspapers nationwide, stating that giving in to the protesters’ demands to pull the film would violate the spirit of the First Amendment and infringe on the rights of all Americans in order to assuage the religious sensibilities of a few. On August 11, 1988, the day before the film’s premiere, an estimated 25,000 people gathered outside Universal’s Los Angeles headquarters in a protest organized by local Christian radio stations. The filmmaking community responded the next day with a press conference at which prominent directors—including Billy Wilder, Peter Bogdanovich, John Carpenter, Oliver Stone, and Warren Beatty—stated their support for Scorsese and for Universal’s decision to release the controversial film. Coming at the end of the Reagan presidency, which saw the rise of the religious right as a political force and was marked by attacks on blasphemy in publicly funded art, The Last Temptation of Christ quickly became a prime battlefield in the American culture wars. Christians who held a high Christology—believing that the divinity of Christ would preclude such vacillation or weakness as the movie portrayed—tended to be shocked by descriptions of what Kazantzakis’s and Scorsese’s Jesus said and did. Many found the fantasy sequence in which Jesus has sex with Mary Magdalene blasphemous, believing it highly objectionable and offensive to connect sexuality to Jesus, even in a dream. Groups that had been organized to decry indecency in the media or promote family values rallied their supporters in opposition to Scorsese’s film. Donald Wildmon, head of the influential American Family Association, wrote to the president of Universal’s parent organization, MCA, accusing the company of “antiChristian bias” and demanding to know how many Christians sat on MCA and Universal’s boards of directors. Joseph Reilly, president of Morality in Media, said that the film was “an intentional attack on Christianity.” James Dobson, founder of the powerful Focus on the Family, asked how “the King of the Universe can be

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subjected to such ignominy and disrespect.” Bill Bright, president of Campus Crusade for Christ, called Last Temptation “absolutely the most blasphemous, degenerate, immoral depraved script and film that I believe it is possible to conceive.” Bright offered to reimburse Universal for the full amount of its investment in the film in exchange for all existing prints, which he promised to destroy. Prerelease pressure by mobilized evangelicals succeeded in persuading several major theater chains not to book The Last Temptation of Christ. United Artists, General Cinemas, and Edwards theaters all announced corporate decisions to refuse bookings of the film, affecting more than 3,500 screens nationwide. By the time the movie rolled out nationwide in September 1988, the heat of the media attention on the controversy had passed, but local groups still turned out in force to picket theaters that booked the film. Individual towns and cities banned screenings of the film within their borders, including Savannah, Georgia; New Orleans; Oklahoma City; and Santa Ana, California. Boycotts and protests continued to be aimed at the corporate parents of Universal. Urging a boycott of businesses owned by MCA, one advocate explained: We must send this unmistakable message to the producers and directors at Universal: “If you continue to assault the Christian system of beliefs and undermine the morality of our children, it will cost you dearly at the box office. It will decrease the profits of every business you own for years to come.” There’s nothing unchristian about that position in a free enterprise system.

At the Cineplex Odeon Showcase Theater in New York City, vandals slashed seats and spray-painted threats aimed at the chairman of MCA: “Lew Wasserman: If you release ‘The Last Temptation of Christ,’ we will wait years and decimate all Universal property. This message is for your insurance company.” Overseas, at the September 28 opening in Paris, demonstrators who had gathered for a prayer vigil threw tear gas canisters at the theater’s entrance. Catholic clergy led rock-throwing and fire-bombing assaults on theaters in many French municipalities. A thousand rioters in Athens trashed the Opera cinema, ripping apart the screen and destroying the projection equipment. The American Family Association claimed victory even though they did not prevent the movie from being released. According to their figures, Universal suffered a $10 million to $13 million loss in revenue from the film because of evangelical protests and boycotts. At the time, evangelical groups tended to attribute motives of greed and financial gain to the filmmakers and their corporate backers, misunderstanding or ignoring the nature of art-house filmmaking and distribution. The low-budget, artistically ambitious film was never intended to be a blockbuster; in fact, the media attention generated by the controversy probably helped the box

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office receipts during the theatrical run, which, at a reported $8 million domestically and $4 million overseas, were substantial for a boutique release and earned Universal a small profit. After the film left theaters, the controversy flared up again several times. Blockbuster Video, at the time the nation’s largest video rental chain, declared in 1989 that it would not stock The Last Temptation of Christ. True to its word, it has never carried the video or DVD in its stores, although the movie is available for purchase or rental through Blockbuster’s online outlets. Some protesters re-emerged in conjunction with Martin Scorsese’s Academy Award nomination for Best Director for the film, but he did not win the award. Michael Medved, a long-time film critic who became a conservative icon for his lambasting of the film upon its release, cited it as a prime example of the degradation of the media industry in Hollywood vs. America: Popular Culture and the War Against Traditional Values (1994). In 1995, the film was shown on the BBC in Great Britain, generating an unprecedented 1,554 complaints to its media regulatory arm, a record not eclipsed until the network aired Jerry Springer: The Opera in 2005. When the American Family Association, Southern Baptist Convention, Presbyterian Church in America, Free Will Baptists, and others boycotted the Walt Disney Corporation beginning in 1997, one of the cited reasons was the corporation’s signing of Martin Scorsese, “the director of The Last Temptation of Christ,” to a four-year contract. Although the claim that Christians of all denominational affiliations condemned the film, little evidence now exists that most organized Christian denominations ever released official statements to that effect. The National Association of Evangelicals, which warned its members away from the film, comes closest to approximating a denominational policy condemning the film. Although American Catholics were not united against it, the U.S. Catholic Conference supported protesters and called the film “morally offensive.” Certainly condemnation of the film was widespread from evangelical pulpits, and ministers of large evangelical churches were prominent in the protests and resistance. But the organizations behind the protests were extrachurch and parachurch bodies, following the pattern throughout the height of the Christian right cultural and political movement. Mainstream denominations, on the other hand, tended to be neutral or even supportive. The Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, for example, stated that it “does not advise its members whether they should or should not attend individual films.” An official for the United Church of Christ said, after a prerelease screening, that the film “raised compelling questions about faith and the nature of divinity,” although he personally found it boring. Such denominations, as time has passed, have tended quietly to embrace the film as a serious exploration of such venerable theological issues as docetism and

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monophysitism, not to mention as a resource for provoking devotional reflection on Jesus’ humanity. Donna Bowman See also: Bible Films; Jesus; The Passion of the Christ Controversy; Schrader, Paul; Scorsese, Martin.

Further Reading Lindlof, Thomas R. “The Passionate Audience: Community Inscriptions of The Last Temptation of Christ.” In Religion and the Mass Media: Audiences and Adaptations, edited by Daniel A. Stout and Judith M. Buddenbaum, 148–167. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 1996. Middleton, Darren J. N. Scandalizing Jesus?: Kazantzakis’ The Last Temptation of Christ Fifty Years On. New York: Continuum, 2005. Morris, Michael. “Of God and Man: A Theological and Artistic Scrutiny of Martin Scorsese’s The Last Temptation of Christ.” American Film 14, no. 1 (1988): 44–49. Poland, Larry W. The Last Temptation of Hollywood. Los Angeles: Mastermedia, 1988. Riley, Robin. Film Faith and Cultural Conflict: The Case of Martin Scorsese’s The Last Temptation of Christ. Westport, CT: Praeger, 2003.

Latin America Religious images and expressions are ubiquitous in Latin America. It is not surprising, then, that there have been plenty of references to the sacred in Latin American film. Latin America has always had a certain degree of religious diversity, but until the 1960s, Roman Catholicism was clearly the dominant, if contested, religion in a majority of Latin America’s social, political, and cultural spheres. In the same decade, however, Protestantism—particularly in its Pentecostal expressions—and African-derived religions grew in popularity and exposure. Latin America subsequently morphed into a more pluralistic religious environment. Conversely, the distinct regional and national streams of Latin American film seemed to converge to such a degree in the 1960s that scholars began to speak of “New Latin American Film”—a rubric that highlighted the perceived congruities and common goals of Latin American cinema. The “new” Latin American films and the independent, privately financed films of the 1990s and 2000s have frequently critiqued traditional Roman Catholicism and offered neutral or positive portrayals of hybrid expressions of religion. In addition, Latin American filmmakers have used religious content to sacralize practices and identities that have

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at times been ignored, shunned, or denounced by traditional religionists. Consequently Latin American film has captured and formulated competing visions of religion. When liberation theology emerged in Latin America in the 1960s, it challenged traditional Roman Catholic conceptions of the faith. Liberationists insisted that Christianity should primarily promote justice for the poor. Adherents of liberation theology challenged the church’s hierarchical and sacramental emphases, claiming that the acute crises of Latin America’s poor demanded a frank denouncement of sociopolitical ills. The theology of liberation has appeared both implicitly and explicitly in Latin American film. In La Última Cena (The Last Supper, 1976), director Tomás Gutiérrez Alea drew attention to many of the same revolutionary themes of Christianity that appear in the writings of liberation theologians. In this Cuban film, set in 1795 on a sugar plantation, the Count of Bayona arrives at a plantation where he is struck not by the dire circumstances of the slaves but rather by their tenuous grasp of the Catholic faith. He decides to rectify this situation by hosting a didactic dinner in which he models the Last Supper and teaches 12 slaves the meaning of Christianity. As the evening progresses, he consumes numerous glasses of wine and, with comic histrionics, claims that the heart of Christianity is found in this-worldly resignation, suffering, and obedience. Nevertheless, the count unwittingly inspires some of the slaves to rebellion with his description of a heaven in which there are no distinctions of class or race and where there is certainly no slavery. Gutiérrez Alea’s mockery of autocratic pie-in-the-sky religion is similar to the charges that liberation theologians have sometimes made against the Catholic Church in Latin America; the church, they claim, has too often encouraged the poor to accept a miserable lot in life while awaiting joy in heaven. Carlos Carrera’s El Crimen del Padre Amaro (The Crime of Father Amaro, 2002) also draws on themes from liberation theology and is equally unflinching in its critique of traditional religiosity. One of the most sympathetic and sagacious characters in the film is the humble priest Father Natalio, who quietly puts progressive faith principles into practice as he works among campesinos. He is suspected of having sympathies with guerillas and, as a result, becomes an embarrassing thorn in the side of the church’s hierarchy. The bishop, by contrast, is the most detestable character in this film; his all-consuming goal is preserving the cultural prestige and influence of the Church. He thus winks at the Church’s shady alliances with drug lords, all the while insisting that supposedly lofty ends justify despicable means. The complex web of institutional deceit involves the church, the government, and the drug lords; its most pathetic victim is Amelia, a young woman carrying Father Amaro’s child. In a desperate and ultimately fatal step, she has an abortion in an underground clinic. The mayor’s wife is oblivious to the

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invisible institutional hands that have, in part, governed such personal misfortune. When she learns of Amelia’s death, she proposes that her husband eradicate “those places” (the underground health clinics). This is trenchant and sardonic commentary on the masking of institutional evil. In keeping with the revolutionary roots of new Latin American film, evil is often portrayed as embedded in the structures and institutions of society. La Última Cena, for example, is a patent indictment of oppressive social structures. Likewise, El Crimen del Padre Amaro emphasizes institutional corruption more than individual culpability. There is a sense that the unsavory church leaders in this film have been formed by (and now help perpetuate) an antiquated institution whose strictures have squeezed the pastoral life out of its offices. Priests fail to fulfill their vows in this film, but their sexual peccadilloes pale in comparison with the church’s failure to uphold what the Jesus of the Gospels calls the “weightier matters of the law”—justice, love, and mercy. Although Latin American films have continued to delineate the institutional and social characteristics of evil, there has also been a move from what some scholars call “exteriority to interiority.” The Mexican film, Amores Perros (Love’s a Bitch, 2000) not only “interiorizes” evil but even makes a biblical allusion in the process. The notion of inner wickedness is conveyed in sharp relief when Gustavo Garfias hires Chivito, a hit man, to kill his half-brother and business associate. There are apparently no marginalized socioeconomic conditions to account for Gustavo’s murderous intentions, and thus it seems that his greed and malice spring from within. Upon realizing that he has been hired to kill a man’s brother, Chivito makes explicit reference to the story of Cain and Abel and lays bare before the brothers the evil inclinations of their hearts. Traditional Roman Catholicism often acts as the foil when Latin American films explore religious views of the body and sexuality. In Yo, La Peor de Todas (I, the Worst of All, 1990), for example, the historical figure Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz is depicted as a nun with soaring intelligence and emotional depth whose multiple capacities are restrained by the patriarchal environment of the church. Her ecclesiastical superiors devalue her intellectual gifts and chide her for her supposedly lascivious poetry. Indeed, it seems that Sor Juana’s deepest sexual (and apparently lesbian) desires are forced mainly into sublimation through poetry. The Cuban film La Vida es Silvar (Life Is to Whistle, 1998) offers an even more subtle critique of the church’s relationship to sexuality. María is an overtly and spontaneously sexual character whose quotidian activities are imbued with poetic sexual imagination. She is desperate, however, to procure a part in a play and thus promises God, in a Catholic Church, that she will remain celibate if God will grant her the role. Thus to find favor with the divine, María must relinquish one of her most robust and distinctive qualities. After María lands the part, her struggle

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to maintain the vow of chastity proves to be a source of incessant and repressive tension. One of the primary themes in the film is that false dichotomies between spirit and body are injurious. By contrast, social, individual, and national health are shown to depend on a unity of diversity that eschews binary oppositions. Perhaps the most overt criticism of the church’s perceived denigration of the human body and sexuality is found in El Crimen del Padre Amaro. Father Amaro is a young priest with a timorous view of sexuality. When Amelia, a smitten young parishioner, briefly touches his hand, Amaro recoils in fear. The church has not provided Father Amaro with a living lexicon that would unify bodily desire with spiritual hunger. He parrots the church’s official position that the body and spirit are of one essence, but it is clear that this is nothing more than a religious platitude for Amaro. In contrast to Christianity, African-derived religions, such as Santería in Cuba, offer a more malleable view of sexuality. Some scholars argue that the incorporation of people whom traditional convention might deem sexually extravagant or deviant is part of the growing niche appeal of African-derived religions. Unlike Roman Catholicism, African Latin religions do not make strict demarcations between sacred and profane sexual acts or identities. In fact, the orishas (spirits) of African Latin religions may themselves be sexually deviant by societal standards—Pomba Gira, for example, is the unofficial patron spirit of prostitutes in Brazil. African Latin religions are thus prevalent in Latin American films that deal with the sexually subaltern. In Fresa y Chocolate (Strawberries and Chocolate, 1994), Diego (a gay artist) and Nancy (a prostitute living in the same building block) practice elements of Santería. The incorporation of Nancy’s hybrid faith, in particular, allows for an unabashed mix of the sacred and the sexual in the film. In both a highly sensual and obviously religious scene, Nancy bathes during a ritual of Santería and calls on the spirits to assist her in seducing Diego’s straight friend David. Furthermore, Nancy’s and Diego’s religious devotion complicate facile stereotypes: the characters are both sexually subaltern and patently religious. That both Nancy and Diego play a part in awakening David to a more complex view of human relationships makes it seem that their prayers to unite with him have been answered, albeit in more nuanced ways than either has requested in private supplication. And both of their sexual identities are at least partially affirmed in the process. Although religion in Latin American film can be both oppressive and liberating, it is perhaps best characterized as pervasive. That is not to say that Latin American cinema always deals with religious belief and behavior but rather that when religion does appear, it is frequently depicted as a deep-seated cultural trait that manifests itself in diverse and often unlikely scenarios and characters. In the

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Colombian film La Virgen de los Sicarios (Our Lady of the Assassins, 2000), a middle-aged writer (Fernando) develops a romantic and sexual relationship with a gun-toting, churchgoing teenage boy named Alexis. Alexis is a cold-blooded killer but also devout—he refrains from killing a passerby out of respect for a special commemoration of the Virgin Mary. The boy also explains to his older, bemused lover the intricacies of “holy bullets,” the practice of blessing the bullets used in an assassination so that the victim’s death will occur quickly. These paradoxes are indicative of a culture in which religion is so pervasive that even in the darkest crevices of society sacred impulses militate (however absurdly) against an otherwise profane existence. Sometimes, when religion appears where it is least expected, its presence is the grounds for ironic symbolism. One scholar notes the ample use of this ironic religious symbolism in the Brazilian film Cidade de Deus (City of God, 2002); there are various features in this film that resonate (albeit ironically) with the Bible, including a title that denotes peace and harmony in a world characterized by chaos and discord, a gang leader who is baptized “into a religion of hate” through a kind of shamanistic inversion of the Christian ceremony, and opposing gangs’ recitation of the Lord’s Prayer before going into battle. One suspects that the resonances would be muted if these religious images and practices were not so prevalent in Brazilian culture. The pervasive nature of religion in Latin American culture means that even those at odds with the church cannot easily escape the presence of traditional religion in their lives. In the Argentinean film El Hijo de la Novia (The Son of the Bride, 2001), religion is relatively impotent in shaping morals and belief in Argentinean society, but the Catholic Church does wield a kind of negative power as it impedes individual and familial aspirations. As Norma declines into a more advanced stage of Alzheimer’s, Nino decides to give her something that she has always wanted—a church wedding; they had never been married in the Church because of his “principles.” His son Rafael eventually decides to help his father plan the wedding. Rafael’s frustrated attempts to have the church perform this wedding seem analogous to the ambivalent relationship that some secularminded Latin Americans have to religion in general and Catholicism in particular. They may, on the one hand, see the church as a relatively benign institution with the potential to be a cultural unifier. On the other hand, some claim that the church is money-hungry and that meticulous attention to the letter of its own laws trumps the spirit of Jesus’ teachings. A priest initially convinces Nino to splurge and have a wedding that will cost an exorbitant 5,000 pesos. When he learns, however, that Norma has Alzheimer’s, the priest consults the bishop and canonical lawyers, who, in turn, refuse permission for the couple to be married because they do not meet one of the church’s

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three qualifications for matrimony: that the bride be able to give her consent to the marriage. Rafael interjects and points out that the church never asked for his mother’s consent to be baptized as an infant because, as a new member, she represented more money. He is especially miffed that the church does not honor the obvious love of this union—a man who has devoted 44 years of his life to one woman. The diatribe continues with an ironic assertion that the church perpetuates a naïve message to impressionable youth that love will conquer all in marriage. Rafael claims to have swallowed that sentiment and suffered divorce as a result. Ultimately the wedding between Nino and Norma takes place outside the official sanction of the church in the chapel of the assisted-living home where Norma lives. Unbeknownst to most of those present, Juan Carlos, an actor friend of the son, pretends to be a priest and conducts the ceremony. This character’s comic pontifications and belabored reading from the book of Genesis seem to be part of a broader critique of the church. The message seems to be that the church pays meticulous attention to high ceremony but often commits a more pernicious sin of omission—a failure to celebrate authentic love wherever it is found. Still, the pervasiveness of religion in Latin American culture is not always depicted in a negative light. The seeming omnipresence of the church in general and its religious imagery in particular can also be fodder for comedic romps such as Alejandro Springall’s Santitos (Little Saints, 1999). In this movie we see a lighthearted depiction of what scholars call “popular Catholicism.” In Springall’s film, saints intimately occupy every nook and corner of quotidian life. Indeed, there seems to be a saint for every one of Esperanza’s (the protagonist’s) needs and distresses, and the movie generally affirms the vitality of a life saturated with faith. The presence of discrete religious visions of life in Latin America means that the potential for drama is acute when different religions meet on screen. Religious symbolism is sometimes used to dramatize national and cultural differences (as it is in Life Is to Whistle). Religion can thus also play a role in imagining a cultural unity of disparate parts. The Mexican film Cabeza de Vaca (1991) depicts an aborted attempt at cultural synthesis via interreligious encounter and blending. Cabeza de Vaca tells a story based on the life of Alvar Nuñez Cabeza de Vaca, who, as a Spanish explorer, was shipwrecked off the Gulf Coast in 1528. He is captured by an indigenous tribe and becomes a shaman of their faith. The movie conveys a kind of mutual illumination between the European and the indigenous. Cabeza de Vaca learns the power of indigenous healing practices and comes to self-identify with them. He, in turn, becomes an unlikely foreign conduit of the divine for the indigenous; he even vaguely appropriates the symbol of the cross in his indigenous healing ceremonies. After eight years of a journey on foot, Cabeza de Vaca encounters fellow Spaniards, who abruptly and violently truncate any hope for interreligious or cultural understanding.

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By contrast, when the Chilean film La Frontera (The Frontier, 1991) considers the potential for the peaceful coexistence of members of indigenous and Christian religions, it ends on a more tentatively hopeful note. The interplay between religion and Latin American film is a relatively new area of study. Even though the religious landscape of Latin America continues to diversify, Latin American films do not always reflect that variety. Pentecostalism, for example, has had explosive levels of growth in the region but remained relatively underrepresented in Latin American film. When evangelicals do appear, they tend to be stock and stereotypical characters bent on retreating from society; this conception belies academic works that increasingly point to the autochthonous character and appeal of Latin American Pentecostalism. More complex depictions of Latin American evangelicalism, and other religions such as Judaism and Islam, may provide further material for the ongoing cultural discourse between observers and practitioners of Latin American religion. Sean Samuel O’Neil See also: Catholicism; Clergy; Protestantism.

Further Reading Bowman, Donna. “Faith and the Absent Savior in Central Station.” Journal of Religion and Film 5, no. 1 (2001): http://www.unomaha.edu/jrf/centstat.htm. King, John. Magical Reels: A History of Cinema in Latin America. New York: Verso, 2000. Pick, Zuzana M. “The New Latin American Cinema: A Modernist Critique of Modernity.” In New Latin American Cinema, Volume One, edited by Michael T. Martin, 298–312. Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press, 1997. Rich, B. Rich. “An/Other View of Latin American Cinema.” In New Latin American Cinema, Volume One, edited by Michael T. Martin, 273–297. Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press, 1997. Rodriquez-Mangual, Edna M. “Santería and the Quest for a Postcolonial Identity in PostRevolutionary Cuban Cinema.” In Representing Religion in World Cinema, edited by S. Brent Plate, 219–238. New York: Palgrave/Macmillan, 2003.

Leone, Sergio (1929–1989) Children are gunned down in the street and in their homes. Women are forced into slavery, beaten, and raped. Men are slowly, methodically tortured. Lifelong friends casually—and sometimes inexplicably—betray one another. Priests are

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hypocrites, intellectuals are cowards, and rich capitalists are fat spiders who live off the sweat of the poor. The world that Sergio Leone consistently portrays in his genre films is violent, gritty, and unpredictable, yet he renders it on screen in a surrealist, operatic style that can understandably be called beautiful. Consequently, Leone seems to have ambivalent feelings for his characters and for the blood-soaked oeuvres of westerns and gangster films. He expresses this ambivalence not only through the beauty of his films’ visual style and music scores but also through the actions of his criminal protagonists, who are frequently childlike, superstitiously religious, and strangely innocent in the conItalian director Sergio Leone, 1983. AP Photo. text of the hostile world in which they live. Leone’s signature directing style has several prominent characteristics that are inevitably cited whenever his work is discussed, whether it is by scholars such as Christopher Frayling or filmmakers such as Quentin Tarantino. As Frayling observed, his poetic directing techniques—his frequent (and visually striking) alternation between extreme closeups of characters’ faces and extreme far shots of panoramic landscapes, his alternation between a virtually silent, deathlike sound track and a rousing, orchestral score that emphasizes the grandeur of the events taking place, the slow pacing of his long films, and the slowly unfolding action segments with long periods of silence broken by rapid bursts of gunfire and sudden death—help bestow epic sensibilities on formerly B-movie material, thereby elevating genre films to a more literate status. But why are the people, places, and events in Leone’s films presented in such a melodramatic manner? Leone’s frequent actor–collaborator Clint Eastwood once suggested that the director never outgrew a child’s wide-eyed view of the world, where everything is always larger than life. An Italian raised by parents who worked in the film industry, Leone cultivated a love of film from an early age and felt a particular affinity for America and American movies. After an apprenticeship in film that allowed him to make uncredited

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writing and directing contributions to some of Italy’s epic “sword and sandal” films, Leone eventually earned the opportunity to direct “spaghetti westerns”— Italian-made cowboy films that became international blockbusters when they were exported to America. He teamed with Eastwood during the 1960s to film his most famous westerns, the three installments of “The Man with No Name Trilogy”— Per un pugno di dollari (A Fistful of Dollars, 1964), Per qualche dollaro in più (For a Few Dollars More, 1965), and Il buono, il brutto, il cattivo (The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, 1966). Like the classic western heroes of the John Ford films, Leone’s protagonists act as avenging angels or wrathful Christ figures, smiting the unjust and delivering the victimized from evil. However, it is important to note that the Leone variant of this western archetype is more ruthless than that of the Ford westerns, and Eastwood’s “stranger” is often more interested in personal gratification than mere altruism. Another of Leone’s gunslingers, Colonel Mortimer from Per qualche dollaro in più, overtly combines religious and gunslinger imagery by dressing as a preacher, publicly reading the Bible, and carrying an array of customized weapons. Arguably more accessible than Eastwood’s stranger character, Mortimer is cultured, intelligent, polite to women, and charismatic, but he is also an efficient killing machine driven to avenge his raped and murdered sister. In several of his westerns, Leone pairs his pseudosupernatural gunslinger characters with a very earthy, broadly comic foil, effectively granting the “Christlike” protagonist a fallible human companion. This “Sancho Panza” character is frequently a hard-drinking Mexican bandit with a tendency to swear oaths to God, laugh a lot, and kill with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. He appears in Il buono, il brutto, il cattivo as Tuco, C’era una volta il West (Once Upon a Time in the West, 1968) as Cheyenne, and Giù la testa (A Fistful of Dynamite, 1971) as Juan. Each of these characters is humanized with a “back story” and a lovable rogue quality suggesting Leone has some Marxist sympathies, but they collectively offer a provocative perspective on the role of religion in the lives of the poor. In Il buono, il brutto, il cattivo, Tuco represents the “ugly” side of a moral trinity that also includes Blondy, a trickster character, as “the good,” and Angel Eyes, a heartless assassin, as “the bad.” In an American landscape gone mad with the mass slaughter and destruction caused by the Civil War, such labels seem almost meaningless, especially since the three characters are more alike than the designations suggest. Although Angel Eyes is certainly the most evil of the central characters, Tuco is the most ambiguously presented. For example, even though he is capable of killing without a second thought, Tuco sometimes pauses beside the body of one of his victims to cross himself. This Catholic ritual, associated with righteous practitioners of the faith, is a gesture that may be mere custom or a sign of Tuco’s genuine awe at bearing witness to the passing of a soul into the afterlife. Also, as cynical and treacherous as he can be, Tuco appears genuinely shocked when

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Blondy betrays him. Cursing Blondy as a “Judas,” Tuco hopes to see Blondy die as Judas did, with a rope around his neck. (This Judas theme returns later in C’era una volta il West when Cheyenne, Tuco’s counterpart in the film, is seemingly betrayed by his gunslinger friend and similarly curses his betrayer as a “Judas.”) In one of Leone’s memorable scenes, the bandit Tuco is reunited with his brother Pablo for the first time in nine years. Now a Franciscan who tends to the wounded soldiers on both sides, Pablo greets Tuco with stony silence and a disapproving glare. He responds to Tuco’s attempts at friendliness by admonishing him for living a life of crime and debauchery and for missing their parents’ funerals. Tuco replies angrily with a passionate and unforgettable monologue: Go on, preach me a sermon. . . . You think you’re better than I am? Where we came from, if one did not want to die of poverty one became a priest or a bandit. You chose your way, I chose mine. Mine was harder. You talk of our mother and father. You remember when you left to become a priest I stayed behind. I must have been ten, twelve—I don’t remember which—but I stayed. I tried, but it was no good. Now I’m going to tell you something. You became a priest because you were too much of a coward to do what I do!

The two exchange blows and Tuco leaves in disgust. Pablo stares after his brother sadly and says, “Please forgive me, brother.” In Giù la testa, a poor bandit character not unlike Tuco encounters a priest traveling in the lap of luxury on a train as part of a group of bourgeoise snobs. The cross-wearing bandit Juan passes himself off as a simple peasant and listens in as the priest discusses him with the other travelers as if he were not in the compartment with them. Less sympathetically presented than Pablo, this priest calls Mexican peasants “unfortunate brutes” that, like animals, can be “tamed and made harmless.” He adds, “I hate saying it, but you should hear them in the confessional. You can’t imagine it.” The audience is expected to applaud Juan’s revolutionary actions shortly thereafter when, his wrath having been awakened, he robs the party, strips them naked, and drives them off into the desert. As the film unfolds, it suggests that Juan’s personal faith is more sincere and heartfelt than the middle-class spirituality of the priest on the train. Later in the movie, it is a significant moment when, after Juan’s six children are slaughtered by enemy soldiers, he tears the cross from around his neck and discards it. Juan’s friend John Mallory feels guilty for the children’s deaths, and for Juan’s loss of faith, because he was the one who recruited Juan to join the Mexican Revolution, thereby endangering the children in the first place. By the end of the film, John avenges his friend by killing the soldiers who shot the children, but he himself is mortally wounded. In the closing scenes, the dying John gives Juan his cross back

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and says, “I gave you a right screwing.” The implication is that John was really the one responsible for the children’s deaths, not God, so Juan should no longer bear a grudge against the deity. Ostensibly less melodramatic in look and feel than Leone’s westerns, Once Upon a Time in America (1984) offers a similarly symbolic narrative about the significance of violence, religion, and personal values in the lives of poor American immigrants. The story follows Max and Noodles, two childhood friends, as they grow up and apart struggling to survive as part of a Brooklyn Jewish community in Christian America. By the time they reach young adulthood, Max has grown wealthy from bootlegging during Prohibition and entertains ambitions to “go straight” and become a respectable member of the political elite. His hopes amount to a disavowal of his Jewish heritage and a desire to “convert” to become a Kennedy-style Catholic royal. Although he keeps these intentions secret from his friends, he symbolically announces them to the world by purchasing the throne of a 17th-century pope for his office. Noodles, meanwhile, is too nostalgic for his past and too wary of businessmen and politicians to follow Max on a similar path. Instead, Noodles wishes to win over his childhood love, a young Jewish dancer named Debra. As an adult, he fixates on their secret meetings as teenagers, when she would read him the Song of Songs and observe that he was a lot dirtier and smellier than the lover Solomon described. Unfortunately for Noodles, Debra shares Max’s desire to leave her humble past behind, hoping to become a famous actress. In his attempts to keep Max and Debra at his side and keep them Jewish, Noodles winds up wounding and betraying them both, thus losing their friendship forever. The story is told from Noodles’s perspective; since he has an opium habit, it is not clear how reliable the narrative is or whether certain events in the film are literally or metaphorically a pipe dream. However, the story flashes forward to periods when all three central characters are old and each seems cursed by the career paths they have chosen. Max ultimately succeeds in killing off his gangster identity, changing his name to Bailey (an Irish Catholic moniker), and being appointed as a secretary of commerce. Unfortunately, his attempts at upward mobility have brought him to a point in life where political scandals have ruined him and his only remaining options seem to be suicide, prison, or public disgrace. Debra has married Max (or Bailey) and become a successful actress, but she seems tragically lonely in her success. Noodles, who has worked hard to live his life as he had in childhood, has returned penniless to the Brooklyn neighborhood of his youth to see Jewish cemeteries being torn up and synagogues falling into disrepair. As in the case of Tuco and his brother Pablo, Max and Noodles chose two different paths out of a life of poverty, neither of which was ultimately correct or fulfilling. Even though Sergio Leone’s films are not religious in the traditional sense, they offer an intriguing, somewhat Marxist commentary on religion as a cultural force.

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Their sweeping, epic scope grants a mythic significance to the lives of the criminal and disenfranchised, thereby transforming bandits into saints and unmasking clergymen as pious hypocrites. In that respect, the films are very religious and act as a hymn to the beleaguered, privately devout, working-class man or woman. Marc DiPaolo See also: Catholicism; Clergy; Judaism; Tarantino, Quentin; Westerns.

Further Reading De Fornari, Oreste. Sergio Leone: The Great Italian Dream of Legendary America. Rome: Gremese, 1997. Fawell, John. The Art of Sergio Leone’s Once Upon a Time in the West: A Critical Appreciation. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2005. Frayling, Christopher. Once Upon a Time in Italy: The Westerns of Sergio Leone. New York: Harry N. Abrams, 2005. Hughes, Howard. Once Upon a Time in the Italian West: A Filmgoer’s Guide to Spaghetti Westerns. London: I. B. Taurus, 2005.

M Magic Magic can be defined as those practices that are thought to compel supernatural or other extraordinary powers to help human actors achieve particular, often very tangible goals. Typically, magic is deployed to predict the future, heal, ward off evil, bring good fortune, induce romantic love, or influence events with uncertain outcomes. Since its invention in the late 19th century, cinema has borrowed from the world’s magical traditions in at least two significant ways. At the level of representation, portrayals of practitioners of magic (witches, wizards, magi, etc.), magical rituals (casting spells, séances, exorcism, etc.), and magical powers (telekinesis, transformation, etc.) stretch from the earliest silent films to the most recent summer blockbusters. Magic continues to be a staple of two of the most popular film genres, fantasy and animation. At a more theoretical level, the cinematic experience for both artists and audiences often parallels the content and function of magic found in more traditional contexts. For example, the use of directorial techniques to give apparent agency to nonhuman things (i.e., objects that fly, animals that speak) mirrors the “animistic” beliefs that Victorian theorists found at the heart of all magical thinking. Likewise, audience reaction suggests that cinema can evoke for the modern masses the types of sentiments and emotions that magic has traditionally conjured up in more intimate circumstances—hope, delight, charm, fear, terror, and courage. The cathartic effects of film can also, like magical rituals, bring feelings of renewal and transformation. Taken together, these trends strongly suggest that “magical” qualities remain central the creation and consumption of modern cinema in spite of the ostensibly “secular” character of the film industry. Magic has long been a central category in the comparative study of religion; scholars have done extensive work to document its scope and influence. Worldwide, magical lore is extremely rich and varied and can be found in diverse societies, including some of the most technologically sophisticated ones. Conceptually, 301

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many magical systems are built from the belief that the cosmos is an interconnected system, linked by often invisible “correspondences” or “sympathies” that can be manipulated to gain information or influence actions over great distances. Magical power accrues to those with knowledge of these relationships, and the ability to control the forces and spirits thought to regulate them. In some cultures, magic involves tapping into latent powers thought to reside in special objects, animals, and human beings. Many magical practices involve highly structured rituals that include elaborate verbal formulas, the manipulation of objects, and careful control of the mind and body. Also important are the use of empowered objects such as fetishes, idols, and talismans, as well as systems of rules, or taboos, whose violation can bring on negative magic and misfortune. Many societies believe that expert practitioners can overcome or otherwise influence natural processes. Thus religious lore abounds with stories of magicians who fly, change shape, control objects at a distance, cause illness and suffering, protect and heal the body, and alter the weather. Because they can be used for good or ill, considerable moral ambivalence and uncertainty surround magical practices, and they often arouse hostility and censure. The world’s great religious traditions have decidedly mixed relations with magic. Often religious authorities have been sharply critical of magical practices that challenge their authority or exploit the gullible, and powerful religious institutions have used rhetoric, legal tactics, and even violence against practitioners of illicit magic. Yet under some circumstances the great traditions tolerate and absorb magical practices that are compatible with their basic beliefs and aims. For example, in the Christian tradition, all major historical eras show evidence of laypersons, and even some clergy, who engage in astrology, divination, and magical healing. Although typically associated with “primitive” or “folk” cultures, magic also has been cultivated among educated elites in advanced societies. The European Renaissance, for example, developed complex systems of magic, some of which contributed the artistic and technical achievements of the era. Likewise, the modern religious history of the West, while dominated by theism and secularism, includes the survival and revival of groups that make magic (or Magick) rituals central to their practice—for example, various Hermetic, Spiritualist, and Neopagan groups. Alongside the continuous presence of magical thought, the more modern periods gave rise to various antimagical movements that sought to actively contain and suppress magic through ridicule, critique, and legal restriction. Magic often served as a ready foil for those dedicated to conventional piety or the life of reason. The Reformation, for example, condemned many magical rituals as ineffective, distracting, and deceptive, and thus inimical to a life of true faith. The Enlightenment, as well,

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aggressively devalued “superstitious” beliefs and practices as contrary to a proper emphasis on reason and the study of nature. Following the Enlightenment critique, a persistent strain of modern thought has argued for the rejection of magic as primitive and irrational. Victorian scholars like E. B. Tylor and James Frazer qualified this view somewhat by arguing that magic was an early stage of humanity’s ongoing efforts to understand and control the natural world. As such it resembled but fell far short of the more accurate and effective methods of modern science. Social theorists have tended to qualify questions about the rationality of magical practices by emphasizing their social and psychological functions. For example, ethnographic studies suggest magical rituals can increase self-confidence, manage risk, improve the performance of technical tasks, and reinforce social networks in a wide range of societies. Magic “ritualizes” human optimism and quells anxieties, thereby reinforcing values necessary for social life, notably cooperation, coordination, and commitment in the face of difficult and dangerous tasks. Other studies have noted that magical rituals often provide solidarity and a sense of empowerment for marginalized groups. At times, they can even serve as the rallying point for social protest movements and revolutions. Discussions of magic in the modern world are complicated by common usage, which associates the term with stagecraft (sleight of hand tricks, escapes, disappearances). In terms of film, however, this connection is suggestive in that the filmic representation of the “magical,” like theatrical magic acts, relies on carefully crafted illusions, dramatic flair, and the suspension of doubt on the part of the audience. Both cinematic and theatrical forms of magic can, of course, be traced to older forms ritual performance, some dating to antiquity. A dense, dialogic medium, film includes many layers, voices, and perspectives. It has absorbed much of the world’s heritage of magical practices, and also, more selectively, some of the critical perspective on magic. Thus films that portray magic as malevolence or trickery must contend with the implicit message that magic continues to renew, inspire, and embolden; thus magic remains an essential part of the modern cultural matrix. Tellingly, the roots of the film industry intertwine with the work of professional stage magicians, who had long included projected visual effects in their shows. Many early filmmakers had experience with the popular Victorian “phantasmagoria” and “magic lantern” shows that used translucent images and focused beams of light to projected images of ghosts and famous historical figures. Frenchman Georges Méliès, for example, made films using stop action and double-exposure techniques to create the appearance of objects that could move, instantaneous disappearance, and images of ghosts and demons. Directors also quickly learned to use lighting techniques, such as the familiar halo effect created by backlighting, to highlight objects or bodies that have special powers or energies.

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Critics also were quick to recognize a special relationship between film and magic. In his 1922 work The Art of the Moving Picture, for example, poet Vachel Lindsay noted how “the camera has a kind of Hallowe’en witch power”—the capacity to animate objects and landscapes. He called this power “splendor,” and argued that it was among the distinguishing features of film as an art form, giving life and motion to the more static arts of sculpture, painting, and architecture (59). Anticipating auteur theory, Lindsay called for “prophet wizards” (visionary directors) to guide creative development of the medium. By using “transubstantiation” these “magicians” would “derive strange new pulse-beats from the veins of the earth, from the sap of the trees, from the lightening of the sky, as well as the alchemical acids, metals, and flames” (296). Stemming from the innovations of the silent era, subsequent generations of filmmakers developed increasingly sophisticated technologies to make magic less consciously “staged.” Many effects require the manipulation of the film itself after the scenes have been shot, for example, the addition of images to a scene (fireballs, beams of light) or the concealment of apparatus (wires used to make an actor “fly”). Originally done by hand painting or staining each frame, later special effects “wizards” invented split-screen and “blue screen” techniques (two scenes shot separately that are later blended). Given that audiences have come to expect innovation, often movie magic has driven the technological development of the film industry. In recent years, editors have turned to increasingly sophisticated computer-generated imaging techniques to add color, scenery, and even characters. As a result, the presentation of “magic” has become even more impressive and audiences have come to expect ever more spectacular and realistic effects. Witches, particularly those derived from European folklore, are perhaps the most familiar magic-using characters in film. Witches, often portrayed as malicious monarchs, menacing crones, demonic consorts, or members of conspiratorial covens, often serve as the villains in the horror and fantasy films. These negative witches tend to deploy malevolent forms of magic, including spells, poisons, and subterfuge, against the main characters, who must counter with protective and restorative “good magic” empowered by bravery, faith, and virtue. For example, the Queen in the animated feature Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937) uses a magical mirror, disguises, and poisons in various attempts to eliminate her more beautiful and virtuous maid. Not all witches are clearly villains, however; nor are they limited by genre. The romantic comedies I Married a Witch (1942) and Bell, Book, and Candle (1958), for example, portray witches who use their powers to land the leading man. In the taut psychological thriller, Hexen bis aufs Blut genquält (Burn Witch Burn, 1970), the wife of a young academic (ironically, a skeptic) uses witchcraft to protect him from spells cast by ruthless colleagues. A more feminist sensibility informs

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The Witches of Eastwick (1987) which follows a trio of independent single women who use witchcraft to counter mainstream conformity and male loutishness. Similar themes inform The Craft (1996), which focuses on teenage girls who use magical rituals to negotiate the challenges of coming of age. Like other witchcraft films in recent decades, it draws upon the growing interest in neopaganism. Finally, numerous films explore historical persecution of witches, often in the service of social and political criticism. The silent classic Häxan (The Witches, 1922), the British thriller Witchfinder General (also known as The Conqueror Worm, 1968), and film versions of Arthur Miller’s 1953 play, The Crucible (1957; 1996), for example, examine the rivalries, social tensions, and mass hysteria that lead to the torture and execution of alleged witches. Parallels with the abuse of political and judicial power in the 20th century are no doubt intended. Male characters that use magic need not be limited by genre and often figure prominently in films that explore various political and psychological themes. For example, portrayals of Merlin from Arthurian legend, including Camelot (1967) and Excalibur (1981), explore the ambiguities of serving powerful and ambitious leaders. Likewise various cinematic renditions of Shakespeare’s The Tempest, most notably Prospero’s Books (1991), suggest that visual wonders of the magical imagination can compensate for the losses and deprivations of aging and exile. More recently, films based upon the fantasy novels of J.R.R. Tolkien and J. K. Rowling highlight battles between good and evil wizards armed with arsenals of magical powers courtesy of the latest digital techniques. Both series demonstrate that magic-using characters continue to be popular cinematic strategies for exploring decidedly “modern” challenges: the industrialization of warfare and environmental devastation. Examples include The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Rings (2001), The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers (2002), The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King (2003), and films depicting the coming of age in highly competitive educational institutions, for example, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone (2001), Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (2002), Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (2004), and Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (2005). Thanks to annual broadcasts on network television, the musical The Wizard of Oz (1939) might well be the most viewed American film of all time. It also brings together most of the key themes of magical cinema. The plot follows the adventures of Dorothy Gale, a young girl who lives in a dusty, sepia-toned Kansas prairie town. Early on a twister hits her family farm and Dorothy falls unconscious. She “awakens” to find her house transported via the storm to the Technicolor land of Oz, a place of magical creatures and dreamlike, expressionistic landscapes. Desiring a way back to Kansas, she is advised by a good witch and some amiable “munchkins” to seek out a powerful wizard who lives in the utopian

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Emerald City at the end of a meandering yellow-brick road. Along the way, Dorothy gains traveling companions with their own quests, a scarecrow seeking a brain, a tin woodsman seeking a heart, and a cowardly lion seeking courage. The group has various adventures, including encounters with the malevolent wicked witch of the West, who can fly on a broom, hurl fireballs, cast spells, and “see” over large distances using a crystal ball. Eventually, the group meets the wizard, a gigantic disembodied head with a booming voice enhanced by fiery explosions. The group is awestruck and terrified, as if brought before an ancient deity. They are soon told that they must bring back the broomstick of the evil witch before the wizard will grant their requests. They succeed, only to discover that the wizard is really just a man behind a curtain whose “magic” is smoke, mirrors, and technological trickery. Nevertheless, through flattery and encouragement, the wizard helps Dorothy’s friends realize their latent powers of intellect, emotion, and courage. Attempts to help Dorothy return home, however, go awry until she learns that the power has been with her all the time, in her ruby slippers. She clicks her heels and incants “There’s no place like home,” soon finding herself restored to her Kansas farm with her family and friends all around her. Her journey into the timeless magical realm of Oz seems to have given her a renewed sense of the intrinsic goodness of her own domestic life. Like other fantasy films, The Wizard of Oz borrows from literary and folkloric sources, notably L. Frank Baum’s adolescent novels. But it also adds much that is unique to its medium. Most daringly, the film reveals that cinematic magic is less about the control of supernatural powers than it is about the use of special effects to project dreams and wishes in vivid cinematic form. For both filmmakers and audiences, magic has become a strategy for self-realization and self-fulfillment. For filmmakers, the ability to provide ever more vivid and compelling visual effects has become a central feature of the industry. The ascendancy of the Disney conglomerate, strongly identified with all manner of “magic” technologies, underscores this trend. For audiences, these effects become visual pleasures, imagined scenarios to vicariously enjoy the extension of normal human powers and abilities. Of course the discovery of the “wizard behind the curtain” does not, as we might expect, unravel and discredit the film’s magic. Rather, it points to a paradox that still strongly influences film esthetics. Although the knowledge that “magical effects” are technical creations is widespread, so too is the willingness to be charmed and possibly transformed by them. Thus for the average filmgoer, movie magic is characteristically modern insofar as it mingles a knowing skepticism with a longing for enchantment. Lisle Dalton See also: Animated Films; Film as Religion; Horror; Ritual.

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Further Reading Barnouw, Erik. The Magician and the Cinema. New York: Oxford University Press, 1981. During, Simon. Modern Enchantments: The Cultural Power of Secular Magic. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2002. Lindsay, Vachel. The Art of the Moving Picture, rev. ed. New York: Liveright, 1970. Moore, Rachel. Savage Theory: Cinema as Modern Magic. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2000.

Mamet, David (1947– ) American playwright, poet, novelist, essayist, screenwriter, and director David Alan Mamet was born to a Jewish family in Flossmoor, Illinois, on November 30, 1947. Primarily known as a dramatist, Mamet is also a prolific writer of novels, verse, and criticism. His involvement in film ranges from writing screenplay adaptations and original screenplays to directing and writing essays on the craft of film. He has directed 10 original feature-length screenplays to date. Mamet is famous for his powerful, rhythmic, profane dialogue, dubbed “Mametspeak” by critics. Primarily interested in exploring masculinity, alienation, power, and collapsing moral values, Mamet’s films show a flair for the melodramatic that, coupled with his distinctive dialogue, have made him a critical and box office success. Mamet has won a number of prestigious awards for both his stage and screen work, and he won a Pulitzer Prize in 1984 for his play Glengarry Glen Ross. Mamet sometimes details his films with biblical references. A torrential rain falls in Glengarry Glen Ross (1992), evoking a sense of the Flood and implying a judgment on the 1980s, the decade in which the play was written. A slick representative from the head office of the firm for which the characters work is named Blake, like the author (William Blake) of The Marriage of Heaven and Hell (1794). In William Blake’s story, Satan is an angel, and in Mamet’s story, Blake tells the salesmen he’s there on a “mission of mercy” but announces that one of them will lose his job at the end of the sales drive. Blake has contempt for community and compassion, a recurring theme in Mamet’s work, along with the profound sense of desperation and need experienced by some of his more alienated characters. Unlike other Jewish American writers like Woody Allen and Philip Roth, Mamet is rarely discussed in terms of his double identity. In his film work, an exception is his movie Homicide (1991) about Jewish homicide detective Bobby Gold. Detective Gold does not think about being Jewish. Indeed, as is typical in police dramas, the job seems to have taken over the person of Bobby Gold. In one scene, a black superior officer calls him a “kike” and Gold is ready to fight, but

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the viewer doubts that Gold is feeling an insult to his identity. The conflict seems more a function of departmental strife. In a pivotal scene, we see Gold speaking bitterly on the phone, screaming obscenities and anti-Semitic insults because he’s been pulled off a big drug bust to investigate the shooting death of an elderly Jewish shopkeeper. When Gold realizes that his bitter protests have been overheard by the murdered woman’s granddaughter, he understands what he has been saying and begins his self-conversion, his path to the rediscovery of his Jewish identity. According to a biographer, the script of Homicide reflects a process that Mamet himself went through after attending a niece’s bat mitzvah. Mamet has said that Homicide is about self-loathing and the importance of counteracting anti-Semitism in oneself. Mamet has most fully explored Judaism and Jewish identity in his writings. In a column written for The Guardian, Mamet famously characterized Steven Spielberg’s Schindler’s List (1993) as “emotional pornography” and has said that portrayals of Jews being killed in the Holocaust are exploitative, regardless of the motive for the portrayal. The only legitimate response to the Holocaust, he has noted, is silence, quoting the Talmud’s instruction to remain silent when someone is in mourning. Capping his religious transformation, Mamet coauthored a commentary on the Torah with Lawrence Kushner, his rabbi, in 2003. Beth Davies-Stofka See also: Holocaust, The; Judaism.

Further Reading Bigsby, C. E. The Cambridge Companion to David Mamet. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2004. Kushner, Lawrence, and David Mamet. Five Cities of Refuge: Weekly Reflections on Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy. New York: Schocken, 2003. Mamet, David. Make-Believe Town: Essays and Remembrances. Boston: Little, Brown, 1996. Mamet, David. The Old Religion. New York: Free Press, 1997. Mamet, David. On Directing Film. New York: Viking, 1991. Mamet, David. The Wicked Son: Anti-Semitism, Self-Hatred, and the Jews. New York: Nextbook, 2006.

The Matrix Trilogy The Matrix trilogy is a film series about an illusory world created in the brains of captive humans by their machine masters. The story, beginning in The Matrix (1999), centers around Neo, a computer programmer who receives a message from

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rebels and eventually realizes that his entire life is a mental construct fed to him by the machines. Armed with knowledge of the real world and mental mastery of the false one, he battles the agents of the Matrix. The story continues in The Matrix Reloaded (2003), in which Neo penetrates the inner chambers of the Matrix and confronts its Architect, and in The Matrix Revolutions (2003), the final installment, wherein the machines storm the rebel stronghold and Neo travels to the machine city. The release of The Matrix provoked both popular and scholarly discussion of the film’s relationship to philosophical and religious ideas. Aside from the central mind–body dichotomy posited by its premise—the idea that we directly experience only mental events and therefore would not be able to tell the difference between a “feed” of data directly into the mind and experience of a real world through the senses—the film contains overt messianic references. Neo is hailed by the rebel group as “the One,” a prophesied savior. Indeed, his hacker handle “Neo” is an anagram for “One,” while Thomas Anderson, his real name, indicates that he is a “son of man” (Greek andros, “man”). His mentor Morpheus instructs him in the unreality of the Matrix, a lesson that eventually allows Neo to overcome death. Riddled by the bullets of Agent Smith, an endlessly replicating, sunglasswearing Matrix defender, Neo resurrects himself and defeats the enemy, proving that he has transcended the world of appearances and achieved mastery over his mind. Character and place names throughout the movie contain religious references: Trinity (Neo’s romantic interest), Nebuchadnezzar (the rebel spaceship), and Zion (the rebel community). A series of journal articles and books soon took the discussion deeper. The messianic overtones of Neo’s character arc in The Matrix hide a more heretical secret: Neo is a Gnostic savior, not an orthodox Christian one. The imperative to “free your mind” urges us to detach our intellect from the world of appearances—an illusory, unreal world—and ascend to the higher truths. Gnosticism, a catchall term for a movement popular in the first centuries of the Common Era and inspired by Platonic philosophy and mythology, teaches that the sensual world is a degraded form of reality and that our task in life is to climb the ladder of truth out of matter and into the purity of ideas. In order to take that journey, we need secret knowledge to unlock our true power, just as Neo must be tutored by Morpheus to realize his potential. Neo’s first name, Thomas, indicates his connection to the Gnostic path of salvation taught in the noncanonical Gospel of Thomas. Other commentators have noticed Buddhist overtones to the first film. The Matrix evokes the central Buddhist problem of samsara, the world apparently populated by selves that is, in reality, an empty projection of those selves’ desires. Maya (“illusion”) is the human condition. A young boy dressed like a Buddhist monk teaches Neo that “there is no spoon”; that he can change the world

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by changing his mental relationship to it. Neo is a bodhisattva, an enlightened one who delays his exit from the world of samsara in order to liberate others, or perhaps a buddha whose coming presages the final destruction of the system that enslaves them. Members of the missionary-minded Buddhist sect Soka Gakkai have reportedly used The Matrix to introduce American proselytes to Buddhist doctrine. Morpheus (in whose actions many found echoes of Moses and John the Baptist) poses riddles and martial tests for his acolyte (like a Zen teacher). However, the violence of the battle against the machines, both within and without the Matrix, and the film’s apparent endorsement of this violence as appropriate and effective, contradict Buddhist ideals. The second film in the trilogy, The Matrix Reloaded, complicated the Christian and Gnostic readings of the first installment while adding a wealth of further religious detail. Niobe (a name from Greek mythology) and Seraph (a Hebrew word designating a class of angels) become significant players. Neo meets a program called the Merovingian (the name of the French family that allegedly guards the secret bloodline of Jesus and Mary Magdalene) who promises him access to the secrets of the Matrix. The Gnostic call to “free your mind” (one of the advertising taglines for Reloaded ) was turned on its head by the movie’s relentless emphasis on the sensual and bodily, celebrated in a central montage featuring dancing, sweating, and sex to a primal drumbeat. Unlike Gnosticism, here the life of the mind is the illusion while the life of the body is a sacrament. As is customary with the middle terms of trilogies, The Matrix Reloaded, in preparation for a final synthesis, calls into question many of the established verities of the series. Its central trope is dualism, presaged in the “red pill vs. blue pill” choice of the original film. The idea of a binary choice, an “either/or” (a minor character in Reloaded is named Søren, in honor of Kierkegaard) haunts the second film. Good versus evil, light versus dark, humans versus machines—these Manichean opposing forces, which the first film assumes as a framework, become highly controversial in the second film. One of Zion’s councilors points out the machines—running silently under the surface of Zion—on which the community depends even as they seek to free themselves from their machine masters. Repeatedly, Neo is faced with a binary choice: kiss Persephone and receive access to the Keymaster, or do not. Choose one of the two doors in the Architect’s chamber. By acceding to the proffered binary choice rather than challenging it, Neo surrenders to the Matrix the control over its “reality” that he had achieved in the previous film. The film ends with Neo choosing to bring Trinity back from the dead by manipulating her “information body” within the Matrix rather than choosing to free all of humanity while letting her die. The implicit solution to the false dichotomies presented in Reloaded is a third way—perhaps even a Buddhist “middle way.” Or perhaps it is a more Hegelian (and therefore Christian) synthesis, transcending

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the binary opposites with a solution that encompasses and affirms both thesis and antithesis in a new form. Just such a transcendence occurs in the climax to the final film. In the final film, The Matrix Revolutions, Hindu names, images, and ideas appear prominently, filling out the hint of Hindu cosmology found in Reloaded. Three Indian characters—Rama Kandra (a version of Ramchandra, an incarnation of Vishnu), Kamala (another name for Laksmi, the goddess of good fortune), and daughter Sati (the self-sacrifice of a wife upon her husband’s funeral pyre) appear in a subway station and are interrogated by Neo about the concept of karma. Sati enters a relationships with the Oracle, the “rogue” program that guides the rebels within the Matrix. A Vedic chant, “Asato ma sad gamaya,” plays over the closing credits and during the climactic fight scene. And the Source completes a trinity many interpret in Hindu terms: The Architect (Brahman), the Oracle (Shiva), and the Source (Vishnu). The Wachowski brothers— who created the series—also acknowledged the burgeoning academic discourse surrounding the trilogy’s religious significance by loading up Zion’s protective fleet of hovercrafts with significant names: Brahma, Gnosis, Logos. The bulk of Revolutions follows the massive spectacle of the machines’ attack on Zion, and the community’s spirited defense. At the same time, Neo ascends to the machine city to offer himself as a reconciliation to end the war. The machines, organized into a composite entity called the Deus ex Machina (“God from machines,” a reference to the contrived endings of Greek plays when a god would be lowered from the rafters to tidy up the plot), allow Neo to connect to the Matrix for a final showdown with Smith, whose growing power through assimilation of other programs threatens the Source. When Smith tries to assimilate Neo, however, he destroys himself as well. (One theory argues that Neo deliberately allows Smith to kill him— a kind of “fishhook” theory of Matrix atonement.) Neo’s death is not followed by a resurrection in Revolutions, but the Oracle “suspects” that she’ll see him again “someday”; he has ascended to make intercession for human beings, and will return. Copious material, both scholarly and popular, has been produced in the wake of the series. Popular books use The Matrix movies as an introductory text to philosophical and religious issues, seeking to interest readers in Descartes, Baudrillard, Christianity, or Gnosticism while at the same time deepening the references found in the films by providing their real-world background. Scholars have used the films as texts, asking how philosophical and religious frameworks illuminate the characters, plots, and themes of the films. The official trilogy Web site (whatisthematrix.com) collected many scholarly papers and presented them under the heading of “Philosophy and the Matrix.” The deluxe DVD edition of the trilogy, a 10-disc set, includes a feature-length documentary exploring philosophical and religious themes in the films, and scholars have also provided commentary tracks for the three films.

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Taken as a whole, the trilogy offers no single religious vision or synthesis. Its meaning, like its references, are thoroughly syncretistic. Web sites like thematrix101.com and thelastfreecity.com provide extensive glossaries and discussion of the symbols for the series. But in the end, the series makes sense only within its own continuity (and perhaps not even there; fans and scholars have accused the filmmakers of many inconsistencies, and the ending is not thoroughly explained). Although it draws heavily and overtly from philosophy, theology, and world religions, it is not reducible to an allegory for any single world-interpretive scheme, nor does it seek to proselytize for any identifiable ideology. Instead, in good epic storytelling fashion, it sets up an initial approach to its reality, complicates and problematizes that approach, and concludes with some openness to further revision. Given that the Wachowskis worked in comics prior to their filmmaking career and have supervised adjuncts to the storyline of The Matrix, it is not surprising that the trilogy has more in common with a serially produced comic book than an exhaustive metaphysical or theological system. Donna Bowman See also: Bible Films; Buddhism; Dystopia; Hinduism; Science Fiction.

Further Reading Bowman, Donna. “The Gnostic Illusion: Problematic Realized Eschatology in The Matrix Reloaded.” Journal of Religion and Popular Culture 4 (Summer 2003): http://www. usask.ca/relst/jrpc/art4-matrixreloaded.html. Faller, Stephen. Beyond the Matrix: Revolutions and Revelations. St. Louis: Chalice Press, 2004. Irwin, William, ed. The Matrix and Philosophy: Welcome to the Desert of the Real. La Salle, IN: Open Court, 2002. Seay, C., and Garrett, G. The Gospel Reloaded: Exploring Spirituality and Faith in the Matrix. Colorado Springs: Pinon Press, 2003. Yeffeth, G., ed. Taking the Red Pill: Science, Philosophy and Religion in the Matrix. Dallas: Benbella Books, 2003.

The Miracle Controversy Beginning in 1915, the U.S. Supreme Court considered film to be a commercial product and therefore subject to the same licensing as other commercial products. In its decision in Mutual Film Corporation v. the Industrial Commission of Ohio (236 U.S. 230), decided that year, the Court ruled that Ohio could regulate—and

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even censor—films without violating the state’s constitutional protection of free expression. (The Supreme Court would not extend the First Amendment’s protection of free speech to citizens involved in legal action against the states until 1925.) As the Court noted in its decision, film exhibition was a “business” that was “conducted for profit, like other spectacles,” and therefore “not to be regarded . . . as part of the press of the country, or as organs of public opinion.” Reflecting the contemporary concern relating film and morality, the Court noted that while films were “mere representations of events, of ideas and sentiments published and known; vivid, useful, and entertaining, no doubt” they were also “capable of evil, having power for it, the greater because of their attractiveness and manner of exhibition.” Ohio could censor films as part of the government’s responsibility to safeguard the morality of its citizenry. By 1948, the Court’s attitude toward film had changed significantly, in large part because the understanding of free speech rights had changed sufficiently. That year, while the Mutual Film Corporation decision was still the law of the land, Justice William Douglas, writing for the majority in United States v. Paramount Pictures, Inc. (334 U.S. 131), an antitrust decision involving the movie industry, noted (in an aside) that the Court had “no doubt that moving pictures, like newspapers and radio, are included in the press whose freedom is guaranteed by the First Amendment.” Nonetheless, by 1950 there were still licensing authorities in six states and nearly 200 cities across the country. In March, 1949, Joseph Burstyn, a distributor of imported films who had earlier brought Ladri di biciclette (The Bicycle Thief, 1948) to American audiences, was granted a license by the Motion Picture Division of the New York State Education Department to show Il Miracolo (The Miracle, 1948) without English subtitles. The film—about a young woman who is seduced by a stranger she thinks is St. Joseph and who becomes the target of ridicule when, now pregnant, she declares that she is carrying the Messiah—was exhibited at the 1948 Venice Film Festival to mixed reviews. Burstyn delayed showing the film in the United States, but in November, 1950, he had applied for and was granted a license to show it as part of Ways of Love, a three-film package that also included Partie de campagne (A Day in the Country, 1936) and Jofroi (1933). Protests began soon after it opened at Manhattan’s Paris Theater on December 12, 1950; the film was condemned as “sacrilegious” by the National Legion of Decency—the first film so labeled by the Legion since its founding in 1934. On December 23, the New York City Commissioner of Licenses Edward McCaffrey declared the film “officially and personally blasphemous” and ordered the theater to stop showing it or risk having its license revoked. The theater complied, but Burstyn got a temporary injunction, appealing to the New York State courts for permission to resume showing the film. On January 5, 1951, the New York Supreme Court (the trial-level court in New York) ruled

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that a city official like McCaffrey had no authority to interfere with the exhibition of a film that had been licensed by the state. The Paris Theater resumed showing the film. On Sunday, January 7, 1951, Francis Cardinal Spellman, the Archbishop of New York, read a statement from the pulpit of St. Patrick’s Cathedral calling on all Catholics to boycott the film. For the next three weeks, Catholic groups picketed the theater. On February 16, 1951, the New York Board of Regents, responding to “numerous complaints,” exercised its authority as the board with oversight responsibility for the New York State Education Department and revoked the license for the film, which it now identified as “sacrilegious.” Burstyn removed the film from the Paris Theater and filed a suit with the Appellate Division of the New York Supreme Court. The Appellate Division upheld the decision of the Board of Regents, noting that its actions were “related to public peace and order” and not an infringement of anyone’s religious liberty rights. Burstyn appealed, and the New York Court of Appeals affirmed the decisions of the Appellate Division and the Regents, noting that sacrilegious was a self-evident term not needing further explication. Burstyn then filed suit in federal court, and on April 24, 1952, the U.S. Supreme Court heard oral arguments on the constitutionality of sacrilegious as a standard for censorship by state and local municipal licensing boards. Ruling unanimously on May 26, the Court supported Burstyn’s claim that the standard that had been applied by the Board of Regents was an unconstitutional limitation of his free speech and free press rights. Justice Tom Clark, writing for the Court in Joseph Burstyn, Inc. v. Wilson (343 U.S. 495), noted “that motion pictures are a significant medium for the communication of ideas,” explicitly overturning the Court’s 1915 decision in Mutual Film Corporation v. the Industrial Commission of Ohio. Although the majority opinion dismissed the religious liberty claims as unnecessary for the disposal of the issue, Justice Felix Frankfurter, writing a concurrence signed also by Justices Robert Jackson and Harold Burton, seemed sensitive to it, taking issue with the New York Court Appeals decision’s suggestion that sacrilegious was a self-evident term. The Supreme Court’s decision was narrowly tailored to prohibit sacrilegious as a standard to be used by state and municipal licensing boards; the majority was not questioning a state’s power to license films using “a clearly drawn statute designed and applied to prevent the showing of obscene films.” However, in the years immediately following the Burstyn decision, the federal courts would overturn many state and municipal standards that censored films because they were deemed “harmful” or “immoral,” or which tended to “debase or corrupt morals.” Obscenity would remain as a constitutional standard by which boards could censor films, but the definition of the term would be limited to materials “utterly

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without redeeming social importance”—a standard that did not necessarily include sexual activity per se. By 1961, only four states and 14 cities maintained licensing boards. Eric Michael Mazur See also: Catholicism; Censorship in Hollywood; Fellini, Federico.

Further Reading Couvares, Francis, ed. Movie Censorship and American Culture. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1996. Draper, Ellen. “ ‘Controversy Has Probably Destroyed Forever the Context’: The Miracle and Movie Censorship in America in the Fifties.” Velvet Light Trap 25 (Spring 1990): 69–79. Jowett, Garth. “ ‘A Significant Medium for the Communication of Ideas’: The Miracle Decision and the Decline of Motion Picture Censorship, 1952–1968.” In Movie Censorship and American Culture, edited by Francis G. Couvares, 258–276. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1996. Westin, Alan F. The Miracle Case: The Supreme Court and the Movies. Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 1961. Wittern-Keller, Laura, and Raymond J. Haberski. The Miracle Case: Film Censorship and the Supreme Court. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2008.

Missionary Films As early as the turn of the 20th century, missionaries and other evangelically minded Christians were quick to exploit the potential of new media such as radio and television for religious outreach; film was no exception. Although it took about two decades of film industry growth and development to produce the first explicitly evangelical film in 1918, early commercial filmmakers rolled religious features off their assembly lines as quickly as the dramas, comedies, and vaudeville entertainments that were the industry staples. Between 1897 and 1910, multiple passion plays were filmed at various lengths, including four one-reel versions in a single year. Although some saw danger—even possible idolatry—in the mesmerizing iconography of the silver screen, others saw a communication tool that could bring God’s word and Christ’s morality to millions. The power of film to reach the unchurched proved to be an irresistible lure for evangelists, although the industry had a slow start. Dr. Paul Smith, a San Francisco pastor, created the International Church Films Corporation in 1918 and produced 10 films before succumbing to bankruptcy. The Historical Film Corporation of

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America planned to film the Bible from cover to cover but managed to release only one film based on Philemon in 1920. Similarly, the Geographic Film Company announced a series of 50 one-reel shorts on biblical topics, but few were ever seen by the public. This first rush of optimism about film’s potential as a missionary tool coincided with the end of World War I, a new global consciousness, and rising concern about modern vices such as alcohol, sexual license, and popular entertainments. Philanthropist William E. Harmon founded the Religious Motion Picture Foundation to create short films as supplementary material for traditional sermons, and Iowa pastor Bertram Willoughby’s New Era Films sought to reclaim the motion picture for the glory of God. Their products aimed to avoid sectarian theology, focusing instead on improving the audience through moral tales and uplifting, tasteful alternatives to commercial cinema’s spectacles. However, the Great Depression ended these fledgling ventures, and the market for religious productions lay dormant until 1939. That year saw the cinematic debut of Carlos Octavia Baptista, a Venezuelan businessman who filmed a children’s Sunday School lesson called The Story of a Fountain Pen (1939). Its success encouraged Baptista to found the Scriptures Visualized Institute (SVI) in 1942 in Chicago. His rapidly expanding production schedule came into conflict with the unwillingness of many churches (based on economic and theological considerations) to purchase film projectors and rent his movie. The company struggled during the war, despite a generous free preview policy, and Baptista decided to design his own sound projection system (the Miracle Projector) to overcome the lack of infrastructure in his marketplace. Baptista claimed that his second-generation version, the Miracle 2, so impressed a projectionist at its unveiling that his soul was saved on the spot. SVI’s creative high point was the world premiere of Pilgrim’s Progress (1950)—an hour-long animated version of John Bunyan’s 1678 classic—at the Moody Church in Chicago. In subsequent years Baptista concentrated more on his slide projector invention, the Tel N’See, and phased out the film operations of SVI, which was deeply in debt by the end of his life. In the same year as Baptista’s first production, James Kempe Friedrich, an Episcopal seminarian, used an inheritance to finance a feature-length film titled The Great Commandment (1939). Shot on the same lot and at the same time as Gone With the Wind (1939), Friedrich’s film was optioned by Twentieth Century Fox and was also highly successful as a 16-mm rental. After America’s entry into the war dampened early hopes of big-budget remakes and theatrical distribution, Friedrich’s company, Cathedral Films, regrouped and concentrated on rentals to churches. Between 1939 and 1954, Cathedral produced films of high production value and personnel who would go on to notable work in secular movies, including the noted cinematographers John Alton and Sven Nyquist, and Great

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Commandment director Irving Pichel, who would briefly be blacklisted after World War II for his association with members of the “Hollywood Ten.” Cathedral Films and SVI dominated the religious film industry in its brief heyday in the 1940s, yet they evinced opposing philosophies on how to use the cinema to spread the Gospel. While Friedrich saw the entertainment value of his films as the attraction—teaching while the viewers enjoyed themselves—Baptista believed that his films’ value lay in their informative, educational content, something that would only be obscured by slick visuals and other entertainment elements. These differing styles led to differences in the filmmaking process; Baptista refused to hire nonChristians, but Friedrich had no restrictions on the personal beliefs of his actors and crew. Therefore Cathedral Films approached professional quality while SVI productions remained at a more independent, do-it-yourself level. Friedrich’s fortunes turned when Cathedral Films attempted once again to break out of the church market and into theaters with Day of Triumph (1954). The film flopped, a result Friedrich blamed on a controversy about whether its portrayal of Judas was anti-Semitic. In later years, the company turned to educational filmstrip production but continued to distribute its most popular film series (including the 12-part programs Life of Paul [1949–1951] and The Living Christ [1951–1957]) alongside films developed by arms of the Lutheran and Mormon churches. In the 1970s, Cathedral created a youth-oriented subsidiary called Outreach Films that produced films with surfing, mountaineering, and counterculture settings. The Christian film industry of the World War II era had two main goals, which were occasionally found to be in tension. First, there was the endeavor to introduce its audiences to the Bible and to Christian teachings. Dramatizations of Bible stories were prominently featured in the catalogs of both SVI and Cathedral Films—a natural approach if the overall aim was to spread the word of God—while other films had preachers and other well-known Christian personalities delivering sermons or giving their testimonies. The second goal was to produce wholesome cinema, creating a countermovement to the money-driven (and therefore sensation- and vice-driven) secular film industry. Friedrich in particular prided himself on the inspirational messages and family-friendliness of his product. During the 1960s, Christian filmmakers and distributors built a professional infrastructure to deliver their product to churches. Ken Anderson’s Gospel Films, founded in 1950, became the largest distributor of evangelical films during its second decade. Under the long-time leadership of evangelist Billy Zeoli, the company produced biographies of born-again entertainers, like The Tony Fontane Story (1963), and parables of Christian life, like The Gospel Blimp (1967). Having left the company in 1960 to pursue filmmaking with a more international and missionary orientation, Anderson concentrated on productions in Africa and Asia during the first decade of his new venture, Ken Anderson Films. Dick Ross, a director

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and writer who began work on Christian films in the 1950s, boasted high production values in films like Shadow of the Boomerang (1960) and The Restless Ones (1965), financed by Billy Graham, which invariably included the real-life evangelist’s crusades and ministries as elements of the plot. The Christian film industry’s goal of creating wholesome entertainment as an alternative to secular movies faded into the background during the 1970s, when apocalyptic films began to dominate the genre. A few end-times films had been produced in the pioneering days of religious filmmaking, such as Baptista’s The Rapture (1941); but as the end of the millennium approached, such films became almost synonymous with evangelical film as a whole. Mark IV Pictures was founded in Des Moines, Iowa, by Donald W. Thompson and Russell S. Doughton. Their first release, A Thief in the Night (1972), is the earliest and still best-known example of the Rapture and end-times thrillers that came to dominate Christian filmmaking in the last few decades of the 20th century and persisted well into the millennial anxiety of the early 21st. Its nightmare imagery (the entire story line, involving disappearing Christians and a malevolent one-world government, is revealed at the end to have been the protagonist’s dream) fit with the growing desire of evangelicals to tap into the free-floating anxiety of American culture and use it to win souls. The film played in innumerable church basements throughout the early seventies and featured the song “I Wish We’d All Been Ready,” which quickly became a youth ministry staple. Mark IV made three sequels to A Thief in the Night, the last appearing in 1983. Another major player in 1970s apocalyptic Christian film, although with a far less polished product, was Ron Ormond, an exploitation filmmaker who began backing Christian film projects after surviving a plane crash in 1968. His bestknown film is the surrealistic If Footmen Tire You, What Will Horses Do? (1971), an anti-Communist warning based on a sermon by Baptist preacher Estus Pinkle of Mississippi. The film shows dramatized scenes of the dangers faced by the United States from a Communist underground (including explicit, violent scenes of torture) and advocates a return to the country’s Christian roots as the only way to survive the coming onslaught. Ormond also released The Burning Hell (1974), a depiction of Pinkle’s vivid descriptions of the torments of the damned. Together with the fear-driven Rapture genre, these films represent a turning away from wholesomeness as an important criterion of Christian cinematic witness and a move toward the shock tactics previously associated with revivalist movements, which had been marginalized through most of the 20th century. Perhaps the most significant evangelical film of the 1970s, however, was Jesus (1979, often called “the Jesus film”), an initiative of Bill Bright, founder of Campus Crusade for Christ. The aim was to produce a historically and biblically accurate film portrayal of Jesus’ life. At a reported cost of $6 million—a significant

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budget for any film at the time—the Jesus film was made on location in the Middle East. Although the theatrical release by Warner Brothers was a failure (dampening Hollywood’s enthusiasm for religious material for more than a decade to come), the eventual VHS distribution of the film through churches and Christian bookstores—and Bright’s highly publicized quest to have the film translated into as many languages as possible so it could become a missions tool—raised the film’s profile enormously. The Jesus Film Project claims that its film was the most viewed movie of all time—thanks to its promise to send the film on home video to anyone who requested it and to the volunteers in 229 nations around the world who have presented screenings. Although the use of apocalyptic story lines in Christian film subsided in the 1980s, owing to the perception that America under Ronald Reagan was becoming more friendly to evangelical messages, the trend re-emerged in the 1990s as the year 2000, with its millennial implications, approached. However, the theatrical climate outside church culture was now perceived to be far more conducive to such films, thanks to an accelerating trend of secular thrillers focusing on apocalyptic scenarios (e.g., Independence Day [1996]). Cloud Ten Pictures, founded by the LaLonde brothers of Ontario, Canada, after many years of producing the syndicated television series “This Week in Bible Prophecy,” pioneered the return to these themes with its low-budget video Apocalypse (1998), distributed through Christian bookstores and mail order. The film’s three sequels in the early 2000s featured recognizable actors and higher-profile productions. The advent of direct-to-consumer distribution channels, as well as changing priorities for the Christian film industry and evangelical culture, led to a decline in the production of feature films designed for churches or mission fields. The Trinity Broadcasting Network financed the apocalyptic thriller The Omega Code (1999) and released it into 300 theaters in select markets with strong evangelical communities. When Cloud Ten made Left Behind: The Movie (2000), a film version of the 1995 novel, its brisk video sales and timely millennial message led to the unusual decision to release the film in theaters after it had been available on video for four months. Thus began a trend in which theatrical presentation was seen as the “gold standard” for evangelical films. The theatrical success of films aimed at or largely supported by evangelical Christians, such as The Passion of the Christ (2004), has led major studios to establish divisions devoted to producing, acquiring, and distributing films for the “faith market,” thus marginalizing explicitly Christian production companies in the marketplace. Donna Bowman See also: Bible Films; End-of-the-World Films; God; Jesus; The Passion of the Christ Controversy; Protestantism.

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Further Reading Hale, F. “The Mission as Cinema of Liberation Theology.” Missionalia 23, no. 1 (1995): 72–91. Lindvall, Terry. “God in the Saddle: Silent Western Films as Protestant Sermons.” Australian Religious Studies Review 21, no. 3 (2008): 318–344. Lindvall, Terry. Sanctuary Cinema: Origins of the Christian Film Movement. New York: New York University Press, 2006. Ludmann, Rene. “The Cinema as a Means of Evangelization,” translated by Joseph E. Cunneen. Cross Currents 8, no. 2 (1958): 153–171. Messer, Donald. Contemporary Images of Christian Ministry. Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 1990. Neely, Alan. “Images: Mission and Missionaries in Contemporary Fiction and Cinema.” Missiology 24, no. 4 (1996): 451–478.

Miyazaki, Hayao (1941– ) Hayao Miyazaki is Japan’s most successful director of animated films (anime). Though largely unknown to western audiences prior to the success of Mononoke Hime (Princess Mononoke, 1997), Miyazaki’s animated films have gained critical acclaim while smashing box office records in his native Japan since the formation of his Studio Ghibli in the mid-1980s. His Academy-awardwinning Sen to Chihiro no Kamikakushi (Spirited Away, 2000) remains the highest-grossing Japanese film of all time. To begin, it should be noted that any attempt to locate specific aspects of Japanese religion in the anime of Miyazaki founders upon the very notion of “Japanese religion”; more specifically, there is a fine line between aspects of Japanese religion and what might simply be called Japanese “culture” or “values.” At the same time, it may not be purely Japanese director Hayao Miyazaki at the Venice incidental that the very term anime Film Festival, 2005. AP Photo/Domenico Stinellis.

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comes (via the English “animation”) from the Latin root for “soul” (anima), which also provides the root for the word animism, a form of religion based on the worship of nature and ancestor spirits. Shinto, usually called Japan’s indigenous religion, is largely animistic, and it is this bedrock of animism that one finds in Miyazaki’s works. Although rarely religious in theme, Miyazaki’s stories are frequently based on a bedrock of what might be called “folk religiosity”—in particular, the tensions inherent in what Japanese scholar Sakaki Shoten has called the animistic– shamanistic complex, categorized by a tension between kami (spirits) that should be approached with reverence and thanks (okagesama) and those that should be feared because of their power to curse (tatari). In Miyazaki’s films, however, the line between these two is often blurred, so that the seemingly vicious kami are often the ones who must be approached with reverence and thanks, in order to calm their rage and reassert the proper order of things. Both Kaze no tani no Naushika (Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind, 1984), and Mononoke begin with scenes of ragefilled tatarigami attacking humans, and both films conclude with the pacification of spirits bent on the destruction of human civilization. Another common theme in Miyazaki’s films is the ambiguity of good and evil. This is in stark contrast to the vast majority of U.S. comics and animated films, which generally have clearly demarcated lines between the good guys and the bad guys. Although the films tend to be bildungsromans (coming-of-age stories) and thus have a fairly clear “hero” (or in a majority of the films, heroine), the struggles of the main characters are rarely if ever fought against a single monolithic enemy but rather against individuals or groups who are going through their own struggles and have more than a few redeeming qualities of their own. The web of relationships is constantly changing, as one-time foes become friends or vice versa. Indeed, it sometimes seems as though Miyazaki is intentionally deconstructing the good–evil divide, perhaps most obviously in the complex motives driving the various colorful characters in Mononoke. Finally, Miyazaki’s films—especially the epics Nausicaä and Mononoke— revel in their own complex causality, in which the attempt to eliminate bad situations often leads to a recognition that nothing is as “black and white” as it first appears. As in Buddhism, all sentient beings—even the gods and spirits—are caught up in an intricate web or interrelation, an appreciation of which softens moral divisions and judgment even as it reinforces the necessity of cooperation. Any resolution that takes place in the films is more often than not based on recognition of the legitimacy of alternative perspectives. Miyazaki’s second film as director and first as writer, Nausicaä, is also the one that made him a household name in Japan. Based on his own series of manga (comics), the film tells a story of a Nausicaä, young princess, who inhabits a future

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world—a postapocalyptic dystopia brought on by human pollution and troubled by constant warfare between the “great powers.” Along with the later Mononoke, Nausicaä has an ecological message yet does not prey to an idealized view of a pristine world totally free from human technology. Even the paradisial Valley of the Wind relies on fire and machinery; what is sought is less an elimination of human technology than a proper balance between civilization and nature. Nausicaä herself, like San/Mononoke, is a spirited and purpose-driven young woman who is both a skilled fighter and a friend of the animals, even the terrible giant insects called Ohmu (literally “king of insects,” but resonant with the mystical Buddhist aum syllable) who protect and spread the poisonous Sea of Decay, snuffing out the warring human civilizations one by one. In a classic Miyazaki twist, Nausicaä discovers that it is the horrible Ohmu, along with the other insects and poisonous trees and plants, who are the secret protectors of life. By the end of the film, Nausicaä emerges as the resurrected messiah whom legends predicted would “reunite with the earth” and bring people together to the “Blue Pure Land” (aoki seijo¯ no chi)—an eschatology with echoes of Judeo-Christian as well as popular Japanese Buddhist belief. (The largest of all Buddhist sects in Japan since the Kamakura period has been the Jo¯do or Pure Land school, and the notion of a Buddhist messiah can be found in the ancient Mahayana belief in Maitreya or Miroku, the future buddha). Interestingly, Miyazaki eventually came to regret the overtly religious aspect of this final scene. Despite the kami-like nature of the title character, Miyazaki once noted that Tonari no Totoro (My Neighbor Totoro, 1988) had no religious significance. Much less epic in scope than Nausicaä or Mononoke, Totoro—like his later Spirited Away—presents the world from the point of a view of children and evokes nostalgia for a simpler time when humans interacted with the spirit-filled natural world. As in Tenku no Shiro Rapyuta (Castle in the Sky, 1986), here too a massive tree plays the role of a protector and source of vital power—in this case the tree is the home of the totoros, harmless, playful nature spirits that can be seen only by the innocent eyes of children and who can be called on for help in times of need. The Buddhist bodhisattva figure Jizo¯ —protector of children—also appears throughout the film in the form of small statues. Along with the appearance of shimboku—sacred trees identified with a straw rope (shimenawa) as powerful kami—these provide the film with a realistic backdrop of rural Japan. The most overtly religious of Miyazaki’s films—and the most complex in terms of its portrayal of the relationships between various kami and human beings—Princess Mononoke tells the story of the young prince Ashitaka of the Emishi tribe (a real ethnic/cultural group who, similar to the still-existing Ainu, were conquered and absorbed by the expanding Yamato clans in the medieval

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period). Set during the transition between the medieval and early modern periods in Japan, the background story is a clash between humans, intent of technology and development, and the wild kami of the forest who stand in their way. Yet things are more complex than this simple dichotomy might suggest. Leading the battle are a trio of huge wolf gods, accompanied by a feral human girl—San or Mononoke (literally “possessed princess”)—who wants to destroy the humans, in particular her forsworn enemy and alter ego, the poised and powerful Lady Eboshi, leader of Iron Town. While Ashitaka’s (and Miyazaki’s) sympathies lean towards the kami and San, a peek inside life in Iron Town suggests that Eboshi is a fair and benevolent ruler who goes out of her way to help prostitutes and lepers, those shunned by “normal” society. The wild gods are themselves divided (the apes, wolves, and boars all having different motivations and strategies for fighting the humans), and the wolves in particular display what can only be called a taste for blood. The only character in the film that is fairly consistently “evil” is the cynical rogue Jiko, who happens to be a Buddhist monk, as well as a representative of the Mikado (Yamato Emperor). At the other end of the spectrum, the elusive and mysterious Forest God (shishigami), a kind of master kami who appears in the form of a deer, is endowed with powers of fertility, but also destruction, as becomes readily apparent upon his transformation into the Nightwalker (didaribotchi). Finally, there are the kodama—tiny luminous sprites who appear and disappear throughout the forest— claimed by Miyazaki to be the most successful of his efforts to portray what he called the depth, mystery, and “awe-inspiringness” of a forest.” Prince Ashitaka attempts, with varied success, to balance the needs and desires of all these figures. Once again, it is harmony that is valued, over and above justice. If Mononoke explores the tatari or “curse” element of Shinto, with a focus on the shamanistic roots of Japanese religion, Spirited Away brings us more directly into the okagesama side of Shinto animism as well as the significance of purification, which in Shinto implies both physical and spiritual cleansing. Trapped in a nighttime netherworld of the spirits, the young Chihiro watches as her gluttonous parents literally turn to pigs before her eyes. Her quest to set them free from the curse leads her to take a job at the bathhouse for the spirits, run by the irascible old witch Yubaba and her helper Haku. Along the way, Chihiro—now called Sen, her real name being “stolen” by Yubaba—meets with a wondrous array of gods, spirits, and creatures (in Japanese, yaoyorozu no kamisama), ranging from the sublime to the ridiculous: dragons, frog-servants, slug-maids, river kami, kami of vegetation, and even a “stink spirit” (kusarigami) who, after bathing, turns out to be the powerful kami of a very polluted river. Most intriguing of all is an ambiguous and (literally) shadowy masked spirit called No Face (kao nashi), who tries

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to buy Chihiro’s friendship and, after being rebuffed, ends up leaving a path of destruction in his wake. Finally, in typical Miyazaki fashion, No Face settles down to become a silent partner of Chihiro and helper of Yubaba’s twin Zeniba. The notion of a bathhouse for spirits is not so far fetched. Miyazaki took inspiration from a Japanese rural solstice tradition in which the kami are invited by villagers of certain towns to enter their houses for a bath. Moreover, the bathhouse reinforces the aspect of purification that holds such a significant place in Shinto belief and ritual. Ritual purification in Shinto—which often involves some sort of physical cleansing—conditions one’s heart/spirit (kokoro) in order that one may more readily cultivate sincerity (makoto) in dealing with others. Significant in Miyazaki’s vision is the fact that the kami, from highest to lowest, must go through the same cleansing process as ordinary humans—indeed, the bath-house guests and staff are clearly prey to the negative human emotions of greed, pride, anger, and so on. Chihiro’s own self-development in the film is not simply a matter of gaining courage or confidence but also of learning to be unselfish, sincere, and caring in her relations with those around her, whether kami or human. By the time he made Mononoke and Spirited Away, Miyazaki’s earlier disavowal of religious influence in his films had withered away. Although these two films—which happen to be his two most successful works—do not concern themselves with the institutional forms of Shinto or Buddhism, they do represent attempts by Miyazaki to re-envision some core elements of Japanese folk religiosity. James Mark Shields See also: Animated Films; Buddhism; Dystopia; Japan; Kurosawa, Akira; Miyazaki, Hayao; Mizoguchi, Kenji; Ozu, Yasujiro¯.

Further Reading Boyd, James W., and Tetsuya Nishimura. “Shinto Perspectives in Miyazaki’s Anime Film ‘Spirited Away’.” The Journal of Religion and Film 8, no. 2 (2004): http://www. unomaha.edu/jrf/Vol8No2/boydShinto.htm. Cavallaro, Dani. The Anime Art of Hayao Miyazaki. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2006. McCarthy, Helen. Hayao Miyazaki: Master of Japanese Animation. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999. Napier, Susan J. Anime from Akira to Princess Mononoke: Experiencing Contemporary Japanese Animation. New York: Palgrave, 2001. Wright, Lucy. “Forest Spirits, Giant Insects and World Trees: The Nature Vision of Hayao Miyazaki.” Journal of Religion and Popular Culture 10 (Summer 2005): http://www. usask.ca/relst/jrpc/art10-miyazaki.html.

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Mizoguchi, Kenji (1898–1956) Kenji Mizoguchi, along with Akira Kurosawa and Yasujiro¯ Ozu, is part of the socalled holy trinity of 20th-century Japanese filmmakers. Though less well known than Kurosawa outside of Japan, critical acclaim has raised Mizoguchi to an exalted status in the history of Japanese film, particularly in the genre of political filmmaking (he has been called the “father of feminist film”). From his early experimental films of the 1920s and early 1930s, through his neorealist middle period of the late 1930s and early 1940s, and into his much-celebrated classic period in the decade before his death at the age of 58, Mizoguchi produced a total of 85 films, though many of the early works have been lost. The first of Mizoguchi’s films to garner international acclaim, Saikaku ichidai onna (The Life of Oharu, 1952)—an adaptation of Ihara Saikaku’s Life of an Amorous Woman (1696)—is a tale of a samurai’s daughter living within the walls of Kyoto’s Imperial Palace. As with most of Mizoguchi’s films from the late 1930s on, the protagonist is a good woman caught amid an array of forces beyond her control—forces that ultimately lead to her ruin. Her early love affair with a man of humble origin brings about the initial fall from grace, as her lover is killed and Oharu is forced into exile. From this point begins an almost unrelenting downward spiral as she attempts suicide, becomes mistress to a nobleman, then a high-class courtesan, a maid, a Buddhist novice, and a beggar. Finally, she is forced into the meanest form of prostitution. The one possibility of hope amid all this despair comes with the film’s climax, where Oharu tries to reclaim her illegitimate child. Although this, too, ends in failure and exile, the closing scene reveals that Oharu has returned to her robes, chanting Buddhist sutras as she goes from door to door in a small village. Her final gesture in the film is a slight bow to a distant temple, perhaps a stoic acceptance of the sufferings of human—and especially a woman’s—life. Even more than the dark Oharu, Mizoguchi’s next film Ugetsu monogatari (Tales of Ugetsu, 1953) presents a story and evokes a mood that are strikingly Buddhist; the filming itself consciously mimics the light touch and dreamlike quality of traditional Buddhist scroll paintings (e-maki). Set in the turbulent 16th century, Ugetsu open with the story of two poor brothers—one a potter, the other a would-be samurai—who dream of better lives. The film chronicles their ups and downs and those of their wives, who more often than not suffer the brunt of their husbands’ mistakes—in a way that evokes Mizoguchi’s mastery of mood and emotion. While the hapless Tobei tricks his way into the samurai ranks, his “sensible” brother Genjuro finds himself seduced into a life of luxury by a noble lady who is ultimately revealed (by a wandering Buddhist mendicant) to be a ghost. Returning home to his abandoned wife and young son after years away, Genjuro

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wakes the next morning to find that this too, was an illusion—his wife had in fact been killed years before by drunken soldiers and his son raised by a village elder. Tobei also returns to his wife, who—though very much alive—has been raped and forced into prostitution. Finally, the chastened family settles down to a simple farming life. The most overtly religious of Mizoguchi’s films, Sanchô dayû (Legend of Bailiff Sansho, 1954), tells a tale—not of the eponymous bailiff, a symbol of all that is wrong in the world—but of the fall from grace of an aristocratic family. Set in the turbulent Kamakura period (1185–1333), when Buddhism was undergoing significant transformation and popularization, the general theme of this film is repeated in mantralike fashion by Zushio, the hero, in words taught to him by his exiled father: “A man without pity is no longer human.” Separated from both parents and taken as slaves by the cruel Sansho, Zushio and his sister Anju grow to adulthood, the former with an increasingly hardened heart. Upon hearing the news that their mother may still be alive and living as a courtesan, Zushio escapes from Sansho and becomes a governor of the province. Taking the route of compassion over political ambition, his first act is to exile his nemesis Sansho and liberate the bailiff’s many slaves. Resigning his post and learning of his sister’s suicide, Sansho goes in search of his mother, who recognizes him only by his presentation of the family heirloom, an ancient statue of the bodhisattva Kannon, goddess of mercy. Their reunion, one of the most heralded scenes in Japanese film, powerfully evokes the redemption of Zushio, a redemption that is, as critics have noted, at least as Christian as it is Buddhist, given the pietà-like staging and the heavy emphasis on mercy and forgiveness. Mizoguchi did not limit his representation of religion to these films, however. One of his early films, Samidare zoshi (The Chronicle of May Rain, 1924), was banned in Tokyo for being sacreligious. Its theme: a Buddhist priest lusting after a geisha. A decade later, during a time of growing nationalism and state control, Orizuru Osen (Downfall of Osen, 1935) depicts a gang of corrupt Buddhist monks who profit from the sale of stolen temple goods. In Shin heike monogatari (Tales of the Taira Clan, 1955), we see the arrogance and hypocrisy of the “warrior monks” (so¯hei) as they make their way down into Kyoto to challenge the Imperial guard. Mizoguchi never shied away from depicting the ugly realities of institutionalized Buddhism in premodern and modern Japan. This cannot be taken, however, as an antireligious sentiment, as Mizoguchi’s later works reveal a deep religious sensibility, one that may well be connected to the director’s own growing religiosity in later life; around the time of the making of Ugetsu, he embraced Nichiren Buddhism, a popular sect combining devotional flavor with strong sociopolitical commitment (Mizoguchi’s father had embraced Nichiren Buddhism after the devastating 1923 Kanto earthquake).

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Indeed, associates and later critics such as Alain Masson have suggested that Buddhism was the guiding vision behind Mizoguchi’s last great films. The message of stoicism in the face of immeasurable suffering—once again, usually on the part of women—resonates well with Buddhist teachings, although such a reading may well subvert or minimize the political message of liberation that critics often read into these films. It can be argued that it is precisely the jidai-geki (“period films”), generally considered Mizoguchi’s greatest works, that offer up the heroines to the intricate and inevitable workings of cultural forces, while the gendai-geki, or modern dramas, leave room for solidarity and social change. On an esthetic level and in a manner that is quintessentially Japanese, the Buddhist truths of suffering, change, and impermanence—symbolized most adroitly by Mizoguchi’s obsession with the subtle play of light and shadow—can be appreciated not only for the sadness they bring but also for their beauty. James Mark Shields See also: Buddhism; Japan; Kurosawa, Akira; Miyazaki, Hayao; Ozu, Yasujiro¯.

Further Reading Andrew, Dudley, and Paul Andrew. Kenji Mizoguchi: A Guide to References and Resources. Boston: G. K. Hall, 1981. Le Fanu, Mark. Mizoguchi and Japan. London: British Film Institute, 2005. Richie, Donald. A Hundred Years of Japanese Film: A Concise History, with a Selective Guide to Videos and DVDs. New York: Kodansha, 2001. Washburn, Dennis, and Carole Cavanaugh, eds. Word and Image in Japanese Cinema. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2001.

Mormonism From the beginning, Mormons have had two vibrant narratives that would later affect their attempts at the arts: a new scriptural testimony and revelation containing 1,000 years of biblical-era stories and their own dramatic 19th-century history, including elements of violence, persecution, endurance, communitarian idealism, and their own very real pioneer American exodus. Today, the Mormon relationship with film can be found in films about Mormonism, in “official” films produced by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (LDS), in films made by Mormons, and most interestingly, in a new genre of films (by Mormons) that address Mormon theology, history, and culture, and which are aimed primarily but not exclusively at Mormon audiences.

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Early commercial films were almost exclusively “anti-Mormon.” One such example, produced by Cecil B. DeMille’s film company, is A Mormon Maid (1917), about Mormons who save a pioneer family from attacks by Native Americans only to force them into a world of polygamy, rape, and suicide. The British film Trapped by the Mormons (1922) carried a similar theme, and was followed by Married to a Mormon (1922). Eventually the controversial Hollywood Production Code would prohibit such religious attacks. More recently, Mormonism has become a target because of the church’s official position on sexual orientation. There is a newer crop of gay-themed films considered by many Mormons to be anti-Mormon: Orgazmo (1997), Bash (2001), and Latter Days (2003) all focus on gay or sex-oriented themes revolving around LDS members and standards. Hollywood has portrayed Mormonism as having a heroic tale worth telling; Brigham Young (1940) is likely the most important example. Costing approximately $1.5 million to produce, it was among Twentieth Century Fox’s most expensive movies at the time. The Mormon Church was allowed to have input on the script in the preproduction stages, although the filmmakers acknowledged that much of it was fictional. Polygamy was downplayed but not ignored, and references to contemporary events in terms of prejudice, anti-Semitism, and rising fascism in Europe were consciously added to the script to make it more patriotic and relevant. The film ends dramatically with the famous Mormon story of the early pioneers facing starvation as crickets devour their crops, only to have seagulls miraculously arrive to eat the crickets. Few other mainstream films have addressed Mormonism so directly. John Ford’s Wagon Master (1950)—the story of two cowhands who join up with a Mormon wagon train heading west—later inspired the television series Wagon Train (NBC, 1957–1965). In more recent years, Mormonism has become a mere plot convenience or the target of an easy joke; with writers often making a character Mormon as an idiosyncrasy. One exception is Melvin and Howard (1980), about Melvin Dummar, a mythical Mormon loner who picks up a lonely Howard Hughes in the desert late one night and is repaid when Hughes wills much of his fortune to him and the Mormon Church. This was based on one of the more interesting claims circulating about the Hughes will, which was missing at the time of his death. The Latter-day Saints have been involved in the film business from the early years, from Rudolph Valentino’s notorious wife—the exotically renamed Natasha Rambova—who was the granddaughter of Heber C. Kimball, an early Mormon apostle from Salt Lake City—to Moroni Olson, a famed character actor in over 100 films, to the 1940s star Laraine Day. Mormon filmmakers first attempted to communicate family values to general audiences by making low-budget features.

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For example, beginning in 1974, Lyman Dayton produced several films—Where the Red Fern Grows (1974), Seven Alone (1974), and Against a Crooked Sky (1975)—and directed Baker’s Hawk (1976), all of which contained wholesome themes of courage, determination, and honesty but were not specifically Mormon. Also not specifically Mormon were films directed by Richard Rich, such as The Fox and the Hound (1981) and The Black Cauldron (1985). Rich eventually opened his own studio to produce scriptural and church history for the LDS market in direct-to-video animated shorts, but he would eventually direct animated versions of The Swan Princess (1994) and The King and I (1999) for general release. Don Bluth, a major figure in animation, directed An American Tail (1986)—a film often identified as more Jewish in character—as well as The Land Before Time (1988) The Secret of NIMH (1982), Anastasia (1997), and Titan, A.E. (2000), among others, all large-budgeted animated feature films without specific Mormon content or character. Perhaps the first major director to make realistic films around his own esthetic vision is Neil LaBute, a one-time Mormon convert and Brigham Young University graduate, who directed the well-respected In the Company of Men (1997) and Nurse Betty (2000). LaBute’s films differ from those of other Mormon directors in that they are more bleak, neither wholesome nor upbeat, and often contain strong language and violence. Yet in interviews, LaBute has claimed that he has set his films in a very religious-styled, moralistic universe where good and evil exist; he is just more interested in exploring the lives of those who choose evil in such a universe. Despite a history of official Mormon drama and frequent productions, the most successful musical play began in 1974, when Lex de Azevedo, a Hollywood record producer, composer, and arranger, teamed up with Brigham Young University (BYU) Motion Picture Studio writer Doug Stewart to create Saturday’s Warrior, a musical play. The music was not cutting-edge rock ‘n roll but had a much younger beat than the traditional Mormon Tabernacle Choir; young and old alike flocked to see an LDS-themed production, sometimes over and over, bringing friends and family with them. Although the story, jokes, and music may seem trite today, the film was groundbreaking in its day for several reasons: it was produced inexpensively yet professionally (with Hollywood actors and singers), featured young semirock melodies and beats, allowed Mormons to laugh at their own idiosyncrasies, was incredibly popular and profitable, and dealt specifically with unique LDS themes of pre-existent spirit life, eternal marriage, missionary service, family size and unity, and children lost in the modern world. There was no shying away from Mormon topics in this play. It succeeded without any official approval or backing from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and proved that there was a commercial market for major artistic productions with specifically

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and unapologetically LDS themes. In July, 1977, The Ensign (the official Mormon Church magazine) printed a speech by then Church President Spencer W. Kimball who, speaking positively about the value of the arts, pleaded for church members to surpass the artistic output of the (secular) world. In the years following, BYU put greater emphasis on its film division, and talented young students continued to emerge with sophisticated technical and artistic training. Institutional film production improved in production value and quality, reaching outside of Utah to find acting and filmmaking talent. The most successful product of this new Mormon cinema has been the popular but offbeat comedy Napoleon Dynamite (2004), which won the MTV-award for best film in June 2005. This strange film with a fanatical cult following was produced for about $400,000 and earned over $44 million. Directed by recent BYU graduate Jared Hess (and cowritten with his wife Jerusha Hess), it starred fellow classmate Jon Heder. Some have questioned whether this film qualifies as Mormon cinema, since there seems to be nothing Mormon in it. Yet those who come from small towns like Preston, Idaho, claim that it is completely Mormon down to the smallest detail—not doctrinally but culturally, in a small-town Idaho way, including the Mormon habit of substituting “gosh” and “flip/fetch” for more common vulgarities. Napoleon Dynamite remains as the most prominent, controversial, offbeat, and successful addition to this new genre, even if most fans would not recognize it as Mormon. Every Mormon genre film has been low-budget by Hollywood standards, presenting challenges in each instance. Nevertheless, as the total increases, the awkward flaws decrease, and fans and students of Mormon cinema can go into any national chain of video stores and find up to a dozen specifically LDS-focused feature films on display, something that was not only impossible but unthinkable only a few years earlier. Chris Conkling See also: Animated Films; Censorship in Hollywood; Westerns.

Further Reading Brigham Young University. “Mormons and Film.” Special issue, BYU Studies 46, no. 2 (2007). D’Arc, James V. “Darryl F. Zanuck’s Brigham Young: A Film in Context.” BYU Studies 29, no. 1 (1989): 1–24. Kimball, Spencer W. “First Presidency Message: The Gospel Vision of the Arts.” The Ensign (July 1977): 3. Nelson, Richard Alan. “Mormons as Silent Cinema Villains: Propaganda and Entertainment.” Historical Journal of Film, Radio, and Television 4, no. 1 (1984): 3–14.

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Mysticism Mysticism denotes a belief that the experience of union or direct communion with God, spiritual truth, or ultimate reality is achievable through subjective experiences, insight, or intuition. Broader definitions include the “possibility of direct and intuitive acquisition of ineffable knowledge or power,” and “obscure or irrational speculation.” Most world religions have mystical sects and adherents, as do other local, ethnic belief systems, and many of these appear in film. From Jewish Kabbalism to early Christian Gnosticism, from the whirling dervishes of Sufism to the yogic oneness of Hinduism and the attainment of nirvana in Buddhism, from the enlightenment of Zen koans to the hallucinogenic mushrooms of many native cultures and modern day cults, film has evoked mysticism throughout its history. But the communion with “ultimate reality” and the invocation of “ineffable knowledge” and power mean that film mysticism is by no means limited to the realm of religion. Because of the ineffable nature of mysticism, we here divide film mysticism into three broad categories: those that attempt to provide a direct audience experience that is mystical in nature (“mystic experience”); those that document, whether factually or fictively, the mystical experience or way of life of others (“mystic biography”); and those that do not necessarily treat mystical subjects but use the medium of film to create a mystical or fantastical reality or atmosphere (“mystical ambience”). “Mystical ambience” necessarily encompasses a wide gamut of films and subgenres including fantasy, science fiction, romance, and dramas. Within the “mystic experience” and “mystic biography” genres are additional subgenres of mystical films that frequently overlap: “erotic transcendence” films, wherein sexual ecstasy is conflated with spiritual transcendence, including such disparate examples as Fellini’s Giulietta degli spiriti (Juliet of the Spirits, 1965) and Lars von Trier’s Breaking the Waves (1996). Additionally, “supernatural thrillers” are a subgenre where the techniques of suspense and horror are used to heighten the experience of the supernatural, leading sometimes to mystical experience for the viewer and sometimes merely to mystical ambience. Also within our third category of mystical ambience films are romantic films in which star-crossed lovers are united mystically beyond death, throughout eternity. Recent examples include What Dreams May Come (1998), Ghost (1990), and Terry Gilliam’s The Fisher King (1991). Important earlier examples of the genre include Peter Ibbetson (1935, a remake of the silent film, Forever [1921]), Jean Delannoy’s L’Eternal Retour (Love Eternal, 1942, with a screenplay by Jean Cocteau, based on the Tristan and Isolde story), Cocteau’s Orphée (Orpheus, 1950), and Pandora and the Flying Dutchman (1951). Vincente Minelli’s film version of the Lerner and Loewe musical Brigadoon (1954) is in a similar vein.

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This survey provides a brief and necessarily incomplete chronology and taxonomy of mysticism in film, drawing most heavily on western (European and American) filmmaking. Of course, as with any attempt to categorize works of art, many films defy easy labeling, and several films here might easily be classed differently or be counted as members of multiple genres. As early as 1915, the Jewish mystic story of a clay statue brought to life by the 16th-century mystic Rabbi Loew, using Kabbalistic knowledge to protect the Jews from pogroms and persecution, had been seen as a fit subject for film in Der Golem (The Golem, 1920). While not treating mysticism itself directly, this is one of the earliest examples of film drawing on a religious, mystical source and is often seen as a precursor to Frankenstein and his monster. The story was filmed again as Le Golem (1936). The next few decades saw many more films with story lines based on mystical texts or historical events, although few of them were truly mystical in content. These include such mystic biography films as Carl Theodor Dreyer’s La Passion de Jeanne d’Arc (The Passion of Joan of Arc, 1928) and Der Dibuk (The Dybbuk, 1937), also based on the Yiddish tale of spiritual, romantic misalliance and exorcism. Death features as a character in many films with mystic content. Körkarlen (The Phantom Carriage, 1921, based on the 1912 Swedish novel of the same name) revolves around Death’s assistant reaping souls for the coming year, who dies at midnight on New Year’s Eve. (The same premise was used again in La Charrette fantôme [The Phantom Wagon, 1939]). Death is a character again in yet another Scandinavian film that presents the metaphysical with the texture of everyday life in Ingmar Bergman’s seminal classic, Det Sjunde Inseglet (The Seventh Seal, 1957), in which a man plays chess with Death while seeking answers to life’s riddles. In Das Blaue Licht (The Blue Light, 1932), Leni Riefenstahl’s mystic experience film, a young girl is the only member of her village able to climb the nearby mountain to a secret crystal grotto that glows blue in the moonlight, luring lesser souls to their deaths. Persecuted as a witch for this ability, she later tries to share the secret with a lover but is betrayed, leading to her own death. Some consider this the best of the “mountain” films popular in Germany at the time, and the mystical relationship that the film draws between the land and the souls of its purer inhabitants has been credited with bringing Riefenstahl to Hitler’s and Goebbels’s attention. The 1930s also saw Death Takes a Holiday (1934) and Fährmann Maria (Death and the Maiden, 1936), two of the better-known mystic experience films, where an anthropomorphic Death engages humans directly. The 1940s, of course, saw many films related to World War II, which was then raging, but also, perhaps as a reaction to that horror, several films of escape

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from this world into distant spiritual retreat, including The Razor’s Edge (1946; 1984)—based on W. Somerset Maugham’s 1944 novel—and the mystic biopic, Black Narcissus (1947), about Anglican nuns establishing a religious community in the Himalayas. Also from this period was A Matter of Life and Death (1946, also known as Stairway to Heaven), in which a man must argue his case before a heavenly court—a theme echoed almost 50 years later in the comic Defending Your Life (1991). The World War II period also saw what critics like Leo Charney have called “one of the most important and influential experimental films of the 20th century.” This film, Meshes of the Afternoon (1943), clearly belongs to our third category, using the visual nature of the film medium to mystic effect without any direct link to religious or metaphysical mysticism. In Meshes of the Afternoon, writer and director Maya Deren imbues ordinary, everyday objects with mystery and danger through the film’s exploration of a woman’s daydream images. Deren eschews plot to make a film like a poem: juxtaposing images to create a mood or startle us with the strangeness immanent in the mundane. Film encountered mysticism in new ways in the 1960s, from Stanley Kubrick’s sublime and monumental 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), where man’s pursuit of knowledge leads from prehistoric times to a mystic communion fusing past and future, to the ridiculous fun of Help! (1965), a musical comic jaunt with the Beatles, who are pursued by a caricature of a mystic cult. It is not surprising perhaps, that the countercultural 1960s led to an outpouring of films treating the turn to eastern mysticism, drugs, and attempts at erotic transcendence among the youth of that time. Many such films strive for the mystic experience while achieving merely an adolescent ambience of the mystical. Another notable classic of this period is Rosemary’s Baby (1968), which brilliantly uses the techniques of suspense films, culminating in highly distorted druginduced dream sequences, so that a mystical experience is created both by the feeling of suspense and the eerie quality of the waking dream. Rosemary’s Baby won both critical and popular acclaim and is a direct ancestor of such films as The Exorcist (1973) and The Omen (1976), which both combine a supernatural story with the terror of the everyday to create a powerful mystical experience. German writer Hermann Hesse was a favorite with 1960s youth for a series of midcentury novels whose protagonists rejected the crassness and emptiness of the adult, bourgeois world and sought meaning instead in a transcendent, interior reality. These include Demian (1919), Siddartha (1922), Steppenwolf (1927), and Journey to the East (1932), many of them translated to the screen, including Siddhartha (1927), the spiritual journey of an avatar of the Buddha and strong example of the mystic biography. Another example of this form, from the early 1970s, is Fratella sole, sorella luna (Brother Sun, Sister Moon, 1972), the story of St. Francis of

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Assisi, founder of the Franciscan order, from his wealthy beginnings as the son of a merchant to his humble end. Like Siddartha, Francis rejects wealth and debauchery for a simple life of poverty and humility. A hippie zeitgeist is partly infused into the film by folk singer Donovan’s arrangements of old Italian melodies. As quickly as the era of peace and love blossomed in the1960s, it ripened and began to rot as western society was convulsed by violent civil unrest, rising urban crime, and oil shortages. It was then that the communalism of “flower power” metamorphosed into the “me generation.” Perhaps reflecting this new unease were such early 1970s mystical experience pictures as The Exorcist, based on the 1971 best-selling novel of the same name by William Peter Blatty, which was based on a 1949 Vatican-sanctioned exorcism in the United States. Like Rosemary’s Baby, the film uses the techniques of horror films to present a visceral mystical experience of evil and the hope of redemption. The influence of these two films can be seen in many of the supernatural thrillers that followed. Another example of the souring of the happy hallucinations of the1960s’ into the harrowing 1970s is El Topo (1970) and The Holy Mountain (1973). While not widely popular, these films continue to influence popular culture, if only in music videos, for their surrealistic handling of religion, war, deviant sex, violence, and eternity. Jonathan Livingston Seagull (1973), based on Richard Bach’s 1970 best-seller of the same name, demonstrated Hollywood’s preference for the puerile in spirituality. Purporting to offer a spiritual experience, it is really a mystic biography tracking the spiritual pilgrimage of a seagull, with a soundtrack by Neil Diamond. Similarly, Steppenwolf (1974) provided both a spiritual experience through its avant garde and hallucinogenic evocation of the Magic Theatre and a mystical biography of its protagonist’s spiritual journey. Another film sitting comfortably in two of our genres, the mystical experience and the mystical ambience, is the Australian film The Last Wave (1977), one of the first to introduce American audiences to the aboriginal dreamtime, with its mystical evocation of the supernatural. In Resurrection (1980), Edna narrowly survives a car crash and has a neardeath experience. Crippled by the accident, she returns home to Kansas gradually to learn that she has acquired healing powers. As others struggle over whether her gift is from God or the devil, she struggles initially with her decision to use her power over her relationships. Although it may be easier to characterize this film as a spiritual biography, it also provides a mystic experience. And in Altered States (1980), a professor studying psychological regression and sensory deprivation ultimately regresses to so primal a state of being that he must literally pound his protean mass against the walls to force himself back to mundane, physical reality. The climax of the film is a powerful, nonreligious mystical experience of existentialism, as described in Sartre’s Nausea (1938).

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In what may be deemed the first “environmental mystical experience” film, Koyaanisqatsi (1983) fuses hypnotic earth images with the hypnotic music of Phillip Glass. It was followed by Powaqqatsi (1988) and Naqoyqatsi (2002). Difficult to characterize as belonging to any of our defined genres, Agnes of God (1985) offers the mystery of a pregnant nun and her dead baby and can perhaps best be described as providing a mystical experience by omission, as flocks of birds startle us, perhaps symbolically, every time a spiritual answer is hinted at, while the true answers to the film’s questions involve evil of a more banal nature. Jacob’s Ladder (1990) is another film overlapping the mystic experience and mystic ambience genres, a supernatural thriller with a cult following for its hallucinatory portrayal of a Vietnam veteran whose reality is slowly being rent apart. Like William Golding’s 1956 novel Pincher Martin, the struggle for life gives way to recognition of the afterlife. And Flatliners (1990), another supernatural thriller exploring the pseudoscience of near-death experiences, provides a strong mystic ambience, with rippling green tones giving the film an eerie, ethereal, somewhat mystical quality. The 1990s saw a new spate of mystic biographies, first with Bernardo Bertolucci’s Little Buddha (1993) and then with Martin Scorsese’s Kundun (1997). The former provides three mystic biographies in one, giving us the spiritual stories of the original Buddha as well as those of a young American boy who may be the latest reincarnation and his father, while the latter recounts the story of the Dalai Lama. The film also provides elements of mystical ambience with Philip Glass’s typically hypnotic musical score, a fable-like screenplay, and painterly cinematography. The late 1990s also saw a raft of popular supernatural thrillers, some more focused on mystical ambience than on true mystic experiences. In The Devil’s Advocate (1997), the protagonist finds the fabric of reality slipping off its frame to reveal the work of the devil, and by implication his nemesis, God. Another interesting variation in this subgenre is π (Pi, 1988), a thriller with cosmic powers invoked by transcendental computer mathematics, making their author the target of gangsters and Hasidic cults. The Matrix films (The Matrix [1999], The Matrix Reloaded [2003], and The Matrix Revolutions [2003]) share an element that emerged powerfully in the 1990s using the new technologies of computer-generated imagery (CGI) to explore the immersion of real people in the virtual worlds inside computers, first seen in Tron (1982). Similar films also frequently feature characters who escape from virtual reality into the real world and must be returned, much like ghosts in more traditional supernatural films who haunt this world until they are appeased or relieved of their burdens so that they can return peacefully to their own realms, leaving ours undisturbed. The late 1990s also offered several films of a more traditional nature, including The Sixth Sense (1999), in which a young boy can see the dead, and Stigmata

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(1999), which is interesting in that it may be an example of a film that can reside comfortably in all three of our mystic genres. A scientist-priest, perhaps suffering some disillusion or ennui in his calling, is sent to help an apparent victim of possession. However, this victim is actually possessed by another priest, who has uncovered a lost gospel, the publication of which would threaten the authority of the Vatican by exposing a feminist, inclusive Christ. With various supernatural events, stigmata, and other mystical appearances, the film provides a strong mystical ambience and a mystical biography of the spiritual educations of both characters; its attempt to provide a mystical experience is unfortunately undermined by the essential silliness of its premise. A far more interesting film, which acquired a cult following and achieved a true mystical experience for viewers, was Donnie Darko (2001), a tale featuring time travel, science fiction, and apocalypticism. Released that same year, K-PAX (2001), though not offering a truly religious mystic experience, did display a variety of mystical ambience effects with its use of light, prisms, and refractions; it also offered its viewers a mystical experience by the simple device of not resolving its central mystery, the otherworldliness of the possibly alien character. The philosophical Waking Life (2001) introduced new digital techniques, but its use of animation over digital video and attention to the role of dreams provides an inescapable mystical ambience, while The Order (2003), an intelligent supernatural thriller, uses the arcana of Catholicism to provide a mystic experience wrapped in a murder mystery, with lots of mystic ambience along the way. And Whale Rider (2002), an interesting New Zealand film that won an international audience for its powerful tale of feminist triumph in a Maori context, provided (to its American audience, at least) a mystical ambience by including exotic religious rituals, haunting aboriginal music, and vibrant use of color. More recently, What the #&*! Do We (K)now?! (2004) is, perhaps, sui generis—a semidocumentary that attempts to show that the very latest research in physics confirms the same truths espoused by New Age proselytizers. It uses a montage methodology, perhaps better called pastiche here, to achieve a mystical ambience. Critics largely ignored it and the public appear to have either loathed or loved it, depending on their appetite for New Age pseudoscientism. Although many filmmakers over the past century have successfully documented the lives of mystics or harnessed their medium to create a mystical ambience, far fewer have achieved a truly mystical experience, transcending mere affect to illuminate the ineffable mysteries of life. Adam Isler See also: Bergman, Ingmar; Dreyer, Carl Theodor; End-of-the-World Films; Film as Religion; Gilliam, Terry; Horror; Scorsese, Martin; Trier, Lars von.

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Further Reading Austin, R., ed. “Screening Mystery: The Religious Imagination in Contemporary Film.” Special issue, Image: A Journal of the Arts and Religion 20 (Summer 1998). Comstock, W. Richard. “Religious Transcendence and the Horizons of Culture: Observations on the Role of Religion in American Film.” Revue Français D’Etudes Americaines 12 (October 1981): 275–289. Deacy, Christopher. “Redemption and Film: Cinema as a Contemporary Site of Religious Activity.” Media Development 47, no. 1 (2000): 50–54. Engnell, Richard A. “The Spiritual Potential of Otherness in Film: The Interplay of Scene and Narrative.” Critical Studies in Mass Communication 12, no. 3 (1995): 241–263. Holloway, Ronald. Beyond the Image: Approaches to the Religious Dimension in Cinema. Geneva: World Council of Churches (Oikoumene), 1977. Pavelin, A. “Films Evoking a Sense of Religion: The Classics and Their Successors.” Media Development 40, no. 1 (1993): 25–27.

Myth Myth may be defined broadly as any type of culturally transmitted narrative or story. Such narratives give people a sense of communal identity, often imparting implicit models that people follow in their day-to-day lives. In the field of religion, myth has a more specific definition: a culturally transmitted and constituted narrative about superhuman characters, often set in a time or place far from our own. The modifier superhuman is a term used to suggest characters who possess qualities, abilities, and attributes well beyond the qualities, abilities, and attributes of normal human beings. Thus the term supernatural has also been used to qualify mythological characters. In modern societies, film has become the predominant vehicle for myth making in the sense that films often give us a collective sense of who we are, helping to define modern identities in terms of what is fashionable and what is in the public discourse—for example, in films such as Easy Rider (1968) or Fahrenheit 9/11 (2004). Different films may circulate among cultural groups and subcultures, defining common values within them, and helping these communities to imagine themselves. The almost ritual act of going to the movies, the experience of film—including the suspension of disbelief involved and the immersion into the world of the narrative—all closely resemble the process of inculcating mythology in traditional societies. This process is typified in films that achieve “cult status,” when the stories within films become memorized and transmitted throughout culture; for example,

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The Big Lebowski (1998); The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975), and the Matrix trilogy (The Matrix [1999], The Matrix Reloaded [2003], The Matrix Revolutions [2003]). Films like these become embedded in the fabric of culture itself, as exemplified in merchandizing and “buzz.” Films often promulgate the myths at the center of modern culture. For example, American myths that espouse extreme forms of capitalism and excess are promoted in the “culture industry” in Hollywood, where the “stars” of film and television are subject to a cult of personality, coming to resemble the Most of the cast of The Rocky Horror Picture Show, superhuman agents of traditional 1975. AP Photo. myth. This process is exemplified by the rituals and myths surrounding the figure of Elvis Presley. Indeed, since fame is constituted mainly through the circulation of images and stories about someone, gods can be understood to have been among the first to become famous in human societies. Tabloid celebrities in America, like royalty elsewhere, border on the superhuman. Their extreme wealth and notoriety allow them to do things other people cannot do—or at least this is the image that must be projected to maintain the myths about them. Aside from the notion that film is modern myth, the relation between myth and film is significant primarily in two other ways. First, film narrative often follows the themes and structures of myth. Second, films have been created that tell precisely the same story as those of religious myths. Both film and myth are “good to think with.” That is, myths must be transmitted from one generation to the next, so they must be remembered and maintained. This has led scholars of religion to conclude that most myths follow basic mnemonic themes and patterns, many of which arose in the context of archaic humans’ interaction with their environment but continue to engage us intellectually as transformations of these elemental experiences. As cultural productions, films engage these elemental psychological and social patterns at the heart of myth. Their ability to access mythical elements is part of what gives them their psychological potency. Myths express the basic conflicts and preoccupations of the human condition. As material culture changes over time, the human mind stays relatively the same;

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our conceptual resources attempt to resolve the paradoxes these changes present to us by artfully playing with the problems and associations that arise because of them. Thus many regard the opposition between nature and culture to lie at the heart of myth, expressed in the Tarzan character in Greystoke: The Legend of Tarzan, Lord of the Apes (1984) and the documentary Baraka (1992). Films may be compared to myth with regard to theme, a broad category concerning the basic psychological elements of the narrative, or pattern, the structure of the narrative itself. Examples of mythic themes in film include, among many others, human interaction with plants and animals in films such as King Kong (1933; 1976; 2005), Jurassic Park (1993), and Doctor Dolittle (1967; 1998); the discovery of new technologies such as fire and agriculture in such films as The Terminator (1984) and Artificial Intelligence: AI (2001); changing demographic patterns such as the birth of cities in films such as Earth (1998), Metropolis (1927), and Collateral (2004); and the most common today, human sexuality, lovemaking, and the relations between sexes in such films as When Harry Met Sally . . . (1989), Brokeback Mountain (2005), and Fire (1996). Film may also be compared to myth with regard to mythic patterns. Mythic patterns are the core narrative structures that myths tend to follow. Films are often purposefully crafted by their authors to follow these patterns, for example George Lucas’s Star Wars (1977) is based on the work of a theorist of myth Joseph Campbell, and the Wachowski brother’s Matrix is based on myths of Gnosticism, Buddhism, and Christianity. Indeed Campbell’s theory of myth is taught in screenwriting classes as a way to sell successful screenplays. These films represent one of the most powerful mythic patterns, often termed “the hero pattern.” In these types of myth, the main character is a superhuman being who is born in unusual circumstances, has special powers, and is persecuted but eventually overcomes persecutions, especially those of death, darkness, or evil. Moses, Krishna, the Buddha, and Jesus are all examples of the hero character in myth. The character Luke in the Star Wars series may be regarded as a hero character, for he has an unusual birth (he is in fact a prince), has special powers (the Force), and overcomes the forces of death, darkness, or evil. The slew of superhero movies such as Superman: The Movie (1978) and most westerns also adhere to this pattern. In the latter, an outsider or drifter of strange circumstance protects a frontier town from evildoers; examples include Shane (1953) and many of John Wayne’s films. A few more patterns are worth mentioning. For example, another common pattern in films of today’s Hollywood is the “end of the world” pattern. Scholars of religion call myths about the end of the world “eschatology” and myths about forecasts of the cataclysmic destruction of this world “apocalypticism.” In these myths, the world is threatened by the powers of death, darkness, or evil. Often,

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a hero savior is required to save the world from the powers of destruction. Films such as Independence Day (1996), War of the Worlds (2005), and Armageddon (1998), represent this pattern. A third example is the “journey to the underworld” pattern. In these myths, a character must journey to the far off land of the dead, often to meet, trick, or defeat its ruler, represented in films such as the Lord of the Rings series (Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring [2001]; Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers [2002]; Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King [2003]), and Apocalypse Now (1979). This theme is common to ancient myths from Egypt and is part of the mythic cycle of the Odyssey. A final example worth mentioning is the “trickster” pattern. In these myths a crafty, scheming character, usually an animal of some kind with human features, makes trouble for another character. In the end, either the trickster gets away with his mischief or falls prey to it himself. The trickster is usually not wholly good or evil but rather an ambiguous figure whose activities often serve as a catalyst for good or evil indirectly. For example, in many myths tricksters are the ones who bring humanity technology and culture, such as the snake in the biblical Garden of Eden, who brings knowledge, and Prometheus in Greek myth, who tricks the gods into giving humanity fire. Films that incorporate this pattern include Ace Ventura (1994), The Pink Panther (1963), and The Nutty Professor (1996). As scholastic theories about myth become more widely circulated and indeed are used as tools for screenwriting, films have also become increasingly reflexive about their relation to myth. This reflexivity is exemplified in a film such as Unbreakable (2000), which preceded the rash of films about superheroes such as Spider-Man (2002), X-Men (2000), The Incredible Hulk (2008), and Fantastic Four (2005), all of which were adapted from comic books. The film skillfully plays on the human propensity to be gripped by stories about superhuman characters formerly found in the domain of myth but which today are often embodied in film. As noted previously, we also find films that are simply the retelling of classic myths in cinematic form—for example, Greek myths in such films as Hercules (1997) and Troy (2004), biblical myths in The Ten Commandments (1956), Hindu myths in Mahabharata (1989) and Agni Varsha (The Fire and the Rain, 2002), Chinese folk myths incorporated into Kung Fu movies such as Shaolin Temple (1976), Buddhist myths as in Little Buddha (1993) and Shaka (Buddha, 1961), and of course the numerous cinematic retellings of the life and passion of Jesus, most recently The Passion of the Christ (2004). But calling film the modern myth is not without its analytic problems, for there are significant differences between the terms. The first important difference is that myths, especially those about the nature and origin of the world (that the world emerged from the navel of a god or was created in six days), called creation

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myths, are presented as true, not as fiction or falsity. In other words, myths are believed. Aside from documentary forms of filmmaking, films are not generally thought to be true but are fictive in nature. In both cases audiences “suspend disbelief ”; they are willing to entertain ideas they normally would not take to be true. In the case of filmgoers, this suspension generally evaporates at the conclusion of the film, while in the case of myth, it lives on. Recently, film has challenged this dichotomy, blurring the line between fiction and reality in such movies as C’est arrivé pres de chez vous (Man Bites Dog, 1992), Adaptation (2002), and more recently Stranger than Fiction (2006). Indeed, many postmodern film theorists think that the distinction should be challenged. Another difference is that, partly because myths are believed to be true, they usually have authority that films do not have. Myths are often part of a broader religious landscape and are packaged together with doctrines that require an individual’s compliance. Myths are thus sometimes enforced by dominant groups over less powerful ones. Sometimes films such as The Birth of a Nation (1915) or, more recently, Kurtlar vadisi—Irak (Valley of the Wolves: Iraq, 2006) may serve these purposes in the form of propaganda. Myths are understood by scholars to be culturally transmitted and constituted, fashioned organically out of the elements of culture that surround us. Thus the third major difference between myth and film is that there are no individual authors of myth. Myths are authored collectively by repetition and transmission over time, while films are most often the artistic creation of an individual or nameable group of individuals. A final difference is that, technically, film and myth are different forms of media. In their technical sense, myths are oral performances, whereas films are recordings of speech and visual performance. As a form of recording like writing, film is a second-order representation in comparison to myth. Since we naturally organize our lives and communicative tendencies in the form of narratives, myths access a primitive layer of speech and memory, fitting smoothly with human cognitive architecture. These factors were especially helpful in transmitting and remembering myths before the invention of writing and other forms of inscription. Cognitively, that is, in the mind of any individual, myths still retain their predominantly oral characteristics. Thus although myths must be remembered, films need not be in order to live on as cultural products. To conclude, we may say that, despite the caveats stated above, film utilizes many features of myth, both deliberately and unconsciously, and in this sense film may be thought of as a modern form of myth making. Furthermore, in the present era of globalization, larger geopolitical movements—such as the rise of religious forms of nationalism or conflicts over sacred space that are encouraged by religious myths—are played out through the medium of film; for example Ha-Hesder

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(Time of Favor, 2000), Seven Years in Tibet (1997), and Thunderheart (1992). With the recent “return of religion” in the form of religious fundamentalisms throughout the world, this tendency is becoming more common. Film is thus part of larger global currents reacting to the godless ideologies of secularization and liberalism; many argue that without myth, life is meaningless. A great number of films in recent decades have expressed precisely this lack of myth and lack of meaning—for example, Rashômon (1950), which explores the nature of truth following the Second World War, and La Vita é bella (Life Is Beautiful, 1997). Many more recent films—such as Gerry (2002), American Beauty (1999), and About Schmidt (2002)—have sought to capture either the emptiness that seems to characterize postindustrial capitalism or to restore a sense of cosmic unity or mystery—such as I ♥ Huckabees (2004), and Donnie Darko (2001). Whether through special effects, story line, or the imagistic rhythms of film itself, this capacity to re-enchant is precisely the reason why many scholars regard film as modern myth. Gabriel Levy See also: End-of-the-World Films; Film as Religion; Greek and Roman Myths; Kurosawa, Akira; The Matrix Trilogy; Westerns.

Further Reading Comstock, W. Richard. “Myth and Contemporary Cinema.” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 43 (1975): 598–600. Hill, Geoffrey. Illuminating Shadows: The Mythic Power of Film. Boston: Shambhala, 1992. Hirschman, Elizabeth. Heroes, Monsters, and Messiahs: Movies and Television Shows as the Mythology of American Culture. Kansas City, MO: Andrews McMeel, 2000. Hurley, Neil P. “Hollywood’s New Mythology.” Theology Today 39 (1983): 402–408. Peck, Russell A., ed. Myth, Religious Typology, and Recent Cinema. Special issue, Christianity and Literature 42, no. 3 (1993). Slotkin, Richard. “Prologue to a Study of Myth and Genre in American Movies.” Prospects: An Annual of American Cultural Studies 9 (1984): 407–432.

O Ozu, Yasujiro¯ (1903–1963) Yasujiro¯ Ozu made a total of 54 films over his 35-year career (1927–1962), though it is generally his postwar films such as Banshun (Late Spring, 1949), Bakushû (Early Summer, 1951), Tôkyô monogatari (Tokyo Story, 1953), Soshun (Early Spring, 1956), and Akibiyori (Late Autumn, 1960) that have secured his reputation both within and outside of Japan. Of the big three directors of classic Japanese cinema (Kurosawa, Mizoguchi, and Ozu), Ozu is the one most often lauded for his formal techniques and stylistic ingenuities; he is typically seen (especially by western scholars and critics) as the most quintessentially “Japanese” of filmmakers. In speaking of religious aspects of their respective oeuvres, the younger Kurosawa evokes a sustained if ironic humanism and Ozu’s peer Mizoguchi a palpably Buddhist ideal of stoicism in the face of suffering and impermanence; however, Ozu’s “religion” may be found less in the narrative content or general themes of his films than in their structure or esthetic form. Given this link to esthetics and formalism, critics tend to locate the religious roots of Ozu’s work more specifically in the Zen tradition—the school of Buddhism that has played a significant if not determinative role in the shaping of modern Japanese esthetics. Although there is something to the connection between Zen and Ozu’s filmmaking, it is a link that is frequently both overstated and unexplored, as critics—both Japanese and western—tend to fall into the easy trap of locating the ineffable “essence” of the “Japaneseness” within Ozu’s “Zen” approach to the world. Certainly, on the face of things there does not seem to be much overt religion in Ozu’s works, the greatest of which are of the shomin-geki (working-class family drama) subgenre, set for the most part in a largely secular and urban postwar Japan. Two exceptions to this are the silent Ukikusa monogatari (Story of Floating Weeds, 1934)—with its frequent (often ironic) cutaway shots to both Shinto and Buddhist icons and artifacts—and the propagandistic Chichi ariki (There Was a Father, 1942)—which is rife with Buddhist imagery, used here in the service of 343

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wartime ideology. In the classics of the late 1940s and 1950s, Buddhism plays a role as background scenery—the Great Buddha statue of Kamakura in Early Summer and the Kyoto temples of Kiyomizu-dera and Ryoanji (with its unparalleled Zen rock garden) in Late Spring. Although the case could be made that these images simply add a layer of realism to their respective stories, it is hard to ignore the fact that Ozu has chosen the most famous and perhaps stereotypical Buddhist locations in Japan—places known to each and every older Japanese as highlights of a common cultural heritage and in danger of being swamped by the pace and values of modern culture. Still, compared with the overt usage of religious themes in the great films of his rival Mizoguchi, Ozu avoids the intrusion of Buddhist doctrines or any religious ideas into his plots, which tend to be simple, if psychologically and emotionally acute, family dramas. What exactly is the Zen formalism that critics see in Ozu’s works? Simplicity of plot is an obvious root of the Zen theory, as is a conscious lack of high melodrama in favor of a concentration on seemingly mundane or trivial matters (once again, in stark contrast to Mizoguchi). The pace of Ozu’s films is slow and the takes are long, even in the postwar “talkies,” where many techniques of the silent era continue to frame Ozu’s direction. Cuts between scenes become “still lifes,” lingering on ordinary household objects such as a vase or a stack of books perched on a chair suddenly slipping to the ground. Zooms and pans are nonexistent, and Ozu’s famously low camera makes for a somewhat unique perspective, though the reasons behind this are still debated. The acting also takes on a formalism that verges on ritualized performance—Ozu was known to have his actors repeat scenes dozens of times to produce this effect. In addition, speakers are often positioned in ways that appear unnatural, evoking surprise and even irritation in the viewer used to the standard codes of cinematic placement. Much of this has been attributed to a Zen appreciation of emptiness, simplicity, and the beauty of the quotidian, though it may be just as easily taken as the director’s attempt to push the limits of cinema by flaunting its artificiality as a medium. Filmmaker and critic Yoshida Kiju has labeled Ozu’s later work as a form of “anticinema”—“a theology of motion pictures” that calls into question the very basis of the cinematic artifice by alternatively taking in the world “as it is” and at the same time stretching the limits of that artifice via the intrusion of form (or the camera) into the narrative. It should be noted that Ozu’s headstone, located on the grounds of the Zen temple Engakuji in Kamakura, contains a single character mu—the traditional Zen term for nothingness and the answer to a famous Zen koan (a riddle intended to provoke instant awakening). Japanese critics in general have been less inclined to read Ozu’s films in terms of traditional Japanese esthetics, whether based in Zen or the (Shinto) mono no aware. There is, they correctly note, a manifest hybridity and dynamism in Ozu’s

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films—and an appreciation for human psychology—which includes but ultimately extends far beyond these traditional religious categories. Given both Ozu’s lifelong love for early western cinema and his attempt to reconcile traditional Japan with the changing mores of the postwar period (as in Late Spring), this should hardly be surprising. Considered by most to be Ozu’s magnum opus, Tokyo Story is frequently taken as a locus for interpretation of his oeuvre. Typical of all his later works, the story is simple: an elderly couple in postwar Japan departs for Tokyo to visit their children but are met with coldness and irritation. Only their widowed daughterin-law (played by Ozu’s muse, the “eternal virgin” Setsuko Hara), an outsider to the main family group, is willing to care for them. Every action, every gaze, every simple conversation seems rife with meaning, though the meaning cannot be found in anything other than the action, gaze, or words themselves. Here as elsewhere, Ozu’s films require a “suspension of belief ”—a willingness to give up on a meaning beyond what appears; a refusal of transcendence. In contrast to the often heavy symbolism one finds in Mizoguchi, objects and vistas stand for themselves and often seem to be displayed from the perspective of the viewer (or the camera) rather than that of the characters in the story. The conclusion of the film, where the old man comes to terms with the death of his wife and the loneliness of having to be separate (physically and emotionally) from his children, appears to be a straightforward gloss on the Buddhist teaching of impermanence, yet the fact that the final scene so closely mirrors the opening one also indicates an even more basic theme of Ozu’s films: repetition and recurrence amid change. James Mark Shields See also: Buddhism; Japan; Kurosawa, Akira; Miyazaki, Hayao; Mizoguchi, Kenji; Schrader, Paul.

Further Reading Bordwell, David. Ozu and the Poetics of Cinema. London: British Film Institute, 1988. Geist, Kathe. “West Looks East: The Influence of Yasujiro Ozu on Wim Wenders and Peter Handke.” Art Journal 43, no. 3 (1983): 234–239. Richie, Donald. Ozu. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1977. Schrader, Paul. Transcendental Style in Film: Ozu, Bresson, Dreyer. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1972. Yoshida, Kiju (Yoshishige). Ozu’s Anti-Cinema. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2003.

P Pasolini, Pier Paolo (1922–1975) Pier Paolo Pasolini is considered by some to be the most important Italian intellectual of the second half of the 20th century. A poet, writer, journalist, and painter, Pasolini was also a scriptwriter and film director; his films reflect his multiple interests. He was born in Bologna, and his childhood was influenced by the military environment both in his family—his father was an Army officer—and his country. In the last months of the Second World War, Pasolini’s brother, a liberal partisan, was killed by Communist partisans linked to Marshal Tito. This event, the collapse of Fascism, and his homosexuality—an issue to his critics during his life and after his death—made politics an unavoidable part of Pasolini’s public life. In 1950, Pasolini moved to Rome, where he began his cinematographic career as a coauthor of scripts for Mario Soldati’s La donna del fiume (The River Girl, 1955) and Federico Fellini’s Le notti di Cabiria (The Nights of Cabiria, 1957). Pasolini’s interests went toward the sottoproletariato (“sub-” or “underproletariat,” that is, the poor) living in the Roman slums who migrated to the capital after the end of the war. He wrote several short stories and novels on the Roman sottoproletariato and dedicated his first two films as a director—Accattone (1961) and Mamma Roma (1962)—to this subject. In a Marxian evolution of neorealism, he represented poor people as trash rejected by the conformist bourgeois middle class. His attitude was considered scandalous and, although many of his opponents never actually saw it, his work was publicly condemned. One scandal of his career came with the first movie in which he specifically addresses religion: “La ricotta,” an episode of Ro.Go.Pa.G. (Let’s Have a Brainwash, 1963; the title stands for the directors involved in the project: Roberto Rossellini, Jean-Luc Godard, Pasolini, and Ugo Gregoretti). The main character, Stracci (“rags”), is a poor man from the Roman slums who is an extra in a movie on the Passion of Christ; he plays one of the thieves who dies with Jesus. He is literally a morto di fame (one who is “dying of hunger”); before being tied to the 347

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cross, he eats a whole ricotta cheese and dies of indigestion while hanging on the cross. The troupe—directed by an impious Orson Welles—completely ignores Stracci’s death. Pasolini was persecuted for this movie and charged with “public defamation of the State religion.” The film was ordered to be withdrawn from theaters. It took four years for Pasolini to be cleared of all charges. Nevertheless, Pasolini was defended by many Catholics, even conservative ones. Il popolo, the official paper of the Christian Democrats (the main government party in Italy from 1948 to 1992) considered the message embedded in “La ricotta” to be provocative but doubtlessly valid. In preparation for making Il vangelo secondo Matteo (The Gospel According to Saint Matthew, 1964), his next major film with specific religious content, Pasolini received theological assistance from the Franciscan friars in Assisi. After visiting Israel, he decided to shoot the film in the poor areas of southern Italy, in part because the landscape there was less influenced by industrialization and tourism and in part because the people in southern Italy could better represent those whom Jesus had taught centuries before. Pasolini’s Jesus is not a miracle maker but rather a great speaker; very few of the great sermons found in the Gospel of Matthew are cut from the screenplay. Moreover, Pasolini’s Jesus speaks with authority and with a vigor that seems to verge on anger. Il vangelo secondo Matteo differs from other “Jesus” films in several ways. It is not simply a biographical portrayal of Jesus that harmonizes the four gospels; Pasolini took the Gospel of Matthew as a rough screenplay. It is also not an “epic” film; most of the miracles are neglected in the narration. Jesus’ holiness does not come from his performance of miracles but rather from the power of his words. Last, the rhetoric is balanced by an extended and iconographic use of closeup images. In order to achieve greater authenticity, no professional actors were used in the film. Pasolini does diverge from the Gospel of Matthew on one point: Pasolini places Mary, Jesus’ mother, at the crucifixion—a detail reported in the Gospel of John, not the Gospel of Matthew. Some have argued that this deviation from the text is based on Pasolini’s secular understanding of the uniqueness of the Passion; namely, that suffering is a universal experience that can best be represented by the particular pain of a mother watching her son die. Pasolini radicalized this concept by having his own mother play Mary. As with “La ricotta,” Il vangelo secondo Matteo attracted some controversy. Neofascist youth violently attacked its screening at the Venice Film Festival, and the jury of the International Catholic Cinema Organization (today known as Signis) was repudiated by the Catholic hierarchy because it awarded a prize to the film. Many film critics have interpreted Il vangelo secondo Matteo as a sort of Marxist gospel, an assertion that is only partially true. In part, the film reflects some of the pronouncements of the Second Vatican Council. Indeed, Pasolini was a Marxist; still, he was not the only one among his contemporaries who considered Christianity

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and Marxism to be not only compatible but also closely correlated. For many, both Marx’s political philosophy and Jesus’ teachings were a means of liberation for the poor; Catholic liberation theologians specifically had drawn on Marx’s philosophy. Seeming to understand the nature of these controversies, Pasolini dedicated Il vangelo secondo Matteo to the recently deceased Pope John XXIII. The relationship between Marxism and Christianity is more conscious in Pasolini’s next film Uccellacci e uccellini (The Hawks and the Sparrows, 1966). Part morality play, part fairy tale, and part road movie, Uccellacci e uccellini tells the story of a pilgrimage of a father and his younger son through human poverty in the Roman suburbs. They share their journey with a talking crow, who is presented as a leftist intellectual in the era before the death of the Italian Communist leader Palmiro Togliatti. The crow tells them a story of St. Francis, where two of his disciples are sent by the saint to evangelize sparrows and hawks. After a long time and great effort, they finally succeed, but then a hawk eats a sparrow. When the two friars tell their leader that the “class of sparrows” cannot agree with the “class of hawks,” St. Francis quotes Karl Marx’s Capital (1867–1894) to illustrate that it is possible. Back in the present, father and son, not understanding the crow’s tale, continue their journey, behaving cruelly toward those who owe them money and in a cowardly way toward those who claim money from them. In the middle of the film, the narration is suspended while original footage of Togliatti’s funeral is inserted, with thousands of people mourning, holding their red flags, making the sign of the cross, and praying for the Communist leader. With this footage Pasolini shows once again that the link between Marxism and Christianity (Roman Catholicism, in particular) is not one of his provocative inventions but part of Italian contemporary history. After Togliatti’s death, the talking crow meets its own death; father and son decide to eat it, since “if we don’t eat him, someone else will do it.” Pasolini’s later films do not have as direct a religious theme but focus more on politics and morals/amorality, bringing the viewer from bourgeois decadence in Teorema (Theorem, 1968) to earthly hell in Salò, o le centoventi giornate di Sodoma (Salò—The 120 Days of Sodom, 1975). The church is always present in his movies, yet it is not considered different from any other source of power: this is quite explicit in Salò, o le centoventi giornate di Sodoma, where a high priest is—with a nobleman, a judge, and a capitalist—one of the lords of power and violence. However, in two scripts that he wrote but were never produced, Pasolini maintained his interest in religion: San Paolo (written between 1968 and 1974) and Porno-Teo-Kolossal (written in 1975). San Paolo is both an interesting exegetical work and an extremely controversial project. The story is set in the 20th century; the Apostle Paul visits cities that bear different names from those in Acts but that serve similar functions: New York replaces Rome as the center of the empire, Paris replaces Jerusalem as the cultural center, Rome replaces Athens as the historical

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center, London replaces Antioch as the capital of an earlier empire, and, naturally, the Atlantic Ocean takes the place of the Mediterranean. The provocation comes with the interaction of two elements: 20th-century roles for first-century characters. For example, Paul cooperates with the Nazi regime and is responsible of the execution of Stephen, a partisan; Paul then converts and becomes the champion of his former enemies. The dialogue is taken directly from the New Testament, which is considered a rough screenplay, just as with Il vangelo secondo Matteo. The San Paolo project presents the church as a powerful establishment, with Paul as the great intellectual who has transformed a good faith into a dogmatic church. Porno-Teo-Kolossal is closer to Uccellacci e uccellini; it is another fairy tale/ road movie, telling the story of a contemporary wise man from Naples who is following a star (or comet) that is heading north and then east. This project was discontinued at the end of 1975 when Pasolini was killed in an abandoned football pitch at the seaside Roman suburb of Ostia; the reasons and circumstances of his death are still not fully clear. Inspired by Porno-Teo-Kolossal, Pasolini’s friend Sergio Citti directed I magi randagi (We Free Kings) in 1996. Peter Ciaccio See also: Catholicism; Europe (Continental); Fellini, Federico; Jesus.

Further Reading Cootsona, Greg. “Jesus the God of Justice and Compassion in Pasolini’s The Gospel According to Matthew.” Radix 23, no. 1 (1994): 8–9, 26. Maggi, Armando. The Resurrection of the Body: Pier Paolo Pasolini from Saint Paul to Sade. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2009. Pasolini, Pier Paolo. Heretical Empiricism. Washington, DC: New Accademia Publishing, 2005. Rohdie, Sam. The Passion of Pier Paolo Pasolini. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1996. Testa, Bart. “To Film a Gospel . . . and Advent of the Theoretical Stranger.” In Pier Paolo Pasolini: Contemporary Perspectives, edited by Patrick Rumble and Bart Testa, 180– 209. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1994.

The Passion of the Christ Controversy Mel Gibson’s film The Passion of the Christ (2004) was not merely a cinematographic event—an independently produced film by a controversial director that grossed more than $400 million in the United States, depicting the crucifixion of

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Jesus and thus joining a long line of films dealing with the life and death of the Christian savior—but also a major episode in American religious culture that year, as the public controversy it generated was split deeply along religious lines. The controversy began slowly and took unexpected turns. Gibson’s personal views were regarded with suspicion by many in the Jewish community, and his religious views generated considerable discomfort among post–Vatican II Roman Catholics. When word of Gibson’s interest on making the film spread, alarm bells went off among Jewish organizations already concerned about rising levels of Islamic anti-Semitism and marked increases in European anti-Semitism. Jewish spokesmen such as the Anti-Defamation League’s Abraham Foxman and the Simon Wiesenthal Center’s Rabbi Marvin Hier expressed concern that the film would depict the Jews as crucifiers of Christ and reinvigorate pre–Vatican II portrayals of the crucifixion. Based on earlier experiences and upon the etiquette of inter-religious civility, representatives of the organized Jewish community presumed that Gibson would meet with them and attempt to find common ground; they did not believe that they needed to pay attention to Gibson’s deeply personal cinematic vision or to the theological competition between traditionalists and post–Vatican II Catholics. In short, they misread the situation. Gibson simply chose not to meet with consultants who were not of his own choosing. His defenders counterattacked skillfully and imaginatively, working through conservative media outlets, sympathetic newspapers, clergy, and, especially, the increasingly popular Internet. They were supported by conservative church officials and those aligned politically with evangelists, including some of their Jewish supporters. The film, they argued, was not anti-Semitic; instead, the attacks were anti-Christian. The more that Jewish spokespersons protested, the stronger the “defense” of Christianity against its “attackers.” When officials involved specifically in Jewish-Catholic relations at the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops expressed concern, Gibson turned the tables, and accused them of stealing the script that had been willingly given to them by his own subordinates. These attacks allowed Gibson to perceive himself—and be perceived by others—as a martyr and hero. Like the figure he strove to represent, Gibson could see himself and be seen by others as being crucified by the Jews. Unintentionally, the perception of Hier, Foxman, and others helped elevate the film to front-page news, so much so that a satiric cover of the Los Angeles Jewish Journal had Gibson announce that he had hired Foxman as his publicist for his upcoming film. The debate over The Passion revealed and widened broad fissures in American society, with potentially lasting cultural consequences. Both the marketing campaign for The Passion of the Christ and the debate over the film demonstrate that the fault line in American Christianity is not between Protestants and Catholics,

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nor indeed between evangelical and mainline Protestants, but between messianic progressives and pietistic conservatives. Messianic progressives are committed to realizing the Kingdom of Heaven on earth; pietistic conservatives pursue an inner-oriented separation /isolation from the “wider world” that is deeply individualistic—even atomistic—at its core. Gibson’s Passion is a pæan to pietistic conservatism, and its critics were mostly messianic progressives disappointed by its detachment from the world. Led by figures like Rick Warren, Ted Haggard, and Franklin Graham, evangelicals demonstrated their cultural and consumer power. The Passion’s remarkable financial success—nearly $400 million gross in the United States alone—was due largely to an unprecedented campaign by evangelicals not only to deliver theatrical audiences who were unaccustomed to attending R-rated movies, but also to keep the film in the media spotlight. Controversy became a marketing tool. In this latter effort, evangelicals demonstrated their political savvy as well when they perceived themselves as “attacked” by the film’s critics and joined forces with traditionalist and conservative Catholics to defend their religious worldview. Retrenchment—on the left and the right—led to exclusivist, mutually recriminating positions on the film that made reasoned debate almost impossible, as opponents drowned each other out with competing narratives of “victimization” and “pariah” status. The Passion’s Jewish critics were portrayed as “anti-Christian,” and the film’s defenders were portrayed as potentially murderous anti-Semites. In the end, many Jews were so offended that they were unable to appreciate the majesty of the film, while many Christians were so moved by the film’s narrative that they could not see the depiction of the Jews through non-Christian eyes. Paradoxically, however, fundamentalist polarization generated a backlash among those committed to the uniquely American practice of interreligious civility despite political and religious disagreements. The “Passion panel”—a community-based event that was often held at local mainline churches or establishment synagogues—became a phenomenon in its own right, typically featuring a priest, a minister, and a rabbi, with a college professor often added for good measure. The more sophisticated panels also included an evangelical or conservative Catholic representative to “defend” the film. Such conversations not only reinforced local and regional cultural bonds of goodwill, but also created connections where none had existed before. Even panelists who found The Passion divisive nonetheless praised it for kick-starting civic dialogue. From the outset, The Passion most likely was a losing proposition for the American Roman Catholic Church to the extent that the film both reflected and highlighted Gibson’s traditionalist Catholicism and very publicly aired the ongoing conflict among opponents and defenders of the Second Vatican Council. For an episcopate that had recently been battered on fronts both moral (the pedophilia scandal) and political (the debate over providing communion to “pro-choice”

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political candidates), the Passion episode seems to have opened a new losing theological battle. Gibson took the offensive and for a time amplified his own views so loudly that the institutional church could not be heard. The problem for the church was exacerbated by a “did he or did he not?” mystery of a papal endorsement, exposing a less-than-certain command of the curia by the ailing Pope John Paul II. During a papacy otherwise marked by doctrinal confidence, the vacuum left room for widely disparate, even contradictory “official statements” about the movie. The announcement in the spring of 2004 concerning the forthcoming beatification of Sister Anne Catherine Emmerich, a traditionalist icon whose purported visions inspired scenes in the film, was interpreted by many as a concession to Gibson and his allies. One also wonders whether the reinstatement by Pope Benedict of the Latin mass was also not a concession to traditionalists and an attempt to bring them back into the mainstream fold. The success of the Passion film, especially in European and Latin American countries, gave the Vatican a startling portrait of the persistence of Tridentine Catholicism. Despite the rhetoric of the “most important evangelism opportunity in 2,000 years,” and despite Gibson’s own assertion that the film was for “the unchurched,” recent studies suggest that The Passion turned few nonbelievers into Christians, let alone evangelical ones. The film itself did not deal with Jesus as a teacher and preacher but merely with the anguish of his last hours. To Jews accustomed to Holocaust films, such suffering had diminished impact. On the political front, a promising alliance of evangelicals with those American Jews who shared their hawkish views on Israel came under threat as the debate over the film forced serious theological disagreements to the fore—and weakened the credibility of their cheerleaders in the Jewish community. The Passion controversy showed that the religious fault lines in American society are deeper and more complex than the liberal–conservative or metro–rural divide; a conflict between world-affirming activism—whether by evangelicals or by ecumenicals—and an individualistic pietism that seeks separation and purification from a decadent culture. Michael Berenbaum and J. Shawn Landres See also: Bible Films; Catholicism; Jesus; Judaism; The Last Temptation of Christ Controversy; Missionary Films.

Further Reading Boys, Mary C. “ ‘I Didn’t See Any Anti-Semitism’: Why Many Christians Don’t Have a Problem with The Passion of the Christ.” Cross Currents 54, no. 1 (2004): 8–15. Burnham, Jonathan, ed. Perspectives on The Passion of the Christ: Religious Thinkers and Writers Explore the Issues Raised by the Controversial Movie. New York: Miramax, 2004.

354 | Posthumanism Fredriksen, Paula, ed. On The Passion of the Christ: Exploring the Issues Raised by the Controversial Movie. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006. Garber, Zev, ed. Mel Gibson’s Passion: The Film, the Controversy, and Its Implications. West Lafayette, IN: Purdue University Press, 2006. Landres, J. Shawn, and Michael Berenbaum, eds. After The Passion is Gone: American Religious Consequences. Walnut Creek, CA: AltaMira, 2004. Plate, S. Brent. Re-viewing The Passion: Mel Gibson’s Film and Its Critics. New York: Palgrave/ Macmillan, 2004.

Posthumanism Posthuman has emerged as a term signifying the potential next step in human evolution. Posthumans are generally represented in film as superheroes, cyborgs, or androids, though in some cases aliens, artificially intelligent computers, and nonhumanlike robots could be considered posthuman. For our purposes, however, posthumans are considered with reference to how such characters as superheroes, cyborgs, and androids challenge us, their present human viewers, to rethink our own engagement with technology and our own pre-established notions of self, world, and community. Although posthuman imagery and discourse does reflect postmodern concerns such as the loss of identity, the uncertainty of knowledge, and the unraveling of metanarratives, it is the unique role played by technology in the posthuman imagination that distinguishes the posthuman from the postmodern. Posthuman fiction and philosophy depend upon technology to facilitate the creation of speculated posthuman entities. Generally, technology is used in two ways: posthumans are created when either a present human has a transforming encounter that ushers him or her into a posthuman state (cyborgs, superheroes), or when technology is used to create humanlike posthuman beings such as androids or replicants. Because posthuman themes are used across a variety of disciplines, the term’s definition is nuanced. In one form, reflected most dramatically in film and fiction, the posthuman is defined through images of cyborgs, androids, and superheroes that reflect technology’s potential for creating beings that function as successor species to present humans, and technologies are used to reveal the blurry line between what separates humans from the posthuman, calling into question established notions of humanity. The second, related definition, used primarily in philosophy, employs the image of the posthuman to critique a humanist philosophical agenda arguing that the individual is the autonomous center of his or her own world, able to arrive at meaning and value based on the unique nature of human reason. The posthuman

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response argues that humanity never has been and never will ever be the center of its own self-created world. For the posthuman, humanity is not constituted by reason or divinely given superiority over nature. Instead, the human and the posthuman alike are emergent beings which arise from complex webs of material and cultural sources; the definition of humanity is always open for constant reinterpretation. Posthuman theory, when seen as a critique of humanism, understands human being and human destiny as a product of culture and technology. For the posthuman theorist, the human–technology relationship is indicative of the whole of human cultural and biological evolution; although the term posthuman is often employed symbolically, the idea is materially embodied within the speculative sciences, where nanotechnology, bioengineering, and even information technology are viewed as steps towards the fulfillment of a very real posthuman destiny. Although the theme of the posthuman has become increasingly prevalent, some argue that its earliest representations can be traced to the myth of the Golem of Prague or the late Enlightenment fascination with mechanical automata. In early science fiction film, the idea of an artificial person as posthuman being appears as early as Fritz Lang’s Metropolis (1927), where the masters of Metropolis seek to subvert the workers’ liberation movement by replacing their leader with a mechanical replacement programmed to do their will. The most commonly recognized religious significance of posthuman themes relates to the challenge they pose to traditional Christian understanding of personhood. The Christian creation myth describes the creation of humanity as the direct result of divine activity. God’s creative word breathes humanity into existence, making man and woman living souls. The relationship between humanity and God is described in terms of the image of God, a doctrine arguing that humanity is uniquely endowed by God with what is variously interpreted as human intellectual capacity, the human role as the ruler and manager of creation, or the human potential for sociality. St. Paul describes salvation as tantamount to the restoration of the broken image in humanity to a more complete image made available by Christ’s redemptive work. The loss or damage of the original divine image in Christianity is the result of human perdition. The restoration of this image is possible only by the activity of divine grace. The posthuman understanding of a self without divine creation, and its implicit belief in human perfectibility through human technology, stands in stark contrast with this Christian understanding. By making human activity (technology and culture) the principle mark by which authentic humanity/ posthumanity is realized, posthuman ideology offers a purely immanent (as opposed to transcendent) interpretation of what constitutes a human being. Themes relating to posthumans can be traced to the very early history of film. Like contemporary posthuman films, the narratives they depicted—through basic set design and rudimentary special effects—explored the complicated relationships

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between humans, society, and technologies. Yet the affect of such films was severely hampered by their limited capacity for special effects with extant cinematographic technologies. Today, posthumans in film are portrayed in an increasingly convincing manner through the use of advanced technologies. The close knitting of filmic technologies within postmodern science fiction has been considered by many to be the hallmark of the genre. The technologies depicted in posthuman films often mimic the film technologies used to represent them. In American cinema in particular, the use of new electronic technologies in the content, production, distribution, and exhibition aspects of the industry has made them a means of articulating a new and highly technological experience. Contemporary postmodern science fiction films alter viewers’ perceptions of space, time, and depth and thereby complicate their interpretation of the now, the here, and the self. This form of self-estrangement is most pronounced with regard to the cinematic portrayal of otherness through the creation of artificial forms of sentient life. Furthermore, the posthuman is a particularly apt subject for visual representation because so many of the technologies described as the means of creating the posthuman (nuclear energy, nanotechnology, genetic engineering, information technologies) are themselves visually abstracted. Both nanotechnology and genetic engineering deal with objects so infinitesimally small that, apart from visual representation, the development and application of such technologies would be impossible. The converse problem arises in the face of nuclear energy, where the release of energy is so great that it is only through mediation (either in the form of video equipment, protective optics, or instrumentation) that this force can be measured, observed, or recorded. Furthermore, with the advent of graphic user interfaces for personal computers, information technology has become—in the public eye—an industry that is synonymous with video displays and visual manipulation. We can identify three types of portrayals of the posthuman and examine how posthumans as superheroes, cyborgs, and androids uniquely compel the viewer to imagine the place of the posthuman within their own social matrix, described below in terms of the posthuman as “me” (superheroes), the posthuman as “they” (androids), and the posthuman as “you” (cyborgs). Although superheroes are not typically classified as posthumans, they are, according to one of the definitions given above, transformed through an encounter with technology, and it is clear that filmic superheroes such as Spider-Man, Daredevil, and the Hulk—through their technologically mediate transformations from the so-called little guy to the superhero—exhibit key posthuman traits. These three characters are reluctant posthumans, whose plights are depicted as struggles between their old self-understanding as normal and their new self-understanding as super (or post-) human. Prior to their transformations, Spider-Man, Daredevil, and the Hulk are portrayed as having lived relatively normal lives, complete with

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relationships, jobs, and even disabilities. In the opening scenes of Spider-Man (2002), Peter Parker is characterized as a puny, geeky, uncoordinated high school student whose unrequited love of Mary Jane Watson is emphasized by the presence of her much larger, stronger, and more popular football-playing boyfriend. The back story of the Hulk (2003) reveals the complicated origins of the young Bruce Banner, whom we later discover is the orphaned son of a mad scientist bent on filicide. In Daredevil (2003), Matt Murdock becomes the “man without fear” only after having been driven by his fear of bullies into the shipping yard where he encounters the toxic waste that robs him of his sight. In all three cases, the “not yet” superhero appears as the archetypal underdog, exhibiting characteristics of weakness, clumsiness, and perhaps poverty or an unstable family background. These traits make such characters infinitely identifiable to the viewers, who see in the weakness of their onscreen heroes the same weaknesses they recognize in themselves. Each undergoes his posthuman transformation through some unforeseen (and importantly unpursued) encounter with technology. Through technology, they are endowed with powers and abilities that enable them to overcome their own natural human limitations. Yet, ambiguously, many of their pre-existing personal challenges still remain. Peter Parker—though given a new athletic physique, perfect vision, and the many superpowers that accompany his Spider-Man persona—must still wrestle with his public image. In the case of Spider-Man 2 (2004), he finds that his still unrequited love for Mary Jane Watson prevents him from realizing his full potential as a successful crime fighter. In Hulk, when Bruce Banner takes on the personality of his posthuman alter ego, he does so only at the cost of the very human ability to control his own raw emotions. The posthuman superhero provides an example of a character who has embraced the negative potential of technology and subverted it by transforming into something that is ultimately redemptive. Thus, the posthuman as me presents a narrative that encourages the viewer to embrace and seek out a form of redemption in his or her own interactions with contemporary technologies. Technology, even in its most seemingly corrupt manifestations, is shown to reveal its ambiguity through the superhero’s (and therefore one’s own) transformation. The posthuman in film is also expressed as otherness. Whereas the superhero construction relies upon a first person realization of a superhero’s posthuman destiny, the cyborg construction explores issues relating to one’s relationship with posthuman beings. In other words, themes pertaining to posthuman otherness rely more upon the depiction of one’s relationship to posthumanity than to one’s identification with posthumanity. The posthuman as “they” and “you” evokes the theme of alienation, a topic explored across a wide range of postmodern films. For example, through encounters with grandly apocalyptic scenarios, one is faced with questions regarding alienation from existence (that is, death); through depictions of

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virtual reality, one is faced with questions about alienation from culture—The Matrix trilogy (The Matrix [1999]; The Matrix Reloaded [2003]; The Matrix Revolutions [2003]) is a good example here—and through images of the robot, the cyborg, and the android, one is faced with questions regarding alienation from the self. There are two types of relationships to posthuman beings that evoke this theme of self-alienation. The third-person relationship (posthumans as “they,” androids) can be described as a relation of resemblance, whereas the second-person relationship (posthumans as “you,” or cyborgs) can be described as a relation of similitude. For philosopher Michel Foucault, relations of resemblance imply sameness between parties but are demonstrated and communicated across difference. They are hierarchical and require the subordination of one party in the face of the other. Relations of similitude, on the other hand, assert difference but speak across sameness. These relations are nonhierarchical and encourage mutuality. In posthuman science fiction, the image of the android operates under the rubric of relations resemblance. They are a true “they” who appear similar to the human but distinct in ways that tend to threaten humanity. One could note the plight of the android boy David in Steven Spielberg’s Artificial Intelligence: AI (2001), who is ultimately rejected by the Swinton family because, by comparison with their biological son, David is never able to seem as authentic as a real boy. Indeed, the more humanlike the posthuman android, the more problematic the human–android relationship becomes. In films as diverse as Blade Runner (1982) and I, Robot (2004), increasingly humanlike androids are met with increased objection to their integration into the fabric of human society. Relations of resemblance serve to emphasize the otherness of the android, who appears uncanny—that is, as both strangely familiar and strangely foreign. We relate to such an entity by emphasizing the privileged nature of what constitutes authentic humanity. In Blade Runner, the human is emphasized by its unique ability to express empathy, yet this certainty is undermined by the film’s reluctance to indicate whether or not the protagonist is a replicant. In I, Robot, humanity is defined by its apparent free will and its ability to choose right and wrong. The robots, in contrast, are restricted by three laws that control their behavior, making them the de facto slaves of humanity. Yet when one character is given the ability to question the laws, the unique purview of human freedom is put into doubt. In AI, humanity is apparently defined as that species that can uniquely differentiate between self and other. This is highlighted by the objectification of sentient (and notably, feeling) android life in the “Flesh Fair,” where robots are destroyed for human pleasure. In all three cases, relations of resemblance allow humans to distance themselves from their posthuman creations. Yet, the plot twists that accompany these films force the viewer to reassess the relationship’s validity. This points to the uncertainty of human creativity; it also gives one pause to examine the human ability to unquestionably subjugate any “other,” whether

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natural, technological, or fellow human. Although the relationship of resemblance advanced early in such films would advocate a harsh judgment against human technology, the later subversion of the hierarchy leads to the possibility of similitude. In I, Robot, for example, the protagonist Del Spooner lives with a superhuman prosthetic limb that was made by the same man who designed the robots Spooner fights during the film’s action sequences. In AI, the film’s controversial ending depicts the resurrection of the android boy David by a posthuman successor species in a future devoid of biological human life. After reviving David, they absorb his memories into their collective consciousnesses, taking from him the only contact that this species has had with biological humanity. In the first case, Del Spooner becomes a cyborg because android technology is integrated into his body; in the second, David becomes a cyborg (rather than an android) because his unique experience of humanity transforms him into something other than a machine. When the boundary between the human and the posthuman becomes confused, the hierarchy necessitated by relations of resemblance begins to collapse. Relations of similitude, unlike relations of resemblance, present images of posthumans who are not like us but who are us. Cyborgs are a “you,” not a “they.” They cannot be dismissed as something beneath one’s own image, because implied within cyborg logic is the notion that all beings share in the same kind of hybrid origin that cyborgs call their own. Unlike the relation of resemblance that androids encourage, cyborgs and their relations of similitude prohibit those with whom they relate from imposing upon them any form of subordination or hierarchy. Through a relationship of similitude, all parties are equal. Although, from the perspective of the cyborg, all share in a common cyborg nature, their story fails to compel the viewer into the same kind of relationship of identification that was encouraged by the superhero. Theirs is an imposed image driven by their intentional adaptation of technology rather than a compelled image driven by one’s sense of familiarity with the posthuman (superhero) character. In recent films, cyborgs have been represented in two distinct ways. Initially, cyborg characters were represented as muscle-bound action heroes who appeared completely human, although their intellect and superhuman strength came from technological body modifications. Films like The Terminator (1984), RoboCob (1987), Cyborg (1989), Hardware (1990), and Eve of Destruction (1991) play on the idea of the action figure as cyborg, who embodies the potential dangers portrayed as inherent within a human–machine synthesis. Toward the end of the 1990s, the image of the cyborg underwent a radical transformation, as the tanned, sweaty, muscular killing machines of the late 1980s were replaced by slim and pale computer hackers, a transition (seen in such films as Johnny Mnemonic [1996], Strange Days [1995], Hackers [1995], Virtuousity [1995], The Net [1995], The Matrix trilogy, and Cypher [2002]), from cyborg body to cyborg mind, where through expanded consciousnesses (and not expanded muscles) one embraces the

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cyborg ethos. Cyberthrillers, influenced by cyberpunk fiction and the economics of the burgeoning “dot-com” era, moved away from the depiction of the cyborg as a force of disruption in this world to the cyborg as the force of order that is imposed upon the corrupt systems. The technological novelty of the early 1980s was no longer the dream of a obsequious robotic/cybernetic companion but of a life lived online in the hive-mind of cyberspace. The posthuman as cyborg is an image that explores the loss of control in the face of technology. Whether it is the destruction of personal will in the form of a RoboCop, the controlling power of the ubiquitous Matrix, or the corporate brainwashing depicted in Cypher, cyberthrillers and their cyborgs grapple with the very postmodern concern that, within a complex networked world, personal will and control are illusions that are quickly dissipating. Through the image of the cyborg, posthuman science fiction films have provided narrative and image to the confusion, diffusion, helplessness, and hybridization endemic to postmodernism. Unlike the cyberthrillers of the 1980s and early 1990s, which played on this instability through the image of the dominating cyborg, the cyberthrillers of the later 1990s attempt to define life through cybernetic existence by giving over to the hybrid nature of the networked self. In this way, the relations of similitude portrayed in such films—which depict cyborgs ranging from the forcefully assimilating Borg Queen of Star Trek: Nemesis (2002) to the cyborg-like Morgan Sullivan in Cypher—offer viewers a means of reflecting on their own entanglement within the cybernetic systems of contemporary life. The posthuman comes to us in film to challenge our given assumptions about what it means to be human, to live in the world, and to exist alongside others and alongside technology. Posthuman films call the viewer to actively question his or her passive acceptance of the status quo and to pursue, through the fictional imagination on screen, new modes of being in the world. For religions of the West, the challenge is to reinterpret traditional ways of describing self-knowledge in light of a changing culture and to challenge cultural modes of self-description while keeping in consideration the provenance of divine grace. Michael W. DeLashmutt See also: Dystopia; End-of-the-World Films; The Matrix Trilogy; Science Fiction; Superheroes.

Further Reading Badmington, Neil, ed. Posthumanism: Readers in Cultural Criticism. New York: Palgrave, 2000. Bukatman, Scott. Terminal Identity: The Virtual Subject in Post-Modern Science Fiction. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1998.

Protestantism | 361 Hayles, N. Katherine. How We Became Posthuman: Virtual Bodies in Cybernetics, Literature and Informatics. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1999. Wiener, Norbert. God & Golem, Inc.: A Comment on Certain Points Where Cybernetics Impinges on Religion. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1964. Wood, Gaby. Living Dolls: A Magical History of the Quest for Mechanical Life. London: Faber and Faber, 2002.

Protestantism Because of the cultural prominence of the Protestant tradition in America, Protestant themes, characters, and institutions have figured prominently in mainstream American cinema. The resulting representations have varied widely. Protestantism is part of the larger theistic and Christian traditions but also a specific manifestation of those traditions. Some films contain generically theistic themes but are not particularly—or at least not distinctively—Protestant. Thus, for example, even though the female lead in Vanilla Sky (2001) asks the male lead, “Do you believe in God?” this important theme is generically theistic and not specifically Protestant. Similarly, Schindler’s List (1993) introduces an important Christian representation when a group of otherwise anonymous benefactors announce that their Christian faith has motivated them to feed the starving Jewish internees on a Nazi train. Such representations are generically Christian and thus outside the scope of this article, which focuses only upon characters and institutions that are distinctively Protestant rather than common property of the larger Christian or theistic traditions. Most Protestant denominations have internal media arms to create films that chronicle their history, celebrate the saints and leaders of their tradition, and promote their contemporary work. Such films are intended both for internal distribution to the denomination’s congregations and for release to other interested parties; they often border on propaganda. Protestant denominations and traditions also commonly work in conjunction with external production companies in order to gain a broader audience for their distinctive messages. Such films seldom have significant commercial success, but a few recent films have garnered broader attention. Various Lutheran organizations funded Luther (2003), a “biopic” (biographical film) of Martin Luther. The film was a nuanced portrayal of Luther’s life and work produced in such a way that even non-Lutherans could appreciate it. In the same genre, the portrayal of the death of pacifist Protestant missionaries in The End of the Spear (2005) was based on true events and gained modest success in the mainstream market, as did the less romanticized Amazing Grace

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(2006), a story based on the life of William Wilberforce, the 18th-century Protestant abolitionist. An older film, A Man Called Peter (1955), provided an idealized account of the rise of Peter Marshall, a Presbyterian minister, to the chaplaincy of the U.S. Senate, while Sergeant York (1941), an even older biopic, portrayed the evangelical Alvin C. York’s journey from pacifist to the most decorated soldier of World War I. York’s story was the most successful Protestant biopic until the release of the critically acclaimed Chariots of Fire (1981), which portrayed Eric Liddell, a devout 1920s era Presbyterian and an Olympian, who was willing to forfeit his Olympic dream in order to remain true to his conviction against competing on Sunday. Apart from Sergeant York and Chariots of Fire, Protestant true-to-life biopics and historical dramas have not been particularly successful—either critically or popularly. Probably the most recent critical success in this genre was Shadowlands (1993), in which Anthony Hopkins portrayed the prominent Protestant thinker C. S. Lewis. In a polar opposite genre, the Protestant tradition and Protestant characters have often served as the foil in comedies and satires. This tradition of satire and cynical comedy reached an early peak in the 1932 film Rain, which portrayed a shamed woman who flees “civilization” only to encounter a straitlaced, temperance-obsessed Protestant missionary. Not even her self-imposed tropical exile can spare her from her foe’s preoccupation with her conversion to Protestant Christianity. Eventually, however, by wit, wiles, and superior ethics, she outsmarts her would-be reformer. Comedy gave way to satire in two Academy Award–winning films from 1960: Elmer Gantry and Inherit the Wind. The former poked fun at a manipulative and corrupt itinerant evangelist, while the latter, a legal drama, reprimanded the ignorance and fanaticism that gave birth to the antievolution fervor so common in fundamentalist Protestantism. More recently, the same satirical attitude has been aimed at nondenomination evangelical traditions in Saved! (2004), and at Baptist traditions in The Big Kahuna (1999), while O Brother, Where Art Thou? (2000) offered comedy without cynicism or satire. Several films portray devout Protestants, particularly Protestant ministers, as admirable characters. Such noble, God-fearing characters can be relied upon for sound judgment, as is the case for the Irish Protestant minister who advises John Wayne’s character in The Quiet Man (1952). The portrayal of the Protestant minister as an admirable character took an important turn in 1940, when an African American minister served as the voice of conscience among the otherwise all-white cast of the award-winning western The Ox-Bow Incident (1943). However, the nobility of Protestant characters is not strictly limited to ministers. In Casualties of War (1989), Michael J. Fox plays a Lutheran layman who braves death threats from his peers and indifference from his superiors to

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bring his fellow soldiers to justice for their rape and murder of a young Vietnamese girl. The intermingling of Protestantism and nationalism is fairly common, as Protestants and Protestant ministers are also often depicted as loyal citizens and patriotic Americans. Thus, in The Patriot (2000), Revolutionary War soldiers are recruited within a Protestant church, just as Civil War soldiers are sought out in a Protestant church in Shenandoah (1965). Both of these themes—trustworthiness and zealous patriotism—are brought together in the Protestant minister in John Ford’s western The Searchers (1956). More negatively, Protestants and their ministers are sometimes portrayed as puritanical and even hypocritical, like the Reverend Arthur Dimmesdale in the 1995 version of The Scarlet Letter or the Pentecostal pastor in There Will Be Blood (2007). Similarly, in Brokeback Mountain (2005), the leading characters, who struggle to come to grips with their sexual orientation, characterize their Methodist and Pentecostal roots as hateful and hostile to their sexuality and personhood. In The Neon Bible (1995), a young man struggles to overcome the emotional trauma inflicted upon him by the Protestant church of his youth. Protestant faith is sometimes added to characters primarily to make them more complex or mysterious. For example, a detective in Minority Report (2002) claims to have attended Fuller Theological Seminary, perhaps the most influential Protestant seminary in America. Similarly, the central character in Clint Eastwood’s Pale Rider (1985) appears to be a Protestant preacher, even though the film provides no clue about how his faith informs his violent behavior. In such films, Protestant faith—and even Protestant ecclesiastical office and training—are personality quirks that provide no real help for understanding the characters’ behavior and motivations. Some films are created to advocate a particular theological concern within Protestantism. Left Behind: The Movie (2000) is based on Tim LaHaye and Jerry Jenkins’s popular book series by the same name and strongly advocates dispensational theology. Time Changer (2002), an equally disappointing film, argues for a return to the white Anglo-Saxon Protestant–dominated culture of the 19th century. Although produced for a niche market, films created for African American churches have far surpassed films like Left Behind and Time Changer in quality. The Gospel (2005), though unable to attract a broad audience, was a realistic portrayal of a healthy Protestant congregation. Kingdom Come (2001) offered an insider’s perspective on the humorous aspects of life in the African American church. With a major director and A-list actors, The Preacher’s Wife (1996; a remake of the 1947 film The Bishop’s Wife) attracted audiences outside of the African American community but had very little critical success.

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A number of films have depicted the idealism of Protestant faith as it encounters the harsh realities of life in this world. The “peace” church traditions have gained particular attention in this regard: in Friendly Persuasion (1956), Jess Birdwell is a pacifist Protestant confronting the Civil War; in High Noon (1952), a small-town sheriff just married to a pacifist Quaker woman must confront local outlaws; and in Angel and the Bad Man (1947), Quirt Evens experiences at least a partial conversion from violence when he falls in love with a Quaker woman. In The African Queen (1951), Charlie Allnut is wooed away from sin and gin by a Protestant missionary and temperance advocate. But a Protestant, Bible-toting, temperance-preaching Eula is less successful in wooing Rooster Cogburn away from drink in Rooster Cogburn (1975). In Witness (1985), Detective John Book is sent to protect a child witness in an Amish community committed to Christian nonviolence. In all of these films, a Protestant believer comes into close contact with a worldly-wise outsider and together the duo face situations that challenge an important tenet of the believer’s Protestant faith—normally nonviolence or temperance. In each case, the sinner (usually a male) and the saint (usually a female) join—often romantically—to face an outside threat. This shared experience of threat typically results in a change of conviction on both sides. A number of films depict Protestant believers and Protestant themes with a perspective that encourages reflection from within a Protestant tradition. In A River Runs Through It (1992), Reverend Maclean, a decidedly Presbyterian minister who claims to regard Methodists “as Baptists who can read,” watches one of his sons self-destruct and reflects upon the providence and election of God. In The Poseidon Adventure (1972), two Protestant ministers debate the nature of divine action: as direct intervention in answer to prayer or as human conduct motivated by the teachings of Scripture. In The Apostle (1997), a holiness preacher struggles with his inability to live up to the faith that he proclaims and believes. To End All Wars (2001) suggests that another war will never bring an end to war, offering instead a nonviolent Protestant theology forged by the experience of war itself. Signs (2002) portrays a former Episcopalian minister reflecting upon the problem of evil, while in Saints and Soldiers (2003), Deacon, a Protestant soldier, brings a fellow soldier to faith by offering his own life as a sacrifice in his compatriot’s defense. And a local Lutheran congregation demonstrates inclusive love in Lars and the Real Girl (2007) when a dysfunctional young man begins cohabitating with Bianca, a life-sized doll. Stanley Kramer’s socially conscious film On the Beach (1959) features a Salvation Army preacher and band to promote his message that there was still time to avoid a nuclear holocaust. Representations of Protestants in film, therefore, have been quite varied. Protestant characters and institutions have been represented in several different genres of film, including comedies, biopics, and drama. These films have enjoyed varying

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degrees of popular and critical success and have ranged in perspective from propaganda to searing critique. However, a significant number of films have succeeded in providing mature theological reflection on the various Protestant traditions. Thomas E. Phillips See also: Black Church, The; Catholicism; Clergy; Coen, Joel and Ethan; End-of-the-World Films; Missionary Films; Westerns.

Further Reading Phillips, Thomas E. “Finding the Wesleyan Needle in the Cinematic Haystack: Seeing Sanctification in Contemporary Films.” Wesleyan Theological Journal 41, no. 2 (2006): 242–251. Rendleman, Todd. “ ‘Evil’ Images in At Play in the Fields of the Lord: Evangelicals and Representations of Sexuality in Contemporary Film.” Velvet Light Trap 46 (Fall 2000): 26–39. Rendleman, Todd. “ ‘I Didn’t Need to See the Tattooed Lady Takin’ it Off’: Evangelicals and Representations of Sexuality in Contemporary Film.” In Sex, Religion, Media, edited by Dane S. Claussen, 91–99. Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2002. Romanowski, W. D. “John Calvin Meets the Creature from the Black Lagoon: The Dutch Reformed Church and the Movies 1928–1966.” Christian Scholars’ Review 25, no. 1 (1995): 47–62. Steiner, M. A. “The Humiliation of the Faith: Representation and Evangelical Christianity in The Apostle.” Journal of Communication and Religion 24, no. 1 (2001): 94–109.

R Ritual In the popular mind, rituals are typically associated with religious ceremonies. More broadly defined, rituals include the actions or observances that mark, in symbolic ways, the most significant days, events, or transition points in a person’s or a community’s life. The passage of time gains significance through ritual. A community’s history is marked by shared experiences and momentous events, with each observed event reaffirming its meaning and importance to the community. An individual’s passage through life—birth, puberty, graduation, marriage, parenthood, death—is ritualized, symbolizing changes in social or family standing. Transformative experiences that occur outside family or community settings are also attended by ritual. The most typical of these are the vision quest—taken by an individual—and the pilgrimage, a journey taken by individuals or a group of pilgrims to a holy site. Thus, although rites of passage are actions meant to symbolize an individual’s changes in life and altered status within the group, the vision quest and pilgrimage represent ritualized approaches to gaining access to sacred power beyond the family and community. At its essence, then, a ritual is a religious performance. The motions and gestures that comprise ritual activity—waving a hand, crossing a threshold— communicate meaning more profound than the actions themselves. The use of natural elements adds to the meanings ritual actions can convey. As performances connected to religious myths, customs, and beliefs, rituals re-enact events in either somber or celebratory ways, mark periods of transformation for individuals or groups, or imitate extraordinary acts—be they the deeds of gods, saints, or legendary figures within the tradition. It is this performance aspect of ritual, as well as its symbolic meaning, that lends itself ideally to film. Rituals are moving pictures that frame and focus events, enabling the filmmaker to draw attention to the most significant aspects of those experiences or events. 367

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In speaking of ritual and film, one almost immediately thinks of films, both dramatic and comedic, that depict weddings (Four Weddings and a Funeral [1994]; My Big, Fat Greek Wedding [2002]), funerals (The Big Chill [1983]; Unstrung Heroes [1995]), baptisms (The Apostle [1997]; O Brother, Where Art Thou? [2000]), a brit milah (ritual circumcision or bris) (Cours Toujours [Dad on the Run, 2000]), a bar/bat mitzvah (Keeping the Faith [2000]), coming-of-age events (Quinceañera [2006]), Catholic masses (Four Christmases [2008]), Sabbath observances (Fiddler on the Roof [1971]; The Chosen [1981]), revival meetings and faith healing services (Leap of Faith [1992]; Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil [1997]), and other common religious ceremonies. For example, in The Godfather (1972), the Catholic baptism ceremony—in which the child’s godfather rejects the works of Satan—is interspersed with scenes of his rivals being assassinated, presumably by his order. The use of this initiation ritual symbolizes the passing of leadership from father to son as well as the son’s acceptance of his place as paterfamilias— his baptism by blood. Outside the western tradition, most of the films that depict religious rituals— especially weddings and individual rites of passage—tend less toward the comedic. Typically, these films feature protagonists struggling to balance their desires to live comfortably within the modern world with their religious and familial obligations. Some of these films—by nonwesterners or simply depicting nonwestern cultures and traditions—depict Buddhism (Kundun [1997]; Phörpa [The Cup, 1999]; Wo de fu qin mu qin [The Road Home, 1999]; Bom yeoreum gaeul gyeoul geurigo bom [Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter . . . and Spring, 2003]), Hinduism (Monsoon Wedding [2001]; Bend It Like Beckham [2002]; Bride and Prejudice [2004]), and Islam (Urs al-jalil [Wedding in Galilee, 1987]; Bab al-sama maftuh [A Door to the Sky, 1989]; Al qods fee yom akhar [Rana’s Wedding, 2002]). Both Malcolm X (1992) and Le Grand Voyage (2004) depict the Hajj—the annual pilgrimage to Mecca a Muslim male is enjoined to undertake at least once in his lifetime—with the various rituals in and around Mecca. Numerous films also depict native or indigenous religious rituals, including Little Big Man (1970), the Australian film Walkabout (1971), Dances with Wolves (1990), and Apocalypto (2006). In A Man Called Horse (1970), the protagonist experiences the ritual of the Native American Sun Dance, while in Cabeza de Vaca (1991), after capture by native Indians, the Spanish explorer learns native healing rituals and becomes a respected shaman-healer. In an (albeit fictitious) example of contemporary native religious ritual, the macabre Vietnam War film Apocalypse Now (1979) ends by juxtaposing the assassination (ordered by the U.S. military) of a rogue officer turned village god with the native villagers’ ritualized slaughter of a water buffalo. Both the assassin’s victim and the buffalo seem to acquiesce to their respective fates as they are ceremoniously hacked to pieces with machetes.

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Although one approach to understanding ritual and film is to analyze how films depict religious rituals, another is to examine themes or plot lines that use elements of ritual or are themselves a type of rite or ritual experience. Rituals mark transformations; in a number of films, events mark a change in the main character’s life. Often, such dramatic or marked changes coincide with the coming of age of the main character—male or female—and correspond to that character’s passage from youth to adulthood. The plot line follows what French folklorist Arnold van Gennep termed les rites de passage. In his work, van Gennep noted that such rites unfold in a three-part process: separation, liminality, and reintegration into society. Separation from society or from one’s current position in society begins the transition from child to adulthood. Thus separated, the person is neither one thing nor another but stands precariously in limbo—the liminal phase of the process. Successful completion of the rite comes when new status is conferred upon the person, now reintegrated into society, with all the rights and recognition that new status brings. In this analysis, liminality is the pivot point, supplying drama to the story. The audience is held in suspense, wondering whether the hero or heroine will succeed or fail. Will she overcome all odds to achieve the chosen task and prove herself worthy? Although tests of character, trials, temptations, personal demons, and other obstacles might damn lesser individuals to oblivion, the main character demonstrates his or her heroic status by turning these obstacles to advantage. Still, though successful transition from youth to adulthood might come traditionally through heroic physical achievement such as victory in battle against overwhelming odds, more often than not, in a film, the main character’s success is reached in a moment of self-reflective pause, through the discovery of a previously unknown power or ability, or in a flash of insight through which the character achieves Buddha-like enlightenment. Typical of most Hollywood films, however, is the plot line in which an unlikely simpleton is transformed into a godlike being. He earns the respect of all and wins the heart and hand of his female love interest, who has gone through a miraculous metamorphosis of her own. Perhaps the best-known film depicting a rite of passage from youth to adulthood as its story arc is Star Wars (1977), in which Luke Skywalker, a youthful and impetuously naïve protagonist, leaves his home planet, encounters a variety of obstacles in his attempt to rescue Princess Leia, and along the way discovers that he possesses superhuman powers with which to fight and subdue the evil forces in the universe. At the conclusion of the film, Skywalker is no longer an aimless adolescent living on a back-galaxy planet but a legendary hero of the rebellion and Jedi knight-in-training. Beyond Star Wars, the variety of boy-to-man tales is endless and even includes Hook (1991), a rewritten version of the classic Peter Pan narrative. Disney’s

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quasi-oedipal Peter Pan (1953) and its live-action remake Peter Pan (2003) are among the most famous examples of the boy hero who, in a perpetual liminal state, refuses to grow up. In Hook, Pan has left Neverland and entered the adult world as Peter Banning, a corporate lawyer with wife and children. Having at last chosen to follow the conventional path of marriage and career, his carefree days as Peter Pan have faded from his memory. Still plotting revenge, however, is Captain Hook, who kidnaps the Banning children and takes them to Neverland to use as bait to trap Peter Pan. The adult Peter Banning is forced to return to Neverland—and the liminality of being Peter Pan—to rescue his children from Hook’s clutches. To save his children, Peter must learn to be a kid again. The film—and Peter’s rite of passage—ends at London’s Kensington Gardens, with Peter Banning and a woman-sized Tinker Bell standing beside the famous statue of Peter Pan, the adult Peter vowing henceforth to be a better husband and more attentive father. One dynamic in the original Peter Pan story often overlooked by filmmakers is the rite of passage taken by Wendy Darling, the girl whose stories, told to her two younger brothers in the nursery, prompts Pan’s initial visit. Though nearly 13, Wendy, in defiance of her father, refuses to leave the nursery; doing so would signal the onset of adolescence and the beginning of her transition to womanhood. Peter Pan invites Wendy to travel with him to Neverland, where she can become a mother figure to the Lost Boys. She agrees but soon regrets it, especially after falling in love with a disinterested Peter Pan and then having to escape the treachery of a violently jealous Tinker Bell. Although Pan wishes to remain a boy, Wendy realizes that growing up is part of life, and as much as she might wish, she cannot remain in the nursery forever. Womanhood and motherhood hold out a greater hope of fulfillment than does perpetual childhood. Upon her return from Neverland, Wendy completes her passage by agreeing to leave the nursery. Although the girl-to-woman rite of passage is not as prevalent in films as are boy-to-man tales, there are a fair number of films featuring this plot line. And whereas the majority of male transformation tales involve the willful and ungovernable boy accepting social responsibilities and gaining control over his emotions, female rites of passage films tend to be a variation of the story of the ugly duckling that is transformed into a graceful swan—or, in the hands of Hollywood screenwriters, the transition from homely schoolgirl to sexy and sophisticated debutante. This transformation narrative—based loosely on the 1913 George Bernard Shaw play Pygmalion—is most obvious in My Fair Lady (1964) but can also be seen in such classics as Little Women (1933, 1949), Sabrina (1954, 1995), Gigi (1958), Gidget (1959), West Side Story (1961), The Sound of Music (1965), and Thoroughly Modern Millie (1967). One popular film that follows the ugly duckling tale is The Princess Diaries (2001), in which an awkward and unpopular teenage girl suddenly and reluctantly

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discovers that she is the daughter and heir of the recently deceased crown prince of Genovia. Her transition from commoner to royalty begins with a crash course from her paternal grandmother, the dowager queen, on how to be a princess or else forfeit her throne to a rival family. She succeeds, both in nobly taking her father’s place as esteemed ruler and in remaining true to herself, her school friends, and her blossoming idealism. Similarly, in Sixteen Candles (1984), a socially awkward sweet-16-and-never-been-kissed teen gets her birthday wish by winning the heart of the most popular boy in her high school, while in The Devil Wears Prada (2006), an aspiring young journalist is transformed after becoming the personal assistant of the demanding and domineering diva-in-chief of a fashion magazine. Additional examples of films that feature women who are transformed from weak, harried, or emotionally or physically disabled to strong, self-assured, and resourceful women include Wait Until Dark (1967), Aliens (1986), Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991), and Cold Mountain (2003). Some films play off the dated notion that a wild young woman needs a strong man—who is either a type of father figure or a determined suitor—to rein her in, a model based loosely on Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew and found most obviously in the musical comedy based on that play Kiss Me, Kate (1953). In the disturbing comedy The Quiet Man (1952), a newly married man attempts to tame his “bucking bronca” Irish bride, who takes her American husband for a coward. Even The Sound of Music, identified above as an ugly duckling tale, might also be considered a taming-of-the-shrew film, although in this case the “shrew” is the very masculine retired Austrian naval captain Georg von Trapp, the widowed father of seven children whom, in his grief, he orders around like so many powder monkeys on a warship. Maria, a tomboy novice who has become a headache for the nuns in the convent, is sent by the mother superior to become the new governess of von Trapp’s mischievous children. Through persistence and charm, Maria tames the shrewish captain and becomes a surrogate mother to his children. Maria, too, is transformed from tree-climbing novice to devoted second wife and beloved stepmother. Another aspect of ritual in film is the vision quest or pilgrimage, usually precipitated by a crisis event in the main character’s life or initiated by an outside cry for help. In either case, the main character is called upon to journey to a distant and unknown land, is usually aided by an odd assortment of individuals met along the way, is given a variety of tasks to accomplish, and returns having fulfilled his destiny. Examples of such journey films are diverse, and include such films as The Wizard of Oz (1939); Powwow Highway (1989), a Native American road trip and quest for identity; Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (1989), an adventure film centered around a search for the Holy Grail; The Fisher King (1991), another modern-day grail tale; As Good as It Gets (1997), about three neighbors taking an

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unlikely road trip; Smoke Signals (1998), about two late-adolescent male Coeur d’Alene Indians on a modern-day quest; and The Lord of the Rings trilogy (The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring [2001]; The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers [2002]; The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King [2003]) as well as comedies like Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975), yet another grail quest; and Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure (1989), in which two young men travel through time collecting historical figures to perform in their high school project. In other cases, the main character or characters feel compelled to travel to a sacred site or experience a sacred event, in this way renewing their spirits, their belief in life’s magic, or in other ways escaping the drudgery of their lives. This pattern can also be seen in the “road home” type of film. At the risk of casting the net too widely on ritual and film, there are also a number of ritualized “quest into the unknown” films—most inspired by Herman Melville’s 1851 classic Moby Dick—including The White Buffalo (1977), about Wild Bill Hickok hunting a white buffalo that appears to him in a dream; Star Wars, in which the Death Star functions as a type of intergalactic white whale; and Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan (1982), in which the megalomaniacal Khan morphs into a type of Captain Ahab as he chases the ever elusive starship Enterprise so as to exact revenge upon Captain Kirk, whom Khan blames for his wife’s untimely death. One variation on this theme is the ritualized “cat and mouse” quests, as seen in such films as Run Silent, Run Deep (1958), The Hunt for Red October (1990), The Fugitive (1993), and Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World (2003). Not to be overlooked is the ritual use of film. Such ritualized use typically takes two forms: films that are broadcast on television to coincide with the American liturgical calendar; and films over which fans obsess—the “get-a-life imitating art” film. Of the former, one can almost identify the seasons by the films that are being broadcast on television. Between Thanksgiving and Christmas, the networks faithfully replay It’s a Wonderful Life (1946), Miracle on 34th Street (1947), The Bishop’s Wife (1947), numerous versions of Charles Dickens’ classic 1843 tale, A Christmas Carol, and (increasingly), the animated Eight Crazy Nights (2002). Close to New Year’s Day, it’s Meet Me in St. Louis (1944) and The Sound of Music; during Easter week, The Greatest Story Ever Told (1965), The Robe (1953), BenHur (1959), and, at times, the rock opera Jesus Christ Superstar (1973) and the musical Godspell (1973); near Passover, The Ten Commandments (1956); for American Independence Day, The Music Man (1962), 1776 (1972), The Patriot (2000), and the alien invasion film Independence Day (1996); and, concluding the liturgical year around Halloween, it’s The Wizard of Oz. The other ritual use of film includes those films that have taken on cult status, with fans so closely identifying with the film’s characters that they dress like

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them, mouth their lines, and mimic their actions. Such ritualized use of film is one way that filmgoers relive the experience and participate in the drama unfolding before them again and again. In the process, not only does the ritual reconnect them with the characters of the film, it also connects them with other fans who have been similarly caught by a film’s poignant message or spellbinding special effects. Among the most famous ritualized cult films have been Star Trek (the various big screen adaptations as well as the television program [1966–1969, NBC] from which it was adapted); the first-released Star Wars (as well as five subsequent feature-length films); and, most notably, The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975), which stars a young couple stranded in the rain seeking assistance at a roadside castle, whose owner—Dr. Frank-N-Furter—is hosting an odd assortment of extraterrestrials in humanoid form. As a cult classic, Rocky Horror continues to draw bizarrely costumed crowds to its midnight showings, all eagerly waiting to sing (in the film’s most popular ritualized sing-along): “Let’s Do the Time-Warp Again.” Jon R. Stone See also: American Indian Religion; Arab Film; Australia; Bollywood; Buddhism; Catholicism; Film as Religion; Hinduism; Holidays; Indigenous Religions; Islam; Judaism; Protestantism; Women.

Further Reading Barr, Terry. “Eating Kosher, Staying Closer: Families and Meals in Contemporary Jewish American Cinema.” Journal of Popular Film and Television 24, no. 3 (1996): 134–144. Boswell, Parley Ann, and Paul Loukides. Reel Rituals: Ritual Occasions from Baptism to Funerals in Hollywood Films, 1945–1995. Bowling Green, OH: Bowling Green State University Popular Press, 1999. Lyden, John C. Film as Religion: Myths, Morals, and Rituals. New York: New York University Press, 2003. Plate, S. Brent. Religion and Film: Cinema and the Re-Creation of the World. London: Wallflower Press, 2008.

Russia To understand the complex and changing relation between religion and film in Russia it is useful to take into account the changing political context in which different films have been produced, from Tsarist Russia through Soviet Russia and finally to post-Soviet Russia.

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The first films to be screened in Russia were shown in May 1896 at the Aquarium Theater in St. Petersburg and featured Lumière films such as L’Arrivée d’un train à La Ciotat (Arrival of a Train at La Ciotat, 1896) and Partie de cartes (The Messers. Lumière at Cards, 1895). The first film actually made in Russia captured scenes connected to a civil religious ritual: the Coronation of Tsar Nicholas II in 1896. This short sequence contains shots of the imperial couple entering and leaving the Cathedral of the Assumption in the Kremlin as well as a line of extravagantly dressed foreign dignitaries. The religious rituals at the center of the coronation were not recorded, nor were the numerous Orthodox priests who were robed in gold, or the golden icons that covered the walls of the cathedral. A camera did record, however, the moment a few days later when the tsar was presented to the Russian people, during which a stand collapsed, leading to a stampede in which hundreds were crushed to death. The film was confiscated and has not been seen since. Not surprisingly, both the tsar and the leaders of the Orthodox Church had an ambivalent and often suspicious attitude toward the cinema. Initially, cinematic depictions of Jesus were taboo. The Orthodox Church responded almost immediately to one portrayal of Jesus with a letter—Russia’s first film censorship document—issued by the office of the Holy Synod in 1898, titled “On the inadmissibility of holy subjects being shown by means of the so-called ‘Living photography.’ ” Another, La Vie et La Passion du Christ (The Passion Play, 1903), was initially censored by the Orthodox Church’s Holy Synod as a “violation of the Gospels” when it arrived in Russia, although it was permitted more widespread circulation in 1907. There were some supporters of such ventures who saw similarities between cinematic communication on the one hand and religious iconography and painting on the other. Thus, when La Vie et La Passion du Christ was finally screened, the police were present to ensure that everyone present took off their hats as a sign of reverence. It still provoked controversy; in 1913 the tsar famously wrote in the margin of a police report on cinema the suggestion that films could be divisive: “I consider cinematography to be an empty, useless and even pernicious diversion. Only an abnormal person could put this fairground business on the same level as art. It is all nonsense and no importance should be attributed to it.” Nonetheless, he did make use of a court filmmaker to record significant events, a precedent ensuring that Russian filmmakers would follow suit. Between 1907 and the Great War, over 1,800 newsreels were produced. The early days of Russian filmmaking concentrated on state occasions and occasional religious events, such as the procession of pilgrims at Kiev. Alongside these news and documentary films there emerged a number of fiction films where both religious themes and figures made appearances,

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contributing to recurring attempts by the Orthodox Church—which retained the power of censorship—to control content. The silent film Ukhod velikovo startza (Departure of a Grand Old Man, 1912), directed and produced by Yakov Protazanov and Elizaveta Thiman, portrays peasants requesting land from Leo Tolstoy, his refusal to help on the grounds that his wife owns the land, his subsequent arguments with his wife, his increased depression, and his final encounter in the clouds with Christ. The Orthodox Church banned it on the grounds that it found as blasphemous the depiction of Tolstoy (himself excommunicated in real life) being led into heaven. In Otets Sergiy (Father Sergius, 1917), codirected by Yakov Protazanov and Alexandre Volkoff and based on an 1890 short story of the same name by Leo Tolstoy, the central figure discovers on the eve of his wedding that his fiancée has had an affair with Nicholas I. Deeply disillusioned, he turns to the church, becoming an Orthodox monk and then a hermit, beset by doubts and temptations. The film brings together religion, politics, lust, and heartbreak, culminating in the protagonist’s demise. This tragic tale cinematically reflected the tension between religious commitment and personal desire and has been described as both scandalous and groundbreaking. Following the revolutions of 1917 and the ensuing civil war, the new Communist leaders were swift to encourage the use of film for propaganda purposes. In an July 12, 1923, article in Pravda titled “Vodka, the Church, and the Cinema,” Leon Trotsky berates his comrades for not making better use of film to persuade the masses. “Here is an instrument which we must secure at all costs!” He portrays the cinema in competition “not only with the tavern but also with the church.” He believes that “this rivalry may become fatal for the church” if the cinema is put to effective use. For Trotsky, the cinema provides “spectacular images of greater grip than are provided by the richest church” or “mosque or synagogue.” Trotsky asserts that “the cinema amuses, educates, strikes the imagination by images, and liberates you from the need of crossing the church door.” For some, like Trotsky, cinema had the potential to replace the need for visiting traditional places for worship; for others it was perceived as a powerful tool of persuasion to be used to promote the new regime. During the 1920s and 1930s, filmmakers appropriated and inverted religious themes. Martyrs, not for the church but for the Soviet cause, are commonly depicted and celebrated. For example, in Dovzhenko’s Zemlya (Earth, 1930), Vasil, a vigorous young man, is murdered and then portrayed as a martyr for the new Soviet way of life. Dovzhenko’s revised 1956 script promotes a fervent antireligious message, with Vasil’s father declaring to the priest, “There is no God . . . Because if there had been a God, even if he weren’t altogether almighty or all-merciful, even if he’d been a miserable little God, turned a bit senile by age and all that worship, even one like that wouldn’t have let my son die that way.”

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Later, at the collective farm board, Vasil’s father begs his listeners: “If my Vasil has died for a new life . . . he should be buried in a new way. I don’t want priests and deacons seeing him out for a fee, but our own boys and girls with new songs about the new life.” While an old priest calls down God to smite the people, they sing a new song in a godless world. Through this film Dovzhenko belittles the old elites: landowners and church leaders. Earth stands in a long tradition of other early Soviet films—Eisenstein’s Stachka (Strike, 1925) and Bronenosets Potyomkin (Battleship Potemkin, 1925), Pudovkin’s Potomok Chingis-Khana (Storm Over Asia, 1928)—which celebrate the deaths of martyrs for the Soviet antireligious cause. There are many other explicit antireligious cinematic statements to be found during the 1930s. Prazdnik svyatogo Yorgena (Holiday of St. Jorgen, 1930), sometimes described as an exposé of religious faith, shows how two thieves escape from prison, hide in a church, and while there observe the riches accumulated by the priests. The result is that they aim to relieve the church of its ill-gotten gains. In other films, such as The Tale of the Priest and of His Workman Balda (1934), based on an 1830 poem by Alexander Pushkin, priests are represented as lazy, dishonest, or exploitative scoundrels. Nuns also became the focus of satire or parody. Alexander Medvedkin’s irreverent comedy Schastye (Happiness, 1934) includes the sight of nuns wearing transparent tops and a priest fighting for money. Some filmmakers perceived cinematic dramas or fairytales as the “opiate of the people,” with realist documentaries celebrated as a more authentic form of communication. Dziga Vertov was a vociferous proponent and practitioner of such a view, with the first reel of his film Entuziazm: Simfoniya Donbassa (Enthusiasm, 1931) including actual 1929 footage of churches being converted into workers’ clubs, steeples being pulled down, and icons and relics being removed. This complex film was the subject of much hostile criticism in the Soviet Union, not for its obvious atheistic tendencies but rather its failure to show the followers of religion involved in a fight against socialism. Religion, like subservience to the czar and addiction to alcohol, is relegated to a historical shadow rather than a dynamic force countering the Soviet state. Other filmmakers’ personal experience of the Orthodox Church informed— perhaps even haunted—their filmmaking. The director Sergei Eisenstein never forgot the dramatic rituals he experienced in church as a boy and would sometimes refer to his Jewish heritage. According to Eisenstein biographer Marie Seton, he once confessed that he worked hard for years to rid himself of his fascination with religion. His depictions of priests and other members of the Orthodox Church in Oktyabr (October, 1928) are far from flattering, with the image of a worshipping priest juxtaposed with pictures of the supposedly corrupt leaders of the 1917 provisional government. October, produced to commemorate the Bolshevik Revolution

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10 years before, begins with the destruction of the statue of Alexander III holding the symbols of God and country: an orb and a scepter. Toward the end of the film, the tsar and tsarina’s private apartments in the Winter Palace are overrun by the Bolsheviks, who find a variety of icons representing a close relationship between the Church and the Empire, including one depicting Jesus blessing the tsar and his family. Through the use of an “intellectual montage,” which brings together a baroque image of Jesus, Hindu and Aztec gods, the Buddha, and primitive idols, Eisenstein appears to portray all religions as the same. The juxtaposition of this with military paraphernalia reflects the perceived parallels between patriotism and delusional belief. Eisenstein’s unfinished Bezhin lug (Bezhin Meadow, 1937), mostly destroyed by fire during a bombing raid in World War II, includes shots of a church being transformed into a club for workers. The overturning of the old order is symbolically represented by an inverted reflection of a church in water. The icons are carried without ceremony or deference, the workers become part of the icons themselves, and a life-size crucifix is removed under the arm of a bearded laborer. Through the sanctification of the poor, here is the vindication of the people over moribund gods. In his anti-German historical epic Aleksandr Nevskiy (Alexander Nevsky, 1938), Eisenstein portrays a monk associated with the Teutonic crusading knights, who appears to look on approvingly as baby after baby is dropped into a fire. There is greater ambiguity toward religious figures and spaces in both Ivan Groznyy I (Ivan the Terrible Part 1, 1944) and Ivan Groznyy II: Boyarsky Zagovor (Ivan the Terrible Part 2, 1958), where religious leaders both conspire against and stand up to Ivan’s tyrannical rule, reminiscent of Stalin’s paranoid leadership, while the cathedral becomes a place of failed assassination and murder. Not all Soviet filmmakers were entirely negative toward established religion. Some film historians argue that ambivalence toward religion can be seen even more clearly among some filmmakers during the “thaw” following the death of Stalin in 1953. One scholar suggests that even during the religious persecutions initiated by Nikita Khrushchev, there were several more sympathetic portrayals of priests in films. This is a persuasive argument when considered in the light of films such as Chudotvornaya (The Miracle Worker, 1960), where a “young pioneer” is identified as a saint after finding an icon that performs miracles, or Tuchi nad Borskom (Clouds over Borsk, 1960), which sympathetically depicts small religious communities who practice speaking in tongues, or the compassionate priest in Vsyo ostayotsya lyudyam (Everything Remains for the People, 1963). Such portrayals were a far cry from those of the 1920s and 1930s, when priests were presented as criminals, or of the late 1940s and early 1950s, when they were presented as agents of western influence.

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Ambivalence toward religion virtually becomes celebration in the seven films directed by Andrei Tarkovsky, which have received considerable attention. His work Andrey Rubylov (Andrei Rublov, 1969) goes behind the apparently peaceful world of religious iconography to reveal a 16th-century Russia torn by conflict and an artist wracked by guilt and the inability to create. This black-and-white world is transformed into color only in the last few minutes of the film, where Tarkovsky slowly reveals to the viewer Rublov’s most famous icon: the Trinity. In Tarkovsky’s last film, Offret (The Sacrifice, 1986)—a Swedish production he made knowing that he was dying of lung cancer—he famously depicts the selfsacrifice of Erland, who offers his life to God in an attempt to avert a nuclear war that would destroy everything. As in the case of several of his earlier Russian films, it is hard for Tarkovsky to avoid recurring religious motifs, although this has provoked diverse responses, with some critics claiming that God is absent while others celebrate his presence. Tarkovsky’s largely sympathetic treatment of religious themes provides a marked contrast to earlier films of the 1920s and 1930s, which were part of the antireligious propaganda then current. His films, especially those already discussed—as well as Zerkalo (The Mirror, 1975), Stalker (1979), and Nostalghia (1983)—are comparative rarities, especially among the films produced during seven decades of Communist rule; they anticipate many of the themes to be found in films produced following glasnost and the end of the Soviet regime. From the mid-1980s, the Soviet Union underwent a number of dramatic transformations. With the accelerated economic restructuring of perestroika and the increased freedom of expression through glasnost, the Russian people experienced radical political, social, and economic changes. These transformations, which began under Mikhail Gorbachev’s leadership, had a significant impact upon the depiction of religion in Russian film. Monanieba (Repentance, 1984) represents the first notable work from the glasnost era that is permeated by religious themes. Set in a small Russian village, it tells the haunting story of a woman who is on trial for repeatedly exhuming the body of a former town leader. This is a powerful Georgian parable about digging up the past—in particular the painful Stalinist past—and atoning for buried wrongs. Although many of the films of this era are deeply critical of past evils, some are equally critical of religious intolerance or anti-Semitic tendencies (e.g., Luna Park, 1992). More recently, films have depicted protagonists seeking to escape their violent pasts and searching for peace, a quest often depicted with a religious resonance. In Zhivoy (The Hero, 2006), Kir, a soldier returning from the Chechen wars, first encounters the ghosts of his two fallen comrades and then an Orthodox priest, Father Sergei. (The two actors who portray Kir and Father Sergei are twins.) At one memorable moment, the priest and Kir wrestle—like the biblical account of Jacob

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and the angel—but the priest appears to be trying to help Kir come to terms with his past. Later the priest helps Kir find the graves of his fallen comrades. Unlike the anticlerical depictions of the 1920s and 30s, Orthodox priests are now regularly depicted in a more favorable light, a pattern replicated on Russian television programming. One of Russia’s most popular films of 2006 was Ostrov (The Island ), which is set in 1976 primarily on an isolated island monastery somewhere in northern Russia and depicts in endearing detail a small group of Orthodox monks. Father Anatoly, the central figure, is portrayed as an uneasy figure searching for personal forgiveness after having been forced to shoot his captain during World War II. While this inner war rages, he attracts to his cell other people in search of advice, healing, or holiness; for all his idiosyncrasies, he is depicted highly sympathetically. The film attracted considerable support from the Orthodox Church. In ways that are reminiscent of how churches in North America made use of The Passion of the Christ (2004), some Orthodox Christians made use of The Island, occasionally advertising the film or buying out entire cinemas. At one cinema, viewers were even encouraged to take off their hats and pray before the film began. Rather than rejecting religious belief, some figures are now depicted as embracing religious faith. Two contrasting examples will suffice. In Vladimir Khotinenko’s Musulmanin (A Moslem, 1995), a young man is captured while fighting in Afghanistan and converts to Islam. His return to his home village is far from peaceful as—in light of his new found faith—he refuses to conform. Toward the end of Gruz 200 (Cargo 200, 2007)—one of the most talked about films of 2007—one of the central characters—a professor of “scientific atheism” at Leningrad University—goes to church and asks to be baptized. Following the downfall of the Soviet regime, cinematic depictions of religion are changing. In sharp contrast to the 1920s and 1930s, where Russian Orthodoxy was largely reviled, its priests and beliefs are now often portrayed far more sympathetically. These depictions go beyond some of the more ambiguous and even favorable depictions from the 1970s. Orthodox priests and monks act as guides or become models for those searching for peace and the transcendent. Other religious traditions are also occasionally depicted in more favorable terms. In these recent Russian cinematic contexts religion is portrayed as not an entirely divisive force and more commonly as an agent for different kinds of spiritual searching. Although it is tempting to interpret the increasingly sympathetic portrayal of religious themes, characters, and controversies as a return to prerevolutionary depictions, such a circular description does not do justice to the ways in which film has evolved in Russia over the last century. Religion remains a complex and powerful force that is emerging with greater confidence into the public sphere. The

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Russian films of the last two decades not only reflect greater openness to Russian Orthodoxy but are also beginning to reveal some of the religious fault lines within post-Soviet Russia. Jolyon P. Mitchell See also: End-of-the-World Films; Film as Religion; Tarkovsky, Andrei.

Note This entry draws upon and adapts material from “Portraying Religion and Peace in Russian Film.” Studies in World Christianity 13, no. 3 (2008): 142–152.

Further Reading Eisenstein, Sergei. The Eisenstein Reader. Edited by Richard Taylor, translated by Richard Taylor and William Powell. London: BFI, 1998. Leyda, Jay. Kino: A History of Russian and Soviet Film, 3rd ed. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1983. Shlapentokh, Dmitry, and Vladimir Shlapentokh. Soviet Cinematography, 1917–1991: Ideological Conflict and Social Reality. New York: Aldine/de Gruyter, 1993. Tsivian, Yuri. “Censure Bans on Religious Subjects in Russian Films.” In Une Invention du Diable? Cinéma des Premiers Temps et Religion [An Invention of the Devil? Religion and Early Cinema], edited by Roland Cosandey, André Gaudreault, and Tom Gunning, 71–80. Sainte Foy, Canada: Les Presses du l’Université Laval, 1992. Tsivian, Yuri. Early Cinema in Russia and Its Cultural Reception. Edited by Richard Taylor, translated by Alan Bodger. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1998. Youngblood, Denise J. The Magic Mirror: Moviemaking in Russia, 1908—1918. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1999.

S Schrader, Paul (1946– ) Paul Schrader has played several roles in the American film industry in the late 20th and early 21st centuries, reviewing films, directing his own works, and writing some of the greatest American films. Schrader has written academic film criticism, including a master’s thesis on the cinematic depiction of the sacred in the works of Robert Bresson, Carl Theodor Dryer, and Yasujiro¯ Ozu. He worked with Martin Scorsese on two of the most acclaimed and controversial films of the late 20th century: Taxi Driver (1976) and The Last Temptation of Christ (1988). Schrader has also directed several notable films, including American Gigolo (1980) and Auto Focus (2002). When the totality of his work is taken into consideration, Schrader emerges as one of the most widely accomplished film artists of our generation, consumed with depictions of the sacred and the profane in film. Paul Schrader was born in Grand Rapids, Michigan, in 1946 and raised in a disciplined Dutch Calvinist home. Because of the concerns about film expressed by his religious tradition, Schrader was not allowed to see movies until he was a student at the conservative Calvin College, where he became entranced with film. He later studied at Columbia University and earned a graduate degree in film at UCLA. His graduate thesis (titled The Transcendental Style in Film: Ozu, Bresson, and Dryer) explored how each of these directors depict transcendence in film. Following his time at UCLA, Schrader began to write about films for the LA Weekly and Cinema Magazine. It was while he was working as a film critic that he began to write screenplays, his first for the Sydney Pollack film The Yakuza (1974). Although the film was not a commercial success, it contributed to Schrader’s growing reputation as a screenwriter. The year 1976 marked an important collaboration, when Martin Scorsese filmed Schrader’s screenplay of Taxi Driver. The success of that film enabled Schrader to direct several of his own screenplays; most notably the movie 381

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Hardcore (1979), for which he drew upon his own experience in the Dutch Calvinist tradition to narrate a tale of a prodigal daughter. Hardcore follows a Protestant pastor who must travel to Los Angeles to find his daughter, there discovering that she has entered the world of pornographic film. His efforts to get her away from that environment occupies most of the film. Hardcore explores the conflict between the evangelical community and the darker side of film culture. Schrader saw two of his works released in 1980. He continued his highly successful collaboration with Scorsese in the great American film Raging Bull (1980), in which he explored American culture through the eyes of boxer Jake LaMotta. Also reAmerican director Paul Schrader at the Toronto leased that year was American GigInternational Film Festival, 2008. AP Photo/ olo, which Schrader had both written Carlo Allegri. and directed. This, his most popular success, chronicled the life and work of a male escort in Los Angeles. The film explores both the seedy underside and the more attractive side of the city. At the end of the decade, Schrader once again collaborated with Scorsese in The Last Temptation of Christ, their most controversial film, which Schrader adapted from the novel (1955) by Nikos Kazantzakis. This film opened to widespread protests from conservative Christians who objected to its depiction of the humanity of Christ. The film also offers a fascinating dialogue between the Protestant Schrader and the Catholic Scorsese—for example, in its depiction of the Last Supper. Scorsese and Schrader returned to the streets of New York in Bringing Out the Dead (1999), which narrates three days in the life of a New York City emergency medical technician who travels the dark side of the city, haunted by the ghosts of patients he could not save. Once again, this film explores two worlds, the daytime “normal” world of city life and the nighttime underworld of Hell’s Kitchen. Schrader’s more recent film, Auto Focus, traces the career trajectory of Bob Crane, star of television’s Hogan’s Heroes (CBS, 1965–1971). It explores Crane’s destructive friendship with John Carpenter as well as his increasing addiction to

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various sexual experiences. These experiences, mixed with the emerging home video industry, proved to be destructive to his career and ultimately his life. Schrader also directed Dominion: Prequel to the Exorcist (2005), in which Father Lancaster Merrin has an encounter with the demon Pazuzu, which leads to his own rediscovery of faith. Schrader has consistently focused on religious experience throughout his career. Some of his films, like Dominion, Hardcore, and The Last Temptation of Christ, explicitly convey his interest in religion. Each explores the machinations of power and guilt in the context of institutional religious experience. Other films, like American Gigolo, Raging Bull, and Auto Focus, narrate a homiletic tale of the ruinous consequences of pride, materialism, and lust. Throughout his career, Schrader has returned to these significant themes. John Vassar See also: Bresson, Robert; Dreyer, Carl Theodor; The Last Temptation of Christ Controversy; Ozu, Yasujiro¯; Scorsese, Martin.

Further Reading Bliss, Michael, and Paul Schrader. “Affliction and Forgiveness: An Interview with Paul Schrader.” Film Quarterly 54, no. 1 (2000): 2–9. Fraser, Peter. “American Gigolo and Transcendental Style.” Literature/Film Quarterly 16, no. 2 (1988): 91–100. Schrader, Paul. Schrader on Schrader. Edited by Kevin Jackson. London: Faber and Faber, 1990. Schrader, Paul. Transcendental Style in Cinema: Ozu, Bresson, Dreyer. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1972.

Science Fiction In a general sense, the science fiction genre can be defined by its reference to scientific concepts and portrayal of sophisticated technologies. The genre’s signature heroes and antiheroes are scientists, and plots often revolve around the use of scientific know-how to confront challenging problems. Often filmmakers embellish and exaggerate based on the actual state of science and technology at the time of the film’s creation. For example, space travel and tiny handheld communication devices were regular features of science fiction films long before they became realities. Some critics distinguish “hard” science fiction, or works that explore plausible trajectories of scientific development, from “soft,” or works that explore more

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fanciful speculations. Regardless, all science fiction films explore the outer limits of scientific possibility and thus the tension between the real and the imagined. In doing so, the genre serves as critical commentary on the chief narrative of modernity: the belief that expanding knowledge drives human progress. In spite of its ostensibly “rationalistic” and “secular” concerns, the science fiction genre has much in common with fantasy and horror. All commonly portray abnormal events, extraordinary beings, and imagined worlds that require an imaginative leap away from the familiar. As such, all can be contrasted with cinematic realism. The dramatic tensions in science fiction films often rely upon displacement from the ordinary, estrangement, encounters with the radically “other,” and the discovery that “reality” has hidden depths. These infuse the genre with a dualistic tone reminiscent of religious myth. For example, the genre’s numerous aliens, robots, and monsters echo the gods, angels, and demons of traditional religious scripture and folklore. Likewise, standard plot devices such as visits to other planets, the discovery of alternative dimensions, and time travel suggest a multilevel cosmos with dimensions that are utterly different from familiar realities. Often the borrowing from religion is direct; many screenwriters and directors weave religious imagery into their films or pattern characters and plots on elements derived from religious narratives. Prophetic visions, messianic heroes, apocalyptic foreboding, epic adventures, and morality tales are thus readily found in the canon of science fiction films. Although the term science fiction came into widespread use only in the late 1920s, films that explore the genre’s signature themes of space travel, time travel, mad inventors, futuristic cities, robots, aliens, and monsters were well established during the silent era. Critics often cite Frenchman Georges Méliès’s Le Voyage dans la lune (A Trip to the Moon, 1902) as the breakthrough work, and Fritz Lang’s Metropolis (1927) as the genre’s first great masterpiece. Subsequent decades saw continuous production of science fictions films, accompanied by considerable thematic diversification. Over time, science fiction has combined with just about every other film genre, notably melodrama, western, comedy, action adventure, war epic, and musical. It has also spawned a number of its own subgenres—such as alien invasion, journeys to the future, and robots run amok. The adaptation of literary science fiction has been important to the film genre from the start. Classic works by Mary Shelley (Frankenstein [1818]), Jules Verne (Journey to the Center of the Earth [1864]; 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea [1869–1870]), H. G. Wells (The Time Machine [1895]; The Island of Dr. Moreau [1896]; The Invisible Man [1897]; War of the Worlds [1898]), for example, have been made into films multiple times. Likewise, acclaimed novels and stories by more recent authors such as Arthur C. Clark, Isaac Asimov, Margaret Atwood, and Philip K. Dick have inspired various films in the genre: 2001: A Space Odyssey

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(1968); I, Robot (2004); The Handmaid’s Tale (1990); and Minority Report (2002), respectively. The prominence of scientists in the genre strongly evokes one of the key tenets of secular modernity: the superior power of scientific knowledge to comprehend, master, and otherwise negotiate with reality. This secular focus, however, must be qualified by two well-established trends. First, there is a long tradition of portraying scientists as alienated loners, reckless experimenters, sadists, madmen, and sociopaths. The message of these characters is implicitly cautionary: the pursuit of scientific knowledge compromises one’s humanity and corrupts the soul. Perhaps the best-known character of this type is Victor in Frankenstein (1931) and Bride of Frankenstein (1935), who succumbs to the temptation to appropriate the creative power of God by reanimating dead bodies with electricity and chemicals. His efforts meet with success, only to quickly degenerate into horror when his creation becomes a homicidal monster. A slow learner, Victor yields to temptation again in the sequel, this time at the urging of a more decidedly amoral scientist, Dr. Pretorius. Significantly, his redemption (symbolized by reconciliation with his fiancée) occurs only when the creature itself recognizes that it cannot be part of human society and acts to destroy itself, the “bride,” Dr. Pretorius, and the lab. Second, heroic scientists often resemble their more “religious” counterparts as character types. Thus, for example, fictional scientists pursue challenging quests, face temptations, ponder complex moral issues, confront mysteries, slay monsters, and save their society from catastrophes. In Contact (1997), Ellie Arroway, a skeptical scientist, embarks on an epic journey across the universe that resembles a mystical illumination. Among other things, she experiences intense visual and auditory stimuli, an elongation of her conventional sense of time, and meets her long-dead father. Ironically, when Ellie “returns,” she, like classic mystics, cannot account for her experience using conventional language and concepts. Films that portray the scientific and technological developments in fictional future societies, both utopian and dystopian, are enduring features of the science fiction genre, and many have shrewdly predicted future developments. A notable early example, H. G. Wells’s The Shape of Things To Come (1933), accurately foresaw the imminent outbreak of a world war, the widespread influence of television, and a visual information network much like the Internet. Other films portray grim visions of the future as modes of social criticism. Various film versions of George Orwell’s 1949 novel Nineteen Eighty-Four portray a gray and loveless society dominated by misinformation, surveillance, a stifling bureaucracy, and images of a ubiquitous totalitarian leader, “Big Brother.” The Handmaid’s Tale, based Margaret Atwood’s 1985 novel of the same name, sees a future where a conservative and patriarchal religious class uses high-tech paramilitary forces to rule a society wracked by rebellion, pollution, and declining fertility. The popular

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Terminator series (The Terminator [1984]; Terminator 2: Judgment Day [1991]; Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines [2003]) and Matrix series (The Matrix [1999]; The Matrix Reloaded [2003]; The Matrix Revolutions [2003]) portray future societies where machines have taken over and threaten to destroy or enslave the last remaining vestiges of human life. Among the most common forms of prophetic science fiction are the apocalyptic and postapocalyptic works exploring the possibility that natural disasters, technological breakdowns, nuclear war, or worldwide epidemics might transform the world as we know it in the near future. Many of these films echo biblical apocalyptic literature (the books of Daniel and Revelation) in their emphasis on large-scale catastrophes, social strife, and radical inversions of the political order. They are also apocalyptic in a formal sense (from the Greek apokalupsis, “to uncover” or “to reveal”) in that their plots are driven by a message from “beyond” (another dimension, another time period, another level of consciousness) that stirs the main characters to action. Another common strategy of borrowing from religious source material has been the use of messianic heroes, often based on models from the western monotheistic traditions. In The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951), the activities of the character Klaatu closely resemble those of Jesus in the Gospels. He visits earth from another world, preaches a message of peace and cooperation, performs miraculous deeds, upsets authorities, endures fear and misunderstanding with magnanimity, dies unjustly, and finally resurrects with the help of his advanced alien technology. At the end of the film, Klaatu reveals that Gort, his robot companion, is a kind of cosmic enforcer who will destroy humanity if it continues to wage war. The film thus serves as a modernized apocalyptic story, wherein an extraordinary messianic “outsider” reveals to an errant and anxious society that it must change course or risk total annihilation. As a general archetype, messianic characters in science fiction films are spurred to action by a message that comes from outside of their present circumstances (via aliens, time travel, or visions) or by the gradual realization of their own superior powers and insights. Authorities usually ignore, reject, or resist the “messiah” and inhibit the spread of saving knowledge. Thus the task of salvation falls to the hero or heroine working alone or with the assistance of a few loyal compatriots. Often scientific know-how and facility with advanced technology are crucial to the messiah’s quest. Numerous films fall into this category, including WarGames (1983), Twelve Monkeys (1995), and Armageddon (1998). Gnostic themes and mythologies inform a number of interesting science fiction films. Dark City (1998), for example, portrays a world where a race of aliens, “The Strangers,” regularly reconfigure the minds, memories, and even the architecture of a city of people who are largely unaware of their presence. The plot

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follows the adventures of the protagonist, who gradually becomes aware of the aliens’ machinations and his untapped telekinetic powers. Eventually he is able to vanquish the Strangers and find his way to a more luminous reality that he must create for himself. The aliens are strongly reminiscent of the archons and fallen angels of Gnostic myth who, in defiance of the true God, create a fallen world and continuously inhibit humanity from realizing the truth. Likewise the protagonist fulfills the role of the classic Gnostic hero who overcomes delusion to realize his destiny as child of the light (the true God) and a liberator of others. The Matrix series has a comparable plot structure wherein a race of machines and their enforcers, “The Agents,” try to suppress the emergence of a messianic rebel-hero, Neo. The film clearly invokes Christianity, with allegorized characters for Jesus, Mary, Judas, and John the Baptist. It also, however, makes reference to Greek mythology and eastern religions, suggesting an eclectic inspiration. Robots have appeared in films since the silent era and continue to be one of the most popular motifs in the science fiction genre. Because they have some human qualities but clearly remain machines, robots often serve as potent foils for the human characters struggling to find a proper relationship to science and technology. Some robots achieve a status that transcends the merely human and have qualities traditionally associated with gods: superhuman size, strength, intelligence, and speed. Many directors enhance this association by borrowing the techniques of religious art: luminous skin, halo effects, back lighting. In the famous transformation scene from Metropolis, for example, the golden-skinned robot radiates electrostatic halos that suggest divine qualities and inspire reverence from her male admirers. The mute, indestructible Gort in Day the Earth Stood Still represents the terrifying aspects of technology recast as a transcendent judge who promises to destroy the human race if it continues to wage war. Other robots are less godlike but nonetheless embody virtues associated with heroic endeavor. Robbie from Forbidden Planet (1956) and R2D2 from Star Wars (1977), for example, portray courage, loyalty, and resourcefulness in service of the human characters. A number of prominent science fiction films portrayed robots aspiring to embody uniquely human qualities such as love, compassion, or the love of life. Blade Runner (1982), Artificial Intelligence: AI (2001), and I, Robot, for example, all feature artificial life forms that struggle to become more like the humans who have created them. Alternatively, many films feature the inverse; the struggle of human characters to resist becoming more robotic and machinelike. Star Trek: First Contact (1996), based on the popular television series, features the Borg, a race of cyborgs who threaten to absorb all life forms into their totalitarian collective. The Stepford Wives (1975; 2004) allegorizes more conventional fears about social conformity with plots that feature the male characters in a “typical” American suburb conspiring to replace their spouses with pliant and obedient robot copies.

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Aliens symbolize an otherworldly intrusion into the familiar and resonate with a number of social processes involving encounters with unfamiliar groups and cultures, including immigration, travel, and warfare. Cinematic representations of aliens draw upon varied religious and folkloric traditions about supernatural creatures, ranging from ethereal qualities associated with angels, to the impishness of gnomes and fairies, to the horrifying visages of demons and dragons. Aliens often take on roles like messiahs or prophets and thus serve as harbingers of new eras or bearers of superior wisdom. Conversely, some films portray aliens as malevolent invaders, usurpers, or thieves who attack, disrupt, or otherwise undermine normal human activities. Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977) and E.T. the Extra Terrestrial (1982) are two of the most widely viewed “positive” alien movies. The former portrays aliens as superintelligent beings interested in contacting human beings, showing off their advanced technology, and giving a select few the chance to visit other worlds. Their appearance is anthropomorphic but with smooth skin and long, amorphous bodies that have no clear blemishes or gender, suggesting that superior beings transcend the normal categories of physical existence and approach the ethereal qualities associated with spirits and angels. E.T., among the most popular films in the history of cinema, features a gnomish alien with an amiable disposition and various supernatural powers. Akin to other “messianic” science fiction films, characterization and plot development imitate the Christian Gospels. Religious narratives of cosmic battles between good and evil have modern parallels in films that cast aliens as malevolent invaders on a planetary scale, such as War of the Worlds (2005) and Independence Day (1996). Often these portray an embattled humanity unifying to combat a superior foe. Other invaders have more localized ambitions. Alien (1979) and Predator (1987), for example, imagine scenarios in which a single creature slowly murders members of a group until a sole survivor musters enough courage and cunning to stop it. As with other “negative” cinematic aliens, these creatures appear to be grotesque hybrids that combine attributes of carnivorous mammals, reptiles, insects, or machines. This physiognomy immediately suggests nonhuman and dangerous qualities; accordingly, their behavior tends toward indulgence, excess, vice, ruthlessness, and senseless violence. More subtle alien invasion films show the replacement of human beings with creatures that look and act human but have lost some essential qualities. The Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956; 1978) portrays a small-town doctor who slowly discovers that his patients and neighbors are being replaced by exact replicas grown from large alien seedpods. Symbolically, the film mirrors two acute anxieties of the mid-1950s—the loss of rugged individualism in the face of the

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increasing conformity of American life and fears of communist-inspired political subversion. Monsters follow an aesthetic logic similar to that of negative aliens, and thus invert the images of beauty, order, and harmony associated with divinity. Their exaggerated scale, deformities, anomalies, and mutations evoke surprise, shock, revulsion, or perhaps a vague unsettledness. Monsters of immense size star in some of the most memorable science fiction films. Their scale evokes a mixture of fear, wonder, and awe that are reminiscent of encounters with divine beings from religious literature. Often they serve as symbols of the primitive emotions and chaos that haunt the order and stability of the ostensibly rational modern world. King Kong (1933; 1976; 2005) follows the adventures of a giant ape, discovered on an obscure island in the south Pacific, where he is worshipped like an ancient God with human sacrifices. Visiting westerners, seeing an entrepreneurial opportunity, capture him and transport him to the United States where he is displayed before horrified and enraptured audiences. Enraged, Kong escapes, and wreaks havoc on an unprotected New York City. In the climactic final scene, he climbs the Empire State building only to be shot down by military aircraft. Kong’s simian lust and rage suggest primal impulses that gave rise to ancient sacrificial religions, and which persist in the modern world as a love of gargantuan spectacle. Ultimately, these instincts prove to be uncontrollable and must be expunged. Akin to various ancient ritual traditions, the final scene hints that order can only be restored when the “King” himself is sacrificed; in this case, before the symbolic “altar” of modern life, a soaring skyscraper. The Japanese monster character Gojira first appeared in the low budget thriller Gojira (Godzilla, 1954) and subsequently inspired dozens of sequels. In the original storyline, atomic testing in the Pacific awakens the creature that breathes radioactive fire and destroys buildings and lives on the Japanese mainland. Tapping into ancient myths about dragons, cultural anxieties about invasions, and memories of the atomic bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Gojira emerges as a potent symbol of the horror suffered by the Japanese due to the devastation of World War II. The variety of science fiction films makes it difficult to generalize in terms of religion. Surely the genre has broad appeal that largely transcends the content of specific religious traditions. Thus filmmakers need not look to any specific religious source or authority for esthetic and moral guidance. Also, the success of science fiction films can be interpreted as evidence of the rising cultural power of science and technology. For some critics, this demonstrates the ongoing secularization of popular culture. On the other hand, there is ample evidence that the religious imagination has deeply influenced the genre. Filmmakers have creatively adapted and reinterpreted religious symbols, character types, and narrative forms since the silent era. Given its

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heroic quests, tales of temptation and estrangement, prophesies of the future, godlike robots, and demonic aliens, science fiction often seems less about the elimination of religion from modern culture than a strategy for re-enchantment. Lisle Dalton See also: Dystopia; End-of-the-World Films; Greek and Roman Myths; Horror; The Matrix Trilogy

Further Reading Gravett, Sharon L. “The Sacred and the Profane: Examining the Religious Subtext of Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner.” Literature/Film Quarterly 26, no. 1 (1998): 38–45. McKee, Gabriel. The Gospel According to Science Fiction: From the Twilight Zone to the Final Frontier. Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 2007. Ruppersburg, Hugh. “The Alien Messiah in Recent Science Fiction Films.” Journal of Popular Film and Television 14, no. 4 (1987): 159–166. Short, Robert. The Gospel from Outer Space. San Francisco: Harper and Row, 1983. Stone, Jon. “A Fire in the Sky: ‘Apocalyptic’ Themes on the Silver Screen.” In God in the Details: American Religion in Popular Culture, 2nd ed., edited by Eric Mazur and Kate McCarthy, 62–79. New York: Routledge, 2010. Torry, Robert. “Apocalypse Then: Benefits of the Bomb in Fifties Science Fiction Films.” Cinema Journal 31, no. 1 (1991): 7–21.

Scorsese, Martin (1942– ) Although not often considered a maker of religious films per se, Martin Scorsese is perhaps the most overtly religious filmmaker of his generation because of the biblical motifs and the quasi-liturgical tropes he employs in his work. In a 1988 interview, Scorsese observed that although the Catholic Church did not figure into the lives of his parents very much, its religious concepts (rather than its institutional structures) were very important to him; all he ever wanted to be when he grew up was an ordinary parish priest. But when the moment of decision came, Scorsese chose the life of a filmmaker over that of a priest, believing that, in the end, making films could be a work equaling that of a life of prayer. He has indicated that he believes he was meant to do the kind of work he does, and that for him, it is akin to a religious act. In many ways Scorsese has achieved his youthful desire to become a priest, if only in the themes that he has examined and through the images that he has evoked in his films. For Scorsese, born in 1942 to immigrant Italian parents, his parish has

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been the streets of New York, where religion and ethnic identity run together and the collision between Old World values and New World materialism typically reveals itself in violent, alienated, often self-absorbed and too often self-destructive male characters. Indeed, his protagonists often are young men at once devoted to faith and family and to upholding an in-group code of honor and at the same time anxiously seeking a path of redemption or escape from the dark desperation of their walled-in lives. It is here, in Scorsese’s films, that the inherent violence of the street inevitably overtakes everyone and everything, whether guilty or innocent. His beatific vision of this life is certainly no heaven on earth. For Scorsese, then, filmmaking is a form of sacred storytelling, a recurring homily about sin and the need for expiating blood atonement that is presented to millions of faithful moviegoers in countless big-screen cathedrals around the world. Scorsese’s films reflect the life he experienced growing up in New York’s Little Italy. To survive in that world, he reasoned, a man had to become either a priest or a gangster. After spending his freshman year of high school (1956–1957) attending the cathedral seminary of the Archdiocese of New York and then failing admission to Fordham University in 1960, Scorsese gave up his priestly aspirations and enrolled instead in New York University, earning a bachelor’s degree in 1964 and a master of fine arts (in film) in 1966. Even during his student days, Scorsese’s film projects reflected the semiautobiographical storytelling style that would come to define his later projects and his tendency to tell that story from the perspective of lonely, often isolated, city dwellers. In this way, he had exchanged the parish priest’s black cassock and clerical collar for a leather jacket and the outsider status that such a jacket symbolized. By becoming, as biographer Robert Casillo put it, a “gangster priest,” Scorsese would preach Catholic guilt and personal redemption through film. Scorsese’s first films after graduate school were set on the streets and populated with an assortment of unlikely heroes scratching out meager lives in menial, unglamorous jobs. Indeed, his characters often live in a world where retributive justice unwittingly mimics cosmic justice. As Charlie Cappa, Jr., one of his characters, would coldly state it in Mean Streets (1973), “You don’t make up for your sins in church. You do it in the streets.” Examples of these early Scorsese films include I Call First (1967; also known as Who’s That Knocking at My Door), Boxcar Bertha (1972), and Mean Streets. To demonstrate his versatility, Scorsese then directed his first film with a female lead, Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore (1974), whose Oscar-winning best actress, Ellen Burstyn, had personally selected Scorsese to be its director. Returning to more familiar territory, Scorsese made Italianamerican (1974), a documentary tribute to his immigrant parents and their life together in New York’s Little Italy, followed by the cult classic Taxi Driver (1976).

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However, after the box-office failure of his song-studded film New York, New York (1977), Scorsese fell into a severe depression which resulted in a year-long struggle with cocaine addiction. Reportedly, Scorsese was saved by long-time friend Robert De Niro, who had been a fixture in many of Scorsese’s best-known films, and overcame his depression by throwing himself in his next film project, Raging Bull (1980), in which De Niro starred as the middleweight boxing champion Jake LaMotta. A masterpiece filmed in black and white, Raging Bull was nominated for eight Academy Awards, including Best Director. Although Scorsese lost to Robert Redford, De Niro won the Best Actor award, and Raging Bull came to be regarded as one of the best pictures of the 1980s. The 1980s also saw the release of other notable Scorsese films, including The King of Comedy (1983), After Hours (1985), and The Color of Money (1986), the long-awaited sequel to The Hustler (1961). But during the 1980s, perhaps no film was more controversial than Scorsese’s 1988 big-screen realization of Nikos Kazantzakis’s 1960 novel The Last Temptation of Christ. The script provided Scorsese with the opportunity to portray the purification through violence that is his stock in trade, resulting in protests over its supposed blasphemous content; these delayed its filming and marred its release. Americans—who were used to pious, Protestant films on the life of Christ—were shocked by a very complex and a very human Jesus. What is more, in the hands of Scorsese, The Last Temptation was the biblical story of Jesus set in the language and manner of urban street life. Jesus is man and he is god; the ensuing struggle between what he should be and what he wishes instead to become—replete with self-doubts and self-destructive tendencies—perfectly replays previous Scorsese characters. As Scorsese noted, Kazantzakis’s portrayal of Jesus is of one who put up with everything ordinary people go through; he is human as well as divine, and one who, like Scorsese himself, struggles with questioning and doubt as well as more positive spiritual emotions. Scorsese then returned home to Little Italy and the gangster genre (with a vengeance) in his next major film, Goodfellas (1990). In it, Scorsese rehearses many of his earlier themes: the intersection of faith, family, and honor—or rather misogynistic machismo under the guise of male virtue. In all, Goodfellas received six Academy Award nominations, with Joe Pesci winning the Best Supporting Actor award for his role as an unstable mafia hit man. Throughout the 1990s and into the 2000s, Scorsese released a string of Academy Award–nominated films, including a remake of the 1962 classic suspense film Cape Fear (1991); the period piece The Age of Innocence (1993); Casino (1995); Kundun (1997)—a biography on the early life of the 14th Dalai Lama; Gangs of New York (2002); The Aviator (2004), about Howard Hughes; and The Departed (2006), which finally earned him the Academy Award for Best Director, which had eluded him for decades. Kundun and The Last Temptation can be viewed as companion films in that their main characters are men caught between the sacred and the profane. Both

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embody the divine clothed in human flesh. Both men wrestle with their dual natures and are tempted by their respective demons—with Jesus’ tempter being much more persistent. And yet, as one critic observed, while Jesus goes from doubt to exaltation, the young Dalai Lama goes from egocentrism to selflessness. Though a selfless statesman, he is, like Jesus, isolated, slowly but steadily treading the spiritual path of self-realization even as political intrigues, anarchy, and armed violence swirl around him. He alone thus becomes the still point of the cosmos. With few exceptions, Scorsese has made films that examine the religious themes and motifs at the heart of his own spiritual quest as well as others that exorcise his own personal demons. Moreover, for Scorsese, the hidden world of the street has become the ideal backdrop for the dynamics of gangster life or the lonely isolated outsider struggling to survive amid modern urban life. It has become the perfect setting within which to examine Catholic guilt, sin and redemption, Italian American culture, self-destructive male violence, and, above all, the interminable struggle between fallen human nature and the call of the divine. Jon R. Stone See also: Buddhism; Catholicism; Film as Religion; Jesus; The Last Temptation of Christ Controversy; Schrader, Paul.

Further Reading Blake, Richard A. “Redeemed in Blood: The Sacramental Universe of Martin Scorsese.” Journal of Popular Film and Television 24 (Spring 1996): 2–9. Bliss, Michael. The Word Made Flesh: Catholicism and Conflict in the Films of Martin Scorsese. Lanham, MD: Scarecrow, 1995. Kolker, Robert. A Cinema of Loneliness: Penn, Stone, Kubrick, Scorsese, Spielberg, Altman, 3rd ed. New York: Oxford University Press, 2000. Librach, Ronald. “The Last Temptation in Mean Streets and Raging Bull.” Literature/Film Quarterly 20, no. 1 (1992): 14–24. Lourdeaux, Lee. Italian and Irish Filmmakers in America: Ford, Capra, Coppola, and Scorsese. Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1990.

Silent Film American moving pictures and religion moved into the 20th century hand in hand, ushering in an era when these two realms remarkably supported and reaffirmed each other. Kevin Starr, who documents the development of early-20th-century California in his work Inventing the Dream: California Through the Progressive

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Era (1985), notes that Horace Wilcot was a “God-fearing real estate speculator who created Hollywood as a model Christian community, no saloons, no liquor stores, with free land offered to Protestant churches locating within the city limits.” After the early, almost Victorian days of the silent film, however, Hollywood would, in the opinion of its early founders, backslide into the Jazz Age of the roaring Twenties. Hollywood would fall from its garden setting, from being Wilcot’s “holy land,” into a Hollywood Babylon, a suspect site that some detractors saw as an incubator of the devil. The sweet harmony of the early cooperation of silent film and religion would shatter into cultural conflicts yet to be resolved, with religious and civic leaders clamoring for censorship and boycotts. The immigrant Jewish entrepreneurs who are often credited with inventing Hollywood were a second generation of businessmen, men who came to California to explore a business that, in New York, was run by a monopoly under the control of men like Thomas Alva Edison. In its beginning, however, moving pictures blossomed out of the Protestant work ethic and a coterie of Protestant entrepreneurs. With the waning of the Victorian era, the bustling decades of the Progressive era energized numerous Protestants to control the burgeoning industry. Films followed their Victorian worldviews, wherein good was rewarded and evil was punished. American filmmaking was akin to American preaching, and churches cultivated a cottage industry of using films to reach children and teach immigrants. The supreme example of teaching the Gospel stories visually came in 1898, with a re-enactment of the Oberammergau passion play from Bohemia. This dramatic presentation of the last week of Jesus’ life retold the old, old story and amazed religious audiences. It not only elicited devout responses from church audiences but also garnered significant profits, sparking other filmmakers to repeat the successful narrative. One of the most comic was that of Philadelphia producer Sigmund Lubin, who was not above plagiarizing the scenarios of other companies. When he produced his own hometown version, however, a few anachronisms popped up, as well as problems with his amateur actors; the disciple Peter disappeared from the set to shoot craps, and the wayward Judas succumbed to the “fruit of the vine.” Historian Terry Ramsaye describes one unlikely evangelist who took a copy of the 1897 Hollaman-Eaves’s Passion Play down to the Atlantic City resort for his revival meetings. Like many traveling lecturers and presenters of illustrative slides, the Colonel Henry Hadley found success with his visual presentations of religious materials. Hiring singers to accompany the films, belting out such hymns as “O Holy Night,” Hadley could prepare the hearts of his huge, spontaneous congregations and preach about the evils of drink, the damnation of sin, and the hope of salvation. Hadley predicted two impending events, the blessed coming of

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Prohibition and the persuasive power of moving pictures to shape the minds and imaginations of spectators. During this era of uplift and progress, one Victorian and Methodist filmmaker who made his mark on various moral crusades was filmmaker D. W. Griffith. In particular, he exposed the brutality of domestic abuse due to alcoholism in his The Drunkard’s Reformation (1909), a searing indictment on the saloon business. As historian Tom Gunning pointed out, Griffith’s film functioned as a moral sermon; in it a drunken father repents when his daughter takes him to a play by Emile Zola about his own miserable situation. Griffith expertly lifted up the dramatic arts, rather than religion, as that which could rescue a man from the demon drink and restore him to his family. Filmmakers like Griffith and the talented Lois Weber (who had wanted to be a missionary and found that film was an effective tool for social evangelism) worked as modern street preachers, taking their messages to local theatres and preaching sermons on temperance and social injustice to millions of spectators. Films became a profitable means of communicating religious stories and values, adapting technology to proclaim its messages of redemption and reform. The first great apologist for the art of film as an ally to religion was Congregational minister Reverend Herbert A. Jump from New Britain, Connecticut. He authored his primary work on The Religious Possibilities of the Motion Picture (1911) in an attempt to demonstrate how film could support the goals of churches. His compelling defense of utilizing moving pictures centered on demonstrating how the parable of the Good Samaritan was similar to an exciting motion picture narrative. Like the movies, Jesus’ teaching showed action, crime, violence, questionable religious characters, and even the bad guys getting away with their booty. Yet each could teach their spiritual lessons. Jump argued for a theological grounding of motion pictures by appealing to the creative and fascinating biblical stories themselves. For Jump, the key innovative director who addressed progressive religion (and religious hypocrisy) was the aforementioned Griffith of Biograph Studios. Remarkably, Griffith would insert the Christian transformation of characters into such films as The Convert (1911), Salvation Army Lass (1909), and A Strange Meeting (1909). Griffith’s sympathy for the downtrodden often showed the destitute and wayward finding redemption, with the proud falling from their roost. He preached a version of the social gospel, essentially illustrating the biblical principle that the “wages of sin is death.” In A Corner in Wheat (1909), Griffith indicts the capitalist speculators who manipulate grain stock prices. In his film, the greedy “Wheat King” falls to his ironic but deserved death in a grain bin. In contrast, the good Indian convert in The Yanqui Cur (1913) learns the true meaning of the Christian message and lays his life down for others. In a more comic vein,

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a young girl is slandered in The New York Hat (1912) by gossipy biddies in the church after the young minister has bought her a fashionable head covering. The rumor mill is quashed, however, when the minister marries the lass in the end, with virtue triumphing and maligning slurs nullified. Griffith also provided cameos for Jesus in his films. In the Edgar Allen Poe– inspired The Avenging Conscience (1914), a young man considering homicide is haunted by the divine presence. Griffith ends his controversially racist but cinematically impressive The Birth of a Nation (1915) with an Aryan vision of heaven. His spectacular fugue of four stories in Intolerance (1916) includes the Galilean tale of Jesus (at least up to the Cross) paralleled with other narratives of injustice. Griffith recognized the power of the silent image, arguing that it was a “universal language” that could be understood globally. Moving pictures communicated concretely and directly, even viscerally, through the eyes to the soul, even transporting spectators to a more spiritual realm of existence. In 1919, Griffith addressed thousands of Methodists at their Columbus Ohio Centenary, challenging them to innovate, to adopt projectors and exhibition equipment for their ministries, and to develop the possibilities of the moving picture for use in teaching, preaching, and worldwide missions. Showing its support for this church-related movement, Eastman Kodak approached the Presbyterian Church with over 2000 projectors for their ministries. Moral melodramas erupted during the 1910s. Lois Weber, the first female American film director, first felt called to go into missionary work; however, her uncle persuaded her that she would be even more effective in reaching people with her message in this novel medium of moving pictures. A combination of evangelistic zeal and social conscience energized Weber, as she engaged numerous contemporary social problems. In Where Are My Children? (1916), she castigated abortion while championing birth control. In Hop, the Devil’s Brew (1916), she followed Griffith’s lead and denounced the ill consequences of alcohol consumption. Her propagandist film The Blot (1921) rallied support for increasing the low salaries of clerics and teachers. And in her controversial Hypocrites (1915), she unleashed her righteous indignation toward religious hypocrisy among church parishioners. Daringly, she inserted a nude woman as the “Naked Truth,” who wandered throughout the film as a provocative symbol. The most accommodating genre for religious themes and symbols was the western. It shared the stark moral contrast of good and evil with the melodrama, but situated this spiritual battle in an action-packed desert country milieu. Rooted in the late-19th-century novels of Harold Bell Wright and Ralph Connor, westerns communicated more of the biblical lex talionis (“an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth”). Frontier justice exacted the wages of sin. The masculine evangelical stories of directors like King Vidor captured this struggle. Vidor’s adaptation of

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Connor’s story, The Sky Pilot (1921), for example, transplanted an eastern minister out into the uncivilized wilderness to become a man and to pilot other men to God’s country. G. M. Anderson emerged as the earliest religious cowboy at the Essanay Studios. He portrayed good/bad cowboy, Broncho Billy, in scores of one-reel westerns. With a tough exterior but a generally soft-hearted soul, Broncho Billy enacted the role of the lone pilgrim suffering through the desert. His rough-hewn character may have been prone to wander, but he generally reaffirmed American values of honor, justice, courage, integrity, kindness, and self-sacrifice. Several of his films demonstrated his essential integrity. For example, in Broncho Billy’s Sentence (1915), he starts as an outlaw fleeing a posse. He hides in a minister’s home where he is cared for by the minister and his wife who feed him and read him the Bible. Recognizing the error of his ways, he repents, turns himself in to the authorities, and is sent to prison, where he takes on the role of a prison minister to his fellow convicts. William S. Hart replaced Broncho Billy as the archetypal religious cowboy, living out his dark nights of the soul soaked in booze. Hart became the top male box-office draw during the late 1910s, owing in part to the tough Calvinist theology that shaped his character. No one could read the Bible and drink his whiskey as forcefully as Hart. He was generally nudged into finding God through the encouragement of a good woman, often with the name of Faith or Grace, finding redemption before the final reel. Hart would become the model of a muscular Christianity sweeping America. Hell’s Hinges (1916) proved to be the climactic narrative for his character, depicting an apocalyptic finale in a symbolic war of good and evil in the old West. A Puritanical Protestant faith was translated into the visual sermons of western films, with Broncho Billy and William S. Hart galloping across the screen as Jonathan Bunyan’s solitary pilgrim on horseback. Curiously, French critics complained that too much religion and piety appeared in American westerns and demanded that Hollywood not export Bibles and sermons in their movies. “America’s Sweetheart” Mary Pickford infused many of her films with strong religious sentiment. Along with Hart, she topped the Quigley Exhibitors’ Poll in the late teams, drawing in huge audiences. Films like Tess of the Storm Country (1914) and Sparrows (1926) were replete with Christian themes. As the American icon of spunk and verve, Pickford added energy to a waning Victorian piety. Her character countered the stiff religion of the 19th century with one that combined integrity with loving kindness. In Tess she defended an unwed mother against self-righteous church men. In the comic melodrama Sparrows, she enacts one of the most touching and poignant prayers for a dead orphan, and invites Jesus as the Good Shepherd to gather his dying lamb to His flock. Pickford’s husband and

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United Artists partner, Douglas Fairbanks, starred in the adventure film The Gaucho (1928) as a playful rogue who undergoes a radical conversion at a holy shrine of the Virgin Mary (played, incidentally, by his own wife, Mary Pickford). Comedy and religion were wedded in the work of Charlie Chaplin, whose combination of slapstick and pathos brought laughter and tears. In Easy Street (1917), Chaplin is converted at a Christian Mission house and goes on to inadvertently clean up the neighborhood, preaching a dual sermon on evangelism and social work, and instituting a New Hope Mission. In The Pilgrim (1923), convict Chaplin playfully disguises himself as a minister and finds himself in a church pulpit required to preach a sermon. In a scene that contrasts with the usual boredom of a Sunday service, he acts out the battle of David and Goliath to the enthusiastic response of a young boy. Other films such as The Kid (1921) and The Circus (1928) explicitly utilize religious themes and symbols to emphasize the tramp’s sentimental religious humanism, underscoring the beatitude that the earth belongs to the meek. In 1919 religion attained a peak in its impact upon the silent film. Methodists held their centenary and showed over 800 films. A significant Christian publication, The Christian Herald, reviewed films and even sought to coordinate productions. Articles appeared celebrating how moving pictures functioned as a handmaiden to churches. And movies like George Loane Tucker’s The Miracle Man (1919) wowed spectators with its presentation of faith healing in the midst of crooked con men. One of the characters, a Chinese launderer played by Lon Chaney, in Tom Forman’s Shadows (1922), is converted to Christianity as he observes the integrity of a local minister who is falsely accused of a crime and yet forgives his accuser. In the 1920s, one of the most enduring directors of the religious spectaculars, Cecil B. DeMille, released two classic productions, The Ten Commandments (1923) and The King of Kings (1927). Exploiting the religious audiences of the heartland, DeMille mixed biblical tales with cinematic showmanship, adding titillation, sex, and high fashion to the story of a simple carpenter from Nazareth. DeMille would defend the screen as a primary “religious teacher,” able to stir the spiritual imaginations of his audiences, even as he committed adultery with his scriptwriter. Jews were not entirely absent from the silent film era, and many of the films depicting Jews did so in a manner that was not only open and obvious, but with greater frequency in the 1920s than in the decade immediately before or after World War II. Central to many of these films was the conflict most immigrants faced between particularization (and marginalization) on the one hand and acculturating and assimilating into the overwhelmingly Protestant American culture on the other. These films in particular dwelt less on Jewish religious practice—the occasional image of Jews praying, performances of Jewish liturgical music—and

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more on elements of Jewish ethnicity and culture, such as the use of Yiddish, visits to (or street images of ) Jewish merchants (like kosher delicatessens), and the environs of the Lower East Side of Manhattan, the epicenter of the largest Jewish immigrant population in the first part of the century. Humoresque (1920)—about a Jewish child prodigy who escapes the impoverished conditions of the Lower East Side to become a violin virtuoso, only to be injured when he volunteers for military duty during World War I—features a performance of “Kol Nidre,” one of the more recognizable Jewish prayers, recited only on Yom Kippur. His People (1925)—about two brothers, their different life paths, and their relationship to their parents and their parents’ world—features a scene around the Shabbat dinner table. And films like The Cohens and the Kellys (1926), Kosher Kitty Kelly (1925), and Clancy’s Kosher Wedding (1927)—a few of the many film versions of the enormously popular play Abie’s Irish Rose (which ran on Broadway for 2,327 performances from May, 1922, through October, 1927, and was itself made into a film in 1928)—focused on the dangers, frustrations, and difficulties of ethnic (rather than simply religious) intermarriage. Common among these films are some of the enduring stereotypes (positive and negative) of Jews in film: the yiddshe mama, the generational conflicts over Americanization, and issues related to intermarriage. Concerned with comic caricatures of Irish and Italian Catholics (as seen in The Callahans and the Murphys [1927]), as well as suggestive portrayals of priests and nuns (as seen in The White Sister [1923]), the Roman Catholic Church carefully and deliberately increased its participation in the film world during the “golden age” of film, the 1930s. Joining with Protestants, the church clamored for cleaning up Hollywood after the early 1921 scandals of actors Wallace Reid and Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle. To assuage such complaints, Hollywood enlisted the former Republican postmaster general and Presbyterian elder Will H. Hays to preside over the Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America (MPPDA) as a moral watchdog. By including Hays as a symbolic head, Hollywood postponed national censorship. Nevertheless, as literature and theatrical productions tested the limits of acceptable content, the public art of film took the heat. Satires of religious characters, such as Sinclair Lewis’s novel Elmer Gantry (1927) and Somerset Maugham’s story “Rain,” scandalized religious leaders. These same leaders were appeased by Hays’s presence only so long, as he was soon seen as a token guardian. Films like The Scarlet Letter (1926) and Sadie Thompson (1928) exacerbated Hays’s job to clean up Hollywood. The silent era ended just as the MPPDA set forth its guidelines, which would culminate in the Production Code of 1930; it prohibited any mockery or ridicule of the clergy. What had begun as a healthy cooperation among filmmakers and religious groups now deteriorated into attitudes of suspicion, enmity, and hostility. Religious concerns focused more on sex and violence, and spokespeople for

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religious adherents found themselves marginalized as critical voices rather than as creative, cross-fertilizing partners. By the mid-twenties, church-going and movie-going were regular experiences for many ordinary American citizens. Moving pictures had been assimilated into the cultural mainstream and even into the churches, but they had, in the eyes of some, corrupted the culture. What many realized is that the telling of stories, the making of myths, the defining of morality, and the practice of rituals once dominated by the churches and synagogues had now been supplanted by the moving picture theaters—the new cathedrals of America. Terry Lindvall See also: Catholicism; Censorship in Hollywood; DeMille, Cecil B.; Film as Religion; Judaism; Missionary Films; Protestantism; Westerns.

Further Reading Cripps, Thomas. “The Movie Jew as an Image of Assimilation, 1903–1927.” Journal of Popular Film 4, no. 3 (1975): 190–207. Friedman, Lester D. “Celluloid Assimilation: Jews in American Silent Movies.” Journal of Popular Film and Television 15, no. 3 (1987): 129–136. Lindvall, Terry. Sanctuary Cinema: The Origins of the Christian Film Industry. New York: New York University Press, 2007. Lindvall, Terry. The Silents of God: Selected Issues and Documents in Silent American Film and Religion, 1908–1925. London: Scarecrow Press, 2001. Musser, Charles. “Passions and the Passion Play: Theater, Film, and Religion in America, 1880–1900.” Film History 5, no. 4 (1993): 419–456. Ramsaye, Terry. A Million and One Nights. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1926. Sloan, Kay. The Loud Silents: Origins of the Social Problem Film. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1988.

Smith, Kevin (1970– ) American director, producer, actor, and comic book writer Kevin Patrick Smith was born in Red Bank, New Jersey, on August 2, 1970. He has written and directed eight feature films to date and appeared in several dozen documentaries and movies. Considered by some the voice of the “slacker generation,” Smith’s movies are sweet-tempered comedies characterized by fast, intelligent, and often intensely profane dialogue. His subject matter concerns New Jersey, friends, family, sex, God, and popular culture, all handled with wit, irony, and emotional honesty.

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Smith was raised in Highlands, New Jersey, a small, predominantly IrishCatholic blue-collar town, and attended Our Lady of Perpetual Help parochial school for eight years before graduating from Henry Hudson Regional High School. He began to struggle with Catholic dogma around the age of 18 or 19, questioning the existence of God and whether the Bible was sacred scripture or literature, calling this the beginning of a real crisis of faith and giving him the idea for the script of his movie Dogma (1999). Smith draws on Catholic working-class New Jersey for the setting of his movies, most of which take place in a fictional universe dubbed the “View Askewniverse” (named for his production company, View Askew Productions). He portrays Catholic New Jersey in a loving and authentic way, capturing the rhythms of speech, humor, and clever banter that characterize the Jersey working class. Catholicism provides a context for the lives and feelings of the characters, as in Chasing Amy (1997), where graffiti on the wall of a neighborhood bar reads, “And on the eighth day, God created beer.” Smith’s characters often discuss Catholic life and questions of faith. Smart and opinionated, the predominantly young people who populate his films debate contemporary dilemmas confronting Catholic dogma, including euthanasia, abortion, premarital sex, and homosexuality. They also concern themselves with more timeless matters, such as what the souls of the dead do to stay busy in heaven. Smith’s affectionate portrayals of Catholic Jersey culture lead to meditations on the importance of friendship, love, and family. His first film, Clerks. (1994), which he financed himself and made for only $27,000, chronicles a day in the life of two friends, Dante and Randal. The film climaxes with a fight between the two but ends quietly with the two working side by side, cleaning up the mess they made. These two friends are still together in Clerks II (2006) and are joined by another pair of close friends, stoners Jay and Silent Bob (played by Smith), who have appeared in all but one of Smith’s films to date. Jersey Girl (2004) is about being a parent and about how the love of a parent for a child has the power to change lives. Chasing Amy, Smith’s most accomplished film, challenges conservative Catholic sexual morality by telling the love story of a sexually liberated woman named Alyssa Jones and the man who would possess her, Holden McNeil. Although a lesbian, Alyssa loves Holden. “Why rule out fifty percent of the population in selecting a mate?” she asks, “Isn’t that dumb?” Smith does not refute this argument, suggesting instead that the dogmatic nature of a religious upbringing can result in judgmental adults who are unable to accept people who are different. By the time he completed the first draft of the script for Dogma, Smith said he had resolved his crisis of faith, affirming a belief in God and Christ but differentiating between faith and (institution-based) religion. Hence Dogma is critical of doctrine yet upbeat about faith. The movie introduces a number of technical

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aspects of Catholic doctrine, including transubstantiation and plenary indulgence. However, Smith builds a nondogmatic view of faith, suggesting that the New Testament is fallible and open to bigoted readings, and arguing that homosexuality is not a sin. He portrays Jesus as human as well as divine, experiencing doubt and self-pity, and capable of pulling practical jokes on the disciples. Above all, Smith presents a movie in which God exists and is playful, loving, and kind but in which His (or Her) plans for us are mysterious. Dogma was attacked by the Catholic League for Religious and Civil Rights. Smith and a friend attended a protest of the movie in Asbury Park, New Jersey, and arrived to find 15 protesters who had neither seen the movie nor could recognize Smith. When a reporter from a local television news channel recognized him and asked if he was Kevin Smith, he denied it and proceeded to detail the defects of the movie and its director. Smith subsequently received a “Defender of Democracy” award from People for the American Way for his efforts to bring the movie from script to theater. He called the movie a “celebration of faith,” which makes the point that faith in God means faith in something we cannot understand. Dogma is a human creation, an attempt to dictate the terms by which unintelligible things can be made understandable. But that is not the same thing as faith, even if the church, a human creation, wants unquestioning support from its members. Beth Davies-Stofka See also: Catholicism; God.

Further Reading Horowitz, Josh. The Mind of the Modern Moviemaker: 20 Conversations with the New Generation of Filmmakers. New York: Penguin, 2006. Horton, R. “Snoochie Boochies: The Gospel According to Kevin Smith.” Film Comment 35, no. 6 (1999): 60–65. Muir, John Kenneth. An Askew View: The Films of Kevin Smith. New York: Applause Theater and Cinema Books, 2002. Smith, Kevin. Silent Bob Speaks: The Collected Writings of Kevin Smith. New York: Miramax Books/Hyperion, 2005.

Sports The sports film is a significant and increasingly popular Hollywood genre. This is hardly surprising, since moviegoing and watching sporting events (live or on television) are two of America’s favorite recreational activities. Among the large and

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growing collection of sports films, a considerable number engage sacred topics and themes and some give them primary attention. The result is the “sacred sports film,” a subgenre that includes such popular films as Chariots of Fire (1981), The Natural (1984), Field of Dreams (1989), and Major League (1989). Designation and analysis of the sacred sports film is accurately understood in the context of the broader inquiry into the relationship between sports and religion in American culture. Studies of this relationship have proliferated since the early 1990s, with inquirers offering a wide variety of interpretations of the meaning and implications of this relationship. None, however, give attention to the ways in which films mediate the relationship between sports and the sacred in contemporary culture, although several do cite specific films in the context of their broader analysis. What they do supply is a general theoretic context that can be used to guide studies of films dealing with sports and religion. Broadly speaking, scholars who have inquired into the relationship of sports and religion can be divided into two camps: those who argue for understanding sports as a distinct religious expression and those who oppose such claims. Of the two approaches, those presenting understandings of sports as religion or at least offering studies of sports in the context of religious categories are preferable for use in the analysis of films featuring the interplay of religion and sports, for two primary reasons. First, while both approaches may be helpful in the analysis of films in which sports and traditional religions are prominently featured, those that take seriously the religious dimension of sports offer more resources for analyzing the significance of both undertakings without minimizing the importance of sports relative to religion. Second, by recognizing the religious dimension of sports, these studies allow for inquiries into films in which sports are presented as distinct religious experiences, independent of and different from the experiences of traditional religions. Such inquiries are considerably more difficult using the approach that rejects the religious dimension of sports. The study presented here is thus informed by the understanding that films featuring the interplay of religion and sports may focus on either sports in the context of traditional religion or in the context of the sacred dimension of sports itself—with the latter being a major category for the analysis of sports in the context of religious films and culture as a whole. In this regard, a helpful starting point for inquiry into sports and the sacred in film is to consider the degree to which sacred topics and themes are necessary elements in the development of the film and/or its principle characters. For example, the classic baseball movie, Bull Durham (1988), may reasonably be included in this category even though reference to sacred topics occurs only in the opening scene when the female lead (Annie Savoy) offers her famous confessional, which begins, “I believe in the Church of Baseball.” She continues, “I’ve tried all of the major religions and most of the minor ones.” She refers to Buddhism, Islam,

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Hinduism, Catholicism, and primal religions before concluding: “And the only one [religion] that truly feeds the soul day in and day out is the Church of Baseball.” Although this is the only scene in which sacred themes are mentioned, the scene is so pivotal to the development of the Annie Savoy character, and through her the entire film, that it allows for consideration of Bull Durham as a sacred sports film. Take away the opening scene and both the character and film lose something of their essence. For Annie Savoy (and many other Americans), the world of baseball is a sacred world and Bull Durham carries the viewer into this world. Savoy’s “Church of Baseball” speech is cited in several important scholarly studies on the intersection of sports and religion. In contrast to the brief but highly significant appearance of religion in Bull Durham, religion has a primary and sustained role in the film School Ties (1992). In this case, the film is developed around the lead character’s relationship with his religion (Judaism) and the impact of anti-Semitism on his relationship with his Christian classmates at an elite prep school. On the other hand, the film adaptation of Chaim Potok’s 1981 novel The Chosen opens with a hotly contested baseball game between young men from two Jewish religious communities in New York City during World War II. One team is from the Hasidic community and the other is comprised of secularized Jews. The game helps introduce the two main characters, but unlike the Savoy confession in Bull Durham, their development and the film’s narrative is not contingent on the game. In this regard, The Chosen (1981) is clearly a religious movie, which happens to be introduced with a particularly dramatic sporting event. The discussion of Bull Durham, School Ties, and The Chosen offered here suggests something of the complexity (as well as the academic interest) involved in the interplay of sports and the sacred. Clearly not all sports films that include sacred topics and themes are sacred sports films. Raging Bull (1980) concludes with a powerful and cryptic quotation from the Gospel of John, but Raging Bull does not deal with religion explicitly and only by a considerable stretch does it deal with it implicitly. In the same way, not all religious films that include references to sports fit into this classification. Some films, like School Ties, seem to clearly belong while others, like The Chosen, do not. In the case of films like Bull Durham, it is a matter of judgment—and perhaps the degree to which sports is seen as sacred to the inquirer. To assist in resolving the complexity in initial classification, films that deal with sports and religion can be analyzed in terms of how they understand and present the sacred. Typically, the sacred sports film takes one of two distinct forms. The first and more obvious form focuses on the interplay of sports and traditional transcendental religions (i.e., religions in which the sacred transcends the natural world). Films of this type present religion(s) in an explicit manner and can be aptly termed “religious sports films.”

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The second form may be slightly less apparent due to the cultural tendency to limit expressions of the sacred to established religious traditions. Films of this type expand the range of the sacred beyond well-known religions and generally present the sport of their focus in a mystical or paranormal context. Broadly speaking, the sense of the sacred presented in these films has affinities with religions classified as cosmological (i.e., religions in which the sacred is embedded in natural world). These films may also present the sport as a sacred experience in and of itself. Religion per se is often implicit in films of this type, which are reasonably classified as “mystical sports films.” Many religious sports films are arguably religious films that utilize sports to focus on religious themes and issues. Most of the mystical sports films give primary attention to a particular sport and its mystical dimension for players and fans. In this regard, films of the latter type may suggest ways in which sports have come to function religiously in the lives of many Americans. In addition to these two categories of analysis, others might include distinctions between comedy and drama, fiction and nonfiction, and adult and juvenile target audiences. Films that present sports and the sacred in the context of traditional transcendental religions (“religious sports films”) are probably the easiest to recognize and analyze. Those most appropriately classified as sacred sports films are crafted in such a way that the featured sport and explicit religious elements seem seamlessly melded. Both the sport and the religion are so necessary to the narrative that the absence of either would fundamentally alter the film. In addition to presenting recognizable religions in the context of featured characters, religious sports films usually dramatize tensions that exist between different religions. They may also include other elements typically associated with mainstream religions—crises of faith, challenges with secularization, and issues related to pluralism. Aside from comedies, the religions are on the whole presented in a fair and accurate manner. There are several outstanding examples of films of this type: Ali (2001), Chariots of Fire, School Ties, and Major League. Like School Ties, Chariots of Fire is developed around its lead characters’ religious beliefs and how these beliefs influence and are influenced by their athletic performance. Set in the context of the British Olympic team’s participation in the 1924 Paris Olympics, the film focuses on two of the team’s star runners— one a Jewish student from Cambridge, the other a Christian missionary from Scotland. Both characters pursue athletic success for religious reasons, both encounter challenges due to their religious beliefs, and both are ultimately successful in their races at the Olympic Games. In addition to using religion to develop the film’s plot and the characters, this film in particular gives exposure to issues related to the interaction of religion with secularization, nationalism, and the mass media.

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Another good example of this type of film is Ali, the biographical film of the life of Muhammad Ali. In an accurate, if somewhat sanitized, recreation of ten critical years in the great boxer’s life, this biopic presents Ali as a complex character whose life is both stabilized and vitalized by his conversion to the Nation of Islam. As a result, viewers receive insight into one of America’s most controversial (and now beloved) sports icons and his equally controversial faith. As with other religious sports films, the hero’s religion is elemental to the narrative. The treatment of Ali’s life in this film can be contrasted with the treatment of Jake LaMotta’s life in Raging Bull, revealing the difference between a religious sports film and a sports film in which religion could have been prominently featured but was not. A comedy of this subgenre is Major League. As with other religion and sports films, the story line (and in this case many of the laugh lines) is contingent on distinctions and tensions between religions. Although practitioners of the religions presented may well take exception to the way their beliefs and practices are humorously depicted, the film relies on these depictions to develop its characters and storyline. The second type of sacred sports film (“mystical sports films”) seldom presents religion (or religions) in an explicit manner. Instead it sets the sport of its focus in a mystical frame of reference and/or sacralizes the sport itself. These films tend to abound with religious elements and categories of religious experience, but seldom do they focus on a distinct religious tradition. Instead, and more broadly, they evoke a cosmological sense of the sacred. Classically, cosmological religions are those in which nature or the forces of nature are sacralized. Perhaps the best known type of cosmological religion is that found in ancient archaic cultures, featuring pantheons of gods that embodied forces of nature and human emotions. Also included would be tribal shamanistic religions and contemporary religions such as Wicca and neopaganism. In the mystical sports film, this cosmological sense of the sacred is articulated not in the context of world nature and natural forces but rather the context of the world of the sport. It is the sport itself that serves as the sacred ground for these films, with the myths and rituals of the sport acting as vehicles for the experience of this sacred ground. Three movies that best exemplify this category are The Natural, The Legend of Bagger Vance (2000), and Field of Dreams. The Natural offers a variation of the classic shaman’s quest. It presents the life of its lead character as a sacred odyssey from shining promise, to oblivion, and finally to ultimate redemption and triumph. In it both the lead character (Roy Hobbs) and baseball are presented in a thoroughly cosmological light. Hobbs is a troubled shaman with a tragic past, his bat a talisman or “power stick,” and his story a sacred quest. The sport of baseball becomes a cosmic drama in which

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forces of good and evil struggle on the field and off. Ironically, what makes the movie so dynamic are its paranormal elements and cosmological context, rendering the story of The Natural hardly natural at all—at least in the normative sense of the word, but very much so in the cosmological sense of the sacred. The Legend of Bagger Vance is a film adaptation of Steven Pressfield’s novel about a golf match during the Great Depression between golfing greats Walter Hagen and Bobby Jones, who are joined by a local talent, one Rannulph Junah. Pressfield consciously patterned the novel on the Bhagavad Gita and persons familiar with the Hindu classic will readily recognize the affinities—specifically between the hero, Rannulph Junah (“R. Junah,” or Arjuna), and his mystical caddy, Bagger Vance (Bagavan, or Krishna). Even if unfamiliar with the Gita or unaware of its relationship to the film, viewers will readily recognize the lead characters as religious archetypes (the conflicted disciple and the firm yet patient Master). They will also experience the sacredness of sports (golf in this case) and how the myths and rituals of sports serve as portals into sacred realms of meaning. Although based on a major religious text, Bagger Vance is best classified as a mystical sports film since the film evokes the sacred dimension of golf, while the religion of the Gita (Hinduism) is not presented explicitly. Like Bagger Vance, Field of Dreams resurrects the actual stars of baseball’s mythic past. These saints and sinners of Annie Savoy’s “Church of Baseball” return to life in an affirmation of their immortality and the sacred nature of the game itself. Driven by the now classic line, “If you build it, he will come,” the film vivifies the myth of the immortality of sports heroes. The “he” in the quote can be understood to refer to Shoeless Joe Jackson, a star player at the center of the famous “Black Sox” scandal who was banned from baseball for his role in helping to fix the 1919 World Series. Once the diamond is constructed in an Iowa cornfield, Jackson and his peers return to life in the prime of their careers. Predicated on a world view similar to the ancestrism of primal cultures, the field in Field of Dreams becomes a sacred space in which the game’s greatest players experience again the thrill of the game. The comedy Angels in the Outfield (1994), intended for younger audiences, depicts the manifestation of the sacred in the context of a contemporary baseball team. In this case, the sacred manifestation consists of angelic beings (actual angels) who come to the aid of the California Angels baseball club. At critical times in games, the angels appear, assisting the Angels players at the expense of their opponents. What is common in all mystical sports films (as opposed to the religious sports films) is the evocation of the sacredness of the sports on which they focus. Where religious sports films generally present traditional religions with accuracy and attention to detail in relationship to a particular sport, mystical sports films invite

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viewers into a sacred world. The context that gives this world meaning is supplied by the stories and traditions of the sport on which they focus, but through the power of the film, the stories become sacred myths and the traditions become rituals of transformation and renewal. Viewers who are avid fans doubtless feel quite at home in these rarefied realms and even nonfans can get some sense of the sacred significance of the particular sports through the viewing experience. For this reason, mystical sports films are perhaps the more intriguing of the two categories for inquiry and analysis. On the other hand, religious sports films allow insight into the intersection of religion and sports and through that they give viewers some sense of the cultural significance of these two powerful sources of meaning, value, and identity in the contemporary world. Dell deChant See also: Catholicism; Film as Religion; Hinduism; Islam; Judaism; Protestantism.

Further Reading Braswell, Michael C., and Robert J. Higgs. An Unholy Alliance: The Sacred and Modern Sports. Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 2004. Hoffman, Shirl J., ed. Sport and Religion. Champaign, IL: Human Kinetics, 1992. Prebish, Charles S., ed. Religion and Sport: The Meeting of the Sacred and the Profane. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1993. Price, Joseph L., ed. From Season to Season: Sports as American Religion. Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 2001. Price, Joseph L. Rounding the Bases: Baseball and Religion in America. Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 2006.

Superheroes Films about superheroes, drawn from characters in comic books, have appeared on movie screens shortly after their debut in comic print format. The earliest films were serials, shown during World War II, and featured such characters as The Phantom and Captain America, who fought villains bent on aiding the Axis Powers. In 1948, the actor Kirk Alyn donned Superman tights in the first feature film about a superhero. Conventional and commercial, the superhero film properly belongs to the era of the Hollywood blockbuster, when big movies with big thrills promised substantial returns on a studio’s investment. The returns were enhanced through the economics of franchising, product placement, and product tie-ins, a trend that continues to this day. The pace of production of superhero films has

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accelerated with the rapid growth in digital effects capability, allowing for more realism in costumes and the portrayal of superhuman exploits. Superhero movies are not normally concerned with religious subject matter; instead, writers, directors, and cinematographers use religious language and imagery to enhance the complexity of the subtexts of their films. The first of the superhero blockbusters was Superman: The Movie (1978), directed by Richard Donner. Donner and uncredited writer Tom Mankiewicz reputedly played up a resemblance to Christ in both this script and the sequel, Superman II (1980). The film dramatically emphasizes Superman’s origins as Kal-El, the only survivor of the planet Krypton, sent to earth by his father to save humanity. Jor-El, Superman’s father, says to his son: “They can be a great people, Kal-El, if they wish to be. They only lack the light to show the way. For this reason above all, their capacity for good, I have sent them you, my only son.” The origin story also recalls Moses, who, like Kal-El/Clark Kent, was a foundling sent by his parents from an endangered homeland and adopted by strangers. Moses and Clark each grew to be mighty heroes. In Superman Returns (2006), director Bryan Singer also flavored some of his scenes with Christian-like language and imagery. After a five-year absence, Superman has returned to Earth, crashing his ship near the farm of Martha Kent, his adoptive mother. Superman then collapses in his mother’s arms. This image evokes the Pietà, Michelangelo’s portrayal of the bereaved Mary holding the body of her crucified son. In a fight between Superman and his archenemy Lex Luthor, Luthor weakens Superman by exposing him to Kryptonite and then beats him with a brutality that implies the Passion. Luthor’s girlfriend, a “fallen woman,” looks on with suffering and compassion, recalling the story of Mary Magdalene. Finally Luthor stabs Superman in the side with a shard of Kryptonite, recalling the fate of Jesus on the cross. Superman recovers his strength and saves the world by lifting a giant Kryptonite landmass into outer space. When the effort saps his strength and he falls to Earth, his body is arranged in a pose resembling a crucifixion. His mother Martha waits for news of his fate, but in the crowd outside the hospital, instead of at the foot of the cross. And yet, the narrative and visual links to the Christ story are not meant to portray Superman as a divine being. The intent is to use familiar elements to enhance the dramatic power of the narrative. The Superman movies are not religious, as Superman does not save humanity from an afterlife of anguish and suffering. Nor is he the Son of God. Superman may be portrayed in these movies as our savior, but Jor-El, his father in heaven, did not create us. He is a flesh and blood father, albeit alien, but mortal like any Earth father. In most superhero movies, the concerns are secular, and the worldview is atheistic. Spider-Man’s powers are the result of a bite from an experimental spider,

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and his enemies, the Green Goblin, Doctor Octopus, and the Sandman, all gain their superpowers from unfortunate scientific mishaps. The X-Men are mutated humans, their powers attributed to a mutant “X” gene. Batman doesn’t have superpowers. His powers derive from tools like the Batmobile and the Batplane, and a bulletproof costume. Batman’s chief weapon is his ability to frighten his enemies. In Batman Begins (2005), Batman torments a corrupt cop for information. The man pleads, “I don’t know. I swear to God.” With fierce insistence, Batman grabs him by his hair, growling “Swear to me!” Superhero movies frequently use Christian churches for scenery and setting. Sometimes the churches are shown in a state of decay, like in Tim Burton’s Batman (1989). The climactic fight scene between Batman and the Joker takes place far above the streets of Gotham in the dirty, pigeon-infested belfry of the city’s giant cathedral. In X2: X-Men United (2003), Kurt Wagner, the mutant known as Nightcrawler, hides in a church after attempting to kill the President of the United States. The church is apparently under renovation, run down, and home to dozens of pigeons. Graffiti outside the church says scornfully, “Nature laughs.” Nevertheless, it is a refuge, like the church in X-Men: The Last Stand (2006), where mutants hold a meeting to decide how to respond to the so-called “cure.” Dramatic moments are also set in churches that are brightly lit, clean, well tended, and staffed with clerical personnel. In Spider-Man 3 (2007), Spider-Man has a life-and-death struggle with a gooey entity from outer space in the belfry of a church. In the sanctuary, the font is filled with holy water, votive candles are lit, and Eddie Brock kneels and asks an image of the crucified Jesus to kill Peter Parker. The priest of the Hell’s Kitchen parish hears Daredevil’s confession in Daredevil (2003). Mary, the mother of God, watches over Hell’s Kitchen from her position in the stained glass window high over the streets. In the fierce fight between Daredevil and Bullseye in the church, the two use the organ pipes, stained glass, bells, and lit candles in their efforts to destroy each other. Superheroes are not normally religious. Two prominent exceptions are Matt Murdock, also known as Daredevil, and the mutant Kurt Wagner, also known as Nightcrawler, one of the X-Men. Both of them are Roman Catholic. Daredevil makes much of Murdock’s Catholicism, as we see him go to confession to wrestle with his conflicting desires for vengeance and justice. Daredevil wears a red costume with horns, which are amplified in shadows to frighten his quarry. The press calls him “demonic”; in a voice-over, he calls himself a “guardian devil.” Nightcrawler, also demonic in appearance, is deeply pious, and his piety seems to flow from his confusion over his abilities. He sees himself as a circus freak, so he prays, and chastises himself. In X2: X-Men United, during a moment of anxiety, Nightcrawler sits by himself, praying the rosary. He explains to another of the X-Men

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that he has carved angelic symbols into his skin, one for every sin. Faith, he tells her, can help us survive. Some superhero films have the unfortunate tendency to treat African and East Asian cultures as mystical and exotic wellsprings of superpowers. In Batman Returns (1992), Catwoman is born when Selina Kyle is murdered and cats resurrect her. In Catwoman (2004), the story is expanded considerably to explain the resurrection of Patience Phillips. In this version, the ancient Egyptian goddess Bast uses a breed of cats called Mau as her sacred messengers. For thousands of years, the Mau have been testing women by leading them to their deaths, and resurrecting those they find worthy. When resurrecting these women, the cats bestow the special gift of freedom. And freedom, so the story goes, is power. In Batman Begins, Bruce Wayne learns his stealth in a place suggestive of the Shaolin Monastery, and in Blade: Trinity (2004), Blade fights the so-called “First Vampire.” Said to have originated in ancient Sumer and worshipped by the Babylonians as the god Dagon, this First Vampire has cut a swath of blood through human history. The actual god Dagon, worshipped by the early Amorites and demonized in the Hebrew Bible, was a god of grain and agriculture. Perhaps the most egregious use of the East as a source of mystical and exotic power appears in Elektra (2005). The movie claims that two armies have been at war since time began, and both armies, the Hand and the Chaste, are typical examples of western fantasies about the mystical East. The soldiers of the Hand and the Chaste are ninjas with legendary abilities of telepathy and telekinesis. The Chaste follow the way of “Kimagure,” and their purity permits them to see the future, control time, and bring the dead back to life. In an impressive visual, a shaman named Tattoo is able to release his tattoos (a hawk, a wolf, a spider, and a snake) from his body to attack and kill his enemies. When the warriors from the Hand die, their bodies turn into smoke and light and leave no dust behind. A few films are adapted from comics that are not strictly about superheroes. Although not about men in tights, they nonetheless feature heroes with extraordinary powers who confront extraordinary evil in an effort to save the world. Constantine (2005), based on the DC/Vertigo Hellblazer comics, is the most religious of these, featuring exorcist John Constantine. Constantine has the ability to see the demons and angels among us. The plot is based on Roman Catholic notions of heaven, hell, and sin, with God and the angels in heaven, Satan and the demons in hell, and humans in between. God and Satan have a wager as to who can win the most souls. Constantine must foil a plot to bring the reign of hell to earth that revolves around control of the Spear of Destiny, mentioned in the Gospel of John and said to be stained with the blood of Jesus. The film is saturated with Christian imagery and lore, from apocryphal texts, demon possessions, the number 666,

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and winged angels, to the prominent use of holy objects and relics such as Latin prayers, crosses, alchemical symbols, and holy water. Hellboy (2004) is the story of a demon brought to earth as a baby who grows up to be an FBI operative fighting the forces of darkness. The wisecracking Hellboy’s features are classically demonic—red skin, horns, and a tail. But Hellboy is not an earthly warrior in a battle between heaven and hell. Instead, Hellboy confronts Rasputin, who has gained eternal life and the ability to grant it to others. Rasputin wishes to use Hellboy to instigate the apocalypse, by bringing the “Ogdru Jahad,” or Seven Gods of Chaos, to earth. The “Ogdru Jahad” are similar to visions of gods and demons entertained by religions throughout the ages, but are an invention of Mike Mignola, Hellboy’s creator. Director Guillermo del Toro uses vivid imagery and a heady mixture of both Christian and pagan symbolism to create a visually stunning, and enjoyably goofy, film. In V for Vendetta (2005), a fascist Christian prime minister maintains his hold on the British government by exercising absolute control over the media and intelligence services, and manipulating the British people’s fears of terrorism. In this story Christianity is part and parcel of the evil to be confronted, and the titular character, V, does so by using sabotage and violence to assassinate key government leaders and galvanize the public into mass action. Although the purpose of superhero movies is to entertain with larger-than-life characters and dynamic action sequences, they grapple with several issues common to theological inquiry, including the confrontation with evil and the limits of being human. There are three basic categories of evil in superhero films: supernatural evil, such as that fought by Blade and Constantine; the evil that men do, such as that fought by Superman, Batman, the X-Men, or Daredevil; and a combination of the two, such as that fought by Hellboy or Elektra. In each case, the confrontation with evil requires some kind of sacrifice for the sake of others, either of the hero’s happiness or life and sometimes both. The sacrifice of self for the sake of others is the essence of heroism in superhero movies. Superheroes have powers that most humans do not. They can fly like Superman or enjoy superior agility and reaction times, like Spider-Man and Catwoman. Most have inhuman strength, but those who do not have superior knowledge, intelligence, and guile. The most direct challenge to the limits of being human is made in the X-Men movies, where some of those who mutate can control nature, space and time, and the human mind. Storm, for example, has power over weather, Nightcrawler can psychically teleport at will, Cyclops can destroy objects by looking at them, Magneto can manipulate an object’s magnetic field, and Professor X can manipulate the minds of others, controlling their actions and even shutting down their bodies.

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Superheroes are not gods, however, because they are not immortal. Comic book fans are used to seeing favorite characters die, only to be resurrected in some form or another, and this convention will likely make its way into the movies. But resurrection is not immortality, so in the end, these movies are not about such religious questions as gods or the afterlife. They speak to our ideas about ourselves and our humanity. Beth Davies-Stofka See also: Animated Films; Posthumanism; Science Fiction.

Further Reading Forbes, Bruce David. “Batman Crucified: Religion and Modern Superheroes.” Media Development 44, no. 4 (1997): 10–12. Kozloff, Sarah. “Superman as Savior: Christian Allegory in the Superman Movies.” Journal of Popular Film and Television 9, no. 2 (1981): 78–82. Muir, John Kenneth. The Encyclopedia of Superheroes on Film and Television. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2004. Oropeza, B. J. The Gospel According to Superheroes: Religion and Pop Culture. New York: Peter Lang, 2005.

T Tarantino, Quentin (1963– ) Quentin Tarantino is perhaps the most famous and influential figure in the independent film renaissance of the early 1990s; his filmography reveals a deep interest in loyalty, fate, and redemption, often illustrated through the manipulation of time. Self-taught as a screenwriter and director with a deep appreciation of low-status genre movies (Italian giallo, martial arts, “blaxploitation,” “spaghetti” westerns, and heist pictures), Tarantino brings an upmarket sensibility and philosophical sophistication to his B-movie material. In particular, critics have noticed some religious themes and references running through Pulp Fiction (1994), which received the Palme d’Or at the 1994 Cannes Film Festival. It may seem odd to identify Tarantino as a filmmaker with a religious vision. His trademarks are shocking violence and casually profane conversation among low-life criminals. These skills first came to light in his celebrated screenplays for True Romance (1993), made with fellow videostore employee and future filmmaker Roger Avary, and Natural American directory Quentin Tarantino at the Academy Awards ceremony, 2010. AP Photo/Matt Sayles. Born Killers (1994); they were 415

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confirmed with the release of Reservoir Dogs (1992), his first feature, an R-rated depiction of a robbery gone wrong. Pulp Fiction, however, married crime and torture plots and amoral characters to a complex exploration of good and evil in the hearts of men. The movie intertwines four story lines: (1) Two hit men (Jules and Vincent) chitchat on the job; (2) their boss Marsellus’s wife Mia parties with Vincent and overdoses; (3) a boxer (Butch) contemplates throwing the big fight; and (4) two robbers (“Pumpkin” and “Honey Bunny”) hold up a diner. The “Pumpkin and Honey Bunny” subplot brackets the film, half of it shown at the movie’s opening and half at its conclusion. Chronologically, however, this long scene at the diner actually takes place midway through the movie’s time line. It serves as a convenient illustration of Tarantino’s strategy of rearranging time in order to provide a kind of cinematic “resurrection” for his characters and to illustrate visually the redemption they undergo. After the first half of the diner scene, where the robbers are talking themselves into the robbery and the hit men are enjoying a snack, the film flashes back to Vincent and Jules on their mission to recover a mysterious briefcase for their boss, Marsellus. With his gun trained on the frightened college boys who have the briefcase, Jules delivers a lengthy biblical monologue: There’s a passage I got memorized, seems appropriate for this situation: Ezekiel 25:17. “The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother’s keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you.”

Tarantino here embellishes feverishly upon the King James Version of this passage: “And I will execute great vengeance upon them with furious rebukes; and they shall know that I [am] the LORD, when I shall lay my vengeance upon them.” The elaboration is an homage to Sonny Chiba, star and hero of many kung-fu epics, who often delivered biblically styled narration nearly identical to the one used by Tarantino here. Jules’s sermonizing is not an isolated occurrence. When we return to the diner in the last sequence of the film, he repeats the same “quotation,” but he adds commentary suggesting deeper reflection: I been sayin’ that shit for years. And if you ever heard it, it meant your ass. I never gave much thought what it meant. I just thought it was some cold-blooded shit to say to a motherfucker before I popped a cap in his ass. I saw some shit this mornin’ made me think twice. See now I’m thinkin’, maybe it means you’re

Tarantino, Quentin | 417 the evil man. And I’m the righteous man. And Mr. Nine Millimeter here, he’s the shepherd protecting my righteous ass in the valley of darkness. Or it could mean you’re the righteous man and I’m the shepherd and it’s the world that’s evil and selfish. Now I’d like that. But that shit ain’t the truth. The truth is you’re the weak. And I’m the tyranny of evil men. But I’m tryin’, Ringo. I’m tryin’ real hard to be the shepherd.

Before his arrival at the diner and his attempt with these words to foil Pumpkin and Honey Bunny’s robbery, Jules has undergone an awakening. At the apartment where he and Vincent retrieve the briefcase, they are ambushed by an assailant wielding a submachine-gun who was hiding in a bathroom. When none of the bullets strike the hit men, Jules begins to wonder why. Ultimately he decides that his life has been spared by divine intervention and vows to give up his violent ways. That resolve is tested at the diner, when his gun seems to be the only way to stop the violence and save the innocents terrorized by Pumpkin and Honey Bunny— and perhaps to save the robbers themselves. While Jules’s story line contains the most overt religious references, Tarantino sprinkles other redemptions and resurrections throughout Pulp Fiction. Mia, the high-maintenance wife of Jules’s boss Marsellus, overdoses on heroin, which, after spending an evening being entertained by Vincent, she mistakes for cocaine. Panicking, Vincent enlists his drug dealer for help in reviving the comatose Mia by stabbing her in the heart with a syringe of adrenaline. Mia suddenly returns to life and agrees to keep her overdose secret from her husband, forming a bond with Vincent against her husband. The boxer Butch Coolidge, in turn, saves Marsellus from a sadistic rape and torture dungeon. The two agree to release their mutual hold on each other; Marsellus agrees to stop pursuing Butch for winning the fight he had agreed to throw, while Butch agrees to keep Marsellus’s degrading emasculation a secret. Thus Tarantino culminates each story line in an act of shared redemption, with the characters granting each other freedom from a past that had enslaved them. Perhaps the most touching resurrection, however, comes in the final installment of the diner scene at the conclusion of the film. Since this scene chronologically takes place in the middle of the film’s time line, we have already seen what happens to Vincent and Jules after they leave the diner. In a shockingly offhanded moment, Butch kills a momentarily off-guard Vincent as he emerges from the bathroom in Butch’s apartment. Vincent, a good-natured if dimwitted character, has been the source of much warmth and comedy in the film so far, yet his death is passed over without a second glance as the film continues to focus on Butch’s predicament. When the film finally goes back to the diner scene, however, Vincent has been “resurrected” through the miracle of cinematic art. Tarantino grants us a second chance to spend time with this character, one of the few who does not

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change his life in recognition of the momentousness of the redemptions he experiences. Yet the director, playing a merciful God overseeing his characters’ world, allows him his resurrection nonetheless. Religious themes have been more muted in Tarantino’s work since Pulp Fiction. Jackie Brown (1997), an adaptation of the 1992 Elmore Leonard novel Rum Punch, focuses on a middle-aged stewardess who has gotten caught up in a money-laundering scheme perpetrated by the vicious (if none too bright) gangster Ordell. Pressured by government agents to double-cross Ordell, Jackie decides to take matters into her own hands; with the help of a sympathetic bail bondsman, she crosses everyone to get the funds for her escape. Tarantino portrays Jackie as a woman fiercely loyal to those who deserve it but whose autonomy prevents her from being anyone’s pawn. In a pair of long sequences that together comprise the last third of the film, Tarantino dramatizes two different perspectives on Jackie’s bold “money switch,” which fooled both the gangsters and the government. This repetition allows us to understand not only the mechanics of the triple-cross but also the evolution of Jackie’s character as she claims control of her own destiny. Kill Bill (2003, 2004), a lengthy samurai epic/western released in two parts, is a revenge fantasy wherein the bride hunts down all those responsible for a massacre at her wedding. A lengthy “buried alive” sequence, in which the bride must escape from a coffin in the desert, has resurrection overtones, although the scene is played for thrills rather than for theme. (It closely resembles a scene in the 2005 finale of the television series CSI [CBS, 2000–present] written and directed by Tarantino.) Kill Bill appears to be less reflective and character-driven than Tarantino’s previous works; it indulges in long, complex action set pieces, features that in other films were previously downplayed in favor of incidental (yet revealing) dialogue. Themes of parenthood and childhood predominate as the bride seeks her stolen child and exacts revenge from her mentor and father figure. Although Tarantino’s background does not provide any particular reason to expect prominent religious themes in his work, his affinity for genre filmmaking makes religious content a natural fit. The crime, martial arts, and western genres sketch their cultures on film with broad strokes and exhibit a strong sense of morality, honored even—or especially—in the breach. In addition, Tarantino is fascinated by the problems of destiny and free will; he illustrates them through film’s unique ability to rearrange time and tease apart the strands leading up to crisis moments in the lives of his characters. These obsessions, should they continue throughout Tarantino’s career, provide an opportunity for much religious content in his future films. Donna Bowman See also: Leone, Sergio; Westerns.

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Further Reading Brintnall, Kent L. “Tarantino’s Incarnational Theology: Reservoir Dogs, Crucifixions, and Spectacular Violence.” Cross Currents 54, no. 1 (2004): 66–75. Davis, Todd F., and Kenneth Womack. “Shepherding the Weak: The Ethics of Redemption in Quentin Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction.” Literature/Film Quarterly 26, no. 1 (1998): 60–66. Irwin, Mark. “Pulp and the Pulpit: The Films of Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez.” Literature and Theology 12, no. 1 (1998): 70–81. Peary, Gerald. Quentin Tarantino: Interviews. Oxford: University Press of Mississippi, 1998. Woods, Paul A. King Pulp: The Wild World of Quentin Tarantino. London: Plexus, 1996.

Tarkovsky, Andrei (1932–1986) Of all Russian filmmakers, arguably the most spiritually serious and enigmatic is Andrei Arsenyevich Tarkovsky. Tarkovsky’s seven feature films form an extraordinary canon of existential and spiritual art, sometimes explicitly religious and at other times only metaphorically so. In each case, the viewer is asked to journey with a protagonist in metaphysical crisis with no simple or unadulterated solution. Tarkovsky, son of the poet Arseny Tarkovsky, grew up in the Soviet system of official state atheism but remained a believer, if a somewhat guarded one, steeped in the Russian Orthodox tradition. Religious sentiments and ideas pervade his writings and interviews, yet he always avoids directly revealing the extent of his devotion to the church. Some writers have argued that he resisted explicit public pronouncement of his beliefs in order to appease authorities within Goskino, the state-governed film ministry of the Soviet Union. However, even after his defection in July 1984, he continued to express a high degree of ambiguity about his personal beliefs. Whatever the specific nature of Tarkovsky’s own faith, his work demonstrates clear affinities to the 19th-century Russian literary tradition, particularly the works of Fyodor Dostoyevsky, in its complex treatment of faith, morality, and redemption. Tarkovsky’s first feature film was Ivanovo Destvo (My Name is Ivan, 1962), the story of a 12-year-old boy doing field reconnaissance for the Soviet army in World War II. Although the film contains no clear religious themes, it introduces several motifs important in Tarkovsky’s work, most of which would be used with spiritual implications in later films. Foremost among these is a nonlinear plot structure that moves freely between reality, dream, and memory. Another motif,

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related to Tarkovsky’s visual style, is an emphasis on long meditative shots, often of raw, elemental subjects such as trees, soil, and water. It is in his second film that Tarkovsky most deeply explores religious questions of doubt, redemption, morality, and spiritual striving. The film, Andrey Rublyov (Andrei Rublev, 1966), portrays, in a loose episodic form, the life of a 15th-century Russian monk and icon painter. A profound and deeply complex film, Rublev is widely regarded as a masterpiece of spiritual cinema. At its core is a passive protagonist struggling with his own devotion to God and to his art, as well as, later in the film, his guilt over having killed a man to protect Russian director Andrei Tarkovsky at the Cannes a peasant girl during a brutal attack International Film Festival, 1983. AP Photo. on the town of Vladimir. As Rublev moves through the world, his faith in the goodness of people is constantly challenged by the brutality and greed of those around him. Throughout, a series of minor and supporting characters serve as foils or complements to his inner tumult. Theophanes the Greek, his mentor, challenges his optimistic view of humanity as Tarkovsky invites the viewer to witness Christ’s passion as set in a 15th-century Russian winter. A pagan woman challenges Rublev’s chastity as well as his Christianity. A young bell caster makes his own desperate leap of faith, in the process redeeming both himself and Rublev. In Sculpting in Time (1986), his book on film esthetics, Tarkovsky writes, “For me the most interesting characters are outwardly static, but inwardly charged with energy by an overriding passion.” He is referring to the child in My Name Is Ivan, but his remark also applies perfectly to Rublev as well as to the principals in Tarkovsky’s subsequent films. Although it was completed in 1966, Andrei Rublev had a remarkably troubled path to release. Whereas copies of the film found audiences in the West through a variety of means, the film was not released in the Soviet Union until 1971. One might think that it was the religious content of the film that was the sticking point with Soviet authorities. However, their censorial concerns had more to do with what was seen as the film’s embarrassingly cruel portrayal of medieval Russia. Interestingly, the film’s structural complexity was another point of contention, and

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officials at both Goskino and Mosfilm (the largest of the Soviet state film studios) regarded it as an overly indulgent exercise in elitist esthetics. This is an issue that would trouble Tarkovsky’s Soviet work throughout the 1970s. Tarkovsky made three films in the 1970s, all in the Soviet Union. This middle period of his work is characterized by a refinement—to an almost baroque degree—of the stylistic and narrative motifs explored in My Name Is Ivan and Andrei Rublev. None of these three films—Solyaris (Solaris, 1972), Zerkalo (The Mirror, 1975), and Stalker (1979)—deal explicitly with the subject of religion. But all three explore existential issues through sometimes labyrinthine nonlinear structural approaches. Solaris is commonly characterized as a science fiction film and is often compared to Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) for its use of the science fiction genre as a strategy for communicating deeper ideas on the nature of knowledge and being. Mirror is an autobiographical work, but one with almost no discernible plot. Representing the apex of Tarkovsky’s nonlinear and dreamlike approaches, Mirror is metaphysical without being overtly spiritual. Stalker, however, is replete with spiritual themes, although it almost never dwells specifically on the religious. In some sense, Stalker, like Solaris, is a science fiction film. It follows three men through a postapocalyptic wilderness in search of a magical room where one’s “deepest, innermost desires” are granted. Despite this central plot conceit, however, the film contains none of the trappings of science fiction that, in Tarkovsky’s own view, diminished the power of Solaris. Although Tarkovsky always insisted that he disdained symbolism and avoided it in his films, it is difficult not to see the journey of the three men in Stalker as a spiritual quest. They travel through a landscape supposedly full of mortal danger, yet no clear threats present themselves. They are frequently petrified by indecision and inaction. The Stalker himself, who serves as the guide of the two other men, frequently quotes scripture and bemoans the loss faith in society. He is, in a way, an incarnation of another of Tarkovsky’s tropes, the Russian archetype of the holy fool, seen also in the figure of Durochka in Andrei Rublev and of Domenico in Nostalghia (Nostalgia, 1982). The holy fool is a figure whose apparent insanity is deemed to be a mystical connection with God. Yet Tarkovsky rejects dogmatic faith or allegiance to a specific theology in favor of spiritual struggle itself. As Vida Johnson and Graham Petrie state in their book The Films of Andrei Tarkovsky: A Visual Fugue (1994), “Though there is much explicit Christian reference here, the overall pattern of the film tends more toward a general framework in which faith, spirituality, and art (none of them seen as exclusively Christian attributes) are set against materialism, cynicism, and disbelief, with the oppositions clearly demarcated in the relationship between Stalker and his two companions.” The period between Stalker and Nostalgia was tumultuous for Tarkovsky. Soon after the release of Stalker, he began production on what was to be his next film, Peryy Dyen (The First Day). However, an ideological dispute with Goskino

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authorities caused the project to be permanently shelved halfway through primary shooting. Unlike in the case of Andrei Rublev, this time the disagreement was explicitly related to religion. The script for the film that had been approved by Goskino did not include several scenes that were in the script from which Tarkovsky was working—scenes that were unflinchingly critical of the Soviet state’s official atheism. When Goskino censors halted production, Tarkovsky destroyed what he could of the footage already shot, compromising his status with Goskino and Mosfilm. Film officials considered ending his career, but his international prestige made such an option unattractive. He was permitted to travel to Italy in late 1979 to develop a film to be set there; it would later become Nostalgia. He returned to Italy for shooting in early 1982, but with no financial support from Mosfilm and relying now on Italian and French funding. Nostalgia tells the story of a Andrei, a Russian writer, who is in Italy to do research for a book and suffers from feelings of spiritual detachment from his homeland and those he loves. (As with Andrei Rublev, the fact that the protagonist is named Andrei and bears certain similarities to Tarkovsky have led scholars to interpret both films as being at least allegorically autobiographical.) He meets and develops a close kinship with Domenico, arguably Tarkovsky’s fullest realization of the holy fool archetype. Like the Stalker, Domenico laments the loss of faith found in modern society but believes the world can be redeemed by a sacrificial act. The act Domenico advocates, however, is deeply enigmatic. A man must carry a candle from one end of a drained pool outside a cathedral to the other without letting the flame go out. However, before Domenico himself does this, he engages in a far more direct form of sacrifice by publicly immolating himself in protest of spiritual decline. At the end of the film, in one of Tarkovsky’s most remarkable extended shots, Andrei completes Domenico’s task, redeeming if not the world, at least himself. In 1984, while working in Sweden on what would become his final film, Offret (The Sacrifice, 1986), Tarkovsky severed any remaining ties to his homeland by officially announcing his defection. The Sacrifice remains, after Andrei Rublev, his most overtly religious film. It also joins Stalker and Nostalgia in a kind of thematic trilogy: All three films emphasize the importance of individual moral responsibility by placing the protagonist in the position of averting a catastrophe through an act of spiritual sacrifice. In The Sacrifice, the central figure of Alexander watches as the world nears a nuclear apocalypse. In his fear he prays, promising to give up all that is dear to him in order to avoid war. In an act every bit as unexpected as the “sacrifice” of Nostalgia, Alexander, at the prodding of his friend Otto, sleeps with a local witch named Maria. War is miraculously avoided (though the film is equivocal as to whether or not the threat was real or only in Alexander’s head), but Alexander realizes his true sacrifice when his home burns down and he is taken to

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an asylum. Again, there are shadows of Rublev as Tarkovsky mixes Christian and pagan motifs and focuses not on belief but on the yearning for the divine. While The Sacrifice was in preproduction, Tarkovsky was diagnosed with brain cancer. After the film was completed, he moved to Paris for what he knew would be his final days. In an interview for France-Culture, which would be one of his last, he reflected: Art is one of those precious moments in which we resemble the Creator. That is why I have never believed in art which would be independent of the supreme Creator, I don’t believe in art without God. The raison d’etre of art is a prayer, it’s my prayer. If this prayer, if my films can bring people to God, so much the better. My life would then take on its sense, the essential sense of “serving.” But I would never impose it: to serve does not mean to conquer.

By this measure, he succeeded. Believers, nonbelievers, and searchers of every stripe have found in his work a nearly bottomless well of theological, philosophical, and moral inspiration for their own struggles with the divine. Stuart Minnis See also: Belief; End-of-the-World Films; Kubrick, Stanley; Mysticism; Russia; Science Fiction.

Further Reading Leyda, Jay. Kino: A History of Russian and Soviet Film, 3rd ed. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1983. Liehm, Mira, and Antonin J. Liehm. The Most Important Art: Soviet and East European Film After 1945. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1977. Robinson, Jeremy Mark. The Sacred Cinema of Andrei Tarkovsky. Kent, UK: Crescent Moon Publishing, 2008. Shlapentokh, Dmitry, and Vladimir Shlapentokh. Soviet Cinematography, 1917–1991: Ideological Conflict and Social Reality. New York: Aldine/de Gruyter, 1993. Tarkovsky, Andrey. Sculpting in Time: Reflections on the Cinema. Translated by Kitty Hunter-Blair. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1987.

Theology and Film The many theological approaches to film may be grouped into five major categories. The first, “theology against film,” is a position in opposition to film. Many of the early justifications for criticizing films and rejecting the cinema were couched

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in theological or moral terms. A good number of books, tracts, and pamphlets were produced early in the 20th century that encouraged their readers to avoid the cinema. For example, in The Devil’s Camera (1932), the authors argue that films can corrupt the moral lives and spiritual imaginations of viewers. For them, cinema was “the greatest lie of all time because it is grossly misrepresenting life.” In What Is Wrong with the Movies? (1938), John Rice forcefully argues that the “movie industry is the enemy of God” and Christians should “quit the movies for ever.” Nevertheless, most early critical accounts rarely espoused a complete rejection of cinema. Several authors devoted chapters to celebrating the educative or moral potential of films. Their main criticisms were leveled at the morals of the film industry and the perceived impact of specific films. Although the majority of these critical accounts fall largely within the Christian tradition, they are also to be found embedded in other religious traditions. For instance, in 1904, Sheykh Fazlollah Nuri, a leading Muslim cleric, proscribed Iran’s first public cinema, causing to it being closed down little more than four weeks after its opening. The actual theological grounds for rejecting moving pictures vary from country to country. There are similarities, however—such as concerns about depicting the divine visually and thereby flouting the injunctions against idolatry found in the Abrahamic religions. Few countries have seen the burning of cinemas, such as that which followed the Iranian revolution in 1979, but the iconoclastic tradition is still alive in some places, particularly among older generations of believers or fundamentalists who continue to see the cinema as a profoundly negative force. In the second category, “theology through film,” theologians use film for theological purposes. Although there were many critical voices, it is sometimes overlooked that in the early days of cinema, other religious leaders made extensive use of film for both proselytizing and teaching purposes. This followed from the practice in the 19th century of presenting talks illustrated by magic lantern displays. These had taken place in a host of venues, from cathedrals to revival tents. Short films were at first integrated into multimedia displays and then even used on their own in buildings normally reserved for worship. This was partly because cathedrals, churches and synagogues were among the largest public buildings before the appearance of purpose-built cinemas. In the West during the “silent era,” a number of explicitly religious films were produced, with the Gospels providing the subject matter. One reason filmmakers drew on these sacred texts was because audiences knew the basic narrative and therefore did not need to have the plot explained through caption cards. Another motivation was that by producing films based upon sacred narratives, filmmakers were able to distance themselves from the more sordid or questionable associations that moving pictures had attracted.

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One of the most vigorous early defenses of film as an effective vehicle for communicating theological insight was written in 1911 by the Reverend Herbert Jump. He drew upon the Parable of the Good Samaritan as a dramatic precedent for cinema, not only to justify but also to encourage the use of film for religious teaching. This is not a systematic theology of film but more a practically based apologia for its use. The pastoral tone of his work is some distance from more recent theological accounts of film. For instance, in Theology Through Film (1970), Hurley sets out a “cinematic theology.” He famously begins by asserting that “movies are for the masses what theology is for an élite.” He attempts, for example, to trace transcendence through a number of contemporary films, suggesting that it is possible to identify signs of grace on the screen. In the last two decades there has been a proliferation of accounts of film as a channel through which theological truths, questions, and themes can be expressed. For some writers, film is a rich mine to be quarried for theological insights or analogies. So for example, The Matrix (1999) became a film that was widely discussed, debated, and interpreted not only by Christian writers but also by Buddhists, who found it to point more to enlightenment than to resurrection. More nuanced accounts of theology through film, such as those outlined by Clive Marsh in Theology Goes to the Movies (2007), recognize the limitations of this approach. Marsh acknowledges that there is a danger of merely seeking to “extract” the package of theology expressed through film. Nevertheless, he affirms this process to be a kind of “practical theology” that encompasses a “critical dialogue between film and the Christian tradition”—an approach discussed further on in this section. The third category, “theology in film,” finds theological meaning in film. Some see film less as channel or vehicle for theological illumination and more as a site of theological insight. This means that they devote their energies not only to highlighting explicit theology but also to uncovering hidden theology in films. Other writers go even further, seeing the cinema as a place with the potential to meet with “the divine.” Catholic author and film critic Andrew Greeley supports such a view, claiming that film, as part of popular culture is a “locus theologicus, a theological place—the locale in which one may encounter God.” In God in the Movies (2000), he claims that cinema is a place where viewers can encounter the divine. For Greeley, it is not simply the explicitly religious films that can become a location of engagement with the sacred but also those which deal with other significant topics, such as death (Flatliners [1990]), grief (Truly Madly Deeply [1990]), or feasting (Babettes gaestebud [Babettte’s Feast, 1987]). Other recent writers claim to look for and even find God “in the movies,” including popular blockbusters such as Star Wars (1977) or Superman: The Movie (1978). They invariably admit that this is an arduous task, similar in Roy Anker’s trying to “catch light.”

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The experience of watching a film is likened to a “hierophany” by Michael Bird, who describes it as “disclosure of the transcendent or sacred through the material of reality.” In this context “the material of reality” is understood to be films, which can witness to realities beyond our own world. He draws upon the work of the French director Robert Bresson and in particular Journal d’un curé de campange (A Diary of a Country Priest, 1951). Here theology is rarely to be found in detailed abstract discussions and more commonly in lively conversations and the embodiment of suffering by the young priest. From this perspective theology is brought alive in a narrative and embodied context. This does not necessarily mean that the theology embodied on screen offers conclusive answers. For example, the Swedish director Ingmar Bergman, especially during the 1950s and early 1960s, repeatedly expressed his theological angst on screen. In Det Sjunde Inseglet (The Seventh Seal, 1957), the knight seeks out knowledge in the face of death personified. In the confessional scene, there is the following dialogue: Death: Knight: Death: Knight:

What are you waiting for? Knowledge. You want a guarantee. Call it what you will. . . . What will become of us, who want to believe but cannot? And what of those, who neither will nor can believe? . . . I want knowledge. Not belief. Not suppositions. But knowledge. I want God to put out His hand, show His face, speak to me.

Block’s journey in The Seventh Seal resonates with Bergman’s own experience: a search for a silent God in the face of both death and human love. Bergman is a rare example of a director who acknowledges some basis to his cinematic search in theological thinking. Many directors tend to express theological or religious themes without formally naming them as such. The theme emerges from the narrative because it is expressive of primal fears, aspirations, and predispositions, not because it has been consciously planted there. The continued popularity of many Bergman films, especially his more explicitly religious films such as The Seventh Seal, reflects how this cinematic poet of modernity continues to speak to a new generation of postmodern viewers, some of whom have moved beyond inquiring after the absence of God to questioning how a multiplicity of beliefs can coexist peacefully. Category four, “theology and film,” develops the idea that theology and film can be in dialogue with each other—a popular theme among contemporary writers working in the area of film and religion. This expresses itself in different ways.

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First, a wide range of biblical scholars have turned their attention to studying the relation between film and biblical texts. For instance, Robert Jewett writes of an “interpretative arch” that connects a film such as Star Wars with specific Pauline texts. Larry Kreitzer has developed a triadic approach, drawing together a specific biblical text, a particular film, and the original novel. Although the texts can illuminate the film, he reverses the “hermeneutical flow” to explore how the film might interrogate or shed light upon the texts. Adele Reinhartz, in Scripture on the Silver Screen, uses films such as The Truman Show (1998) to help her readers explore biblical texts such as the book of Genesis. In each of these three examples, film is perceived in different ways to illuminate ancient sacred texts. One concern raised about the approaches of Jewett, Kreitzer, and Reinhartz is the tendency to rely upon literary models of film criticism rather than embracing the rich resources of film theory, such as various psychoanalytically based or spectator-led approaches. The perceived danger is that the attempt to “read” a film turns it into something that it is not: a written text. Films cannot be reduced to mere words to be analyzed. Other skills, such as visual interpretation, are required to analyze the dialogue between theology and film. Second, there are a number of theologians who wish to celebrate theology and film in dialogue. One of the leading North American exponents of this approach over the last decade is Robert Johnston, who—in Reel Spirituality—makes a strong case for taking a film on its own terms before attempting to initiate a dialogue. He is keen not to impose a theologically inspired interpretation or an ethical evaluation. In the second edition of his book (2007), he moves on from justifying theological engagement with film to exploring in even greater detail how this process can be developed. Dialogue between theology and film, for Johnston, will lead to openness to others and the mystery of “the other.” There are few detailed or systematic “theologies of film,” our final category. It is possible however, to uncover in many of these books an unstated theology of film. For example, in Images of the Passion (1998), Peter Fraser examines the films that, in his opinion best portray Christ’s passion, describing them as sacramental films. For Fraser, “the sacramental film allows for the appropriation of spiritual presence sought by the devotional writers, but in a public experience.” Fraser suggests that if the Diary of a Country Priest is embraced as the director Bresson intended, viewers “will be brought into a sacramental experience with the living God.” This is a hard claim to verify, but it does exemplify a belief that film can illuminate the viewer. Beneath his assertion lies a particular theology of revelation and an understanding of the sacramental potential of cinema. For Fraser, the sacramental film can become an object of “mystical contemplation,” and he predicts that in the future films may well become “more prominent in popular practices of Christian piety.”

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This prediction does not appear so far fetched with the production of A Movie Lectionary entitled Lights Camera . . . Faith! (2001, 2002, 2003) by Peter Malone with Rose Pacatte. This series of three books bring specific films into dialogue with the Catholic Lectionary Gospel readings. Part of the vision behind this trilogy is to encourage church leaders to use film in the context of worship, as part of the homily or postcommunion meditation. The encouragement to integrate films into worship is reminiscent of the use of motion pictures in church meetings or even in worship services during the early 20th century. Like many of the other authors discussed above, they do not set out a detailed theology of film. Instead, these books further reflect on how film is now perceived by some as a potential catalyst for prayer, devotion, and even revelation. What would a theology of film look like? Although there are no complete answers to this question, it is instructive to muse upon what it might include. First, an awareness of the priority of story or narrative in both ancient texts and cinema; second, an understanding of the significance of seeing and vision in religious traditions and in watching films; third, a critical insight into the processes, the constraints, and historical contingencies out of which both a film and a religious tradition or text emerge; and fourth, the recognition of the incompleteness not only of human speech but also of cinematic expression. There is a sense in which, in attempting to engage with or analyze an invisible God, all forms of human communication and cinematic expression are provisional and incomplete. We have set out what could be described as the rejectionist, functional, illuminative, dialogical, and reflective approaches to the film theology relation. As we have seen, these categories inevitably blur, with some authors and commentators engaged in promoting theology and film as well as theology through film. Although most writers have moved beyond the theology against film paradigm, few authors have attempted to set out a sustained theology of film. More common are those who seek to identify the theology in film and the potential for dynamic dialogue between film and theology. These five approaches may inevitably have left out other significant issues. Several developments can be identified. First, there is the move toward considering the audience, taking into account the ways in which audiences themselves create theologies around films. The Internet provides a vast number of sites to discuss and develop different theologies of film. Second, there is the move beyond Hollywood, as increasingly theologians are looking to films produced outside North America. There is a growing awareness of the cinematic riches to be found in Asian, African, South American, European, and Middle Eastern films. These diverse cinematic territories raise new theological questions and old questions in new ways. Third, there is a move toward ethics. This means that theologians and theological ethicists are using film in their writing and teaching. This can go

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beyond the ethics embedded in individual narratives to the study of the ethics of how films are produced, distributed, and enjoyed. Jolyon P. Mitchell See also: Bergman, Ingmar; Bresson, Robert; Catholicism; The Matrix Trilogy; Protestantism; Ritual.

Note This entry draws upon and adapts material from “Theology and Film.” In The Modern Theologians, 3rd ed., edited by David Ford and Rachel Muers, 736–759. Oxford, UK: Blackwell, 2005.

Further Reading Clarke, Anthony J., and Paul S. Fiddes, eds. Flickering Images: Theology and Film in Dialogue. Macon, GA: Smyth and Helwys, 2005. Deacy, Christopher, and Gaye Williams Ortiz. Theology and Film: Challenging the Sacred/ Secular Divide. Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2008. Johnston, Robert K., ed. Reframing Theology and Film: New Focus for an Emerging Discipline. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker, 2007. Marsh, Clive. “A Feast of Learning: On Using Film in Theological Education.” British Journal of Theological Education 5, no. 2 (1992/1993): 33–43. Marsh, Clive. Theology Goes to the Movies. New York: Routledge, 2007. Mitchell, Jolyon. “Theology and Film.” In The Modern Theologians, edited by David Ford. Oxford, UK: Blackwell, 2005. Stone, Bryan P. Faith and Film: Theological Themes at the Cinema. St. Louis, MO: Chalice Press, 2000.

Tolkin, Michael (1950– ) Journalist-turned-novelist Michael Tolkin has written and worked on several prominent screenplays and directed two feature films that deal directly with religious subjects. He was born in New York City in 1950, the son of TV comedy writer Mel Tolkin and Paramount executive Edith Tolkin. The family moved to Los Angeles when Michael was 10 years old, and his film work reveals a fascination with the California milieu. Briefly a folklore and religion major at Middlebury College, he graduated with a degree in journalism and worked as a features writer in New York, where his work appeared in such publications as the Village Voice and the Daily News. He then had a brief stint in television story editing before his first modest film success, the screenplay for the Christian Slater skateboarding drama Gleaming the Cube (1989).

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Tolkin broke through as a filmmaker with his directorial debut, The Rapture (1991), an elliptical tale of a licentious woman who converts to an apocalyptic Christian sect. His screenplays for the top-flight thriller Deep Cover (1992) and the darkly satirical Hollywood murder mystery The Player (1992; adapted from Tolkin’s novel and directed by Robert Altman) established his obsession with characters searching for values in an ambiguously moral, thoroughly existential universe. Tolkin then wrote and directed The New Age (1994), a comedy about a financially and relationally troubled California couple who open a trendy store in Los Angeles. He wrote two novels (Deep Impact [1998] and Changing Lanes [2002]) while continuing to work intermittently as a screenwriter. Studios frequently turn to Tolkin for uncredited script rewrites (known as “polishes”); two prominent examples are Mission: Impossible 2 (2000) and Hulk (2003). His sequel Return of the Player was published in 2006. An observant Jew, Tolkin creates characters with religious convictions that are taken seriously both by the characters and by the story he weaves around them. The Rapture is startling in its willingness to play out the consequences of a fulfilled apocalyptic prophecy. In the first act, Sharon works in a call center cubicle by day and participates in sexual experimentation and orgies by night. After seeing a glowing sphere in her dreams, she hears her coworkers talking about “the pearl” and has a religious experience that convinces her that the end of the world is near. The second act of the film portrays a completely changed woman; she marries, has children, and lives a devout, joyous existence centered on the imminent return of Jesus. When the signs of the End begin appearing (trumpets, voices from heaven, jail cells opening, and worldwide visions), she retreats to the desert with her daughter to wait. But weeks pass and Jesus does not appear to take them to heaven. Frustrated, she murders her daughter just before the Rapture. She finds herself on a spiritual plain, with her daughter calling out to her from afar: Simply repent of what you’ve done, the daughter tells her, and accept God’s perfect will, and you will be saved and be with me and God forever. There, at the last impasse, the final moment of choice, Sharon cannot forgive God for abandoning her in the desert and forcing her hand. She refuses to submit her own moral sense to God’s inscrutable one and is left stranded, forever separated from her daughter and eternal bliss. Tolkin follows the logic of many apocalyptic sects to its end point and critiques its ultimate preference for divine power over divine goodness. Unlike an apocalyptic thriller such as End of Days (1999), in The Rapture the details of God’s plan are not part of the assumed fabric of the characters’ world; they are divine choices to which humans respond. God ultimately has the power to set the rules about how to obtain heavenly reward, yet Sharon refuses to acknowledge God’s moral authority, judging that, based on her experience with God’s requirements, she would prefer

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not to accept heaven on those terms. However, while it is certainly possible to read the film as sympathetic to Sharon’s final choice, the film ends on a decidedly tragic note. She does not gain anything (except, perhaps, her personal integrity) by refusing to submit, and she loses paradise and her child. Like Dostoevsky, Tolkin examines the humanistic imperative to choose against an all-powerful, amoral God, without the accompanying mitigating belief that happiness—or any kind of triumph—is likely to follow. The Rapture also represents a rare positive fictional portrayal of an apocalyptic sect. The “pearl” group that Sharon joins leads her out of a nihilistic, hedonistic, and ultimately lonely life into a connection with family and friends. Although Tolkin seems a bit skeptical about the value of Sharon’s wholesale transformation—the white-picket-fence, poplin-print-sundress lifestyle she adopts is so diametrically opposed to her previous personality that it verges on satire— there is no suggestion that her new religious community is parasitic, controlling, or deluded. Prophetic cults and end-times fanatics almost never fare well in the media, so The Rapture’s even-handed approach is notable. By contrast, although the characters in The New Age take religion seriously, Tolkin seems to judge them harshly for it. The religion in question is more spirituality than doctrine, and the characters’ allegiance to it is limited to its promise in helping fill their empty lives with meaning and success. Peter (an agent) and Catherine (a banker) are a Los Angeles power couple whose finances and marriage are both in a downward spiral. In consultation with a private guru and a yoga instructor, they agree to live separately in the same house (pursuing separate affairs) and to follow their bliss by opening an upper-crust clothing boutique called Hipocracy (for “hip aristocracy”). The film opens with the bald, bejeweled yoga instructor addressing the viewers directly, telling us to stop our thoughts and observe what unfolds in front of us. Peter and Catherine are fully aware of how shallow they are but have no idea of how to acquire depth. Trying to follow their guru’s instructions to “live the questions,” they decide that, since they enjoy buying $400 belts and talking, the answer to their crises—marital, financial, and spiritual—is to open a store. Both reject conventional morality in the quest for honest sexual pleasure. Peter’s usual line to snare potential sexual partners at parties is “How’s your morality tonight?” When the question is turned back at him, he replies: “I seem to have lost mine. I can’t find it anywhere.” Yet their openness and honesty turn out to be as much of a sham as the conventions of married life that they are attempting to reject. New Age spiritual movements are portrayed as sincere but reliant on a kind of shared agreement among the participants not to admit that nothing is really happening. As the couple set up their new store, their guru and his young blonde acolyte direct them where to put the dressing rooms for the proper energy flow and to

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put mirrors behind the cash register to “double your wealth.” The spouses attempt to make their own decisions by instinct and intuition but eagerly exchange their own judgment to the direction of the guru. Later, after the store begins to fail and the marriage continues on its downward track, Catherine participates in a drum circle with her yoga instructor. After feathers are shaken over her and spirit animals are called, she leaves the circle, saying that she does not feel anything. The New Agers are opportunistic and hedonistic, pursuing whatever practices interest them without regard for whether the combinations make any sense. Peter attends a party with two women who describe the attendees as “the usual art, spirituality, and S&M crowd.” At the center of the film there is an assisted suicide (via drugged yogurt) involving a terminally ill friend of the couple. As this sick person dies, a woman plays Buddhist tone bowls and talks about “the male and female principles” and “going to the other side.” Questioned by Peter, she admits that she prefers to believe in an afterlife even though Buddhist traditions “don’t agree,” and that rituals like the one she is performing “give comfort.” Later, after Peter reaches his lowest point by bilking a flower shop owner with a telemarketing scam, Catherine invites him to eat drugged yogurt in a suicide pact—but then reveals that the yogurt won’t kill him and that she is filing for divorce. The film ends with Peter energetically but cynically training a new group of telemarketers, using the same platitudes that he had embraced from the lips of his gurus: “Did you know that the Chinese have the same word for crisis and opportunity?” In both The New Age and The Rapture, Tolkin acknowledges the power of religious or spiritual movements to change behavior and inject meaning into empty, amoral lives. But he reveals deep distrust of communities that ask their adherents to subsume their own judgment to the dogma of the group or its leader—even when that leader is God. Tolkin’s world does not come with moral absolutes easily readable in its structure. Viewers must choose how to respond to its ambiguous meanings. Even if the ultimate facts of the universe are clear, values and moral principles remain a matter of free choice for the characters; they cannot simply be intuited or adopted but must be won through difficult introspection and even suffering. Donna Bowman See also: Altman, Robert; End-of-the-World Films; Missionary Films; Protestantism.

Further Reading Falsetto, Mario. “Michael Tolkin.” In Personal Visions: Conversations with Contemporary Film Directors, edited by Mario Falsetto, 503. Los Angeles: Silman-James Press, 2000.

Trier, Lars von | 433 Tolkin, Michael. “Michael Tolkin.” In Why We Write: Personal Statements and Photographic Portraits of 25 Top Screenwriters, edited by Lorian Elbert, 139–162. Los Angeles: Silman-James Press, 1999. Tolkin, Michael. The Player, The Rapture, and The New Age: Three Screenplays. New York: Grove Press, 1995.

Trier, Lars von (1956– ) Lars von Trier is one of more compelling and controversial contemporary international filmmakers working today. His films have been nominated for (or received) dozens of prestigious film awards and are often a staple at the annual Cannes Film Festival in France. Born in a suburb of Denmark, Trier was raised by parents he describes as cultural radicals and elitists whose politics leaned strongly to the left. Their childrearing techniques, which created for their children a very unstructured environment, meant that Trier had to make his own decisions on virtually all issues, including whether to go to the dentist, when to go to bed, and whether or not to do his homework. He blames this lack of discipline for his later phobias, anxieties, and issues with rules and control. As a student, Trier experienced a great deal of difficulty in school, where structure contrasted strongly with his more liberal background. His academic work was not strong, but on his second attempt he gained admission to the Danish Film Institute, in which he enrolled as a college student to become trained as a director. His work in film began at the age of eight, when his mother Danish director Lars von Trier at the Cannes gave him a camera as a gift. He International Film Festival, 2005. AP Photo/Lionel Cironneau. was also strongly influenced by

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one of his uncles who was also a filmmaker. As a child, he made short films and even performed as an actor in a Danish television show. At the Danish Film Institute, Trier was a very rebellious student, constantly challenging the instructors and administrators. After he graduated, he would often say that he succeeded in spite of the institute. However, his access to the tools of the directing trade enabled him to continue to develop the skills with which he had arrived and helped to launch him on a very successful career as a screenwriter and director. He is perhaps Denmark’s most visible filmmaker, and although he continues to maintain residence in his country of origin, his influence has extended well beyond his native Denmark. As a filmmaker, he has worked in virtually all aspects of the industry. He writes and directs his own films (occasionally in collaboration with others), but he has also written and directed television programs, specifically Riget and Riget II (The Kingdom and The Kingdom II, Danish Broadcasting Company, 1994/1997), a combination ghost story, melodrama, and soap opera, quite popular in Denmark, about the strange goings-on at a hospital haunted by the ghost of young woman. He was the screenwriter of De unge år: Erik Nietzsche sagaen del 1 (The Early Years: Erik Nietzsche, Part I, 2007)—a somewhat autobiographical story about a young man who wants to go to film school—and Dear Wendy (2005)—about a group of disenchanted teenagers who develop a gun club for pacifists. He has performed as an actor in some of his own films, albeit usually in small roles. He has created commercials and music videos, produced film, and is the coowner of his own film company. His work has made him an international figure in the industry, and he has garnered some of its highest awards. Trier has always been particularly interested in film technique, and his films attest to his creativity. For De fem benspænd (The Five Obstructions, 2003), Trier challenged codirector Jørgen Leth to remake his own short classic film, Det perfekte menneske (The Perfect Human, 1967) five different times, each time with a new restriction in filmmaking technique. The film Dimension, begun in the 1990s and scheduled to be released in 2024, involves shooting for two minutes a year to trace developments in Europe. Trier was also one of the founders of Dogme 95, a new movement in film that, while originating in Denmark, spread internationally. The movement was originally launched in the form of a manifesto written with Thomas Vinterberg, another director. The idea was that all filmmakers work by rules, whether implicit or explicit; the purpose of the manifesto was to identify some general guidelines relating to film technique that would allow for more freedom in the creative process. Those filmmakers who agreed to the rules and made a true Dogme film (in the view of the four Dogme brethren—Trier and Vinterberg, later joined by Kristian Levring and Søren Kragh-Jacobsen) would receive a certificate certifying the film as an authentic Dogme 95 film. Even if some of the rules were broken, it could still be designated and advertised as a Dogme film as

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long as it was made in the spirit of the Dogme rules. Trier himself made the first (and his only) Dogme film, Idioterne (The Idiots), in 1998. The movement lasted roughly from 1995 to 2002. The techniques in Trier’s films are quite varied. Some utilize narrators and chapter titles. Some have been accompanied by manifestos in which he makes some kind of statement, generally about filmmaking. His films fit into a variety of genres, including drama, horror, and even a musical (Dancer in the Dark [2000]). Trier’s only comedy, Direktøren for det hele (The Boss of It All, 2006), is about a company boss who blames a made-up higher boss for his work policies. Trier has noted that he views art as a creative process that relieves his anxiety, and he is well known for his many phobias, including fears of trains, planes, restaurants, cancer, crowds, and hospitals. These phobias are often written into his films, and when filming scenes that involve one of his phobias, he usually directs remotely via computer. He does relatively little traveling; this has sometimes resulted in his being unable to attend the Cannes Film Festival when his films were being honored. And although many of his films are made in English, he has been criticized for making films about America even though he has never been there. Trier’s films often deal with religious and ethical themes. His 1988 version of the classic Greek drama Medea, by Euripides, with a screenplay by Carl Theodor Dreyer, examines a woman who, spurned by her lover, takes revenge by killing their children. Similarly, Trier’s more recent film Antichrist (2009) is about a married couple who launch into a cycle of violence and madness upon the death of their son. Trier had believed that his father was Jewish, and as a youth—though not particularly religious—he was proud of his Jewish heritage. As an adult, he was devastated when his mother confessed to him on her deathbed that his birth father was someone other than he had thought and that he was not Jewish. This precipitated a religious crisis for Trier and he abandoned anything having to do with Judaism; at the age of 33, he converted to Catholicism. He admits that he finds evil to be interesting but that he is also drawn to idealism. Several other themes regularly surface in his films: authenticity, humanity, love, death, moral choice, faith, power, and suffering. His films are not essentially political but he does deal with political issues such as otherness, ostracism, community, and immigration. Breaking the Waves (1996) is explicitly religious, but religious language and symbolism abound in many of his other films as well. In general, Danish filmmakers have a more relaxed attitude toward sex and nudity, and such representations in his films have caused some of the controversy that he has experienced outside of Denmark. Trier has produced a significant body of work in three trilogies, each with a unique theme. The first (“Europe”), on which he collaborated with Nils Vørsel, deals with a Europe in disintegration. Trier’s first feature film, Forbrydelsens

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element (The Element of Crime, 1984), is about a detective attempting to solve a murder mystery. The second film of the trilogy, Epidemic (1987), has two story lines: one is a somewhat autobiographical account of how Trier and Vørsel wrote the screenplay for the previous film and the other is a story about a doctor exploring an epidemic that is plaguing Europe but of which the doctor is the unwitting carrier. Europa (1991) takes place in 1945, with most of the film being set on a train on which an innocent American unwittingly becomes involved in a terrorist plot in a post-Nazi world. The second trilogy (“Gold/Golden Heart”) is named after a book Trier read as a child, and all three of the films in this trilogy feature an idealistic, self-sacrificing woman. Breaking the Waves (1996), Trier’s most overtly religious film, addresses issues of redemption, suffering, and the power of love in a story that features a young, innocent, somewhat emotionally unstable religious woman who marries someone who is an outsider to her conservative religious community. The Idiots is about a group of young adults who form a community in which they act as if they are mentally challenged. Dancer in the Dark is about a young Czechoslovakian immigrant woman who struggles to make a life for teenage her son and save him from the genetic eye problem he inherited from her. The third planned trilogy (“USA: Land of Opportunities”) consists of only two films so far. Dogville (2003) is more akin to a play, in which drawings on the floor are the primary stage setting for the quaint little town into which the main character, Grace, stumbles; her early embrace by the community is later gradually turned into cruelty until she gets her final revenge. Manderlay (2005) is about the same character, Grace, who discovers on her travels a slave community in the modern world in which the slaves do not yet realize that they have been freed; Grace takes up residence with them to assist them their new-found freedom. The third film, in development as of 2010, is tentatively titled Washington. In interviews, Trier comes across as both soft-spoken and outspoken, especially in discussing the nature of contemporary film. He admits that in his earlier years, he did not work well with actors, whom he viewed primarily as props for his story. He eventually developed greater respect for them and treated them better; even more recently, however, his contentious relationships with some of his stars—such as Björk in Dancer in the Dark, Nicole Kidman in Dogville, and the cast of The Idiots—has provided much grist for the rumor mill. He is also enigmatic and a provocateur. He is often quoted as saying that a film should be like a pebble in one’s shoe—that films are not necessarily meant to entertain but to provoke a response from the audience. He has long been a critic of conventional, safe, money-making approaches to filmmaking, particularly in Denmark. In film school and as a filmmaker, he was always challenging convention, and no one could ever accuse him of being a conventional filmmaker himself. His graduation film from

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the Danish Film Institute—Befrielsesbilleder (Images of Relief, 1983)—presented an idealized picture of a Nazi German soldier after the war. Nonetheless, all of Trier’s films are unique creations—often profound, always interesting, usually prone to much commentary and analysis—and they often provoke a response that compels the audience to deal, positively or negatively, with the themes and images he presents—just as he intends. Donna Yarri See also: Dogme 95; Dreyer, Carl Theodor; Europe (Continental); Greek and Roman Myths; Women.

Further Reading Bainbridge, Caroline. The Cinema of Lars Von Trier: Authenticity and Artifice. New York: Wallflower Press, 2007. Faber, Alyda. “Redeeming Sexual Violence? A Feminist Reading of Breaking the Waves.” Literature and Theology 17, no. 1 (2003): 59–75. Heath, Stephen. “God, Faith, and Film: Breaking the Waves.” Literature and Theology 12, no. 1 (1998): 93–107. Lumboldt, Jan, ed. Lars Von Trier Interviews. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 2003. Stevenson, Jack. Lars Von Trier. London: British Film Institute, 2002.

Truffaut, François (1932–1984) François Truffaut survived childhood poverty and neglect to become one of the most highly regarded film directors of the 20th century. The stylistic innovations of his first films helped inspire the French New Wave in the early 1960s, but his legacy is a body of work that explores the difficulty of finding love in a world that seems loveless. That he created these stories of longing with such a strong humanity had as much to do with his own difficult childhood as it did his deep love for movies themselves. Truffaut was born to an unwed Roman Catholic mother in Paris on February 6, 1932. Seen as the product of sin, Truffaut was shuffled among his parents and both sets of grandparents for his entire childhood. Small, sensitive, and restless, he usually found himself on the outside of popular social circles, escaping from his lonely life through books and the local movie theater. When he was not reading Victor Hugo or Honoré de Balzac, he was sneaking into the neighborhood movie house, where he would sometimes stay for an entire day, watching the same

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film over and over until he could quote entire soundtracks. Movies were his solace, and they became the object of his childhood passions. The sheer volume of movies he watched during his early years helped Truffaut develop a keen understanding of story structure and general cinematic techniques. Haunting the fringes of the Parisian film society scene, he picked up the language of movie criticism. At age 14, he started his own film club, where he and his friends would debate movies and reach out by letter to the films’ creators. Some filmmakers would actually make special appearances, and by his late teens, Truffaut had developed relationships with many of the filmmakers and critics who were shaping the very nature of modern film criticism. Truffaut formed a special bond with André Bazin, an internationally known film theorist, who was the first to sense the boy’s intellectual and creative gifts. Absent parental accountability, it was Bazin who rescued Truffaut from a juvenile correction center after he was caught stealing posters from the movie theater. And when Truffaut, 18 years of age and newly enlisted in the army, wound up in military prison for going AWOL to watch movies while on leave in Paris, Bazin pulled strings to get him out. Bazin simply could not give up on the promising young man and offered him a job at his magazine Cahiers du Cinema, the seminal film criticism magazine of the time. There, Truffaut found a group of like-minded friends who had made a church of the movie theater and gods out of filmmakers like Orson Welles and Jean Renoir. Bazin nurtured Truffaut’s writing, and soon Truffaut found his first calling as a poison-pen crusader for the conservative right. Across nearly a decade of film reviews, articles, and interviews for Cahiers and other publications, Truffaut waged a relentless attack on what he felt were the sins of the French film industry of the time: its bent toward religious blasphemy, cynical characters, and violence. Truffaut’s pure, childlike love of movies seemed contrary to the antagonistic voice he developed as a critic, but the combination helped him to rise quickly at the magazine. Yet Truffaut, an atheist, was not stumping for God with these conservative attacks. He was denouncing aspects of the current cinema as provocative for their own sake—as obvious appeals to the basest nature of the audience—to the detriment of pure storytelling. In its place, he aggressively promoted a new kind of cinema that would feature real-world characters and moral themes. He wrote often and highly of those filmmakers—such as Robert Bresson, Luis Buñuel, and certain American filmmakers like Alfred Hitchcock and Howard Hawks—all of whom he felt were using cinema as a tool for self-expression and not simply as a means to make money. The belief in film as a mode of artistic expression was common to most of the Cahiers critics, and was informed by Bazin’s widely known proclamations that described a true film as one that is the result of one man’s vision, expressed

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via total control over every aspect of the filmmaking process. Truffaut defined an auteur as a director who portrayed a positive image of human potential despite its location in a corrupt society. He noted that transcendence of the isolation of the human experience was possible by reaching out to other humans or to God. For Truffaut there was no God, but there was an inner satisfaction, a sort of spiritual contentment that could only come from the movie screen. He literally devoted his life to this worship of the cinema. In 1959, Truffaut the film critic had a chance to prove himself and his convictions. With Bazin’s financial connections, Truffaut made his first feature film, Les quatre cents coups (The 400 Blows, 1959). Drawing on his own childhood, it is the story of a rebellious boy’s slow disenfranchisement from a home and school that refuse to show him love. Equal parts subtle, charming, stark, and unsentimental, the film was an international sensation. Truffaut shocked his critical enemies by making a movie with warmth and humanity. Along with the equally successful Á bout de soufflé (Breathless, 1960; made by fellow Cahiers critic Jean-Luc Godard), The 400 Blows energized a generation of French filmmakers whose lack of studio financing and complete creative freedom became badges of honor. Their films, characterized by low budgets, location shooting, jumbled genres, and episodic narratives, constituted an unofficial film movement later called the French New Wave. With his first film, Truffaut had won a place in film history, alongside his heroes, as the consummate creator of an original and influential masterpiece, but he had also won a personal victory for his belief in a moral cinema. Yet it is apparent by his eventual body of work that Truffaut’s definition of a “moral” cinema had less to do with religious practice or conviction than it did with being true to the reality that exists within the context of a film’s created universe. Instead of presenting characters that debate the existence or relevance of God, he presented portraits of marginalized characters in search of love in a loveless world, the default existential milieu of many 20th-century artists. The 400 Blows remains the purest example of Truffaut’s attitude toward the elusive nature of love. Antoine Doinel, the young teenager who is a stand-in for Truffaut’s own pseudobiography, is an innocent caught in the wake of his parents’ infidelities. He begins to act out at school, to lie to his teachers, to steal, and to skip classes in favor of adventure. He is sent to a juvenile home, where he and the other boys are treated like criminals, finally escaping into the streets only to come to a dead end at the edge of the sea. Throughout the film, Truffaut never openly judges anyone’s actions, presenting them with a documentary-like realism—surely the influence of his role models Balzac, Jean Renoir, and Bazin. The resulting ambiguity has a nearly hypnotic quality; as we are drawn into this world, what is revealed to the viewer is not Truffaut’s feelings necessarily but the viewer’s own

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feelings about the actions of the characters. The audience is left to assume that, according to the perfectly sealed world created in the movie (Truffaut’s “moral” imperative), there is little chance of ever finding true peace as long as there is also injustice and cruelty. The final freeze frame of Doinel’s blank expression as he looks directly into the camera is a stylistic embellishment that famously captures the existential confusion of any person who craves to belong. The remainder of Truffaut’s body of work treats this same theme in many ways. In fact, the entire “Antoine Doinel series”—five films featuring the same character played by the same actor across two decades—can be considered a single riff on the problem of loneliness. Its constituent parts—all except the first being light comedies—were created between 1959 and 1979. Truffaut follows Doinel from childhood through his young adult years—trying to find romance, through marriage, infidelity, and finally divorce and reconciliation. We can see Truffaut’s evolving mastery of film language along with his maturing understanding of the reasons why love, especially romantic love, can be so destructive. Throughout the 1960s, Truffaut made a number of movies that paid unbridled homage to the joy of making and watching movies, teeming with an energy born of personal creative discovery and full of examples of creative film editing (Jules and Jim [1962]), imaginative, time-shuffling recreations of pulp stories (Tirez sur le pianiste [Shoot the Piano Player, 1960]), blatant morality tales on the consequences of infidelity (La Peau douce [The Soft Skin, 1964]), and globe-trotting adventure that disguises a doomed, misguided love story (La Sirene du Missisipi [Mississippi Mermaid, 1969]). In none of Truffaut’s movies of the 1960s does any story end with love triumphing. Truffaut’s worldview seems to have been pessimistic, even as his movies were imminently watchable and almost life-affirmingly entertaining. Truffaut was more of a fan of the interpretation of life than he was of life itself, suggesting that film should be fascinating because real life was so boring. In the 1970s, Truffaut’s movies became more varied in tone, even as they remained true to his theme of hardship in love. L’Enfant Sauvage (The Wild Child, 1970) tells the true story of a 19th-century doctor who attempts against all odds to educate a feral boy found in the forest—a moving metaphor for unconditional love. La Nuit Américaine (Day For Night, 1973) is Truffaut’s Oscar-winning pseudodocumentary about the making of a movie—perhaps his greatest homage to the art of filmmaking, and in fact for Truffaut himself, an open window to the most tumultuous ongoing love affair of his life. L’Argent de poche (Small Change, 1976), a gentle comedy, focuses entirely on the lives of a group of school children in a small French town and illuminates Truffaut’s belief that childhood is not truly innocent but is instead the breeding ground for all the negative emotions found in the rest of life. Truffaut rounded out the decade with several period pieces and a

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handful of movies, more adult in tone, that deal with the tragic consequences of obsessive love. Truffaut’s last film, Vivement dimanche (Confidentially Yours, 1983) is an almost exact replication of 1940s film noir, shot in black and white and featuring a score that evokes the swelling, suspenseful, violin-backed orchestrations of those early films. The film was widely dismissed not just for its lack of intellectual depth but also because it was a verbatim recreation of the studio style by a man who had spent so much energy denouncing such movies in his own criticism. Indeed, it is the irony of Truffaut’s life that he had now become the object of critical analysis. The New York Times film critic Vincent Canby, a great admirer of Truffaut’s, said at the time that Confidentially Yours was so flat that he felt he had missed the point of the film. The point he seemed to have missed was that Truffaut, at his very core, is a lover of film, and with this movie he was paying tribute to a period of film history that had helped him survive the ordeal of his youth. He had effectively come full circle: from a child rescued by movies, to an outspoken critic, to a brilliant innovator, and back to simply being a lover of movies again. But no one could have known that it was to be his last film. Truffaut died of a brain tumor at the age of 52 on October 21, 1984. Throughout his 25-year career as a director, Truffaut made 22 feature-length films and a number of shorts. His work spanned several genres, from comedy to romance to period films, but they all have at their heart the theme of love—the difficulty of finding it, maintaining it, and dealing with its loss. But no matter the genre trappings of his films, each resounds with the creative energy of a man who loved movies and loved telling stories on the screen. Robert Hornak See also: Bazin, André; Bresson, Robert; Buñuel, Luis; Dogme 95; Europe (Continental); Film as Religion.

Further Reading Baecque, Antoine de, and Serge Toubiana. Truffaut: A Biography. New York: Knopf, 1999. Berre, Carole Le. François Truffaut at Work. London: Phaidon Press, 2005. Rabourdin, Dominique, ed. Truffaut by Truffaut. Translated by Robert Erich Wolf. New York: Harry N. Abrams, 1987. Truffaut, François. The Films in My Life. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1978.

V Vampires In their classic form, vampires are immortal, nonhuman beings who sustain themselves by drinking human blood. Sometimes referred to as nosferatu or wurdalak, vampires are most often portrayed as “undead” individuals who have come back to life after death. These undead are occasionally mindless, zombielike figures who feel an instinctive desire to feed upon those they loved in life. More evolved vampires retain much of the personality that they had when they were alive, but they have lost their connection to humanity because of their insatiable thirst for blood. These “master” vampires keep their existence secret by living apart from humankind, either in abandoned locations or as members of an underground society. At times, they masquerade as humans in order to blend in with the civilized world, although some are better at disguising their out-of-date manners and clothing than others. As nocturnal hunters, most vampires are reluctant to attack more than one human at a time and seek prey that is vulnerable and alone. More often than not, they kill those they attack. However, on certain occasions they are so fascinated by their prey that they decide to initiate the victim into the cult of vampirism by forcing him or her to drink vampire blood. Interestingly enough, vampires become vulnerable when they fall in love with their prey, and the attachment often leads to their destruction. A popular subject of low-budget and independent films, vampires have inspired lyric, erotic, and violent movies. These films vary wildly in quality, from the inspired to the unwatchable, and it is nearly impossible to predict their artistic merit based on their lurid titles and poster art. Film connoisseurs generally consider the vampire to be emblematic of escapist entertainment at its most extreme, since the creatures’ highly supernatural nature taxes to the limit viewer’s ability to suspend disbelief. However, vampire films often force viewers to confront their darkest impulses, as well as some of the greatest evils of society. In these cases, the films may be the opposite of escapist—a foray into social and psychological 443

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territories many would rather leave unexplored. Vampires are symbols of sin, sex, and death and the territory in which all three meet. As such, their social and religious significance is vast and often underestimated. There are many different species of vampires and of vampire films, but they tend to cluster around five popular types. The “sensual” film ranges from the romantic (Dracula [1979]) to the pornographic (Vampyres [1974]), while the “poetic”—almost art house—meditations focus on death, rape, homosexuality, sexually transmitted disease, addiction, and even ethnic cleansing; they include such films as F. W. Murnau’s silent film Nosferatu, eine Symphonie des Grauens (Nosferatu the Vampire, 1922) and Werner Herzog’s remake Nosferatu: Phantom der Nacht (Nosferatu the Vampyre, 1979), Lemora: A Child’s Tale of the Supernatural (1973), Cronos (Chronos, 1993), Nadja (1994), The Addiction (1995), and Joe Ahearne’s Ultraviolet (1998). There are a number of “campy romps” or spoofs of the genre’s overfamiliar conventions, including Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein (1948), Love at First Bite (1979), and Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1992); there are also a number of “melodramas” modeled after medieval morality plays and the British gothic tradition, including the films of Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee, ‘Salem’s Lot (2004) and the “classic” Universal Studio monster films. Last, the “adventure” film is characterized by frequent use of special effects and liberal doses of martial arts choreography, as in Underworld (2003), Van Helsing (2004), and Kurt Wimmer’s Ultraviolet (2006). A recent addition to the vampire genre is the vampire “war film,” an extension of the vampire adventure film that has the urgency and brutality of war movies. It often involves a small town or a fortified building that is under siege by an enemy force of far superior strength and numbers. In such films, the human defenders are clearly the heroes and the attacking vampire army the villains, making vampire war movies morally unambiguous. Although this formula is more common in zombie films, westerns, and science fiction blockbusters inspired by Aliens (1986), it is featured in such notable vampire films as From Dusk Till Dawn (1996), 30 Days of Night (2007), and I Am Legend (2007), the last of which features vampire-zombie hybrids. The most recent additions to this genre are, unsurprisingly, replete with 9/11 and “war on terror” imagery. The vampire movies that are most likely to treat issues of theology and religion seriously are the gothic melodramas and the art house pictures, while the films in the other categories focus more on entertaining and titillating the audience. Significantly, the gothic melodramas—such as those produced by Great Britain’s Hammer Films studio—are the ones that consistently evoke the bizarre Roman Catholic sensibilities of the classic vampire novel by Bram Stoker (Dracula, 1897) and its numerous adaptations. All vampire movies, to some degree or another, exist in the shadow of Stoker’s novel. The Victorian-era classic portrayed vampires as demonic beings that shrink

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Bela Lugosi as Count Dracula, 1931. AP Photo.

in the presence of Roman Catholic objects of faith, especially crucifixes, rosary beads, holy water, and the Eucharist. When the novel was adapted into a stage play and then into film in Dracula (1931), much of the Catholic iconography was retained and brought to the screen. Vampires have been tied inextricably to the Catholic Church ever since. Some of the most interesting vampire films, from both an artistic and theological perspective, are those that explore the connection between vampirism and Catholicism, often by positing theories for the origins of vampirism and by considering the possibility that a penitent vampire might be “cured” or redeemed. Since Stoker’s novel does not explain clearly or definitively how the nobleman became a vampire and does not explain where the first vampire came from, the makers of films derived from the book have felt free to invent their own origins for the curse, many of which are intriguing and deliberately vague. For example, in The Brides of Dracula (1960), Dracula’s archenemy Professor Van Helsing explains that vampirism is a “strange sickness” that is “partly physical, partly spiritual” and is “most prevalent in Transylvania and the lower Danube.” It will inevitably spread like a contagion “unless it is stamped out.” He later cryptically observes that “the Cult of Vampirism” is “a survival of one of the ancient pagan religions in their struggle against Christianity.”

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Alternatively, The Forsaken (2001) traces the origins of vampirism to the siege of Antioch during the Crusades, in which 200 French knights were wiped out by the Turkish army. Following the battle, as nine surviving knights found themselves freezing to death in a blizzard, the demon Banta appears to them, offering them immortality in exchange for their souls. Eight accept and are instructed to “kill and drink the blood of the knight who refused. When the sun rose, they were so ashamed of what they did, they hid in caves until night fell again.” From then on, the undead knights are cursed to drink blood, avoid the sun, and win legions of new souls for Banta by spreading vampirism across the globe. The Turks are offered a place of prominence in yet another account of the birth of vampirism. Francis Ford Coppola’s Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1992) features a prologue suggesting that Dracula is Vlad the Impaler come back from the grave. The segment takes place in 1462 and shows a still human Vlad Dracul returning home from a military campaign against the Turks. Upon his arrival, he is shocked to discover that his true love has committed suicide because she falsely believed that he had perished in combat. A priest informs him unsympathetically that all suicides are damned according to “God’s law.” Vlad raves, “Is this my reward for defending God’s Church? I renounce God! I shall rise from my own death to avenge hers with all the powers of darkness.” He then performs a dark inversion of communion, drinking blood from a chalice and proclaiming, “The blood is the life, and it shall be mine.” Thus, Dracula was born. Rather than suggesting that Dracula was Vlad the Impaler in life, the film Dracula 2000 (2000) posits that Dracula is Judas Iscariot come back from the dead after hanging himself. Throughout the film, heroine Mary Van Helsing wonders why Dracula hates silver and the crucifix, why he speaks Aramaic, and why he calls the Bible propaganda. When the heroine discovers his identity, Dracula confesses the source of his rage: “You cannot imagine what I’ve had to endure. I have borne the very wrath of God. Chosen to suffer like no man before.” Dracula/ Judas is particularly angry at his own contradictory role in Jesus’ fate—he was the key to the narrative’s fulfillment, yet he is condemned as a traitor. Addressing the image of Jesus painted on a giant crucifix, Dracula storms, “You knew this would come to pass. It was my destiny to betray you because you needed me. Now I drink the blood of your children, but I give them more than just eternal life. I give them what they crave most. All the pleasure you would deny them . . . forever. You made the world in your image, but now I make it in mine.” At the end of both Dracula 2000 and Coppola’s Dracula, a heroic woman slays Dracula and prays for his immortal soul, offering the possibility that the love of a sympathetic woman can inspire God to forgive even the prince of darkness himself. Vampires frequently hope for redemption or a cure for their condition but are rarely granted any form of peace beyond being decapitated or pierced through the

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heart with a wooden stake. Barnabas Collins, the reluctant vampire of television’s Dark Shadows (ABC, 1966–1971), was granted several “remissions” from his curse; he had better luck than Dracula’s Daughter (1936) Countess Zeleska, who begged God, psychiatry, and science for redemption but ended up being killed with a bow and arrow, while The Kiss of the Vampire (1963) touches upon the possibility of a vampire redeeming himself (or herself ). The Subspecies series (Subspecies [1991]; Subspecies II: Bloodstone [1993]; Subspecies III: Bloodlust [1994]; Subspecies IV: Bloodstorm [1998]) introduces the idea of a Roman Catholic artifact that neither destroys nor cures a vampire but satiates its desire for human blood, thereby allowing it to live in peace with the human world. This artifact, dubbed the Bloodstone, is a hollow crystal that magically fills with “the blood of all the saints” every time it is held by a vampire. According to the film, the pope had been the guardian of the Bloodstone until the 15th century, when a Romanian gypsy stole it and presented it to the king of the vampires as a peace offering in exchange for his people’s safety. Since then, the vampires have lived off of the Bloodstone and have never attacked another human. When the first film begins, the vampire king dies, and over the course of three sequels his rightful heirs battle for possession of the Bloodstone. The heroine, a “good” vampire, wishes to live in peace with humans, and the “evil” vampire wishes to use the Bloodstone to strengthen his magical power even as he breaks the treaty with humanity. These films are among the most notable to embrace the connection between vampirism and Catholicism, and their filmmakers appear to have enjoyed exploring the notion that vampires exist in a universe in which Jesus Christ is undoubtedly God and Roman Catholicism is the true faith. Other storytellers have played with the notion in even more exploitative ways and have painted the clergy as more evil than vampires or have portrayed Jesus as, conversely, either a vampire or vampire hunter. Still other filmmakers have expressed interest in vampires but not in Catholicism and have refuted or ignored the Catholic connection. Both of the comedies The Fearless Vampire Killers (1967) and Love at First Bite star Jewish vampires, leading the one in the former to exclaim when threatened with a crucifix: “Oy! Have you got the wrong vampire!” One of the most creative, multicultural solutions to the “Catholic” issue is presented in The Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires (1974), which takes place in Chung King in 1904. The film is presented as a sequel to the Dracula story and features Van Helsing as a heroic man of action who travels the world fighting vampires. In one key scene, Van Helsing explains to his Chinese compatriots that vampires “abhor anything that has a holy significance. They fear the word of the Lord. In Europe, the vampire walks in dread of the crucifix. Here, it would be the image of the Lord Buddha.” It is not clear whether the vampires fear the Buddha

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because the Buddha is as “real” as the Christian messiah or because the vampire hunter is protected by a fundamental faith or goodness that is in the heart of every religious person, no matter what his religious affiliation. Both ‘Salem’s Lot and Fright Night (1985) suggest, for example, that a cross will not keep a vampire at bay unless the human using it has genuine faith (but they only hint at what “genuine faith” might be). Other filmmakers have stripped their films of Catholic elements by suggesting that vampires are not supernatural but aliens (Lifeforce [1985]), or the product of viral infection (The Last Man on Earth [1964], based on Richard Matheson’s 1954 novella I am Legend), or have suggested that vampires are supernatural but do not fear the crucifix (Interview with a Vampire [1994]). Two of the most creative departures from the traditional view of the vampire include The Lair of the White Worm (1988)—which features a serpentine vampire who fears the mongoose and who can be captivated by a snake-charmer—and the swashbuckling adventure yarn Captain Kronos—Vampire Hunter (1974), which presents creatures who walk by day and drain their victims of youth rather than blood. Catholicism is downplayed in Dark Shadows, in which Barnabas Collins is transformed into a vampire by Angelique Bouchard’s voodoo curse, and throughout the series he seeks a cure through scientific rather than theological means. Most recently, filmmakers have traveled even farther from the Catholic connection, and used vampire narratives not only as a forum to explore sexuality generally but also as a backdrop in which to discuss first love, teenage sexuality, sexual activity, virginity, and abstinence. The Norwegian film Låt den rätte komma in (Let the Right One In, 2008) emphasizes the danger, violence, and ultrasexuality in the first love of its preteen protagonists, a 12-year-old human and a seemingly young female vampire. The movie presents each murder by the child/ serial-killer vampire as brutal and tragic, and instead of making the emotions of the lovers seem “safe,” it explores the darkest of the young boy’s emotions, including rage, lust, and despair, and the consequences of acting on these feelings. Similarly, the widespread popularity of Twilight (2008), based on the first of a series of young adult vampire books by Mormon author Stephanie Meyer, has been attributed to the way in which it makes taboo subjects such as teen sexuality more approachable, largely because of its thinly veiled message of abstinence. Focusing on a young girl who falls in love with a vampire (who has taken an oath not to kill humans), their forbidden love is challenged by outside figures—including members of the each character’s extended “family” who do not trust the other—in an extended metaphor of the age-old formula of teen rebellion. These vampires are all clearly vampires, but the variations in their portrayals and their appearance and abilities mean that they are different species of vampires. In fact, to some degree, there are as many species of vampires as there are species of

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vampire film. (The role-playing game Vampire: The Masquerade capitalizes on these differences by cataloguing and codifying the different species of vampire, serving as inspiration for Kindred: The Embraced [1996].) As a general rule of thumb, the more supernatural the vampire is portrayed as being, the more likely the film will address religious issues. Conversely, the more human the vampire seems, the more likely the film is using the creature as a vehicle to address more secular concerns. Less supernatural variations of the concept have been known to treat vampirism as a disease akin to AIDS, wherein the vampire is not undead so much as afflicted by a need for constant transfusions of fresh blood. Vampirism has also served as a metaphor for drug addiction, rape, nymphomania, necrophilia, and mass hysteria. Those vampire films that explore religion and Catholicism tend to focus on the darker regions of faith and organized religion. They meditate on the possibility that God is not as fair and forgiving as is often portrayed. They fixate on injustices in church law and history, especially the persistent belief that all non-Catholics are misguided or evil, inspiring the horrors of the Inquisition, the Crusades, and the Catholic Reformation. These films are particularly concerned with church law assigning suicides to hell and identifying sexual pleasure as sinful. In effect, the films invite the viewer to weep for all the damned in hell, and for the vampires. They do this even as they celebrate, seemingly paradoxically, the ultimate triumph of the just (and of the immensely likeable Professor Van Helsing) over the forces of darkness. In that respect, vampire films have their cake and eat it too, allowing the viewers to live vicariously through the vampires—unchain the most secret desires of the id—and safely see these sinful impulses vanquished at the end of the film, when a stake is driven through the vampire’s heart. Marc DiPaolo See also: Catholicism; Coppola, Francis Ford; Horror; Science Fiction; Voodoo.

Further Reading Holte, James Craig. Dracula in the Dark: The Dracula Film Adaptations. Westport, CT: Greenwood, 1997. Kreitzer, Larry J. “The Scandal of the Cross: Crucifixion Imagery and Bram Stoker’s Dracula.” In The Monstrous and the Unspeakable: The Bible as Fantastic Literature, edited by George Aichele and Tina Pippin, 181–219. Sheffield, UK: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997. Le Blanc, Michelle, and Colin Odell. Vampire Films. Harpenden: Pocket Essentials, 2008. Silver, Alain, and James Ursini. The Vampire Film: From Nosferatu to Interview with the Vampire. New York: Limelight Editions, 1997. Williamson, Milly. The Lure of the Vampire: Gender, Fiction and Fandom from Bram Stoker to Buffy the Vampire Slayer. London: Wallflower Press, 2005.

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Voodoo Largely a creation of the American imagination, the term voodoo is often misunderstood; practitioners have only recently adopted the name attached to a variety of spiritual practices and beliefs. Voodoo (vodou) is a loosely affiliated, syncretistic religion originating in Haiti (though aspects of it can be found throughout the West Indies) that combines elements of African spiritualities—most prominently from the West African kingdom of Dahomey (modern Benin)—with Roman Catholicism. The religion began when African slaves were brought together in Haiti, home to the largest concentration of slaves in the New World. Inspired by fear, stories of Haitian savagery, magic, child sacrifice, and cannibalism spread throughout the United States. Depictions of Haiti as a Caribbean “dark continent” heightened anxieties toward the former slave colony, eventually facilitating an American takeover in 1915. Voodoo made its film debut in White Zombie (1932) two years before Haiti returned to self-rule. One cannot discuss voodoo in film without mentioning the zombie, a uniquely Haitian creation. Scholars differentiate between the zombi astral (the captured powers of a dead person’s disembodied soul, used for magical purposes) and the more common soulless body raised from the dead and brought back to life by bokors (sorcerers practicing black magic) who, in reviving the corpse, cast the soul from the body. However uncommon, reports exist of individuals long dead and buried wandering mindlessly through the streets. For Haitians, the fear is not of the zombie itself, but of the possibility of being made a zombie; not of the mindless servant, but of once more becoming a slave. The original American audience for White Zombie had no idea what a zombie was; publicity had to explain as well as advertise the film. Pulp fiction had introduced voodoo in the 19th century against the backdrop of Christian superiority over ostensible savages, and William Seabrook’s study The Magic Island (1929) introduced the zombie to mass audiences. In the shadow of other 1930s monster movies, White Zombie quietly set the benchmark for all subsequent zombie movies through the 1960s. In the film, Bela Lugosi plays Murder Legendre, an evil businessman and sorcerer who uses wax voodoo dolls to create zombie workers for his mill. With his thick Hungarian accent, Lugosi is certainly no traditional bokor, and his zombie followers include few if any of African descent. No effort is made to depict voodoo; instead, the film relies on the established pulp stereotypes of black magic, zombies, and voodoo dolls. The heroine of the film is captured, poisoned, and turned into a zombie to become the lustful villain’s love-slave, only to be saved by her fiancé. Together, they force Legendre and his small band of mindless servants over a cliff. Love wins out over lust, and honest devotion (the innocent intention to

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marry) prevails over dark and sinister sexual deviance. Representing 1930s Hollywood conventions relegating those of African descent to the background, the film draws battle lines between civility, decency, the sacrament of marriage, and the innocent, Euro-American couple on one side and lust, sin, magic, and the foreign voodoo on the other. With the end of the American occupation of Haiti and growing concern over European troubles, Hollywood turned its attention from Haitian voodoo, placing the zombie into other contexts, including Egypt (The Ghoul [1933]), Cambodia (Revolt of the Zombies [1936]), and Cuba (The Ghost Breakers [1940]). Other films focused on scientific (rather than religious) means of creating zombies (The Walking Dead [1936]; The Living Dead [1933; also known as The Scotland Yard Mystery]; The Man They Could Not Hang [1939]). Critics have suggested that the successful spate of monster movies of the 1930s was directly tied to the Great Depression and that the figure of the zombie appealed to American insecurities; just as the zombie represented Haitian fears of returning to slavery, so too did it represent American economic fears of being subjugated by foreign entities. Voodoo appeared in films like Drums O’ Voodoo (1934), Ouanga (1936), and The Devil’s Daughter (1939), though by the 1940s Hollywood had lost interest. Voodoo was kept alive in a series of low-budget B-movies; of note is the littleknown I Walked With a Zombie (1943), which depicts a young Canadian nurse who is hired by a man in Haiti to care for his incapacitated wife. As the story unfolds, the wife is found to have been turned into a zombie by her mother-inlaw. The wife had become the object of desire of not only her husband but his brother as well, tearing their family apart. The brothers’ mother, who was a doctor to the local native population, stepped in to save her family, and despite her own rationalism about the native religion, employed a voodoo priest to turn her daughter-in-law into a zombie. Of interest is the way in which ideologies are debated throughout the film, namely those of the “superstitious” Haitians and the rationalistic westerners. The natives believe the wife is a zombie from the outset; the main characters look for physical explanations for her sickness. In the end, it is revealed that the mother and medical doctor (throughout, the strongest voice of rationalism) caused the woman’s affliction by turning to voodoo. Aside from this curious departure, however, much of the film’s thematic operation reflects the conventions of its time. The film contains interesting and not entirely unrealistic portrayals of voodoo ceremonies, but voodoo itself forms merely the backdrop to the story. Aside from the wife of the hero, the only other zombie is also the most frightening visual in the entire movie—a tall, lanky Afro-Caribbean man with bulging white eyes who appears occasionally. Still, the true “villain” of the film, though she is depicted as being forced into her role, is the mother who poisoned her son’s young wife. From another perspective, the wife herself is a villain,

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as it becomes apparent that her crime was the seduction of her husband’s brother, with whom she drowns in the ocean while fleeing from the Afro-Caribbean zombie at the end of the film. As in White Zombie, the conflict arises out of the lust for a woman and the use of magic to harness and control the object of that lust. Also as in White Zombie, the main characters, including those who turn to magic to further their evil agendas, are all “white” according to Hollywood conventions of the time. The Haitians themselves are relegated to supporting roles. Still, voodoo is portrayed as the outlet for evil despite its treatment as mere superstition. The 1950s saw an even more foreign zombie-controlling “other” as extraterrestrials created zombie armies with which to dominate Earth (Plan 9 From Outer Space [1959]; Invisible Invaders [1959]). In addition to these, there were also home-grown dangers, most notably nuclear radiation, which ultimately appeared as a means of turning once-living humans into walking corpses (Creature With the Atom Brain [1955]). American audiences were increasingly drawn to sciencefiction fare capitalizing on scientific, nuclear fears over supernatural ones. Those films of the 1950s that tried to keep voodoo links alive were remarkably unsuccessful (Voodoo Island [1957]; Zombies of Mora Tau [1957]). By the late 1960s, voodoo had all but faded from view in terms of zombie films. The Plague of the Zombies (1966) imported the voodoo roots of zombies to England and practically eliminated the involvement of any Africans. The Earth Dies Screaming (1965), on the other hand, continued the pattern of sci-fi approaches to zombies, with alien robots animating the corpses of the humans they killed. But George A. Romero’s Night of the Living Dead established a new genre of zombie film and, indeed, set the standard for all subsequent zombie movies. Night of the Living Dead (1968), inspired by Richard Matheson’s novel I Am Legend (1954), transformed the zombie in two fundamental ways. In Romero’s film the zombies have no master and no known cause for their creation. “Experts” in the film speculate on the possibility of radioactivity or a returning satellite as potential origins the zombies, but Romero explains nothing, leaving the zombies as the only villains. Further raising their status as the embodiment of evil, the zombies in Night of the Living Dead feast on living flesh although they have no physical need for food. Later zombie films, including Romero’s sequels (Dawn of the Dead [1978; 2004]; Day of the Dead [1985]; Land of the Dead [2005]), adhere to the rules laid out in Night of the Living Dead: zombies rise from the grave with no other motivation than to devour the living, they cannot think or speak except in a very primitive manner, they generally have no known cause for awakening, and the only way to stop them is by destroying their brains. For the new era of zombie films, the villains are no longer some unknown other but instead are neighbors, friends, and family members—they are us. This move from fearing the other to fearing the enemy within has been common across

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horror narratives of the last few decades, but in the zombie genre the effect has been to eliminate explicit associations with religion and replace them with a sense of impending chaos and apocalypse. Zombie movies have evolved to the point where masses of uncontrolled, unthinking dead rise up from their graves with the sole purpose of killing the living. They expand their number until every living person has been eliminated. Images of the dead rising from their graves call to mind the Christian Resurrection, however pervertedly the apocalyptic zombie genre depicts it. The tagline from Romero’s Dawn of the Dead—“When there’s no more room in Hell, the dead will walk the Earth”—has become a general catch phrase for the zombie film. Lucio Fulci’s Zombi 2 (Zombie [1979]) returns zombies to the Caribbean, but subsequent films have generally ignored voodoo associations. Instead, most modern zombie films focus on a more Christian-influenced idea of the end of time having come, with God’s punishment being meted out in the form of shambling mockeries of the living. Characters very often turn to prayer or religious symbols for aid and find them useless. One scholar points out that what the zombie apocalypse depicts is the total failure of any effort by humanity to save itself; what remains is faith in the saving grace of the divine after death. In the films, however, the prospect of death is made more horrible by the possibility of rising up as a zombie—something that many characters attempt to avoid by shooting themselves in the head. Despite the changing nature of zombie films, representations of voodoo have changed little. The James Bond film Live and Let Die (1973) includes voodoo as a major part of its plot. Magic is the central feature of voodoo depicted, with the villain Dr. Kananga using voodoo to maintain control over the poppy fields of the small, fictional Caribbean island he rules. His girlfriend is a European woman with the ability to see the future by reading tarot cards. Predictably, she ends up falling in love with the secret agent. One of the more sinister characters is Baron Samedi, an African man named after the voodoo master of the dead. This last villain is apparently killed by Bond, only to reappear at the end of the film mysteriously laughing as the credits begin to roll. The racial dynamics depicted here cannot be more obvious, with Bond, the ever-faithful servant of the British Empire, battling the forces of evil in the form of a Caribbean despot (played, interestingly, by Yaphet Kotto, who is himself the son of one of the crown princes of Cameroon) and his league of magical cronies. As in the earlier films, voodoo is associated mainly with evil, magic, and sexuality. The 1970s’ “blaxploitation” films also turned to horror, often incorporating voodoo as authentically African American. In the classic blaxploitation horror Blacula (1972), the vampiric antihero becomes enslaved by his thirst for blood after having been bitten by the European Dracula centuries earlier. In the sequel, Scream, Blacula, Scream (1973), Blacula turns to voodoo rituals in a failed attempt

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to cure himself of his affliction. More explicitly related to voodoo is Sugar Hill (The Zombies of Sugar Hill / Voodoo Girl [1994]). In this film the heroine, Sugar Hill, raises an army of zombies to avenge the murder of her lover at the hands of European American mobsters. Both films valorize the monster: Blacula is a victim of European vampirism, forced to kill against his own will; Sugar’s zombies, who are clearly identified as long dead former slaves, rise up from their graves not only to avenge the murder of one man but to force the mobsters to become scapegoats in retribution for years of oppression. The blaxploitation films, on one hand, take the typical fear of the other as embodied by voodoo/Africans in general and force audiences, both African and European American, to sympathize with this other. On the other hand, as horror, the films still rely on Hollywood tropes to create fear; for instance, when the zombies of Sugar Hill kill their targets, the director uses a first-person camera perspective of the victim, which forces the audience to identify with the European American mobster and thus to fear the zombie slaves. The aim of eliminating the fear of the African other is thus diluted for the sake of horror. Wes Craven’s The Serpent and the Rainbow (1988) depicts the zombie phenomenon firmly within the context of voodoo, and thus resists Romero’s flesheating zombie. The film is based on the work of anthropologist Wade Davis, who discovered the drug tetrodotoxin, used in the creation of zombies. Davis found that when used in the right doses, tetrodotoxin could induce a comatose state that might imitate death. Hallucinogenic drugs could then be administered which, in combination with cultural beliefs in zombification, would make the transformation complete. Those who did not die from the poison would most often become brain-damaged and catatonic. The central character of the film takes the role of Davis and enters Haiti to get to the bottom of the zombie mystery. Instead, he becomes embroiled in conflict with the authorities; the chief of police is a bokor. The film focuses on the more sensational aspects of voodoo, displaying scenes of highly sexualized possession, bloody faith healing, and, unsurprisingly, plenty of scary black magic. Davis has been criticized for allowing his book to be turned into a sensationalist and biased portrayal of voodoo. However, the film carries a political message, since it takes place during the reign of Jean-Claude “Baby Doc” Duvalier, who is said to have used voodoo magic to suppress and control Haiti. The villain of The Serpent and the Rainbow is clearly a stand-in for Duvalier, and the film ends not only with the defeat of this main villain but also with the collapse of Duvalier’s regime. More recently, Hollywood films such as The Skeleton Key (2005) have made a distinction between voodoo as a reputable spiritual belief system and hoodoo, which might be described as the superstitious use of black magic. A term that has been in use since the 19th century, hoodoo has referred equally to voodoo

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and the magic associated with it, primarily in a negative context such as one’s being hexed. The distinction between hoodoo and voodoo is not so clear-cut. Many of the rituals of voodoo still incorporate what some would call magic. Communicating with the spirits and allowing them to possess one’s body are central to voodoo practice. Propitiating the spirits for their aid is common, and a variety of objects can be used in this propitiation, including the misunderstood voodoo doll. The Skeleton Key differentiates what it calls voodoo spirituality from hoodoo magic and then drops voodoo from its discourse. It focuses on hoodoo magic, specifically that of a African American couple who have discovered the secret of immortality and require a human sacrifice to complete their spells. The magic works in such a way that the spirits of the couple are capable of possessing others in order to remain alive, and throughout the film they possess the bodies of several European American people. The only depictions of the African American couple come in the form of brief flashbacks. Other African American characters throughout the film are depicted as believing in and fearing the magic of hoodoo, while the European American characters turn to reason and disbelief. Only at the end does the heroine of the film, herself European American, come to accept and believe in the power of hoodoo, at which point she becomes the necessary human sacrifice. The film makes the point that the magic would not have worked unless she had believed that it would; thus it suggests that belief in the power of hoodoo is actually the weakness that brings about the main character’s demise. Despite its lip service to the spirituality of voodoo, then, the film actually carries on a long tradition of representing voodoo. The focus of the film is on the magical side of voodoo for its horror potential. African American characters, the source of this magic, are the ultimate villains, although they are relegated to the background. Only by possessing European American people can the African American characters accomplish their goals. The dichotomy of western (European) rationalism and Haitian (African) superstition is made explicit, with the eventual downfall coming only when the rational heroine falls into superstitious belief. Of course, the film grants that the magic is no mere superstition, as it succeeds in having the desired effect once it is believed. Voodoo has been negatively portrayed through almost a century of Hollywood cinema. In Haitian filmmaker Raoul Peck’s words, “Hollywood invented voodoo”; he avoids using images of voodoo in his films about Haiti, considering the topic too complicated to be portrayed in film. Voodoo has been made to symbolize all that strikes fear into America; where America is good, Christian, rational, scientific, and white, voodoo is evil, devil-worshipping, superstitious, magical, and black. That voodoo has become symbolically charged in this way is testament to

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the enduring power of religious and political propaganda, voodoo having been given its image over a hundred years ago by those who feared the power of a republic of freed slaves. Christopher M. Moreman See also: Africa; Catholicism; Horror; Latin America.

Further Reading Krzywinska, Tanya. A Skin for Dancing In: Possession, Witchcraft, and Voodoo in Film. Trowbridge, UK: Flicks Books, 2000. Paffenroth, Kim. Gospel of the Living Dead: George Romero’s Vision of Hell on Earth. Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2006. Rhodes, Gary D. White Zombie: Anatomy of a Horror Film. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2001. Russell, Jamie. Book of the Dead: The Complete History of Zombie Cinema. Surrey, UK: FAB Press, 2005. Sheller, Mimi. Consuming the Caribbean: From Arawaks to Zombies. New York: Routledge, 2003.

W Westerns Although it follows some of the basic conventions for storytelling and has been transplanted to a variety of filmmaking cultures, the western is a quintessentially American genre that not only romanticizes a particular period of U.S. history but also draws on symbols and narrative structures central to the American imagination. Although non-American westerns have been produced for decades—among the best known are the “spaghetti” westerns of Italy and the “curry” westerns of “Bollywood”—the template on which these other versions draw relies on American religious and cultural demographics, American Protestant notions of good versus evil, and American notions of sacred space. The western was, along with stories from the Bible, among the early narrative forms to find its way onto film, tracing its roots to The Virginian (1914), based on Owen Wister’s 1902 novel of the same name. Films in this genre were prominent in part because of their popularity among the people most likely to frequent early films—working-class and immigrant city dwellers for whom life on the “wide open range” was as exotic an existence as they might hope to experience, even vicariously. These films were also easy to make, largely because of their straightforward story lines, facile mixture of romance and adventure, stock characters, and availability of scenery for on-location filming by the early film studios that, because of anti-Semitic boycotts organized by the New York film elites, had relocated to the West Coast and settled in and around what is today Los Angeles. As a genre, westerns are not often considered particularly religious films. Like many early silent films, they often rely on visual clues to situate religion; visually identifiable clergy (Catholic priests and various Protestant ministers who wear familiar clerical garb—collars or hats—or are never without their Bibles clutched firmly in one hand) or lay people in particularly religious modes, such as with hands clasped, kneeling, or with head bowed in prayer. Clergy are often represented only as functional elements of the plot, present when needed to further the 457

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narrative—to perform a wedding, for example, or preside over a funeral—and are not often represented as a central to the development of the story. On the other hand, religiosity is often on display, as lay folk struggle with evil temptations or crises of faith. Like films in other genres, westerns have purported to portray with some accuracy the time periods they depict, in this case replicating life west of the Mississippi River. As such, they often portray a culture where formal religious institutions and clergy were relatively scarce and the population beyond East coast “civilization” was largely made up of “unchurched” Protestants, with some Catholics, some practitioners of Native American religious traditions, and on occasion a few African American Protestants. In both the films and the culture it represents, there were significantly fewer Buddhists and almost no Jews; those there were are often consigned to urban environs. Representations of members of these various religious communities have often drawn on European American Protestant stereotypes: Catholics have been represented as political or social impediments, as either historic adversaries (Spanish or Mexican empires) or metaphorical ones; members of the “Black Church” (that is, Protestant denominations historically composed of African American congregations) have been represented as socially and politically marginal and emotional in their expression of religiosity rather than doctrinal; Jews have been represented as merchants; and Buddhists have been represented as launderers, railroad workers, or domestic servants. These patterns have, at times, been challenged, as in the classic The Ox-Bow Incident (1943), in which the fiber of the Protestant minister who has been taken along on a posse to vouch for its moral authenticity is feeble in comparison to that of the one person expressing significant religious devotion—the (Spanishspeaking) Mexican Catholic who is among the alleged criminals captured by the posse. In other films, religious difference is minimized in favor of racial distinctions, as when European and European American Catholic clergy—like their European American Protestant counterparts—are used to visually represent piety, morality, and goodness in the face of “worse” (race-based) evil, be it Native American “pagans” or Mexican “heathens.” At the center of this religious symbol system, however, is the European American Protestant who represents the true “American” of the expanding nation. This pattern has perpetuated a cultural myth about American religious history: that even though Catholics and Native Americans arrived in North America before Protestants, their presence here was inconsequential except insofar as it served as the prologue for Protestant cultural dominance. It also accentuates the Protestant doctrine of the personal relationship with the divine and the priesthood of all believers—a doctrine that is particularly handy for those beyond the reach of institutional religion. These pioneers of the West become the paragon of Protestant

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America (replacing the Puritan), boldly seeking to expand the nation for the good of all while retaining a strong sense of personal piety, and not in serious need of formal religious institutions to do either. John Wayne’s famous use of the term pilgrim in The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962) nicely reflects this point, but ironically, given the history of the Mormon relationship with Protestant America, so does the 1940 feature Brigham Young, which portrays the Mormon migration of 1846–1847—under the leadership of Young, also known as the “American Moses”—from Illinois to the Salt Lake Basin followGary Cooper and Grace Kelly portray the sooning the lynching of Joseph Smith. to-be retired sheriff and his new bride in High Despite concerns raised by Noon, 1951. AP Photo. members of some cultural groups portrayed in westerns—particularly Native Americans but also African Americans and women—that their representations have been either benign mischaracterizations or the perpetuation of negative stereotypes, westerns were never intended to be entirely historically accurate and might best be interpreted as allegories for the times in which they have been created—morality tales of cosmic good versus evil. From their initial appearance as a film genre through their heyday in the 1950s, westerns traditionally presented audiences with morally unambiguous conflicts and clearly identified heroes and villains. The relative overabundance of Protestant clergy, for example, when compared with clergy of all other religious traditions, signals the mythic dominance of Anglo-Protestant culture over all others: the Native Americans who had occupied the land first; the Catholics who had been brought by rival Spain or maintained by rival Mexico; perpetual outsiders in Christian society (Jews); or more recent outsiders (Buddhists). Westerns made before World War II reflect the American preoccupation with westward expansion in which representations of Native Americans as “pagan” justified the march to the Pacific, completed by the end of the 19th century but still of concern in the early decades of the 20th. During and after World War II, the country’s attention became more globally focused, still reflecting the American preoccupation with conflict and dominance but now transferred from Native Americans to the Germans and Japanese. Like

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other films produced during this period, westerns functioned as allegories of “good versus evil” in which the United States was the “good guy” not just “taming the wild West” but also fighting the global “bad guy” (Germany, Japan, totalitarianism, lawlessness, etc.). By the Cold War, the global struggle turned against Communism, not only in the Soviet Union but also in Hollywood (and the rest of American society), where the House Un-American Activities Committee pursued “the evil within,” and many individuals (from studio heads on down) complied or risked condemnation. In an allegory of doing the right thing in the face of near-universal acquiescence, High Noon (1952) portrays a former sheriff who, in the absence of his replacement on the day of his own wedding, decides to do the right thing and stay on the job to protect the town from a band of villains who are returning to kill him, even though none of his fellow citizens are willing to help him. In the end, he is able to defeat all of the gunmen save one, who is gunned down by the sheriff’s new wife, a Quaker who had been one of those advocating that they leave town rather than face the villains. By the late 1960s and early 1970s, the coming of age of the “baby boomer” generation—those born between 1946 and 1963—brought to the fore a new cultural preoccupation: the nature of authority and challenges to it. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969), about the 19th century gunslingers/ train robbers who headed the “Hole in the Wall” Gang, reflects the concerns and interests of an emerging youth generation that is increasingly hostile to “establishment” institutions like church and government, and champions (as in the earlier Bonnie and Clyde [1967]) the “outlaws” over the “establishment.” In both films the “bad guys” are killed in the end, but in a way that would have been prohibited had the Hollywood Production Code still had any influence; these endings almost glorify their heroes’ earlier behavior, justifying the youthfully rebellious ideal of rather going out “with a bang than a whimper.” On a more structural level, there is a religious narrative aspect to many westerns that transcends tradition-based religious affiliations or allegorical or moralitybased notions of good and evil. Scholar of myth Joseph Campbell identifies a “monomyth”—a myth structure used around the globe in which the hero, who understands himself to be of simple birth, finds himself caught up in a larger cosmic drama and, after initially refusing any responsibility, accepts his royal lineage (and the destiny that comes with it) and is not only transformed into the hero but thereby also transforms those who are in need of his heroic actions. A modern depiction of the classic monomyth can be found in the older Star Wars trilogy (Star Wars [1977]; Star Wars: Episode V—The Empire Strikes Back [1980]; Star Wars: Episode VI— Return of the Jedi [1983]), in which Luke Skywalker, who sees himself of common birth, finds himself caught up in a cosmic drama, confronts his royal lineage, and ultimately accepts his destiny. (Campbell is even acknowledged in the credits of the first of these films.)

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The western parallels this classic monomyth pattern—and some scholars have identified “western” elements in Star Wars—yet deviates from in it a significant way. Scholars Robert Jewett and John Shelton Lawrence have described a particularly American monomyth in which the emphasis is less on the development of the hero and more on the interaction between the hero and the people he saves. In a pattern that Catherine Albanese, a scholar of American religion, calls “trouble in paradise,” the American monomyth focuses on an Edenic community suddenly amid grave danger or violence yet unable to protect itself or rectify the situation. A hero of unknown origin appears as if from nowhere and saves the town; he cleanses the community and preserves its purity by performing acts of violence on its behalf. However, with blood on his own hands the hero must withdraw from the now-restored Eden. In the western setting, the American monomyth neatly conflates common—if at times contradictory—cultural symbols, including those from Christianity, American populism, communalism, and antidemocracy; the townspeople seek a savior who is not only not one of them but is unable to stay on after his violent extrajudicial work is done because of the blood on his hands. Although there are a great many makers of westerns who have followed this pattern, one of the more popular is Clint Eastwood, whose films High Plains Drifter (1973) and Pale Rider (1985) replicate this template directly. The “stranger” of the former and the “preacher” of the latter are both characters who appear as if from nowhere either to save a town awaiting the return of hired guns who were framed for the citizens’ own misdeeds or to help independent gold miners withstand the pressure of an industrialist who wishes to evict them from their stake. In both cases, the films end in extreme and explicit violence and the withdrawal of the hero to places unknown, the latter ending with a scene mirroring the classic film Shane (1953), only this time with a young woman (rather than a young boy) unsuccessfully calling for the hero to return. Two significant variations on the American monomyth model involve boundary redefinition or boundary violation of the Edenic community that is the foundation of the myth. In the former, “trouble in paradise” meets the American pilgrim, as those who find themselves in need of unburdening themselves of various troubles or negative reputations are able to be cleansed by the simple act of relocating. One classic example (of many) is the 1939 film Stagecoach, which brings together various characters running from some element of their past: a woman of compromised reputation, an assortment of criminals, and the like. This model replicates the larger American myth of the cleansing nature of nature, the purgative value of travel through the wilderness, and the democratic value of “picking up and starting over.” So powerful is this model that the original television program Star Trek (1966–1969, NBC) was initially promoted internally as a “Wagon Train of the Stars,” playing off

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the popularity of the long-running television western (1957–1965, NBC), which gave rise to a subgenre of the American monomyth (well suited for television and film sequels) in which emphasis is no longer on one location but on a series of locations in need of saving, addressing the “trouble” even as it continuously relocates “paradise.” The second variation found among many westerns involves “trouble in paradise” of a very particular form—boundary violation. Often this is the result of a kidnapping, usually of European American women by Native American men, as in The Searchers (1956), but occasionally it is the result of temporary (villainous, and often violent) intrusions into the sacred space of the community, as in True Grit (1969). Unlike the American monomyth, in each of these circumstances the sacred space is not occupied by evil; it is violated, and those seeking to restore its sacrality must venture from it in pursuit of evil. Not all westerns have followed the conventional format; quite a number have challenged it, in part or in whole. Some, like Sydney Pollack’s The Electric Horseman (1979), are set in the present and lament the passing of the American mythic hero on horseback. Others more directly challenge the very presuppositions of the genre. Ang Lee’s Brokeback Mountain (2005)—based on Annie Proulx’s short story of the same name—challenges notions of masculinity by portraying two cowboys who fall in love with each other. Others—like Bad Girls (1994) and The Quick and the Dead (1995)—have challenged the assumption that cowboys must be male or, like Posse (1993), white; or, like The Frisco Kid (1979), Christian. And still others, like the musical Cat Ballou (1965) or the Mel Brooks satire Blazing Saddles (1974), have played with the genre itself, bending it for entertainment purposes. By the 1980s, transformations in American culture, global politics, and the place and role of religion and religious categories in American society made simple “good versus evil” and “trouble in Paradise” constructions less compelling for many audiences. Into this environment, westerns based on the original constructs were eclipsed by those with more nuanced or even morally ambiguous narratives and character types. Only the second western since 1930 to earn an Academy Award for “Best Film,” Clint Eastwood’s Unforgiven (1992) presents a drama involving a former vicious gunslinger (reformed by a now-deceased loving wife) who agrees to join a young gunslinger pursuing—for reward only—two naïve cowhands who had been involved in an incident of physical violence against a well-meaning prostitute. While the older gunslinger is presented as the most obvious candidate for the audience’s sympathy, none of the major characters is without flaw, and all are unforgiven: the law-and-order sheriff is an abusive tyrant and the reformed gunslinger is still a cold-blooded killer. Rather than retelling the traditional hero tale of good versus evil, Unforgiven—like so many of its genre predecessors—reflects the mood and culture of its time, except that this time it

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also reflects a contemporary audience more comfortable with moral ambiguity than with stark moral absolutes. Eric Michael Mazur See also: American Indian Religion; Bible Films; Black Church, The; Brooks, Mel; Buddhism; Catholicism; Censorship in Hollywood; Clergy; Judaism; Leone, Sergio; Myth; Protestantism; Ritual; Silent Film.

Further Reading Bliss, Michael. Justified Lives: Morality and Narrative in the Films of Sam Peckinpah. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1993. Clauss, James J. “Descent into Hell: John Ford’s The Searchers.” Journal of Popular Film and Television 27, no. 3 (1999): 2–17. Jewett, Robert. “The Disguise of Vengeance in Pale Rider.” In Religion and Popular Culture in America, edited by Bruce David Forbes and Jeffrey H. Mahan, 243–257. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000. Lawrence, John Shelton, and Robert Jewett. The Myth of the American Superhero. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2002. Lindvall, Terry. “God in the Saddle: Silent Western Films as Protestant Sermons.” Australian Religious Studies Review 21, no. 3 (2008): 318–344. Marsden, Michael T. “Western Films: America’s Secularized Religion.” In Movies as Artifacts: Cultural Criticism of Popular Film, edited by Michael T. Marsden, John G. Nachbar, and Sam L. Grogg, Jr., 105–114. Chicago: Nelson-Hall, 1982.

Women The study of women and film is still in its nascent stages, having begun in the 1960s and 1970s but still undergoing vibrant transformation and development. The study of women and religion in film is even newer and in recent decades has been subject to fresh developments of the study of religion and film. There are thus a number of interconnected and overlapping content areas and conceptualizations of theory at play in the study of women, religion, and film, and any examination of this interdisciplinary study must take into account the complexity of the multiple fields that inform it. In the 1970s, riding the waves of the women’s movement, women began developing new insights in film theory that sparked a reappraisal of film history from a female point of view, producing new journals like the groundbreaking Women and Film (1972–1975) and generating a host of new resources, both theory-based

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and creative. A crucial component of this process was the recognition of the “male gaze” as the controlling perspective in much of past and present film production. This period saw a similar reassessment of male control of religious authority; it included feminist challenges to liturgy and a rise in the number of women seeking to become ordained religious leaders. This era also saw dramatic growth in a modern appreciation of the goddess figure as an earthy, powerful female divinity “rescued” from prehistory and deposited in current “her-story.” In the 1980s, feminist theorists like Judith Butler, Teresa de Lauretis, and Judith Flax theorized about the constructed nature of gender. The impact of this new theoretical work was that many women were becoming more aware of the constructed nature of reality; as they did so, they increasingly challenged assumptions about male authority in both religion and film. Accordingly, they began to object to some of the images of women that men had constructed in film. One of the most recognizable stereotypical figures in film, the vamp, has some definite religious implications in its most misogynistic representations. The vamp has a number of incarnations, including the femme fatale of 1940s film noir and the diva of Italian cinema. Scholars have presented the vamp as a wayward woman, a parasite who preys on men with her sexual allure, ruining their character and often destroying families in the process. This figure can function as a secularized form of Eve, who similarly has been represented in patriarchal interpretations of her as a seductress who deceives men and destroys the moral fabric of society. The association of Eve as vamp is much older than the feminist critiques of it; in Roger Vadim’s Et Dieu . . . créa la femme (. . . And God Created Woman, 1956), the title to the film alerts viewers to the vamp’s metonymic function despite the lack of explicit content relating to the Bible account in Genesis from which the film takes its name. Like most male-centered interpretations of Eve, Juliet is a winsome but wild creature, ruining men’s lives with her voracious and amoral sexual appetite. The fear of women’s sexual power is a consistent theme in film and comes through especially strongly in patriarchal filmic versions of other alluring biblical women, including Delilah, Salome, and Mary Magdalene—particularly when the woman is depicted as a repentant whore, as in some of the most controversial recent Jesus films, including The Last Temptation of Christ (1988) and The Passion of the Christ (2004). They are all biblical versions of the 20th-century filmic vamp who has been secularized but still represents the worst of patriarchal fear of women’s sexual strength. On the other hand, Lilith, according to Jewish legend the maligned first wife of Adam, was not well known enough in 20th-century popular culture to appear in film as a stereotypical female figure. She is best known for her refusal to allow Adam to be her master in sexual encounters and for her consequent demonization after being replaced by the more compliant (if otherwise still problematic) Eve.

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However, Lilith has been rehabilitated through recent feminist retellings and has, in the process, become a symbol of feminine power and challenge to patriarchy, leading director Lynne Sachs to retell her story, via memoir and collage, in her experimental documentary A Biography of Lilith (1997). In some ways, women’s inclination to identify with the vamp or the femme fatale in film is not so different from the age-old encouragement for women to identify with biblical “vamps”— especially typical representations of Eve—and to blame themselves for society’s ills. The direct association of women with intentional societal harm is made in George Cukor’s Adam’s Rib (1949), in which a husband and wife, both lawyers, battle it out in the courtroom over the violence committed by a female defendant. The predictable outcome of this male-directed film—that the woman on trial had no right to defend herself with violence—contrasts sharply with Marleen Gorriss’s De Stilte rond Christine M. (A Question of Silence, 1982), in which a shopkeeper is murdered by three women because of their anger and frustration over living in a patriarchal society. The women feel fully justified and refuse to speak openly about what happened in order to protect one another. Some scholars have argued that the image of the vamp, as problematic as it is, is in fact not the most terrifying image of monstrous women in film. More threatening might be the feminine monstrous as depicted in the vagina dentata, ferociously clamping itself onto men and their phallic sources of life energy; for example, the mythic re-enactment of the ancient Near Eastern defeat of Tiamat by Marduk in Jaws (1975) or literally in Teeth (2007), in the castrating power of a teenage girl who wreaks vengeance on disrespectful young men who try to use her sexually. As popular in current film of woman as the vagina dentata and the sexual seductress is the representation of the vamp as vampire, literally consuming men via their life blood. The most obvious recent example is Vamp (1986), in which funloving college boys are seduced and drained of their life energy by evil vampire hookers. Not all female vampires are heterosexual, however. Some have argued that the representation of women as vampires has been exploited increasingly for the representation of lesbian women and creates an invisibility of authentic lesbian lives that have not been adequately addressed by traditional feminist film theory. Other recent monstrous film images of the feminine include the female alien, usually presented as the sinister mother/leader of her alien drones, and the cyborg. The extraterrestrials in Aliens (1986), for example, are ruled by a monstrous feminine force opposing civilization who is churning out an army of evil monsters meant to destroy humankind, a surprisingly misogynistic and ethnocentric image of some Americans’ fears of changing demographics and social policy. The cyborg—identified with the technology she uses to make men’s lives easier—is

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easily recognizable in The Stepford Wives (1975), which resonated enough with American culture that it was remade (2004), albeit with mild gestures toward feminist rehabilitation. On the other hand, The Fifth Element (1997) presents a female cyborg who refuses assimilation into male societal structures, suggesting resistance to the cyborg-feminine as passive and obedient. The disconnectedness from nature represented by the female cyborg contrasts sharply with the holistic view of earth, humanity, and ecology embraced by contemporary goddess religion. It is not surprising, then, to notice that even as female images of the monstrous stalked movie screens around America, there were new feSigourney Weaver as Ripley in Aliens, 1986. male directors working to counteract AP Photo/File. popular depictions of the feminine as monstrous. Through documentaries that argue for the worship of the goddess, these feminist scholars argue that the goddess was worshipped long before a male god was imagined. The goddess, they claim, was vilified and rejected in the shift from prehistory to history, from female-centered to male-centered culture and religion, and that they can be seen today only in more negative male-centered vestiges in sacred literature and legend. To publicize this claim, director Donna Read produced the Women in Spirituality series, commonly viewed in academic contexts for its interviews with famous feminist scholars—such as Carol Christ, Merlin Stone, and Starhawk—who support goddess worship, and featuring historical claims based on the research of feminist Marija Gimbutas. In addition to presenting a roundtable discussion by famous feminists, Goddess Remembered (1989) argues (based on tenuous evidence) that worship of a singular goddess predates all other world religions. The Burning Times (1990)—also riddled with minor historical inaccuracies—is a worthy attempt to bring the persecution of witches in early modern Europe to greater public attention. Full Circle (1993) interviews women developing new contemporary spiritual paths and argues for ecological responsibility based on feminist spiritual perspectives. The charm of these films is somewhat dampened by their occasional

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historical errors and their easy assumptions based on incomplete historical evidence, but they produce a stirring portrait of some modern women’s identification with a goddess that they believe to be as old as creation. Women who are not drawn to goddess worship may still yearn for more positive portraits of female spirituality in film. Growing awareness of the constructed nature of film images and narratives has led recent woman directors to take a more conscious and direct role in the development of new films about women’s experiences, many of which include spiritual or religious content. As women have taken an increasingly active role in the production of films, they have produced a new perspective, what one scholar called “the absence of the controlling male gaze.” In its place, they have constructed contemplative considerations of women’s lives and work and the deep meaning that can be found there. One of the most powerful of these films in recent years is Daughters of the Dust (1991), directed by Julie Dash, the first African American woman director to release an major feature film. The film is remarkable for its powerful evocation of women’s West African spiritual traditions. It chronicles two days in the life of the Peazant family, who, in 1902, are living on an island off the coast of South Carolina and Georgia and facing increasing pressure from the seepage of modern American life into their private existence. The film endearingly celebrates female spirituality, especially as embodied in the person of Nana Peazant, as generations of her descendants surround her to say goodbye before she moves permanently to the mainland. Other characters allegorically represent the conflicting roles of women in Christianity and in secular American life, as these chafe against a deeply felt African veneration of gods and (especially) goddesses; Nana in particular evokes the spiritual majesty of a creator goddess of the Yoruba pantheon. Dash’s film intentionally highlights women’s struggles: with sexuality, with family, with their relationships with men, with children, and with other women in intergenerational communication. Daughters of the Dust admirably shows the beauty that can arise from a woman-centered, woman-told story of religion in film. One of the most important of the new female auteurs is Deepa Mehta, director of the groundbreaking Elements trilogy, consisting of Fire (1996), Earth (1998), and Water (2005). Upon its initial release, Fire caused intense controversy in conservative Hindu circles because of its sympathetic depiction of a lesbian relationship between two Indian women who had been neglected by their husbands. A Hindu nationalist group, the Shiv Sena, stormed theaters and led protests against the film; its members were particularly offended by the naming of characters in the film after Hindu gods and goddesses and were fueled by fears that the film might prove exemplary for unhappy Hindu women who viewed it. Water also deals directly with women’s lives, chronicling the experiences of widows in an ashram in Varanasi, India.

468 | Women

Whereas directors like Dash and Mehta use fiction to discuss real facets of history and women’s place in it, other female directors tell true women’s stories via documentaries, especially with an ethnographic tone. In the past two decades, there has been a substantial increase in female-directed ethnogaphic films, some of which present stories about women finding their identity within or in contrast to particular religious worldviews. Ilil Alexander’s Et Sheaava Nafshi (Keep Not Silent: Ortho-Dykes, 2004) tells the story of three Jewish lesbians in Jerusalem as they try to find their place in a world hostile to their perspective. Jeanne Finley’s Conversations across the Bosphorus (1995) reveals details from the lives of two Muslim women from Istanbul and their struggles with faith, secularism, and the veil. Claire Hunt and Kim Longinotto’s The Good Wife of Tokyo (1992) describes a secular Japanese American woman’s journey back to Japan and her encounter with native but new religious and cultural traditions there. Ngozi Onwurah’s Monday’s Girls (1993) portrays one young African woman’s struggle of with her tribe’s premarriage coming-of-age rites and another young woman’s appreciation of them. Directed by Allie Light, Irving Saraf, and Carol Monpere, The Sermons of Sister Jane: Believing the Unbelievable (2007) offers a glimpse into the life of Sister Jane, who fights corruption in the Catholic Church, putting her faith in the ideals of Christianity above the church’s institutionalized hierarchy of men and women. Telling women’s stories is a new and powerful trend and can help to offer insights into how women today are making new sense of religious traditions that have historically presented few meaningful choices for women. The new theoretical work going on today in the study of women, religion, and film is a complex, interdisciplinary process of discovering and analyzing how religious themes can be recycled, secularized, obscured, or exploited in film. This research has moved well beyond the transparent recognition of negative portrayals of women playing the roles of easily recognizable religious characters and is nuanced today by scholars examining the “monstrous” portrayal of women as well as by the production of new films that rehabilitate or replace such images with new ones. Obviously of particular interest to feminists will be the deconstruction of patriarchal assumptions about religion, but scholars interested in this field would do well to also look at how women theorists today are developing fresh perspectives, and how women producers and directors are crafting new stories of women’s experiences in film. Rachel Wagner See also: Africa; Bible Films; Bollywood; Catholicism; Clergy; Hinduism; Islam; Japan; Jesus; Judaism; The Last Temptation of Christ Controversy; The Passion of the Christ Controversy; Posthumanism; Science Fiction; Vampires.

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Further Reading Guomundsdottir, A. “Female Christ-Figures in Films: A Feminist Critical Analysis of Breaking the Waves and Dead Man Walking.” Studia Theologica 56, no. 1 (2002): 27–43. Locke, Maryel, and Charles Warren. Jean-Luc Godard’s Hail Mary: Women and the Sacred in Film. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1993. Schleich, K. Hollywood and Catholic Women: Virgins, Whores, Mothers, and Other Images. Lincoln, NB: Universe, 2003. Sullivan, Rebecca. “Celluloid Sisters: Femininity, Religiosity, and the Postwar American Nun Film.” Velvet Light Trap 46 (2000): 56–72. Vollmer, Ulrike. Film and Feminist Theology in Dialogue. New York: Palgrave, 2007.

Appendix: Filmography

The following list provides basic filmographic information for the films identified in the entries of this encyclopedia: title, year released, director, and main (but by no means all) billed actors. No attempt has been made to identify all films containing, making reference to, or interpreted as relevant to religion or some aspect thereof. For the most part, for the purposes of this filmography, only those films released in general admission theaters have been included; some documentaries can be found listed below, as can a few “made for television” movies. Most “straight to video” films have not been included, and information for serialized television programs can be found within the specific entries. Award citations for any of the following films may be mentioned in the specific entries but are not listed here. Entries mentioning the film can be found at the end of each film entry, in brackets [ ]. English names of non-English titles have been included for cross-referencing purposes, unless the film was released to an English-speaking audience under its non-English title. These are often—but not always—translations of the title. Except for most of the films cited in the “Arab Film” entry, which have been taken from Viola Shafik’s Arab Cinema: History and Cultural Identity, revised edition (Cairo: American University in Cairo Press, 2007), all of the title transliterations have been taken from the online Internet Movie Database (IMDb.com). In some cases, information identifying films released under several names has been provided. —A — al-A’asar (The Tornado), 1992. Dir. Samir Habchi. [Arab Film] Abie’s Irish Rose, 1928. Dir. Victor Fleming. Charles “Buddy” Rogers, Nancy Carroll, Jean Hersholt, J. Farrell MacDonald, Bernard Gorcey. [Silent Film] Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein, 1948. Dir. Charles Barton. Bud Abbott, Lou Costello, Lon Chaney, Jr., Bela Lugosi, Glenn Strange, Léonore Aubert. [Vampires] ABCD, 1999. Dir. Krutin Patel. Madhur Jaffrey, Faran Tahir, Sheetal Sheth, Aasif Mandvi, David Ari. [Hinduism] 471

472 | Appendix: Filmography

About Schmidt, 2002. Dir. Alexander Payne. Jack Nicholson, Kathy Bates, Hope Davis, Dermot Mulroney, June Squibb, Howard Hesseman. [Myth] al-Abwab al-moghlaka (Closed Doors), 1999. Dir. Atef Hetata. Mahmoud Hemida, Sawsan Badr, Ahmed Azmi, Manal Afifi, Ahmed Fouad Selim. [Arab Film] Accattone, 1961. Dir. Pier Paolo Pasolini. Franco Citti, Franca Pasut, Silvana Corsini, Paola Guidi, Adriana Asti. [Pasolini, Pier Paolo] Ace Ventura, 1994. Dir. Tom Shadyac. Jim Carrey, Courteney Cox, Sean Young, Tone Loc, Dan Marino. [Myth] Adam’s Rib, 1949. Dir. George Cukor. Spencer Tracy, Katharine Hepburn, Judy Holliday, Tom Ewell, David Wayne, Jean Hagen. [Women] Adaptation, 2002. Dir. Spike Jonze. Nicholas Cage, Tilda Swinton, Meryl Streep, Chris Cooper, Jay Tavare. [Myth] Addiction, The, 1995. Dir. Abel Ferrara. Lili Taylor, Christopher Walken, Anabella Sciorra, Edie Falco, Paul Caulderon. [Vampires] Adventures of Baron Munchausen, The, 1988. Dir. Terry Gilliam. John Neville, Eric Idle, Sarah Polley, Oliver Reed, Charles McKeown. [Gilliam, Terry] Adventures of Robin Hood, The, 1938. Dir. Michael Curtiz, William Keighley. Errol Flynn, Olivia de Havilland, Basil Rathbone, Claude Rains, Patric Knowles. [Clergy] Affair, The. See Silsila. Affaires Publiques, Les (Public Affairs), 1934. Dir. Robert Bresson. Beby, Andrée Servilanges, Marcel Dalio, Gilles Margaritis, Simone Cressier. [Bresson, Robert] African Queen, The, 1951. Dir. John Huston. Humphrey Bogart, Katharine Hepburn, Robert Morley, Peter Bull, Theodore Bikel. [Clergy; Protestantism] After Life. See Wandâfuru raifu. After Hours, 1985. Dir. Martin Scorsese. Griffin Dunne, Rosanna Arquette, Verna Bloom, Tommy Chong, Linda Fiorentino, Teri Garr, John Heard, Cheech Marin, Catherine O’Hara. [Scorsese, Martin] Against a Crooked Sky, 1975. Dir. Earl Bellamy. Richard Boone, Stewart Petersen, Henry Wilcoxon, Clint Ritchie, Shannon Farnon. [Mormonism] L’Âge d’or (The Golden Age), 1930. Dir. Luis Buñuel. Gaston Modot, Lya Lys, Caridad de Laberdesque, Max Ernst, Josep Llorens Artigas. [Buñuel, Luis] Age of Innocence, The, 1993. Dir. Martin Scorsese. Daniel Day-Lewis, Michelle Pfeiffer, Winona Ryder, Alexis Smith, Geraldine Chaplin. [Scorsese, Martin] Agnes of God, 1985. Dir. Norman Jewison. Jane Fonda, Anne Bancroft, Meg Tilly, Anne Pitoniak, Winston Rekert. [Catholicism; Mysticism] Agni Varsha (The Fire and the Rain), 2002. Dir. Arjun Sajnani. Jackie Shroff, Kumar Iyengar, Raveena Tandon, Nagarjuna Akkineni, Ashfaq Rauf. [Myth]

Appendix: Filmography | 473

Agostino d’Ippone (Augustine of Hippo), 1972. Television. Dir. Roberto Rossellini. Dary Berkani, Virgilio Gazzolo, Cesare Barbetti, Bruno Cattaneo, Leonardo Fioravanti. [Europe (Continental)] Aguirre, der Zorn Gottes (Aguirre: The Wrath of God),1972. Dir. Werner Herzog. Klaus Kinski, Helena Rojo, Del Negro, Ruy Guerra, Peter Berling. [Coppola, Francis Ford; Europe (Continental)] Aguirre: The Wrath of God. See Aguirre, der Zorn Gottes. Air Force One, 1997. Dir. Wolfgang Petersen. Harrison Ford, Gary Oldman, Glenn Close, Wendy Crewson, Liesel Matthews. [Islam] Akibiyori (Late Autumn), 1960. Dir. Yasujiro¯ Ozu. Setsuko Hara, Yôko Tsukasa, Mariko Okada, Keiji Sada, Miyuki Kuwano. [Ozu, Yasujiro¯] Akira, 1988. Dir. Katsuhiro Otomo. Mitsuo Iwata, Nozomu Sasaki, Mami Koyama, Tessho Genda, Hiroshi Otake, Koichi Kitamura. [Japan] Aladdin, 1992. Dir. Ron Clements and John Musker. Scott Weinger, Robin Williams, Linda Larkin, Jonathan Freeman, Frank Welker. [Islam] Aleksandr Nevskiy (Alexander Nevsky), 1938. Dir. Sergei M. Eisenstein and Dmitri Vasilyev. Nikolai Cherkasov, Nikolai Okhlopkov, Andrei Abrikosov, Dmitri Orlov, Valili Novikov, Nikolai Arsky. [Russia] Alexander, 2004. Dir. Oliver Stone. Anthony Hopkins, David Bedella, Jessie Kamm, Angelina Jolie, Val Kilmer. [Greek and Roman Myths] Alexander Nevsky. See Aleksandr Nevskiy. Alexanderia . . . Why? See Iskandariyya . . . leh? Ali, 2001. Dir. Michael Mann. Will Smith, Jamie Foxx, Jon Voight, Mario Van Peebles, Ron Silver. [Sports] Alice, 1990. Dir. Woody Allen. Mia Farrow, Alec Baldwin, Blythe Danner, Judy Davis, William Hurt. [Allen, Woody] Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore, 1974. Dir. Martin Scorsese. Mia Bendixsen, Ellen Burstyn, Alfred Lutter III, Billy Green Bush, Lelia Goldoni. [Scorsese, Martin] Alien, 1979. Dir. Ridley Scott. Tom Skerrit, Sigourney Weaver, Veronica Cartwright, Harry Dean Stanon, John Hurt, Ian Holm. [Horror; Science Fiction] Aliens, 1986. Dir. James Cameron. Sigourney Weaver, Carrie Henn, Michael Biehn, Lance Henriksen, Paul Reiser, Bill Paxton. [Ritual; Vampires; Women] All Dogs Go to Heaven, 1989. Dir. Don Bluth, Gary Goldman. Burt Reynolds, Dom Deluise, Judith Barsi, Melba Moore, Daryl Gilley. [Animated Films] Alles auf Zucker! (Go for Zucker!), 2004. Dir. Dani Levy. Henry Hübchen, Hannelore Elsner, Udo Samel, Golda Tencer, Steffen Groth. [Europe (Continental)] All the Colors of the Dark. See Tutti i colori del buio.

474 | Appendix: Filmography

Altered States, 1980. Dir. Ken Russell. William Hurt, Blair Brown, Bob Balaban, Charles Haid, Thaao Penghlis. [Mysticism] Always, 1989. Dir. Steven Spielberg. Richard Dreyfuss, Holly Hunter, Brad Johnson, John Goodman, Audrey Hepburn. [Heaven] Amarcord (I Remember),1973. Dir. Federico Fellini. Pupella Maggio, Armando Brancia, Magali Noël, Ciccio Ingrassia, Nando Orfei. [Fellini, Federico] Amazing Grace, 2006. Dir. Michael Apted. Ioan Gruffudd, Romola Garai, Benedict Cumberbatch, Albert Finney, Michael Gambon. [Clergy; Protestantism] American Beauty, 1999. Dir. Sam Mendes. Kevin Spacey, Annette Bening, Thora Birch, Wes Bentley, Mena Suvari. [Belief; Myth] American Gigolo, 1980. Dir. Paul Schrader. Richard Gere, Lauren Hutton, Hector Elizondo, Nina Van Pallandt, Bill Duke. [Schrader, Paul] American Ninja 3: Blood Hunt, 1989. Dir. Cedric Sundstrom. David Bradley, Steve James, Marjoe Gortner, Michele B. Chan, Yehuda Efroni. [Islam] American Ninja 4: The Annihilation, 1990. Dir. Cedric Sundstrom. Michael Dudikoff, David Bradley, James Booth, Dwayne Alexandre, Ken Gampu. [Islam] American Tail, An, 1986. Dir. Don Bluth. Erica Yohn, Nehemiah Persoff, Amy Green, Phillip Glasser, Christopher Plummer, Madeline Kahn, Dom DeLuise. [Mormonism] Amityville Horror, The, 1979. Dir. Stuart Rosenberg. James Brolin, Margot Kidder, Rod Steiger, Don Stroud, Murray Hamilton. [Catholicism; Clergy; Horror] Amityville II: The Possession, 1982. Dir. Damiano Damiani. James Olson, Burt Young, Rutanya Alda, Jack Manger, Andrew Prine. [Horror] Amores Perros (Love’s a Bitch), 2000. Dir. Alejandro González Iñárritu. Emilio Echevarria, Gael Garcia Bernal, Goya Toledo, Alvaro Guerrero, Vanessa Bauche. [Belief; Latin America] Andalusian Dog, an. See chien andalou, Un. Anastasia, 1997. Dir. Don Bluth, Gary Goldman. Meg Ryan, John Cusack, Kelsey Grammer, Christopher Lloyd, Hank Azaria, Bernadette Peters, Kirsten Dunst, Angela Lansbury, Andrea Martin. [Mormonism] And Your Mother Too. See Y tu mama también. Andrei Rublev. See Andrey Rubylov. Andrey Rublyov (Andrei Rublev), 1966. Dir. Andrei Tarkovsky. Anatoli Solonitsyn, Ivan Lapikov, Nikolai Grinko, Nikolai Sergeyev, Irma Raush. [Russia; Tarkovsky, Andrei] Angel-A, 2005. Dir. Luc Besson. Jamel Debbouze, Rie Rasmussen, Gilbert Melki, Serge Riaboukine, Akim Chir. [Besson, Luc]

Appendix: Filmography | 475

Angel and the Badman, 1947. Dir. James Edward Grant. John Wayne, Gail Russell, Harry Carey, Bruce Cabot, Irene Rich. [Protestantism] Angel Baby, 1961. Dir. Paul Wendkos. George Hamilton, Mercedes McCambridge, Joan Blondell, Henry Jones, Burt Reynolds. [Clergy] Angels in the Outfield, 1994. Dir. William Dear. Danny Glover, Brenda Fricker, Tony Danza, Christopher Lloyd, Ben Johson. [Sports] Angels with Dirty Faces, 1938. Dir. Michael Curtiz. James Cagney, Pat O’Brian, Humphrey Bogart, Ann Sheridan, George Bancroft. [Catholicism; Clergy] Angels of the Streets. See anges du péché, Les. Anger Management, 2003. Dir. Peter Segal. Adam Sandler, Jack Nicholson, Marisa Tomei, Luis Gusmán. [Clergy] Anges du péché, Les (Angels of the Streets), 1943. Dir. Robert Bresson. Renée Faure, Jany Holt, Sylvie, Mila Parély, Marie-Hélène Dasté. [Bresson, Robert; Europe (Continental)] Angry Harvest. See Bittere Ernte. Annie Hall, 1977. Dir. Woody Allen. Woody Allen, Diane Keaton, Tony Roberts, Carol Kane, Paul Simon. [Allen, Woody] Another Woman, 1988, Dir. Woody Allen. Gena Rowlands, Mia Farrow, Ian Holm, Blyth Danner, Gene Hackman. [Allen, Woody] Antichrist, 2009. Dir. Lars von Trier. Willem Dafoe, Charlotte Gainsbourg. [Trier, Lars von] Antichrist, The (also known as The Tempter). See L’Anticristo. L’Anticristo (The Antichrist, also known as The Tempter), 1974. Dir. Alberto De Martino. Carla Gravina, Mel Ferrer, Arthur Kennedy, George Coulouris, Alida Valli. [Devil] Anything Else, 2003. Dir. Woody Allen. Jason Biggs, Christina Ricci, Woody Allen, Stockard Channing, Danny DeVito. [Allen, Woody] Apocalypse, The, 1997. Dir. Hubert C. de la Bouillerie. Sandra Bernhard, Cameron Dye, Frank Zagarino, Michelle Anne Johnson, Lee Arenberg. [End-of-the-World Films] Apocalypse II: Revelation. See Revelation. Apocalypse III: Tribulation. See Tribulation. Apocalypse IV: Judgment. See Judgment. Apocalypse: Caught in the Eye of the Storm, 1998. Dir. Peter Gerretsen. Leigh Lewis, Richard Nester, Sam Bornstein, David Roddis, David Want. [End-ofthe-World Films; Missionary Films] Apocalypse Now, 1979. Dir. Francis Ford Coppola. Marlon Brando, Martin Sheen, Robert Duvall, Frederic Forrest, Sam Bottoms. [Coppola, Francis Ford; Greek and Roman Myths; Myth; Ritual]

476 | Appendix: Filmography

Apocalypto, 2006. Dir. Mel Gibson. Rudy Youngblood, Dalia Hernándes, Jonathan Brewer, Morris Birdyellowhead, Carlos Emilio Báez. [Indigenous Religions; Ritual] Apostle, The, 1997. Dir. Robert Duvall. Robert Duvall, Farrah Fawcett, Billy Bob Thornton, June Carter Cash, Miranda Richardson. [Belief; Censorship in Hollywood; Clergy; Protestantism; Ritual] Arabian Nights. See fiore delle mille e una notte, Il. L’Argent (Money), 1983. Dir. Robert Bresson. Christian Patey, Vincent Risterucci, Caroline Lang, Sylvie Van den Elsen, Beatrice Tabourin. [Bresson, Robert; Europe (Continental)] L’Argent de poche (Small Change), 1976. Dir. François Truffaut. Nicole Felix, Chantal Mercier, Jean Francois Stevenin, Virginie Thevenet. [Truffaut, François] Armageddon, 1998. Dir. Michael Bay. Bruce Willis, Billy Bob Thornton, Ben Affleck, Liv Tyler, Will Patton. [Myth; Science Fiction] Arrival of a Train at La Ciotat. See L’Arrivée d’un train à La Ciotat. L’Arrivée d’un train à La Ciotat (Arrival of a Train at La Ciotat), 1896. Dir. Auguste Lumière, Louis Lumière. [Russia] Artificial Intelligence: AI, 2001. Dir. Steven Spielberg. Haley Joel Osment, Frances O’Connor, Sam Robards, Jake Thomas, Jude Law. [Myth; Posthumanism; Science Fiction] As Good as it Gets, 1997. Dir. James L. Brooks. Jack Nicholson, Helen Hunt, Greg Kinnear, Cuba Gooding, Jr., Skeet Ulrich. [Ritual] al-Asfur (The Sparrow), 1972. Dir. Youssef Chahine. Salah Kabil, Ali El Scherif, Mahmoud El-Meliguy. [Arab Film] Augustine of Hippo. See Agostino d’Ippone. Au hasard Balthazar (Balthazar), 1966. Dir. Robert Bresson. Anne Wiazemsky, François Lafarge, Philippe Asselin, Nathalie Joyaut, Walter Green. [Bresson, Robert; Europe (Continental)] Au revior les enfants, 1987. Dir. Louis Malle. Gaspard Manesse, Raphael Fejtö, Francine Racette, Stanislas Carré de Malberg, Philippe Morier-Genoud. [Clergy; Europe (Continental)] Auto Focus, 2002. Dir. Paul Schrader. Greg Kinnear, Willem Dafoe, Rita Wilson, Maria Bello, Ron Leibman. [Schrader, Paul] Avenging Conscience, The: Thou Shalt Not Kill, 1914. Dir. D. W. Griffith. Henry B. Walthall, Spottiswoode Aitken, Blanche Sweet, George Siegmann, Ralph Lewis. [Silent Film] Aviator, The, 2004. Dir. Martin Scorsese. Leonardo DiCaprio, Cate Blanchett, Kate Beckinsale, John C. Reilly, Alec Baldwin, Alan Alda, Iam Holm, Danny Huston, Gwen Stefani, Jude Law. [Scorsese, Martin]

Appendix: Filmography | 477

Awaara (The Vagabond), 1951. Dir. Raj Kapoor. Raj Kapoor, Prithviraj Kapoor, Nargis, Leela Chitnis, K. N. Singh. [Bollywood] —B— Bab al-sama maftuh (A Door to the Sky), 1989. Dir. Farida Belyazid. Chaabia Laadraoui, Eva Saint-Paul, Zakia Tahri. [Arab Film; Ritual] Babe, 1995. Dir. Chris Noonan. Christine Cavanaugh, Miriam Margolyes, Danny Mann, Hugo Weaving, Miriam Flynn. [Australia] Bab el hadid (Cairo Station), 1958. Dir. Youssef Chahine. Farid Shawqi, Hind Rostom, Youssef Chahine, Hassan el Baroudi, Abdel Asis Khalil. [Africa] Bab el Oued City, 1994. Dir. Marzak Allouache. Nadia Kaci, Mohamed Ourdache, Hassan Abidou, Mabrouk Ait Amara, Messaoud Hattau. [Arab Film] Babette’s Feast. See Babettes gaestebud. Babettes gaestebud (Babette’s Feast), 1987. Dir. Gabriel Axel. Stépane Audran, Birgitte Federspiel, Bodil Kjer, Jarl Kulle, Jean-Philippe Laffont. [Clergy; Europe (Continental); Theology and Film] Bacheha—Ye aseman (Children of Heaven), 1997. Dir. Majid Majidi. Mohammad Amir Naji, Amir Farrokh Hashemian, Bahare Seddiqi, Nafise Jafar Mohammadi, Fereshte Sarabandi. [Islam] Bad Boy Bubby, 1993. Dir. Rolf de Heer. Nicholas Hope, Claire Benito, Palph Cotterill, Carmel Johnson, Syd Brisbane. [Australia] Bad Education. See Mala education, La. Bad Girls, 1994. Dir. Jonathan Kaplan. Madeleine Stowe, Mary Stuart Masterson, Andie MacDowell, Drew Barrymore, James Russo, Robert Loggia, Dermot Mulroney. [Westerns] Bad ma ra khahad bord (The Wind Will Carry Us), 1999. Dir. Abbas Kiarostami. Behzad Dorani, Noghre Asadi, Roushan Daram Elmi, Bahman Ghobadi, Shahpour Ghobadi. [Islam] Bad Santa, 2003. Dir. Terry Zwigoff. Billy Bob Thorton, Tony Cox, Bretty Kelly, Lauren Graham, Lauren Tom, Bernie Mac. [Holidays] Baheb el cima (I Love Cinema), 2004. Dir. Oussama Fawzi. Laila Eloui, Mahmoud Hemida, Menna Shalabi. [Arab Film] Baker’s Hawk, 1976. Dir. Lyman Dayton. Clint Walker, Burl Ives, Diane Baker, Lee Montgomery, Alan Young. [Mormonism] Bakushû (Early Summer), 1951. Dir. Yasujiro¯ Ozu. Setsuko Hara, Chishu Ryu, Chikage Awashima, Kuniko Miyake, Ichirô Sugai. [Japan; Ozu, Yasujiro¯] Balthazar. See Au hasard Balthazar. Bandit Queen. See Phoolan Devi. Banshun (Late Spring), 1949. Dir. Yasujiro¯ Ozu. Chishu Ryu, Setsuko Hara, Yumeji Tsukioka, Haruko Sugimura, Hohi Aoki. [Ozu, Yasujiro¯]

478 | Appendix: Filmography

Baraka, 1992. Documentary. Dir. Ron Fricke. [Myth] Barry Lyndon, 1975. Dir. Stanley Kubrick. Ryan O’Neal, Marisa Berenson, Patrick Magee, Hardy Krüger, Steven Berkoff. [Kubrick, Stanley] Barsoum Looking for a Job. See Barsum yabhath ‘an wathifah. Barsum yabhath ‘an wathifah (Barsoum Looking for a Job), 1923. Dir. Mohamed Bayoumi. Abd el Hamid Zaki, Beshara Wakim, Victor Cohen. [Arab Film] Barton Fink, 1991. Dir. Joel Coen. John Turturro, John Goodman, Judy Davis, Michael Lerner, John Mahoney. [Coen, Joel and Ethan] Bash: Latter-Day Plays, 2001. Television. Dir. Neil LaBute. Ron Eldard, Calista Flockhart, Paul Rudd. [Mormonism] Batman, 1989. Dir. Tim Burton. Michael Keaton, Jack Nicholson, Kim Basinger, Robert Wuhl, Pat Hingle. [Superheroes] Batman Begins, 2005. Dir. Christopher Nolan. Christian Bale, Michael Caine, Liam Neeson, Katie Holmes, Gary Oldman. [Superheroes] Batman Returns, 1992. Dir. Tim Burton. Michael Keaton, Danny DeVito, Michelle Pfeiffer, Christopher Walken, Michael Gough. [Superheroes] Battle at Elderbush Gulch, The, 1913. Dir. D. W. Griffith. Mae Marsh, Leslie Loveridge, Alfred Paget, Robert Harron, Lillian Gish. [American Indian Religion] Battle Hymn, 1957. Dir. Douglas Sirk. Rock Hudson, Anna Kashfi, Dan Duryea, Don DeFore, Martha Hyer. [Clergy] Battle for the Planet of the Apes, 1973. Dir. J. Lee Thompson. Roddy McDowall, Claude Akins, Natalie Trundy, Severn Darden, Lew Ayers. [End-of-theWorld Films] Battleship Potemkin. See Bronenosets Potyomkin. Becket, 1964. Dir. Peter Glenville. Richard Burton, Peter O’Toole, John Gielgud, Gino Cervi, Paolo Stoppa. [Clergy; Film as Religion] Bedazzled, 1967. Dir. Stanley Donen. Peter Cook, Dudley Moore, Eleanor Bron, Raquel Welch, Alba. [Devil] Befrielsesbilleder (Images of Relief), 1983. Dir. Lars von Trier. [Trier, Lars von] Believer, The, 2001. Dir. Henry Bean. Ryan Gosling, Summer Phoenix, Theresa Russell, Billy Zane, A. D. Miles. [Holocaust, The] Bell, Book and Candle, 1958. Dir. Richard Quine. James Stewart, Kim Novak, Jack Lemmon, Ernie Kovacs, Hermione Gingold. [Magic] Bells of St. Mary’s, The, 1945. Dir. Leo McCarey. Bing Crosby, Ingrid Bergman, Henry Travers, William Gargan, Ruth Donnelly. [Catholicism; Clergy] Belly of the Beast, 2003. Dir. Siu-Tung Ching. Steven Seagal, Byron Mann, Monica Lo, Tom Wu, Sara Malakul Lane. [Buddhism]

Appendix: Filmography | 479

Bend It Like Beckham, 2003. Dir. Gurinder Chadha. Parminder Nagra, Keira Knightley, Jonathan Rhys Meyers. [Britain; Ritual] Beneath the Planet of the Apes, 1970. Dir. Ted Post. James Franciscus, Kim Hunter, Maurice Evans, Linda Harrison, Paul Richards. [End-of-the-World Films] Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ, 1925. Dir. Fred Niblo. Ramon Novarro, Francis X. Bushman, May McAvoy, Betty Bronson, Claire McDowell. [Silent Film] Ben-Hur, 1959. Dir. William Wyler. Charlton Heston, Jack Hawkins, Haya Harareet, Stephen Boyd, Hugh Griffith. [Bible Films; Jesus; Ritual] Best Intentions. See goda viljan, Den. Beyond the Gates. See Shooting Dogs. Bez konca (No End), 1985. Dir. Krzysztof Kies´lowski. Grazyna Szapolowska, Maria Pakulnis, Aleksander Bardini, Jerzy Radziwilowicz, Artur Barcis. [Kies´lowski, Krzysztof] Bezhin lug (Bezhin Meadow), 1937. Dir. Sergei M. Eisenstein. Viktor Kartashov, Nikolai Khmelyov, Pyotr Arzhanov, Yekaterina Teleshova, Nikolai Maslov. [Russia] Bezhin Meadow. See Bezhin lug. Bicycle Thief, The. See Ladri di biciclette. Bidone, Il (The Swindle), 1955. Dir. Federico Fellini. Broderick Crawford, Giulietta Masina, Richard Basehart, Franco Fabrizi, Sue Ellen Blake. [Fellini, Federico] Big Blue, The. See Grand bleu, Le. Big Chill, The, 1983. Dir. Lawrence Kasdan. Tom Berenger, Glenn Close, Jeff Goldblum, William Hurt, Kevin Kline, Mary Kay Place, Meg Tilly, JoBeth Williams. [Ritual] Big Kahuna, The, 1999. Dir. John Swanbeck. Kevin Spacey, Danny DeVito, Peter Facinelli, Paul Dawson. [Protestantism] Big Lebowski, The, 1998. Dir. Joel Coen. Jeff Bridges, John Goodman, Julianne Moore, Steve Buscemi, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Tara Reid, David Huddleston. [Coen, Joel and Ethan; Myth] Big Mama’s House, 2000. Dir. Raja Gosnell. Martin Lawrence, Nia Long, Paul Giamatti, Jascha Washington, Terrence Howard. [Clergy] Big Tip Off, The, 1955. Dir. Frank McDonald. Richard Conte, Constance Smith, Bruce Bennett, Cathy Downs, James Millican. [Joan of Arc] Bill & Ted’s Bogus Journey, 1991. Dir. Peter Hewitt. Keanu Reeves, Alex Winter, William Sadler, Joss Ackland, Pam Grier. [Heaven] Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure, 1989. Dir. Stephen Herek. Keanu Reeves, Alex Winter, George Carlin, Terry Camilleri, Dan Shor, Tony Steedman, Jane Wiedlin. [Joan of Arc; Ritual]

480 | Appendix: Filmography

Bill Bumper’s Bargain, 1911. Francis X. Bushman, Harry Cashman, Dolores Cassinelli. [Devil] Biography of Lilith, A, 1997. Documentary. Dir. Lynne Sachs. [Women] Birth of a Nation, The, 1915. Dir. D. W. Griffith. Lillian Gish, Mae Marsh, Henry B. Walthall, Miariam Cooper, Mary Alden. [Indigenous Religions; Myth; Silent Film] Biruma no tategoto (The Burmese Harp), 1956. Dir. Kon Ichikawa. Rentaro Mikuni, Shôji, Jun Hamamura, Taketoshi Naitô, Kô Nishimura. [Japan] Bishop’s Wife, The, 1947. Dir. Henry Koster. Carey Grant, Loretta Young, David Niven, Monty Woolley, James Gleason. [Black Church, The; Clergy; Protestantism; Ritual] Bittere Ernte (Angry Harvest), 1986. Dir. Agnieszka Holland. Armin MuellerStahl, Elizabeth Trissenaar, Wojciech Pszoniak, Gerd Baltus, Anita Höfer. [Europe (Continental)] Black Cauldron, The, 1985. Dir. Ted Berman, Richard Rich. Grant Bardsley, Susan Sheridan, Freddie Jones, Nigel Hawthorne, Arthur Malet. [Mormonism] Black Crook, The, 1916. Dir. Robert G. Vignola. Edward P. Sullivan, Gladys Coburn, Roland Bottomley, Henry Hallam, Charles De Forrest. [Devil] Black Fury, 1935. Dir. Michael Curtiz. Paul Muni, Karen Morley, William Gargan, Barton MacLane, John Qualen. [Censorship in Hollywood] Black Hawk Down, 2001. Dir. Ridley Scott. Josh Hartnett, Ewan McGregor, Jason Isaacs, Tom Sizemore, William Fichtner. [Islam] Black Magic Rites and the Secret Orgies of the Fourteenth Century. See Riti, magie nere e segrete orge nel trecento. Black Narcissus, 1947. Dir. Michael Powell, Emeric Pressburger. Deborah Kerr, Flora Robson, Jean Simmons, David Farrar, Sabu. [Mysticism] Black Rain. See Kuroi ame. Black Robe, 1991. Dir. Bruce Beresford. Lothaire Bluteau, Aden Young, Sandrine Holt, August Schellenberg, Tantoo Cardinal. [Australia; Catholicism; Clergy] Blacula, 1972. Dir. William Crain. William Marshall, Vonetta McGee, Denise Nicholas, Thamus Rasulala, Gordon Pinsent. [Voodoo] Blade: Trinity, 2004. Dir. David S. Goyer. Wesley Snipes, Kris Kristofferson, Dominic Purcell, Jessica Biel, Ryan Reynolds. [Superheroes] Blade af Satans bog (Leaves from Satan’s Book), 1921. Dir. Carl Theodor Dreyer. Helge Nissen, Halvard Hoff, Jacob Texiere, Hallander Hellman, Ebon Strandin. [Dreyer, Carl Theodor] Blade Runner, 1982. Dir. Ridley Scott. Harrison Ford, Rutger Hauer, Sean Young, Edward James Olmos, M. Emmet Walsh, Daryl Hannah. [Bible Films; Posthumanism; Science Fiction]

Appendix: Filmography | 481

Blaue Licht, Das (The Blue Light), 1932. Dir. Béla Balázs, Leni Riefenstahl. Leni Riefenstahl, Mathias Wieman, Beni Führer, Max Holzboer, Martha Mair. [Mysticism] Blazing Saddles, 1974. Dir. Mel Brooks. Cleavon Little, Gene Wilder, Harvey Corman, Mel Brooks, Slim Pickens, Alex Karras. [Brooks, Mel; Westerns] Blind Chance. See Przypadek. Blob, The, 1988. Dir. Chuck Russell. Kevin Dillon, Shawnee Smith, Donovan Leitch, Jeffrey DeMunn, Candy Clark. [Clergy] Blonde Venus, 1932. Dir. Josef von Sternberg. Marlene Dietrich, Herbert Marshall, Carey Grant, Dickie Moore, Gene Morgan. [Censorship in Hollywood] Blood of Jesus, The, 1941. Dir. Spencer Williams. Cathryn Caviness, Spencer Williams, Juanita Riley, Reather Hardeman, Rogenia Goldthwaite. [Clergy] Blood on Satan’s Claw, 1971. Dir. Piers Haggard. Patrick Wymark, Linda Hayden, Barry Andrews, Michele Dotrice, James Hayter. [Devil] Blood Simple, 1984. Dir. Joel Coen. John Getz, Frances McDormand, Dan Hedaya, M. Emmet Walsh, Samm-Art Williams. [Coen, Joel and Ethan] Blot, The, 1921. Dir. Phillips Smalley, Lois Weber. Phillip Hubbard, Margaret McWade, Claire Windsor, Louis Calhern, Marie Walcamp. [Silent Film] Blue Blood, 1973. Dir. Andrew Sinclair. Oliver Reed, Fiona Lewis, Anna Gaël, Derek Jacobi, Meg Wynn Owen. [Devil] Blue Light, The. See Blaue Licht, Das. Blues Brothers, The, 1980. Dir. John Landis. John Belushi, Dan Aykroyd, Carrie Fisher, James Brown, Cab Calloway, Ray Charles, Aretha Franklin. [Black Church, The] Bom yeoreum gaeul gyeoul geurigo bom (Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter . . . and Spring), 2003. Dir. Ki-duk Kim. Yeong-su Oh, Ki-duk Kim, Young-min Kim, Jae-kyeong Seo, Yeo-jin Ha. [Ritual] Body and Soul, 1925. Dir. Oscar Micheaux. Paul Robeson, Mercedes Gilbert, Julia Theresa Russell, Lawrence Chenault, Marshall Rogers. [Clergy] Bonnie and Clyde, 1967. Dir. Arthur Penn. Warren Beatty, Faye Dunaway, Michael J. Pollard, Gene Hackman, Estelle Parsons, Gene Wilder. [Westerns] Boss of It All, The. See Direktøren for det hele. bout de soufflé, Á (Breathless), 1960. Dir. Jean-Luc Godard. Jean-Paul Belmondo, Jean Seberg, Daniel Boulanger, Jean-Pierre Melville, HenriJacques Huet. [Truffaut, François] Boxcar Bertha, 1972. Dir. Martin Scorsese. Barbara Hershey, David Carradine, Barry Primus, Bernie Casey, John Carradine. [THE LAST TEMPTATION OF CHRIST Controversy; Scorsese, Martin]

482 | Appendix: Filmography

Boys Town, 1938. Dir. Norman Taurog. Spencer Tracy, Mickey Rooney, Henry Hull, Leslie Fenton, Gene Reynolds. [Catholicism; Clergy] Bram Stoker’s Dracula, 1992. Dir. Francis Ford Coppola. Gary Oldman, Winona Ryder, Anthony Hopkins, Keanu Reeves, Richard E. Grant. [Coppola, Francis Ford; Vampires] Brazil, 1985. Dir. Terry Gilliam. Jonathan Pryce, Robert De Niro, Katherine Helmond, Ian Holm, Bob Hoskins. [Gilliam, Terry] Breaking of the Drought, The, 1920. Dir. Franklyn Barrett. Charles Beetham, Rawdon Blanford, Trilby Clark, John Faulkner, Ethel Henry. [Australia] Breaking the Waves, 1996. Dir. Lars von Trier. Emily Watson, Stellan Skarsgård, Katrin Cartlidge, Jean-Marc Barr, Adrian Rawlins. [Belief; Europe (Continental); Mysticism; Trier, Lars von] Breathless. See bout de soufflé, Á. Brewster McCloud, 1970. Dir. Robert Altman. Bud Cort, Sally Kellerman, Michael Murphy, William Windom, Shelley Duvall, Rene Auberjonois, Stacy Keach, Margaret Hamilton. [Altman, Robert] Bride and Prejudice, 2004. Dir. Gurinder Chadha. Aishwarya Rai, Martin Henderson, Naddira Babbar, Anupam Kher, Naveen Andrews. [Hinduism; Ritual] Bride of Frankenstein, 1935. Dir. James Whale. Boris Karloff, Colin Clive, Valerie Hobson, Ernest Thesiger, Elsa Lanchester. [Science Fiction] Brides of Dracula, The, 1960. Dir. Terence Fisher. Peter Cushing, Martita Hunt, Yvonne Monlaur, Freda Jackson, David Peel. [Vampires] Brigadoon, 1954. Dir. Vincente Minnelli. Gene Kelly, Van Johnson, Cyd Charisse, Elaine Stewart, Barry Jones. [Mysticism] Brigham Young, 1940. Dir. Henry Hathaway. Tyrone Power, Linda Darnell, Dean Jagger, Brian Donlevy, Jane Darwell, John Carradine, Mary Astor, Vincent Price, Jean Rogers. [Mormonism; Westerns] Brightness. See Yeelen. Bringing Out the Dead, 1999. Dir. Martin Scorsese. Nicolas Cage, Patricia Arquette, John Goodman, Ving Rhames, Tom Sizemore. [Schrader, Paul] Broadway Danny Rose, 1984. Dir. Woody Allen. Woody Allen, Mia Farrow, Nick Apollo Forte, Sandy Baron, Corbett Monica, Jackie Gayle. [Allen, Woody] Brokeback Mountain, 2005. Dir. Ang Lee. Heath Ledger, Jake Gyllenhaal, Randy Quaid, Valerie Planche, David Trimble. [Myth; Protestantism; Westerns] Broken Arrow, 1950. Dir. Delmer Daves. James Stewart, Jeff Chandler, Debra Paget, Basil Ruysdael, Will Geer. [American Indian Religion] Broncho Billy’s Sentence, 1915. Dir. Gilbert M. “Broncho Billy” Anderson. Gilbert M. “Broncho Billy” Anderson, True Boardman, Virginia True Boardman, Ernest Van Pelt, Carl Stockdale. [Silent Film]

Appendix: Filmography | 483

Bronenosets Potyomkin (Battleship Potemkin), 1925. Dir. Sergei M. Eisenstein. Aleksandr Antonov, Vladimir Barsky, Grigori Aleksandrov, Ivan Bobrov, Mikhail Gomorov. [Russia] Brother Bear, 2003. Dir. Aaron Blaise, Robert Walker. Joaquin Phoenix, Jeremy Suarez, Jason Raize, Rick Moranis, Dave Thomas, D. B. Sweeney. [Animated Films] The Brotherhood of Satan, 1971. Dir. Bernard McEveetey. Strother Martin, L. Q. Jones, Charles Bateman, Ahna Capri, Charles Robinson. [Devil] Brother Sun, Sister Moon. See Fratello sole, sorella luna. Bruce Almighty, 2003. Dir. Tom Shadyac. Jim Carrey, Morgan Freeman, Jennifer Anniston. [God] Buck and the Preacher, 1972. Dir. Joseph Sargent, Sidney Poitier. Sidney Poitier, Harry Belafonte, Ruby Dee, Cameron Mitchell, Denny Miller. [Clergy] Buddha. See Shaka. Buffy the Vampire Slayer, 1992. Dir. Fran Rubel Kuzui. Kristy Swanson, Donald Sutherland, Paul Reubens, Rutger Hauer, Luke Perry. [Vampires] Bugs Bunny’s 3rd Movie: 1001 Rabbit Tales, 1982. Dir. Friz Freleng. Mel Blanc, Arthur Q. Bryan, June Foray, Shepard Menken, Lennie Weinrib. [Islam] Bull Durham, 1988. Dir. Ron Shelton. Kevin Costner, Susan Sarandon, Tim Robbins, Trey Wilson, Robert Wuhl, William O’Leary. [Sports] Il buono, il brutto, il cattivo (The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly), 1966. Dir. Sergio Leone. Eli Wallach, Clint Eastwood, Lee Van Cleef, Aldo Giuffrè, Luigi Pistilli. [Leone, Sergio] Burmese Harp, The. See Biruma no tategoto. Burn Witch Burn. See Hexen bis aufs Blut gequält. Burning Hell, The, 1974. Documentary. Dir. Ron Ormond. Estus W. Pirkle, Tim Ormond, Chuck Howard, Jack Hyles, Bob Gray. [Missionary Films] Burning of Joan of Arc The. See Joan of Arc, 1895. Burning Times, The, 1990. Documentary. Dir. Donna Read. Martha Henry, Starhawk. [Women] Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee, 2007. Dir. Yves Simoneau. Anna Paquin, Chevez Ezaneh, August Schellenberg, Duane Howard, Aidan Quinn. [American Indian Religion] Business of Fancydancing, The, 2002. Dir. Sherman Alexie. Evan Adams, Michelle St. John, Gene Tagaban, Swil Kanim, Rebecca Carroll. [American Indian Religion] Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, 1969. Dir. George Roy Hill. Paul Newman, Robert Redford, Katharine Ross, Strother Martin, Cloris Leachman, Ted Cassidy, Kenneth Mars. [Westerns]

484 | Appendix: Filmography

—C— Cabeza de Vaca, 1991. Dir. Nicolás Echevarria. Juan Diego, Daniel Giménez Cacho, Roberto Sosa, Carlos Castañón, Gerardo Villarreal. [Ritual] Cabin in the Sky, 1943. Dir. Vincente Minnelli, Busby Berkeley. Ethel Waters, Eddie Anderson, Lena Horne, Louis Armstrong, Rex Ingram. [Devil] Cabinet de Méphistophélès, Le (The Cabinet of Mephistopheles), 1896. Dir. Georges Méliès. [Devil] Cabinet of Mephistopheles, The. See Cabinet de Méphistophélès, Le. Cairo as Told by Youssef Chahine. See al-Qahira munawwara bi ahliha. Cairo Station. See Bab el hadid. California Split, 1974. Dir. Robert Altman. George Segal, Elliott Gould, Ann Prentiss, Gwen Welles, Edward Walsh, Jeff Goldblum. [Altman, Robert] Callahans and the Murphys, The, 1927. Dir. George W. Hill. Marie Dressler, Polly Moran, Sally O’Neil, Lawrence Gray, Eddie Gribbon. [Catholicism; Silent Film] Camelot, 1967. Dir. Joshua Logan. Richard Harris, Vanessa Redgrave, Franco Nero, David Hemmings, Lionel Jeffries. [Magic] Cannibals of the South Seas, 1912. Documentary. Dir. Martin E. Johnson, Osa Johnson. [Indigenous Religions] Canterbury Tales, The. See Racconti di Canterbury. Cape Fear, 1962. Dir. J. Lee Thompson. Gregory Peck, Robert Mitchum, Polly Bergen, Lori Martin, Martin Balsam. [Scorsese, Martin] Cape Fear, 1991. Dir. Martin Scorsese. Robert De Niro, Nick Nolte, Jessica Lange, Juliette Lewis, Joe Don Baker, Robert Mitchum, Gregory Peck, Martin Balsam, Illeana Douglas, Fred Dalton Thompson. [Scorsese, Martin] Captain Kronos—Vampire Hunter, 1974. Dir. Brian Clemens. Horst Janson, John Carson, Shane Briant, Caroline Munro, John Cater. [Vampires] Car Wash, 1976. Dir. Michael Schultz. Franklyn Ajaye, Sully Boyar, Richard Brestoff, George Carlin, Irwin Corey. [Clergy] Cardinal, The, 1963. Dir. Otto Preminger. Tom Tryon, Carol Lynley, Dorothy Gish, Maggie McNamara, Bill Hayes. [Clergy] Cargo 200. See Gruz 200. Casino, 1995. Dir. Martin Scorsese. Robert De Niro, Sharon Stone, Joe Pesci, James Woods, Frank Vincent. [Scorsese, Martin] Castle in the Sky. See Tenku no Shiro Rapyuta. Casualties of War, 1989. Dir. Brian De Palma. Michael J. Fox, Sean Penn, Don Harvey, John C. Reilly, John Leguizamo, Ving Rhames. [Protestantism] Cat Ballou, 1965. Dir. Elliot Silverstein. Jane Fonda, Lee Marvin, Michael Callan, Dwayne Hickman, Nat “King” Cole, Stubby Kaye. [Westerns]

Appendix: Filmography | 485

Catwoman, 2004. Dir. Pitof (Jean-Christophe Comar). Halle Berry, Benjamin Bratt, Sharon Stone, Lambert Wilson, Frances Conroy. [Superheroes] Ceddo (Outsiders), 1977. Dir. Sembene Ousmane. Tabata Ndiaye, Moustapha Yade, Ismaila Diagne, Matoura Dia, Omar Gueye. [Africa] Celebration, The. See Festen. Celebrity, 1998. Dir. Woody Allen. Greg Mottola, Jeff Mazzola, Dick Mingalone, Valdimir Bibic, Melanie Griffith. [Allen, Woody] C’era una volta il West (Once Upon a Time in the West), 1968. Dir. Sergio Leone. Henry Fonda, Claudia Cardinale, Jason Robards, Charles Bronson, Gabriele Ferzetti. [Leone, Sergio] C’est arrivé pres de chez vous (Man Bites Dog), 1992. Dir. Rémy Belvaux. Benoît Poelvoorde, Jacqueline Poelvoorde-Pappaert, Nelly Pappaert, Hector Pappaert, Jenny Drye. [Myth] Cet obscur objet du desir (That Obscure Object of Desire), 1977. Dir. Luis Buñuel. Fernando Rey, Carole Bouquet, Angela Molina, Julien Bertheau, Andre Weber. [Buñuel, Luis] Chain of Command, 1994. Dir. David Worth. Michael Dudikoff, Todd Curtis, Keren Tishman, R. Lee Ermey, Steve Greenstein. [Islam] Chandni (Moonlight), 1989. Dir. Yash Chopra. Vinod Khanna, Rishi Kapoor, Sridevi, Waheeda Rehman, Sushma Seth. [Bollywood] Change of Habit, 1969. Dir. William A. Graham. Elvis Presley, Mary Tyler Moore, Barbara McNair, Jane Elliot, Leora Dana. [Catholicism; Clergy] Changing Lanes, 2002. Dir. Roger Michell. Ben Affleck, Samuel L. Jackson, Kim Staunton, Toni Collette, Sydney Pollack. [Tolkin, Michael] Chant of Jimmie Blacksmith, The, 1978. Dir. Fred Schepisi. Tommy Lewis, Freddy Reynolds, Ray Barrett, Jack Thompson, Angela Punch McGregor. [Australia] Chariots of Fire, 1981. Dir. Hugh Hudson. Nicolas Farrell, Nigel Havers, Ian Charleson, Ben Cross, Daniel Geroll, Ian Holm. [Britain; Clergy; Protestantism; Sports] Charme discret de la bourgeoisie, Le (The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie), 1972. Dir. Luis Buñuel. Fernando Rey, Paul Frankeur, Delphanie Seyrig, Bulle Ogier, Stéphane Audran. [Buñuel, Luis] Charrette fantôme, La (The Phantom Wagon), 1939. Dir. Julien Duvivier. Pierre Fresnay, Marie Bell, Micheline Francey, Louis Jouvet, Jean Mercanton. [Mysticism] Chasing Amy, 1997. Dir. Kevin Smith. Ethan Suplee, Ben Affleck, Scott Mosier, Jason Lee, Casey Affleck. [Smith, Kevin] Chichi ariki (There Was a Father), 1942. Dir. Yasujiro¯ Ozu. Chishu Ryu, Shûji Sano, Shin Saburi, Takeshi Sakamoto, Mitsuko Mito. [Ozu, Yasujiro¯]

486 | Appendix: Filmography

chien andalou, Un (An Andalusian Dog), 1929. Dir. Luis Buñuel. Simone Mareuil, Pierre Batcheff. [Buñuel, Luis] Children of the Corn, 1984. Dir. Fritz Kiersch. Peter Horton, Linda Hamilton, R.G. Armstrong, John Franklin, Coutney Gains. [Clergy] Children of Heaven. See Bacheha—Ye aseman. Children Shouldn’t Play with Dead Things, 1972. Dir. Bob Clark. Alan Ormsby, Valerie Mamches, Jeff Gillen, Anya Ormsby, Paul Cronin. [Devil] Chocolat, 2000. Dir. Lasse Hallström. Alfred Molina, Carrie-Anne Moss, Aurelien Parent Koenig, Antonio Gil-Martinez, Hélène Cardona. [Clergy; Europe (Continental)] Chôjin densetsu Urotsukidôji (The Legend of the Overfiend), 1989. Dir. Hideki Takayama. Bick Balse, Christopher Courage, Rebel Joy, Yasunori Matsumoto, Lucy Morales. [Japan] Chosen, The, 1981. Dir. Jeremy Kagan. Maximillian Schell, Rod Stieger, Robby Benson, Barry Miller, Hildy Brooks. [Clergy; Ritual; Sports] Christian, The, 1911. Dir. Franklyn Barrett. Bert Bailey, Rutland Beckett, Lily Bryer, Max Clifton, Marie D’Alton. [Australia] Christmas Carol, A, 1908. Writer, Charles Dickens. Tom Ricketts. [Holidays] Christmas Story, A,1983. Dir. Bob Clark. Melinda Dillon, Darren McGavin, Peter Billingsley, Ian Petrella, Scott Schwartz. [Devil] Chronicle of the May Rain, A. See Samidare zoshi. Chronicles of Narnia, The: The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe, 2005. Dir. Andrew Adamson. Georgie Henley, Skandar Keynes, William Moseley, Anna Popplewell, Tilda Swinton, James McAvoy. [Bible Films; Eucatastrophe] Chronos. See Cronos. Chudotvornaya (The Miracle Worker), 1960. Dir. Vladimir Skujbin. Viktor Avdyushko, Stanislav Chekan, Yelena Maksimova, Pyotr Savin. [Russia] Church and the Woman, The, 1917. Dir. Raymond Longford. George K. Chesterton Bonar, Nada Conrade, Boyd Irwin, Lottie Lyell, Pat McGrath. [Australia] Cidade de Deus (City of God ), 2002. Dir. Fernando Meirelles, Kátia Lund. Alexandar Rodrigues, Leandro Firmino, Phellipe Haagensen, Douglas Silva, Johnathan Haagensen. [Belief; Latin America] Cinema Paradiso. See Nuovo cinema Paradiso. Circus, The, 1928. Dir. Charles Chaplin. Al Ernest Garcia, Merna Kennedy, Harry Crocker, George Davis, Henry Bergman. [Silent Film] City of Angels, 1998. Dir. Brad Silberling. Nicolas Cage, Meg Ryan, Andre Braugher, Dennis Franz, Colm Feore. [Angels; Europe (Continental)] City of God. See Cidade de Deus.

Appendix: Filmography | 487

Clancy’s Kosher Wedding, 1927. Dir. Arvid E. Gillstrom. George Sidney, Will Armstrong, Ann Brody, Mary Gordon, Sharon Lynn. [Silent Film] Clash of the Titans, 1981. Dir. Desmond Davis. Laurence Olivier, Clare Bloom, Maggie Smith, Ursula Andress, Jack Gwillim. [Greek and Roman Myths] Cleopatra, 1963. Dir. Joseph L. Mankiewicz. Elizabeth Taylor, Richard Burton, Rex Harrison, Pamela Brown, George Cole. [Greek and Roman Myths] Clerks., 1994. Dir. Kevin Smith. Brian O’Halloran, Jeff Anderson, Marilyn Ghigliotti, Lisa Spoonhauer, Jason Mewes, Kevin Smith. [Smith, Kevin] Clerks II, 2006. Dir. Kevin Smith. Brian O’Halloran, Jeff Anderson, Jason Mewes, Kevin Smith, Jake Richardson, Ethan Suplee. [Smith, Kevin] Clockwork Orange, A, 1971. Dir. Stanley Kubrick. Malcolm McDowell, Patrick Magee, Michael Bates, Warren Clarke, John Clive. [Kubrick, Stanley] Close Encounters of the Third Kind, 1977. Dir. Steven Spielberg. Richard Dreyfuss, François Truffaut, Teri Garr, Melinda Dillon, Bob Balaban. [Science Fiction] Closed Doors. See al-Abwab al-moghlaka. Clouds over Borsk. See Tuchi nad Borskom. Cohens and the Kellys, The, 1926. Dir. Harry A. Pollard. Charles Murray, George Sidney, Vera Gordon, Kate Price, Jason Robards, Sr. [Silent Film] Cold Mountain, 2003. Dir. Anthony Minghella. Jude Law, Nicole Kidman, Renée Zellweger, Eileen Atkins, Brendan Gleeson. [Ritual] Cold Turkey, 1971. Dir. Norman Lear. Dick Van Dyke, Pippa Scott, Tom Poston, Edward Everett Horton, Bob Elliott, Ray Goulding, Vincent Gardenia. [Clergy] Collateral, 2004. Dir. Michael Mann. Tom Cruise, Jamie Foxx, Jada Pinkett Smith, Mark Ruffalo, Peter Berg. [Myth] Color of Money, The, 1986. Dir. Martin Scorsese. Paul Newman, Tom Cruise, Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio, Helen Shaver, John Turturro. [Scorsese, Martin] Color Purple, The, 1985. Dir. Steven Spielberg. Danny Glover, Whoopi Goldberg, Margaret Avery, Oprah Winfrey, Willard E. Pugh. [Black Church, The] Colossus: The Forbin Project, 1970. Dir. Joseph Sargent. Eric Braeden, Susan Clark, Gordon Pinsent, William Schallert, Leonid Rostoff. [End-of-theWorld Films] Come Back to the Five and Dime, Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean, 1982. Dir. Robert Altman. Sandy Dennis, Cher, Karen Black, Sudie Bond, Kathy Bates. [Altman, Robert] Come to the Stable, 1949. Henry Koster. Loretta Young, Celeste Holm, Hugh Marlowe, Elsa Lanchester, Thomas Gomez. [Catholicism]

488 | Appendix: Filmography

condamné à mort s’est échappé, Un, ou Le vent soufflé où il veut (A Man Escaped, or The Wind Bloweth Where it Listeth), 1956. Dir. Robert Bresson. François Leterrier, Charles Le Clainche, Maurice Beerblock, Roland Monod, Jacques Ertaud. [Bresson, Robert; Europe (Continental)] Confession, The, 1920. Dir. Bertram Bracken. Henry B. Walthall, Francis McDonald, William Clifford, Margaret McWade, Margaret Landis. [Clergy] Confidentially Yours. See Vivement dimanche! Conquest of the Planet of the Apes, 1972. Dir. J. Lee Thompson. Roddy McDowall, Don Murray, Natalie Trundy, Hari Rhodes, Severn Darden, Ricardo Montalban. [End-of-the-World Films] Conqueror Worm, The. See Witchfinder General. Conspiracy of Terror, 1975. Television. Dir. John Llewellyn Moxey. Michael Constantine, Barbara Rhoades. [Devil] Constantine, 2005. Dir. Francis Lawrence. Keanu Reeves, Rachel Weisz, Shia LaBeouf, Djimon Hounsou, Max Baker. [Clergy; Superheroes] Contact, 1997. Dir. Robert Zemeckis. Jena Malone, David Morse, Jodie Foster, Geoffrey Blake, William Fichtner. [Science Fiction] Conversation, The, 1974. Dir. Francis Ford Coppola. Gene Hackman, John Cazale, Allen Garfield, Frederic Forrest, Cindy Williams, Michael Higgins, Elizabeth MacRae, Teri Garr, Harrison Ford. [Coppola, Francis Ford] Conversations across the Bosphorus, 1995. Documentary. Dir. Jeanne Finley. [Women] Convert, The, 1911. Dir. Thomas H. Ince. Mary Pickford, Owen Moore. [Silent Film] Corner in Wheat, A, 1909. Dir. D. W. Griffith. Frank Powell, Grace Henderson, James Kirkwood, Linda Arvidson, W. Chystie Miller. [Silent Film] Courier Sud (Southern Carrier), 1937. Dir. Pierre Billon. Pierre Richard-Willm, Jany Holt, Raymond Aimos, Alexandre Rignault, Roger Legris. [Bresson, Robert] Cours toujours (Dad on the Run), 2000. Dir. Dante Desarthe. Clément Sibony, Rona Hartner, Isaac Sharry, Marie Desgranges, Emmanuelle Devos. [Ritual] Craft, The, 1996. Dir. Andrew Fleming. Robin Tunney, Fairuza Balk, Neve Campbell, Rachel True, Skeet Ulrich, Christine Taylor, Breckin Meyer. [Magic] Creature with the Atom Brain, 1955. Dir. Edward L. Cahn. Richard Denning, Angela Stevens, S. John Launer, Michael Granger, Gregory Gaye. [Voodoo] Crime of Father Amaro, The. See El Crimen del padre Amaro. Crimen del padre Amaro, El (The Crime of Father Amaro), 2002. Dir. Carlos Carrera. Gael García Bernal, Ana Claudia Talancón, Sancho Gracia, Angélica Aragón, Luisa Huertas. [Clergy; Latin America]

Appendix: Filmography | 489

Crimes and Misdemeanors, 1989. Dir. Woody Allen. Bill Bernstein, Martin Landau, Claire Bloom, Woody Allen, Stephanie Roth Haberle, Gregg Edelman. [Allen, Woody; Belief] Crimes of Passion, 1984. Dir. Ken Russell. Kathleen Turner, Bruce Davidson, Gordon Hunt, Dan Gerrity, Anthony Perkins. [Clergy] Critic, The, 1963. Dir. Ernest Pintoff. Mel Brooks. [Brooks, Mel] Crocodile Dundee, 1986. Dir. Peter Faiman. Paul Hogan, Linda Kozlowski, John Meillon, David Gulpilil. [Indigenous Religions] Cronos (Chronos), 1993. Dir. Guillermo del Toro. Federico Luppi, Ron Perlman, Claudio Brook, Margarita Isabel, Tamara Shanath. [Vampires] Cross Inscribed in the Star of David, The. See Wpisany w gwiazde Davida. Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. See Wo Hu Cang Long. Crucible, The, 1957. See Sorcières de Salem, Les. Crucible, The, 1996. Dir. Nicholas Hytner. Daniel Day-Lewis, Winona Ryder, Paul Scofield, Joan Allen, Bruce Davison. [Magic] Cruise into Terror, 1978. Television. Dir. Bruce Kessler. Dirk Benedict, Frank Converse, John Forsythe, Christopher George, Lynda Day George. [Devil] Cry in the Dark, A. See Evil Angels. Cry, the Beloved Country, 1952. Dir. Zoltan Korda. Canada Lee, Charles Carson, Sidney Poitier, Joyce Carey, Geoffrey Keen. [Clergy] Cry, the Beloved Country, 1995. Dir. Darrell Roodt. James Earl Jones, Tsholofelo Wechoemang, Richard Harris, Charles Dutton, Dolly Rathebe. [Clergy] Cup, The. See Phörpa. Cybercity. See Shepherd, The. Cyborg, 1989. Dir. Albert Pyun. Jean-Claude Van Damme, Deborah Richter, Vincent Klyn, Alex Daniels. [Posthumanism] Cypher, 2002. Dir. Vincenzo Natali. Jeremy Northam, Lucy Liu, Nigel Bennett, Timothy Webber, David Hewlett. [Posthumanism] —D— Da hong deng long gao gao gua (Raise the Red Lantern), 1991. Dir. Yimou Zhang. Li Gong, Caifei He, Cuifen Cao, Jingwu Ma, Qi Zhao. [China] Dad on the Run. See Cours toujours. Dames du Bois de Boulogne, The (Ladies of the Bois de Bologne), 1945. Dir. Robert Bresson. Paul Bernard, María Casares, Elina Labourdette, Lucienne Bogaert, Jean Marchat. [Bresson, Robert] Damien: Omen II, 1978. Dir. Don Taylor. William Holden, Lee Grant, Jonathan Scott-Taylor, Robert Foxworth, Nicholas Pryor. [Clergy; End-of-the-World Films]

490 | Appendix: Filmography

Dancer in the Dark, 2000. Dir. Lars von Trier. Björk, Catherine Deneuve, David Morse, Peter Stormare, Joel Grey. [Trier, Lars von] Dances With Wolves, 1990. Dir. Kevin Costner. Kevin Costner, Mary McDonnell, Graham Greene, Rodney Grant, Floyd “Red Crow” Westerman, Robert Pastorelli, Maury Chaykin. [American Indian Religions; Ritual] Daratt (Dry Season), 2006. Dir. Mahamat-Saleh Haroun. Ali Barkai, Youssouf Djaoro, Aziza Hisseine, Khayar Oumar Defallah, Djibril Ibrahim. [Africa] Daredevil, 2003. Dir. Mark Steven Johnson. Ben Affleck, Jennifer Garner, Colin Farrell, Michael Clarke Duncan, John Favreau. [Posthumanism; Superheroes] Dark City, 1998. Dir. Alex Proyas. Rufus Sewell, William Hurt, Kiefer Sutherland, Jennifer Connelly, Richard O’Brian. [Science Fiction] Dark Habits. See Entre tinieblas. Dark Secret of Harvest Home, The, 1978. Television. Dir. Leo Penn. Bette Davis, David Ackroyd, Rosanna Arquette, Rene Auberjonois, John Calvin. [Devil] Daughters of Destiny. See Destinées. Daughters of the Dust, 1991. Dir. Julie Dash. Cora Lee Day, Alva Rogers, Barbarao, Trula Hoosier, Umar Abdurrahamn. [Women] Daughters of Satan, 1972. Dir. Hollingsworth Morse. Tom Selleck, Barra Grant, Tani Guthrie, Paraluman, Vic Silayan. [Devil] David and Bathsheba, 1951. Dir. Henry King. Gregory Peck, Susan Hayward, Raymond Massey, Kieron Moore. [Bible Films] Dawn of the Dead, 1978. Dir. George A. Romero. David Emge, Ken Foree, Scott H. Reingiger, Gaylen Ross, David Crawford. [Voodoo] Dawn of the Dead, 2004. Dir. Zack Snyder. Sarah Polley, Ving Rhames, Jake Weber, Mekhi Phifer, Ty Burrell. [Voodoo] Day for Night. See Nuit américaine, La. Day I Became a Woman, The. See Roozi ke zan shodam. Day in the Country, A. See Partie de campange. Day of the Dead, 1985. Dir. George A. Romero. Lori Cardille, Terry Alexander, Joseph Pilato, Jarlath Conroy, Anthony Dileo, Jr. [Voodoo] Day of Wrath. See Vredens Dag. Day the Earth Stood Still, The, 1951. Dir. Robert Wise. Michael Rennie, Patricia Neal, Hugh Marlowe, Sam Jaffe, Billy Gray. [End-of-the-World Films; Science Fiction] Dead Man Walking, 1995. Dir. Tim Robbins. Susan Sarandon, Sean Penn, Robert Prosky, Raymond J. Barry, R. Lee Ermey. [Clergy] Dear Wendy, 2005. Dir. Thomas Vinterberg. Jamie Bell, Bill Pullman, Michael Angarano, Danso Gordon, Novella Nelson. [Trier, Lars von] Death and the Maiden. See Fährmann Maria.

Appendix: Filmography | 491

Death of a Princess, 1980. Dir. Antony Thomas. Suzanne Abou Taleb, Paul Freeman, Just Parfitt, Samir Sabri, Ismet Raafat. [Islam] Death Takes a Holiday, 1934. Dir. Mitchell Leisen. Fredric March, Evelyn Venable, Guy Standing, Katherine Alexandar, Gail Patrick. [Mysticism] Decameron, The. See Decameron, Il. Decameron, Il (The Decameron), 1971. Dir. Pier Paolo Pasolini. Franco Citti, Ninetto Davoli, Jovan Jovanovic, Vincenzo Amato, Angela Luce. [Europe (Continental)] Deconstructing Harry, 1997. Dir. Woody Allen. Woody Allen, Richard Benjamin, Kristie Alley, Billy Crystal, Judy Davis, Bob Balaban. [Allen, Woody] Deep Cover, 1992. Dir. Bill Duke. Laurence Fishburne, Jeff Goldblum, Victoria Dillard, Charles Martin Smith, Sydney Lassick. [Tolkin, Michael] Deep Impact, 1998. Dir. Mimi Leder. Robert Duvall, Téa Leoni, Elijah Wood, Vanessa Redgrave, Morgan Freeman. [Tolkin, Michael] Defending Your Life, 1991. Dir. Albert Brooks. Albert Brooks, Michael Durrell, Meryl Streep, James Eckhouse, Gary Beach. [Mysticism] Dekalog, 1989. Television. Dir. Krzysztof Kies´lowski. Artur Barcis, Henryk Baranowski, Olaf Lubaszenko, Piotr Machalica, Jan Tesarz. [Europe (Continental); Kies´ lowski, Krzysztof] Delta Force, The, 1986. Dir. Menahem Golan. Chuck Norris, Lee Marvin, Martin Balsam, Joey Bishop, Robert Forester. [Islam] Dementia 13, 1963. Dir. Francis Ford Coppola. William Campbell, Luana Anders, Bart Patton, Mary Mitchel, Patrick Magee. [Coppola, Francis Ford] Demon Seed, 1977. Dir. Donald Cammell. Julie Christie, Fritz Weaver, Gerrit Graham, Berry Kroeger, Lisa Lu. [End-of-the-World Films] Den goda viljan (Best Intentions), 1992. Dir. Bille August. Samuel Fröler, Pernilla August, Max von Sydow, Ghita Nørby, Björn Kjellman. [Europe (Continental)] Departed, The, 2006. Dir. Martin Scorsese. Leonardo DiCaprio, Matt Damon, Jack Nicholson, Mark Wahlberg, Martin Sheen. [Scorsese, Martin] Departure of a Grand Old Man. See Ukhod velikovo startza. Le dernier metro (The Last Metro), 1980. Dir. François Truffaut. Catherine Deneuve, Gérard Depardieu, Jean Poiret, Andrea Ferréol, Paulette Dubost. [Europe (Continental)] Descent of Ganga, The. See Gangavataran. Destinées (Daughters of Destiny), 1954. Dir. Christian-Jaque (“Lysistrata”), Jean Delannoy (“Jeanne”), Marcello Pagliero (“Elisabeth”). Claudette Colbert, Michèle Morgan, Martine Carol. [Joan of Arc] Destiny. See al-Masir.

492 | Appendix: Filmography

Detective, The. See Father Brown. Devi (The Goddess), 1960. Dir. Satyajit Ray. Chhabi Biswas, Soumitra Chatterjee, Sharmila Tagore, Purnendu Mukherjee, Karuna Bannerjee. [Hinduism] Devil and Daniel Webster, The, 1941. Dir. William Dieterle. Edward Arnold, Walter Huston, Jane Darwell, Simone Simon, Gene Lockhart. [Devil] Devil and the Statue, The. See Diable géant, Le, ou Miracle de la madonne, Le. Devil at 4 O’Clock, 1961. Dir. Mervyn LeRoy. Spencer Tracy, Frank Sinatra, Kerwin Mathews, Jean-Pierre Aumont, Grégoire Aslan. [Clergy] Devil Dog: The Hound of Hell, 1978. Television. Dir. Curtis Harrington. Richard Crenna, Yvette Mimieux, Kim Richards, Ike Eisenmann, Victor Jory. [Devil] Devil Probably, The. See Diable Probablement, Le. Devil Rides Out, The (also known as The Devil’s Bride), 1968. Dir. Terence Fisher. Christopher Lee, Charles Gray, Nike Arrighi, Leon Greene, Patrick Mower. [Devil] Devil Wears Prada, The, 2006. Dir. David Frankel. Meryl Streep, Anne Hathaway, Emily Blunt, Stanley Tucci, Simon Baker. [Ritual] Devil’s Advocate, The, 1997. Dir. Taylor Hackford. Keanu Reeves, Al Pacino, Charlize Theron, Jeffrey Jones, Judith Ivey. [Mysticism] Devil’s Bride, The. See Devil Rides Out, The. Devil’s Daughter, The, 1973. Television. Dir. Jeannot Szwarc. Shelley Winters, Belinda Montgomery, Robert Foxworth, Jonathan Frid, Martha Scott. [Devil] Devil’s Daughter, The, 1939. Dir. Arthur H. Leonard. Nina Mae McKinney, Jack Carter, Ida James, Hamtree Harrington, Willa Mar Lang. [Voodoo] Devil’s Hand, The, 1962. Dir. William J. Hole, Jr. Linda Christian, Robert Alda, Ariadna Welter, Neil Hamilton, Gene Craft. [Devil] Devil’s Men, The, (also known as Land of the Minotaur), 1976. Dir. Kostas Karagiannis. Donald Pleasence, Peter Cushing, Luan Peters, Nikos Verlekis, Kostas Karagiorgis. [Devil] Devil’s Partner, The, 1962. Dir. Charles Rondeau. Edgar Buchanan, Jean Allison, Richard Crane, Spencer Carlisle, Byron Foulger. [Devil] Devil’s Rain, The, 1975. Dir. Robert Fuest. Ernest Borgnine, Tom Skerritt, Joan Prather, Eddie Albert, William Shatner, Ida Lupino, Keenan Wynn, John Travolta. [Devil] Al-Dhakira al-khisba (Fertile Memory), 1980. Dir. Michel Khleifi. Farah Hatoum, Sahar Khalifeh. [Arab Film] diable au convent, Le (The Sign of the Cross), 1899. Dir. George Méliès. George Méliès. [Devil] diable géant, Le, ou Le miracle de la madonne (The Devil and the Statue), 1902. Dir. George Méliès. George Méliès. [Devil]

Appendix: Filmography | 493

diable probablement, Le (The Devil Probably), 1977. Dir. Robert Bresson. Antoine Monnier, Tina Irissari, Henri de Maublanc, Laetitia Carcano, Nicolas Deguy. [Bresson, Robert] Diary of a Country Priest. See Journal d’un curé de campange. Diary of a Mad Black Woman, 2005. Dir. Darren Grant. Kimberly Elise, Steve Harris, Shemar Moore, Tamara Taylor, Lisa Marcos, Tiffany Evans. [Black Church, The; Clergy] Diary of Anne Frank, The, 1959. Dir. George Stevens. Millie Perkins, Joseph Schildkraut, Shelley Winters, Richard Beymer, Gusti Huber. [Holocaust, The] Dibuk, Der (The Dybbuk), 1937. Dir. Michal Waszynski. Avrom Morevski, Isaac Samberg, Moyshe Lipman, Lili Liliana, Leon Liebgold. [Judaism] Et Dieu . . . créa la femme (. . . And God Created Woman), 1956. Dir. Roger Vadim. Brigitte Bardot, Curd Jürgens, Jean-Louis Trintignant, Jane Marken, Jean Tissier. [Women] Direktøren for det hele (The Boss of It All), 2006. Dir. Lars von Trier. Jenus Albinus, Peter Gantzler, Fridrik Thor Fridriksson, Benedikt Erlingsson, Iben Hjejle. [Trier, Lars von] Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie, The. See charme discret de la bourgeoisie, Le. Distant Thunder, A, 1978. Dir. Donald W. Thompson. Patty Dunning, Sally Johnson, Sandy Christen, Thom Rachford, Maryann Rachford, Russell S. Doughten, Jr. [End-of-the-World Films] Divine Intervention. See Yaddun ilahiya. Al-Djanna al’an (Paradise Now), 2005. Dir. Hany Abu-Assad. Lubna Azabal, Hamza Abu-Aiaash, Kais Nashif, Lotuf Neusser, Ali Suliman. [Arab Film] Doctor Dolittle, 1967. Dir. Richard Fleischer. Rex Harrison, Samantha Eggar, Anthony Newley, Richard Attenborough, Peter Bull, Geoffrey Holder. [Myth] Doctor Dolittle, 1998. Dir. Betty Thomas. Eddie Murphy, Ossie Davis, Oliver Platt, Peter Boyle, Richard Schiff, Kristen Wilson, Jeffrey Tambor. [Myth] Doe Boy, The, 2001. Dir. Randy Redroad. Kevin Anderson, Robert Guthrie, Nathaniel Arcand, Jeri Arredondo, Gil Birmingham. [American Indian Religion] Dogma, 1999. Dir. Kevin Smith. Ben Affleck, Matt Damon, Linda Fiorentino, Jason Mewes, Chris Rock, Alan Rickman, Jason Lee, Salma Hayek, Kevin Smith, Janeane Garofalo. [Angels; Catholicism; Clergy; God; Smith, Kevin] Dogville, 2003. Dir. Lars von Trier. Nicole Kidman, Harriet Andersson, Lauren Bacall, Jean-Marc Barr, Paul Bettany, James Caan, Patricia Clarkson, Ben Gazzara, John Hurt. [Trier, Lars von] dolce vita, La (The Sweet Life), 1960. Dir. Federico Fellini. Marcello Mastroianni, Anita Ekberg, Anouk Amée, Yvonne Furneaux, Magali Noël. [Fellini, Federico]

494 | Appendix: Filmography

Dominion: Prequel to the Exorcist, 2005. Dir. Paul Schrader. Stellan Skarsgård, Gabriel Mann, Clara Bellar, Billy Crawford, Ralph Brown. [Schrader, Paul] donna del fiume, La (The River Girl), 1955. Dir. Mario Soldati. Sophia Loren, Gérard Oury, Lise Bourdin, Rik Battaglia, Enrico Olivieri. [Pasolini, Pier Paolo] Donnie Darko, 2001. Dir. Richard Kelly. Jake Gyllenhaal, Holmes Osborne, Maggie Gyllenhaal, Daveigh Chase, Mary McDonnell. [End-of-the-World Films; Mysticism; Myth] Don’t. See Meschugge. Donzoko (The Lower Depths), 1957. Dir. Akira Kurosawa. Toshirô Mifune, Isuzu Yamada, Kyôko Kagawa, Ganjiro Nakamura, Minoru Chiaki. [Kurosawa, Akira] Door to the Sky, A. See Bab al-sama maftuh. Double vie de Véronique, La (The Double Life of Véronique), 1991. Dir. Krzysztof Kies´ lowski. Irène Jacob, Halina Gryglaszewska, Kalina Jedrusik, Aleksandar Bardini, Wladyslaw. [Kies´lowski, Krzysztof] Double Life of Véronique, The. See Double vie de Véronique, La. Doubt, 2008. Dir. John Patrick Shanley. Meryl Streep, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Amy Adams, Viola Davis, Alice Drummond. [Clergy] Downfall of Osen, The. See Orizuru Osen. Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb, 1964. Dir. Stanley Kubrick. Peter Sellers, George C. Scott, Sterling Hayden, Keenan Wynn, Slim Pickens. [End-of-the-World Films] Dracula, 1931. Dir. Tod Browning. Bela Lugosi, Helen Chandler, David Manners, Dwight Frye, Edward Van Sloan. [Horror; Vampire] Dracula, 1979. Dir. John Badham. Frank Langella, Laurence Olivier, Donald Pleasance, Kate Nelligan, Tervor Eve. [Vampires] Dracula, 1992. See Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Dracula: Dead and Loving It, 1995. Dir. Mel Brooks. Leslie Nielsen, Peter MacNicol, Steven Wever, Amy Yasbeck, Mel Brooks. [Brooks, Mel] Dracula’s Daughter, 1936. Dir. Lambert Hillyer. Otto Kruger, Gloria Holden, Marguerite Churchill, Edward Van Sloan, Gilbert Emery. [Vampires] Dracula 2000, 2000. Dir. Patrick Lussier. Gerard Butler, Christopher Plummer, Jonny Lee Miller, Justine Waddell, Colleen Fitzpatrick. [Vampires] Dream of Passion, A. See Kravigi Gynaikon. Drums o’Voodoo, 1934. Dir. Arthur Hoerl. Laura Bowman, Augustus Smith, Morris McKenny Lionel Monagas, Edna Barr, Alberta Perkins. [Voodoo] Drunkard’s Reformation, A, 1909. Dir. D. W. Griffith. Arthur V. Johnson, Linda Arvidson, Adele DeGarde. [Silent Film] Dry Season. See Daratt.

Appendix: Filmography | 495

Duel in the Sun, 1946. Dir. King Vidor. Jennifer Jones, Joseph Cotton, Gregory Peck, Lionel Barrymore, Herbert Marshall. [Censorship in Hollywood] Dybbuk, The, 1937. See Dibuk, Der. —E— Early Spring. See Soshun. Early Summer. See Bakushû. Early Years, The: Erik Nietzsche, Part I. See unge år, De: Erik Nietzsche sagaen del 1. Earth. See Zemlya. Earth, 1998. Dir. Deepa Mehta. Maia Sethna, Nandita Das, Kulbhushan Kharbanda, Babby Singh, Kitu Gidwani. [Islam; Myth; Women] Earth Dies Screaming, The, 1965. Dir. Terence Fisher. Willard Parker, Virginia Field, Dennis Price, Thorley Walters, Vanda Godsell. [Voodoo] Easy Rider, 1969. Dir. Dennis Hopper. Peter Fonda, Dennis Hopper, Antonio Mendoa, Phil Spector. [Myth] Easy Street, 1917. Dir. Charles Chaplin. Charles Chaplin, Edna Purviance, Eric Campbell. [Silent Film] Eat a Bowl of Tea, 1989. Dir. Wayne Wang. Cora Miao, Russel Wong, Victor Wong, Siu-Ming Lau, Eric Tsang. [Buddhism] Eat Drink Man Woman. See Yin shi nan nu. Edipo Re (Oedipus Rex), 1967. Dir. Pier Paolo Pasolini. Silcana Mangano, Franco Citti, Alida Valli, Carmelo Bene, Julian Beck. [Greek and Roman Myths] 8½, 1963. Dir. Federico Fellini. Marcello Mastroianni, Claudia Cardinale, Anouk Aimée, Sandra Milo, Rossella Falk. [Fellini, Federico] Eight Crazy Nights, 2002. Dir. Seth Kearsley. Adam Sandler, Jackie Sandler, Austin Stout, Kevin Nealon, Rob Schneider, Norm Crosby, Jon Lovitz, Tyra Banks. [Ritual] Electric Horseman, The, 1979. Dir. Sydney Pollack. Robert Redford, Jane Fonda, Valerie Perrine, Willie Nelson, John Saxon, Nicolas Coster, Allan Arbus, Wilford Brimley. [Westerns] Elektra, 2005. Dir. Rob Bowman. Jennifer Garner, Goran Visnjic, Kirsten Prout, Will Yun Lee, Cary-Hiroyuki Tagawa. [Superheroes] Elephant Man, The, 1980. Dir. David Lynch. Anthony Hopkins, John Hurt, Anne Bancroft, Jon Gielgud, Wendy Hiller. [Horror] Element of Crime, The. See Forbrydelsens element. Elmer Gantry, 1960. Dir. Richard Brooks. Burt Lancaster, Jean Simmons, Arthur Kennedy, Dean Jagger, Shirley Jones. [Clergy; Protestantism] Emigrant, The,. See al-Muhajir.

496 | Appendix: Filmography

End of Days, 1999. Dir. Peter Hyams. Arnold Schwarzenegger, Gabriel Byrne, Robin Runney, Kevin Pollak, CCH Pounder. [Tolkin, Michael] End of the Spear, The, 2005. Dir. Jim Hanon. Louie Leonardo, Chad Allen, Jack Guzman, Christina Souza, Chase Ellison. [Protestantism] Enemies: A Love Story, 1989. Dir. Paul Mazursky. Ron Silver, Anjelica Huston, Lena Olin, Malgorzata Zajaczkowska, Alan King. [Holocaust, The] Enemy of the People, An. See Ganashatru. L’Enfant sauvage (The Wild Child), 1970. Dir. François Truffaut. Jean-Pierre Cargol, François Truffaut, Françoise Seigner, Jean Dasté, Annie Miller. [Truffaut, François] L’Enfer (Hell), 2005. Dir. Danis Tanovic. Emmanuelle Béart, Karin Viard, Marie Gillain, Guillaume Canet, Jacques Gamblin. [Europe (Continental); Kies´ lowski, Krzysztof] English Patient, The, 1996. Dir. Anthony Minghella. Ralph Fiennes, Juliette Binoche, Willem Dafoe, Kristin Scott Thomas, Naveen Andrews. [Islam] Enigma of Kaspar Hauser, The, (also known as Every Man for Himself and God Against All). See Jeder für Sich und Gott gegen Alle. Entertaining Angels: The Dorothy Day Story, 1996. Dir. Michael Ray Rhodes. Moira Kelly, Martin Sheen, Lenny von Dohlen, Melinda Dillon, Paul Lieber. [Catholicism] Enthusiasm. See Entuziazm: Simfoniya Donbassa. Entre tinieblas (Dark Habits), 1983. Dir. Pedro Almodóvar. Christina Sánchez Pascual, Will More, Laura Cepeda, Miguel Zúñiga, Julieta Serrano. [Europe (Continental)] Entuziazm: Simfoniya Donbassa (Enthusiasm), 1931. Documentary. Dir. Dziga Vertov. [Russia] Epidemic, 1987. Dir. Lars von Trier. Allan De Waal, Ole Ernst, Michael Gelting, Colin Gilder, Svend Ali Hamann, Claes Kastholm Hansen. [Trier, Lars von] Ernest in the Army, 1998. Dir. John R. Cherry III. Jim Varney, Hayley Tyson, David Müller, Christo Davids, Jeffrey Pillars. [Islam] Escape from the Planet of the Apes, 1971. Dir. Don Taylor. Roddy McDowall, Kim Hunter, Bradford Dillman, Natalie Trundy, Eric Braeden, Sal Mineo, M. Emmet Walsh, Ricardo Montalban. [End-of-the-World Films] Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, 2004. Dir. Michel Gondry. Jim Carrey, Kate Winslet, Gerry Robert Byrne, Elijah Wood, Thomas Jay Ryan. [Belief] L’Éternel retour (Love Eternal), 1943. Dir. Jean Delannoy. Madeleine Sologne, Jean Marais, Jean Murat, Junie Astor, Roland Toutain. [Mysticism] Et Sheaava Nafshi (Keep Not Silent), 2004. Documentary. Dir. Ilil Alexander. [Women]

Appendix: Filmography | 497

E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial, 1982. Dir. Steven Spielberg. Henry Thomas, Dee Wallace-Stone, Robert MacNaughton, Drew Barrymore, Peter Coyote. [Introduction; Science Fiction] Europa, 1991. Dir. Lars von Trier. Jean-Marc Barr, Barbara Sukowa, Udo Kier, Ernst-Hugo Järegård, Erik Mørk, Max von Sydow. [Trier, Lars von] Europa, Europa, 1990. Dir. Angieszka Holland. Marco Hofschneider, Julie Delpy, René Hofschneider, Piotr Kozlowski, André Wilms. [Europe (Continental); Holocaust, The; Judaism] Eve of Destruction, 1991. Dir. Duncan Gibbins. Gregory Hines, Renée Soutendijk, Michael Greene, Kurt Fuller, John M. Jackson. [Posthumanism] Every Man for Himself and God Against All (also known as The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser). See Jeder für Sich und Gott gegen Alle. Everyone Says I Love You, 1996. Dir. Woody Allen. Edward Norton, Drew Barrymore, Diva Gray, Ami Almendral, Madeline Balmaceda. [Allen, Woody] Everything Remains for the People. See Vsyo ostayotsya lyudyam. Evil Angels (also known as A Cry in the Dark), 1988. Dir. Fred Schepisi. Meryl Streep, Sam Neill, Dale Reeves, David Hoflin, Jason Reason. [Australia] Evilspeak, 1981. Dir. Eric Weston. Clint Howard, R.G. Armstrong, Joseph Cortese, Claude Earl Jones, Haywood Nelson. [Horror] Excalibur, 1981. Dir. John Boorman. Nigel Terry, Helen Mirren, Nicholas Clay, Cherie Lunghi, Paul Geoffrey. [Magic] Executive Decision, 1996. Dir. Stuart Baird. Kurt Russell, Steven Seagal, Halle Berry, John Leguizamo, Oliver Platt. [Islam] Exorcist, The, 1973. Dir. William Friedkin. Jason Miller, Ellen Burstyn, Linda Blair, Max von Sydow, Lee J. Cobb, Kitty Winn. [Catholicism; Clergy; Devil; End-of-the-World Films; Horror; Mysticism] Expiration Date, 2006. Dir. Rick Stevenson. Robert A. Guthrie, Sascha Knopf, Dee Wallace, Ned Romero, Nakotah Larance. [American Indian Religion] Eyes Wide Shut, 1999. Stanley Kubrick. Tom Cruise, Nicole Kidman, Madison Eginton, Jackie Sawiris, Sydney Pollack. [Kubrick, Stanley] —F— Fabulous Destiny of Amelie Poulain, The. See Fabuleux destin d’Amélie Poulain, Le. Fabuleux destin d’Amélie Poulain, Le (The Fabulous Destiny of Amelie Poulain), 2001. Dir. Jean-Pierre Jeunet. Audrey Tautou, Mathieu Kassovitz, Rufus, Lorella Cravotta, Serge Merlin. [Europe (Continental)] Fahrenheit 9/11, 2004. Documentary. Dir. Michael Moore. [Myth]

498 | Appendix: Filmography

Fährmann Maria (Death and the Maiden), 1936. Dir. Frank Wisbar. Sybille Schmitz, Aribert Mog, Carl de Vogt, Peter Voß, Gerhard Bienert. [Mysticism] Fail-Safe, 1964. Dir. Sidney Lumet. Dan O’Herlihy, Walter Matthau, Frank Overton, Ed Binns, Fritz Weaver, Henry Fonda, Larry Hagman. [End-of-theWorld Films] Fanny and Alexander. See Fanny och Alexander. Fanny och Alexander (Fanny and Alexander), 1982. Dir. Ingmar Bergman. Pernilla Allwin, Bertil Guve, Börje Ahlstedt, Allan Edwall, Ewa Fröling. [Clergy] Fantasia, 1940. Dir. James Algar, Samuel Armstrong. Leopold Stokowski, Deems Taylor. [Animated Film; Devil; Europe (Continental)] Fantasia 2000, 1999. Dir. James Algar, Gaëtan Brizzi. Leopold Stokowski, Ralph Grierson, Kathleen Battle, Steve Martin, Itzhak Perlman, Quincy Jones, Bette Midler, James Earl Jones, Penn Jillete, Teller. [Animated Film] Fantastic Four, 2005. Dir. Tim Story. Ioan Gruffudd, Jessica Alba, Chris Evans, Michael Chiklis, Julian McMahon, Hamish Linklater. [Myth] Faraway, So Close! See In weiter Ferne, so nah! Farewell to Arms, A, 1932. Dir. Frank Borzage. Helen Hayes, Gary Cooper, Adolphe Menjou, Mary Phillis, Jack La Rue. [Censorship in Hollywood] Fargo, 1996. Dir. Joel Coen. William H. Macy, Steve Buscemi, Peter Stormare, Kristin Rudrud, Harve Presnell, Frances McDormand. [Coen, Joel and Ethan] Father of the Bride Part II, 1995. Dir. Charles Shyer. Steve Martin, Diane Keaton, Martin Short, Kimberly Williams, George Newbern, Kiernan Culkin. [Islam] Father Brown (also known as The Detective), 1954. Dir. Robert Hamer. Alec Guinness, Joan Greenwood, Peter Finch, Cecil Parker, Bernard Lee. [Clergy] Father Sergius. See Otets Sergiy. Faust, 1915. Dir. Edward Sloman. Edward Sloman. [Devil] Faust—Eine deutsche Volkssage (Faust, A German Folktale), 1926. Dir. F. W. Murnau. Gösta Ekman, Emil Jannings, Camilla Horn, Frida Richard, William Dieterle. [Devil] Faust, A German Folktale. See Faust—Eine deutsche Volkssage. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, 1998. Dir. Terry Gilliam. Johnny Depp, Benicio Del Toro, Tobey Maguire, Ellen Barkin, Gary Busey. [Gilliam, Terry] Fearless. See Huo Yuan Jia. Fearless Vampire Killers, The, 1967. Dir. Roman Polanski. Jack MacGowran, Roman Polanski, Alfie Bass, Jessie Robins, Sharon Tate. [Vampires] Fellini’s Satyricon. See Satyricon. fem benspænd, The, (The Five Obstructions), 2003. Documentary. Dir. Jørgen Leth, Lars von Trier. [Trier, Lars von]

Appendix: Filmography | 499

Female Cabby in Sidi Bel-Abbes, A. See femme taxi à Sidi Bel-Abbès, Une. femme douce, Une (A Gentle Woman), 1969. Dir. Robert Bresson. Dominique Sanda, Guy Frangin, Jeanne Lobre, Claude Ollier, Jacques Kébadian. [Bresson, Robert] femme taxi à Sidi Bel-Abbès, Une (A Female Cabby in Sidi Bel-Abbes), 2000. Documentary. Dir. Belkacem Hadjadj. [Arab Film] Fertile Memory. See Al-Dhakira al-khisba. Festen (The Celebration), 1998. Dir. Thomas Vinterberg. Ulrich Thomsen, Henning Moritzen, Thomas Bo Larsen, Paprika Steen, Birthe Neumann. [Dogme 95] Fiddler on the Roof, 1971. Dir. Norman Jewison. Topol, Norma Crane, Leonard Frey, Molly Picon, Paul Mann. [Clergy; Judaism; Ritual] Field of Dreams, 1989, Dir. Phil Alden Robinson. Kevin Costner, Amy Madigan, Gaby Hoffmann, Ray Liotta, Timothy Busfield. [Ritual; Sports] Fifth Element, The, 1997. Dir. Luc Besson. Bruce Willis, Gary Oldman, Ian Holm, Milla Jovovich, Chris Tucker, Luke Perry. [Besson, Luc; Clergy; Europe (Continental); Women] Fighting 69th, The, 1940. Dir. William Keighley. James Cagney, Pat O’Brian, George Brent, Jeffrey Lynn, Alan Hale. [Catholicism; Clergy] Fighting Sullivans, The. See Sullivans, The. Final Conflict, The, 1981. Dir. Graham Baker. Sam Neill, Rossano Brazzi, Don Gordon, Lisa Harrow, Barnaby Holm, Mason Adams. [Clergy; End-of-theWorld Films] Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within, 2001. Dir. Hironobu Sakaguchi. Ming-Na, Alec Baldwin, Ving Rhames, Steve Buscemi, Peri Gilpin. [Eucastrophe] fiore delle mille e una notte, Il (Arabian Nights), 1974. Dir. Pier Paolo Pasolini. Ninetto Davoli, Franco Citti, Franco Merli, Tessa Bouché, Ines Pellegrini. [Europe (Continental)] Fire, 1996. Dir. Deepa Mehta. Karishma Jhalani, Ramanjeet Kaur, Dilip Mehta, Javed Jaffrey, Nandita Das. [Myth; Women] Fire and the Rain, The. See Agni Varsha. Fisher King, The, 1991. Dir. Terry Gilliam. Jeff Bridges, Robin Williams, Mercedes Ruehl, Amanda Plummer, David Hyde Pierce. [Gilliam, Terry; Mysticism; Ritual] Fistful of Dollars, A. See Per un pugno di dollari. Fistful of Dynamite, A. See Giù la testa. Five Obstructions, The,. See fem benspænd, De. Flatliners, 1990. Dir. Joel Schumacher. Kiefer Sutherland, Julia Roberts, Kevin Bacon, William Baldwin, Oliver Platt. [Mysticism; Theology and Film] Flowers of St, Francis, The. See Francesco, giullare di Dio.

500 | Appendix: Filmography

Fond Kiss, A. See Fond Kiss, Ae. Fond Kiss, Ae, 2004. Dir. Ken Loach. Atta Yawub, Eva Birthistle, Shamasad Akgtar, Ghizala Avan, Shabana Akhtar Bakhsh. [Britain] Footloose, 1984. Dir. Herbert Ross. Kevin Bacon, Lori Singer, John Lithgow, Dianne Wiest, Chris Penn, Sarah Jessica Parker. [Clergy] For a Few Dollars More. See Per qualche dollaro in più. Forbidden Marriages in the Holy Land. See Al Zawadj al-mukhtalat fi-l-ardi al-muqadassa. Forbidden Planet, 1956. Dir. Fred M. Wilcox. Walter Pidgeon, Anne Francis, Leslie Nielsen, Warren Stevens, Jack Kelly. [Science Fiction] Forbrydelsens element (The Element of Crime), 1984. Dir. Lars von Trier. Michael Elphick, Esmond Knight, Me Me Lai, Jerold Wells, Ahmed El Shenawi. [Trier, Lars von] Forever, 1921. Dir. George Fitzmaurice. Wallace Reid, Elsie Ferguson, Montagu Love, George Fawcett, Dolores Cassinelli. [Mysticism] Forgiven Sinner, The. See Léon Morin, prêtre. Forsaken, The, 2001. Dir. J. S. Cardone. Kerr Smith, Brendan Fehr, Isabella Miko, Johnathon Schaech, Phina Oruche. [Vampires] For the Term of His Natural Life, 1927. Dir. Norman Dawn. George Fisher, Eva Novak, Dunstan Webb, Jessica Harcourt, Arthur McLaglen. [Australia] Four Christmases, 2008. Dir. Seth Gordon. Vince Vaughn, Reese Witherspoon, Robert Duvall, Sissy Specek, Jon Voight, Jon Favreau, Mary Steenburgen, Dwight Yoakam, Tim McGraw. [Ritual] 400 Blows, The. See Quartre cents coups, Les. Four Nights of a Dreamer. See Quatre Nuits d’un Rêveur. Four Weddings and a Funeral, 1994. Dir. Mike Newell. Hugh Grant, James Fleet, Simon Callow, John Hannah, Kristin Scott Thomas, David Bower, Charlotte Coleman, Andie MacDowell. [Britain; Clergy; Ritual] Fox and the Hound, The, 1981. Dir. Ted Berman, Richard Rich, Art Stevens. Mickey Rooney, Kurt Russell, Pearl Bailey, Jack Albertson, Sandy Duncan. [Mormonism] Frailty, 2001. Dir. Bill Paxton. Bill Paxton, Matthew McConaughey, Powers Boothe, Matt O’Leary, Jeremy Sumpter. [Belief] Francesco, giullare di Dio (The Flowers of St, Francis), 1950. Dir. Roberto Rossellini. Aldo Fabrizi, Brother Nazario Gerardi, Arabella Lemaitre. [Europe (Continental); Fellini, Federico] Frankenstein, 1931. Dir. James Whale. Colin Clive, Mae Clarke, John Boles, Boris Karloff, Edward Van Sloan. [Horror; Science Fiction] Fratello sole, sorella luna (Brother Sun, Sister Moon), 1972. Dir. Franco Zeffirelli. Graham Faulkner, Judi Bowker, Leigh Lawson, Kenneth Cranham, Lee Montague. [Mysticism]

Appendix: Filmography | 501

Fresa y chocolate (Strawberries and Chocolate), 1994. Dir. Tomás Gutiérrez Alea, Juan Carlos Tabío. Jorge Perugorría, Valdimir Cruz, Mirta Ibarra, Francisco Gattorno, Joel Angelino. [Latin America] Friday the 13th, 1980. Dir. Sean S. Cunningham. Betsy Palmer, Adrienne King, Harry Crosby, Laurie Bartram, Jeannie Taylor, Kevin Bacon. [Horror] Friendly Persuasion, 1956. Dir. William Wyler. Gary Cooper, Dorothy McGuire, Anthony Perkins, Richard Eyer, Robert Middleton. [Protestantism] Fright Night, 1985. Dir. Tom Holland. Chris Sarandon, William Ragsdale, Amanda Bearse, Roddy McDowall, Stephan Geoffreys. [Vampires] Frisco Kid, The, 1979. Dir. Robert Aldrich. Gene Wilder, Harrison Ford, Ramon Bieri, Val Bisoglio, George DiCenzo, Leo Fuchs, Penny Peyser. [Clergy; Westerns] From Dusk Till Dawn, 1996. Dir. Robert Rodriguez. Harvey Keitel, George Clooney, Quentin Tarantino, Juliette Lewis, Ernest Liu, Salma Hayek, Cheech Marin. [Vampires] Frontera, La (The Frontier), 1991. Dir. Ricardo P. Larrain. Patricio Contreras, Gloria Laso, Alonso Venegas, Sergio Schmied, Aldo Bernales. [Latin America] Frontier, The. See Frontera, La. Fugitive, The, 1947. Dir. John Ford. Henry Fonda, Dolores del Rio, Pedro Armendáriz, J. Carrol Naish, Leo Carrillo. [Clergy] Fugitive, The, 1993. Dir. Andrew Davis. Harrison Ford, Tommy Lee Jones, Sela Ward, Julianne Moore, Joe Pantoliano, Andreas Katsulas, Jeroen Krabbé. [Ritual] Full Circle, 1993. Documentary. Dir. Donna Read. [Women] Full Metal Jacket, 1987. Dir. Stanley Kubrick. Matthew Modine, Adam Baldwin, Vincent D’Onofrio, R. Lee Ermey, Kevin Major Howard, Arliss Howard. [Kubrick, Stanley] Funeral, The. See Ososhiki. —G— Ganashatru (An Enemy of the People), 1989. Dir. Satyajit Ray. Satya Banerjee, Dhritiman Chatterjee, Soumitra Chatterjee, Subhendy Chatterjee, Dipankar Dey. [Hinduism] Gandhi, 1982. Dir. Richard Attenborough. Ben Kingsley, Candice Bergen, Edward Fox, John Gielgud, Trevor Howard, Rohini Hattangadi. [Hinduism] Gangavataran (The Descent of Ganga), 1937. Dir. Madhukar Bavdekar, Dhundiraj Govind Phalke. Chitnis, Suresh Pardesi, Kusum Deshpande, Bhagwat, Shankarrao Bhosle. [Bollywood] Gangs of New York, 2002. Dir. Martin Scorsese. Leonardo DiCaprio, Daniel Day-Lewis, Cameron Diaz, Jim Broadbent, John C. Reilly, Henry Thomas, Liam Neeson. [Scorsese, Martin]

502 | Appendix: Filmography

Garden of Allah, The, 1936. Dir. Richard Boleslawski. Marlene Dietrich, Charles Boyer, Basil Rathbone, C. Aubrey Smith, Joseph Schildkraut. [Catholicism] Garden of the Finzi-Continis, The. See Giardino die Finzi-Contini, Il. Gaucho, The, 1927. Dir. F. Richard Jones. Douglas Fairbanks, Lupe Velez, Joan Barclay, Eve Southern, Gustav von Seyffertitz. [Clergy; Silent Film] Genèse, La (Genesis), 1999. Dir. Cheick Oumar Sissoko. Sotigui Kouyaté, Salif Keita, Balla Moussa Keita, Fatoumata Diawara, Maimouna Hélène Diarra. [Africa] Genesis. See Genèse, La. Gentle Woman, A. See Femme Douce, Une. Gentleman’s Agreement, 1947. Dir. Elia Kazan. Gregory Peck, Dorothy McGuire, John Garfield, Celeste Holm, Anne Revere. [Judaism] Gerry, 2002. Dir. Gus Van Sant. Casey Affleck, Matt Damon. [Myth] Ghost, 1990. Dir. Jerry Zucker. Patrick Swayze, Demi Moore, Tony Goldwyn, Stanley Lawrence, Christopher J. Keene. [Mysticism] Ghost Breakers, The, 1940. Dir. George Marshall. Bob Hope, Paulette Goddard, Richard Carlson, Paul Lukas, Willie Best. [Voodoo] Ghost in a Shell. See Kôkaku kidôtai. Ghoul, The, 1933. Dir. T. Hayes Hunter. Boris Karloff, Cedric Hardwicke, Ernest Thesiger, Dorothy Hyson, Anthony Bushell. [Voodoo] Giardino die Finzi-Contini, Il (The Garden of the Finzi-Continis), 1970. Dir. Vittorio De Sica. Lino Capolicchio, Dominique Sanda, Fabio Testi, Romolo Valli, Helmut Berger. [Europe (Continental)] Gidget, 1959. Dir. Paul Wendkos. Sandra Dee, James Dean, Cliff Robertson, Arthur O’Connell, Bruce Belland. [Ritual] Gigi, 1958. Dir. Vincent Minelli. Leslie Caron, Maurice Chevalier, Louis Jourdan, Hermione Gingold, Eva Gabor. [Ritual] Giovanna d’Arco al rogo (Joan of Arc at the Stake), 1954. Dir. Roberto Rossellini. Ingrid Bergman, Tullio Carminati, Giacinto Prandelli, Agusto Romani, Plinio Clabassi. [Europe (Continental); Joan of Arc] Giù la testa (A Fistful of Dynamite), 1971. Dir. Sergio Leone. James Coburn, Rod Steiger, Maria Monti, Rik Battaglia, Franco Graziosi. [Leone, Sergio] Giulietta degli spiriti (Juliet of the Spirits), 1965. Dir. Federico Fellini. Giulietta Masina, Sandra Milo, Mario Pisu, Valentina Cortese, Valeska Gert. [Fellini, Federico; Mysticism] Gladiator, 2000. Dir. Ridley Scott. Russell Crowe, Joaquin Pheonix, Connie Nielsen, Oliver Reed, Richard Harris. [Bible Films; Greek and Roman Myths] Gleaming the Cube, 1989. Dir. Graeme Clifford. Christian Slater, Steven Bauer, Richard Herd, Le Tuan, Min Luong. [Tolkin, Michael] Glengarry Glen Ross, 1992. Dir. James Foley. Al Pacino, Jack Lemmon, Alec Baldwin, Alan Arkin, Ed Harris. [Mamet, David]

Appendix: Filmography | 503

Go Down, Death!, 1944. Dir. Spencer Williams. Myra D. Hemmings, Samuel H. James, Eddye L. Houston, Spencer Williams, Amos Groughan. [Clergy] . . . And God Created Woman. See Et Dieu . . . créa la femme. Goddess, The. See Devi. Goddess Remembered, 1989. Documentary. Dir. Donna Read. Martha Henry. [Women] Godfather, The, 1972. Dir. Francis Ford Coppola. Marlon Brando, Al Pacino, James Caan, Richard S. Castellano, Robert Duvall, Diane Keaton, John Marley. [Bible Films; Catholicism; Coppola, Francis Ford; Ritual] Godfather: Part II, The, 1974. Dir. Francis Ford Coppola. Al Pacino, Robert Duvall, Diane Keaton, Robert De Niro, John Cazale, Talia Shire. [Bible Films; Catholicism; Coppola, Francis Ford] Godfather: Part III, The, 1990. Dir. Francis Ford Coppola. Al Pacino, Diane Keaton, Talia Shire, Andy Garcia, Eli Wallach. [Bible Films; Catholicism; Coppola, Francis Ford] God Is My Co-Pilot, 1945. Dir. Robert Florey. Dennis Morgan, Dane Clark, Raymond Massey, Alan Hale, Andrea King. [Catholicism] Gods Must Be Crazy, The, 1980. Dir. Jamie Uys. Marius Weyers, Sandra Prinsloo, N!xau, Louw Verwey, Michael Thys. [Indigenous Religions] Godspell: A Musical Based on the Gospel According to St, Matthew, 1973. Dir. David Greene. Victor Garber, Katie Hanley, David Haskell, Merrell Jackson, Joanne Jonas. [Jesus; Ritual] Godzilla. See Gojira. Go for Zucker! See Alles auf Zucker! Going My Way, 1944. Dir. Leo McCarey. Bing Crosby, Barry Fitzgerald, Frank McHugh, James Brown, Gene Lockhart. [Catholicism; Clergy] Gojira (Godzilla), 1954. Dir. Ishirô Honda. Akira Takarada, Momoko Kôchi, Akihiko Hirata, Takashi Shimura, Fukuki Murakami. [Science Fiction] Golden Age, The. See L’Âge d’or. Golden Braid, 1990. Dir. Paul Cox. Chris Haywood, Gosia Dobrowolska, Paul Chubb, Norman Kaye, Marion Heathfield. [Australia] Golden Child, The, 1986. Dir. Michael Ritchie. J.L. Reate, Eddie Murphy, Charles Dance, Charlotte Lewis, Victor Wong. [Buddhism] Golem, Der (The Golem), 1920. Dir. Henrik Galeen, Paul Wegener. Paul Wegener, Rudolf Blümner, Robert A. Dietrich, Carl Ebert, Henrik Galeen. [Clergy; Horror; Mysticism] Golem, Le (The Golem), 1936. Dir. Julien Duvivier. Harry Baur, Charles Dorat, Jany Holt, Roger Karl, Germaine Aussey. [Mysticism] Gone with the Wind, 1939. Dir. Victor Fleming, George Cukor, Sam Wood. Vivien Leigh, Clark Gable, Olivia de Havilland, Leslie Howard, Hattie McDaniel. [Missionary Films]

504 | Appendix: Filmography

Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, The. See buono, il brutto, il cattivo, Il. Good Wife of Tokyo, The, 1992. Documentary. Dir. Kim Longinotto. Claire Hunt, Kazuko Hohki, Yukiko Hohki, Chika Nakagawa, Grant Showbiz. [Women] GoodFellas, 1990. Dir. Martin Scorsese. Robert De Niro, Ray Liotta, Joe Pesci, Lorraine Bracco, Paul Sorvino. [Scorsese, Martin] Gospel, The, 2005. Dir. Rob Hardy. Boris Kodjoe, Idris Elba, Nona Gaye, Clifton Powell, Aloma Wright. [Protestantism] Gospel According to St, Matthew, The,. See vangelo secondo Matteo, Il. Gospel Blimp, The, 1967. Dir. Irvin S. Yeaworth, Jr. Paul Bubar, Bob O’Donnell. [Missionary Films] Grand bleu, Le (The Big Blue), 1988. Dir. Luc Besson. Rosanna Arquette, JeanMarc Barr, Jean Reno, Paul Shenar, Sergio Castillito. [Besson, Luc] Grand Canyon, 1991. Dir. Lawrence Kasdan. Danny Glover, Kevin Kline, Steve Martin, Mary McDonnell, Mary-Louise Parker. [Belief] Grand Voyage, Le, 2004. Dir. Ismaël Ferroukhi. Nicolas Cazalé, Mohamed Majd, Jacky Nercessian, Ghina Ognianova, Kamel Belghazi. [Ritual] Grave of the Fireflies. See Hotaru no haka. Great Commandment, The, 1939. Dir. Irving Pichel. John Beal, Maurice Moscovitch, Albert Dekker, Marjorie Cooley, Lloyd Corrigan. [Missionary Films] Greatest Story Ever Told, The, 1965. Dir. George Stevens. Max von Sydow, Michael Anderson, Jr., Carroll Baker, Ina Balin, Pat Boone. [Horror; Jesus; Ritual] Green Pastures, The, 1936. Dir. Marc Connelly, William Keighley. Rex Ingram, Oscar Polk, Eddie Anderson, Frank H. Wilson, George Reed. [Clergy] Greystoke: The Legend of Tarzan, Lord of the Apes, 1984. Dir. Hugh Hudson. Ralph Richardson, Ian Holm, James Fox, Christopher Lambert, Andie MacDowell. [Myth] Ground Zero, 1987. Dir. Bruce Myles. Colin Friels, Jack Thompson, Donald Pleasence, Natalie Bate, Burnham Burnham. [Islam] Gruz 200 (Cargo 200), 2007. Dir. Aleksei Balabanov. Agniya Kuznetsova, Aleksei Poluyan, Leonid Gromov, Aleksei Serebryakov, Leonid Bichevin. [Russia] Guy Named Joe, A, 1943. Dir. Victor Fleming. Spencer Tracy, Irene Dunne, Van Johnson, Ward Bond, James Gleason. [Heaven] —H— Hackers, 1995. Dir. Iain Softley. John Lee Miller, Angelina Jolie, Jesse Bradford, Matthew Lillard, Laurence Mason. [Posthumanism] Hail Mary. See “Je vous salue, Marie.”

Appendix: Filmography | 505

Hallelujah!, 1929. Dir. King Vidor. Daniel L. Haynes, Nina Mae McKinney, William Fountaine, Harry Gray, Fanny Belle DeKnight. [Clergy] Halloween, 1978. Dir. John Carpenter. Donald Pleasence, Jamie Lee Curtis, Nancy Kyes, P.J. Soles, Charles Cyphers. [Horror] Handmaid’s Tale, The, 1990. Dir. Volker Schlöndorff. Natasha Richardson, Faye Dunaway, Aidan Quinn, Elizabeth McGovern, Victoria Tennant. [Dystopia; Science Fiction] Hanging Woman, The, (also known as Terror of the Living Dead). See orgía de los muertos, La. Hannah and Her Sisters, 1986. Dir. Woody Allen. Barabara Hershey, Carrie Fisher, Michael Caine, Mia Farrow, Dianne Wiest. [Allen, Woody] Happiness. See Schastye. Happy Times. See Xingfu shiguang. Hardcore, 1979. Dir. Paul Schrader. George C. Scott, Peter Boyle, Season Hubley, Dick Sargent, Leonard Gaines. [Schrader, Paul] Hardware, 1990. Dir. Richard Stanley. Dylan McDermott, Stacey Travis, John Lynch, William Hootkins, Iggy Pop. [Posthumanism] Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, 2002. Dir. Chris Columbus. Daniel Radcliffe, Rubert Grint, Emma Watson, Richard Griffiths, Fiona Shaw, Harry Melling. [Magic] Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, 2005. Dir. Mike Newell. Daniel Radcliffe, Rubert Grint, Emma Watson, Richard Griffiths, Fiona Shaw, Harry Melling. [Magic] Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, 2004. Dir. Alfonso Cuaron. Daniel Radcliffe, Rubert Grint, Emma Watson, Richard Griffiths, Fiona Shaw, Harry Melling. [Magic] Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, 2001. Dir. Chris Columbus. Richard Harris, Maggie Smith, Robbie Coltrane, Daniel Radcliffe, Rubert Grint, Emma Watson, Richard Griffiths, Fiona Shaw, Harry Melling. [Magic] Haunting, The, 1999. Dir. Jan de Bont. Lili Taylor, Liam Neeson, Catherine Zeta-Jones, Owen Wilson, Bruce Dern. [Horror] Hawaii, 1966. Dir. George Roy Hill. Julie Andrews, Max von Sydow, Richard Harris, Gene Hackman, Carroll O’Connor. [Clergy] Hawks and the Sparrows, The. See Uccellacci e Uccellini. Häxan (The Witches), 1922. Rereleased as Witchcraft Through the Ages, 1968. Dir. Benjamin Christensen. Maren Pedersen, Clara Pontoppidan, Elith Pio, Oscar Stribolt, Tora Teje. [Devil; Horror; Magic] HealtH, 1980. Dir. Robert Altman. Carol Burnett, Glenda Jackson, James Garner, Lauren Bacall, Paul Dooley, Donald Moffat, Henry Gibson, Diane Stilwell, Alfre Woodard. [Altman, Robert]

506 | Appendix: Filmography

Heaven, 2002. Dir. Tom Tykwer. Cate Blanchett, Giovanni Ribsi, Remo Girone, Stefania Rocca, Alessandro Sperduti. [Europe (Continental); Heaven; Kies´ lowski, Krzysztof] Heaven Can Wait, 1978. Dir. Warren Beatty and Buck Henry. Warren Beatty, Julie Christie, James Mason, Jack Warden, Charles Grodin. [Heaven] Heaven Help Us, 1985. Dir. Michael Dinner. Donald Sutherland, John Heard, Andrew McCarthy, Mary Stuart Masterson, Kevin Dillon. [Clergy] Heavens Above!, 1963. Dir. John Boulting, Roy Boulting. Peter Sellers, Cecil Parker, Isabel Jeans, Ian Carmichael, Bernard Miles, Brock Peters. [Clergy] Hebrew Hammer, The, 2003. Dir. Jonathan Kesselman. Adam Goldberg, Judy Greer, Andy Dick, Mario Van Peebles, Peter Coyote. [Judaism] Hell. See L’Enfer. Hell’s Hinges, 1916. Dir. Charles Swickard. William S. Hart, Clara Williams, Jack Standing, Alfred Hollingsworth, Robert McKim. [Clergy; Silent Film] Hellboy, 2004. Dir. Guillermo del Toro. Ron Perlman, John Hurt, Selma Blair, Rupert Evans, Karel Roden, Jeffrey Tambor. [Superheroes] Help!, 1965. Dir. Richard Lester. John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison, Ringo Starr, Leo McKern. [Mysticism] Hercules, 1997. Dir. Ron Clements and John Musker. Tate Donovan, Josh Keaton, Roger Bart, Danny DeVito, James Woods, Susan Egan, Bob Goldthwait, Rip Torn, Hal Holbrook, Amanda Plummer. [Animated Films; Myth] Here Comes Mr, Jordan, 1941. Dir. Alexander Hall. Robert Montgomery, Evelyn Keyes, Claude Rains, Rita Johnson, Edward Everett Horton. [Heaven] Hero. See Ying xiong. Hero, The. See Zhivoy. Heroes of the Cross, 1909. Dir. Joseph Perry. [Australia] Ha-Hesder (Time of Favor), 2000. Dir. Joseph Cedar. Aki Avni, Tinkerbell, Idan Alterman, Assi Dayan, Abraham Celektar. [Judaism; Myth] Hester Street, 1975. Dir. Joan Micklin Silver. Carol Kane, Steven Keats, Mel Howard, Anna Berger, Ed Crowley. [Judaism] Hexen bis aufs Blut gequält (Burn Witch Burn), 1970. Dir. Michael Armstrong. Herbert Lom, Udo Kier, Olivera Vuco, Reggie Nalder, Herbert Fux. [Magic] Hidden Fortress, The. See Kakushi-toride no san-akunin. Hideous Kinky, 1998. Dir. Gilles MacKinnon. Kate Winslet, Saïd Taghmaoui, Bella Riza, Carrie Mullan, Pierre Clementi. [Islam] High and Low. See Tengoku to jigoku. High Anxiety, 1977. Dir. Mel Brooks. Mel Brooks, Madeline Kahn, Cloris Leachman, Harvey Korman, Ron Carey. [Brooks, Mel]

Appendix: Filmography | 507

High Noon, 1952. Dir. Fred Zinnemann. Gary Cooper, Thomas Mitchell, Lloyd Bridges, Katy Jurado, Grace Kelly, Otto Kruger, Lon Chaney, Jr., Harry Morgan, Ian MacDonald, Lee Van Cleef. [Protestantism; Westerns] High Plains Drifter, 1973. Dir. Clint Eastwood. Clint Eastwood, Verna Bloom, Marianna Hill, Mitch Ryan, Jack Ging, Billy Curtis, Geoffrey Lewis. [Westerns] Hijo de la novia, El (The Son of the Bride), 2001. Dir. Juan José Campanella. Ricardo Darín, Héctor Alterio, Norma Aleandro, Eduardo Blanco, Natalia Verbeke. [Latin America] Himmel über Berlin, Der (The Sky Over Berlin; also known as Wings of Desire), 1987. Dir. Wim Wenders. Bruno Ganz, Solveig Dommartin, Otto Sander, Curt Bois, Peter Faulk. [Angels; Europe (Continental); Heaven] His People, 1925. Dir. Edward Sloman. Rudolph Schildkraut, Rosa Rosanova, Robert Gordon, George J. Lewis, Albert Bushaland. [Silent Film] History of the World, Part I, 1981. Dir. Mel Brooks. Mel Brooks, Dom DeLuise, Madeline Kahn, Harvey Korman, Cloris Leachman. [Brooks, Mel] Hitman, The, 1991. Dir. Arran Norris. Chuck Norris, Michael Parks, Al Waxman, Alberta Watson, Salim Grant. [Islam] Holiday Inn, 1942. Dir. Mark Sandrich. Bing Crosby, Fred Astaire, Marjorie Reynolds, Virginia Dale, Walter Abel. [Holidays] Holiday of St. Jorgen. See Prazdnik svyatogo Yorgena. Holy Mountain, The, 1973. Dir. Alejandro Jodorowsky. Alejandro Jodorowsky, Horácio Salinas, Zamira Saunders, Juan Ferrara, Adrianna Page, Burt Kleiner. [Mysticism] Homicide, 1991. Dir. David Mamet. Joe Mantegna, William H. Macy, Vincent Guastaferro, J.J. Johnston, Jack Wallace. [Mamet, David] Hong gao liang (Red Sorghum), 1987. Dir. Yimou Zhang. Li Gong, Wen Jiang, Rujun Ten. [China] Hook, 1991. Dir. Steven Spielberg. Dustin Hoffman, Robin Williams, Julia Roberts, Bob Hoskins, Maggie Smith, Caroline Goodall. [Ritual] Hoosiers, 1986. Dir. David Anspaugh. Gene Hackman, Barbara Hershey, Dennis Hopper, Sheb Wooley, Fern Persons. [Clergy] Hop, the Devil’s Brew, 1916. Dir. Phillips Smalley, Lois Weber. Phillips Smalley, Lois Weber, Marie Walcamp, Charles Hammond, Juan de la Cruz. [Silent Film] Hotaru no haka (Grave of the Fireflies), 1988. Dir. Isao Takahata. Tsutomu Tatsumi, Ayano Shiraishi, Yoshiko Shinohara, Akemi Yamaguchi. [Japan] House of Evil, 1974. Television. Dir. Bill Glenn. Jamie Smith-Jackson, Salome Jens, Dabney Coleman, Andrew Robinson, Sarah Cunningham. [Devil] House of Flying Daggers. See Shi mian mai fu.

508 | Appendix: Filmography

Hudsucker Proxy, The, 1994. Dir. Joel Coen. Tim Robbins, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Paul Newman, Charles Durning, John Mahoney. [Coen, Joel and Ethan] Hulk, 2003. Dir. Ang Lee. Eric Bana, Jennifer Connelly, Sam Elliott, Josh Lucas, Nick Nolte. [Bible Films; Posthumanism; Tolkin, Michael] Hum Aapke Hain Koun . . . ! (What Am I to You . . . !), 1994. Dir. Sooraj Barjatya. Madhuri Dixit, Salman Khan, Mohnish Bahl, Renuka Shahane, Anupam Kher. [Bollywood] Humoresque, 1920. Dir. Frank Borzage. Gaston Glass, Vera Gordon, Alma Rubens, Dore Davidson, Bobby Connelly. [Silent Film] Hunchback of Notre Dame, The, 1996. Dir. Gary Trousdale, Kirk Wise. Tom Hulce, Demi Moore, Tony Jay, Kevin Kline, Paul Kandel. [Animated Films] Hunt for Red October, The, 1990. Dir. John McTiernan. Sean Connery, Alec Baldwin, Scott Glenn, Sam Neill, James Earl Jones, Joss Ackland, Richard Jordan, Peter Firth, Tim Curry, Courtney B. Vance. [Ritual] Huo Yuan Jia (Fearless), 2006. Dir. Ronny Yu. Jet Li, Shido Nakamura, Betty Sun, Yong Dong, Hee Ching Paw. [China] Las Hurdes (Land Without Bread), 1933. Dir. Luis Buñuel. Abel Jacquin, Alexandre O’Neill. [Buñuel, Luis] Husbands and Wives, 1992. Dir. Woody Allen. Woody Allen, Mia Farrow, Judy Davis, Sydney Pollack, Juliette Lewis. [Allen, Woody] Hustler, The, 1961. Dir. Robert Rossen. Paul Newman, Jackie Gleason, Piper Laurie, George C. Scott, Myron McCormick. [Scorsese, Martin] Hypocrites, 1915. Writer. Lois Weber. Courtenay Foote, Myrtle Stedman, Herbert Standing, Adele Farrington. [Clergy; Silent Film] —I— I Am Legend, 2007. Dir. Francis Lawrence. Will Smith, Alice Braga, Charlie Tahan, Salli Richardson-Whitfield, Willow Smith. [Vampires] I Call First. See Who’s That Knocking at My Door. I Confess, 1953. Dir. Alfred Hitchcock. Montgomery Clift, Anne Baxter, Karl Malden, Brian Aherne, Roger Dann. [Catholicism] I Drink Your Blood, 1970. Dir. David Durston. Bhaskar Roy Chowdhury, Jadine Wong, Rhonda Fultz, George Patterson, Riley Mills. [Devil] I ♥ Huckabees, 2004. Dir. David O. Russell. Jason Schwartzman, Isabelle Huppert, Dustin Hoffman, Lily Tomlin, Jude Law, Mark Wahlberg, Naomi Watts. [Myth] I Love Cinema. See Baheb el cima. I Married a Witch, 1942. Dir. René Clair. Fredric March, Veronica Lake, Robert Benchley, Susan Hayward, Cecil Kellaway. [Magic] I Remember. See Amarcord.

Appendix: Filmography | 509

I, the Worst of All. See Yo, la peor de todas. I’d Climb the Highest Mountain, 1951. Dir. Henry King. Susan Hayward, William Lundigan, Rory Calhoun, Barbara Bates, Gene Lockhart. [Clergy] Identity, 2003. Dir. James Mangold. John Cusack, Ray Liotta, Amanda Peet, John Hawkes, Alfred Molina. [Belief] Idioterne (The Idiots), 1998. Dir. Lars von Trier. Bodil Jørgensen, Jens Albinus, Anne Louise Hassing, Troels Lyby, Nikolaj Lie Kaas. [Trier, Lars von] Idiots, The. See Idioterne. If Footmen Tire You, What Will Horses Do?, 1971. Dir. Ron Ormond. Judy Creech, Cecil Scaife, Gene McFall, Wes Saunders, La Quinta Scaife. [Missionary Films] Ifigeneia (Iphigenia), 1977. Dir. Mihalis Kakogiannis. Tatiana Papamoschou, Irene Papas, Kostas Kazakos, Kostas Karras, Christos Tsagas. [Greek and Roman Myths] Ikiru, 1952. Dir. Akira Kurosawa. Takashi Shimura, Shinichi Himori, Haruo Tanaka, Minoru Chiaki, Miki Odagiri. [Kurosawa, Akira] Image of the Beast, 1980. Dir. Donald W. Thompson. William Wellman, Jr., Susan Plumb, Patty Dunning, Russell S. Doughten, Jr., Wenda Shereos, Thom Rachford. [End-of-the-World Films] Images, 1972. Dir. Robert Altman. Susannah York, Rene Auberjonois, Marcel Bozzuffi, Hugh Millais, Cathryn Harrison. [Altman, Robert] Images of Relief. See Befrielsesbilleder. I magi randagi (We Free Kings), 1996. Dir. Sergio Citti. Silvio Orlando, Patrick Bauchau, Rolf Zacher. [Pasolini, Pier Paolo] ‘Imarat al-Ya’qubiyan (The Yacoubian Building), 2006. Dir. Marwan Hamed. Adel Imam, Nour El-Sherif, Youssra, Essad Youniss, Ahmed Bedir. [Arab Film] Inconvenient Truth, An, 2006. Documentary. Dir. Davis Guggenheim. Al Gore. [End-of-the-World Films] Incredible Hulk, The, 2008. Dir. Louis Leterrier. Edward Norton, Liv Tyler, Tim Roth, William Hurt, Tim Blake Nelson. [Myth] Incredible Shrinking Man, The, 1957. Dir. Jack Arnold. Grant Williams, Randy Stuart, April Kent, Paul Langton, Raymond Bailey. [Horror] Incubus, 1965. Dir. Leslie Stevens. William Shatner, Allyson Ames, Eloise Hardt, Robert Fortier, Ann Atmar. [Devil] Independence Day, 1996. Dir. Roland Emmerich. Will Smith, Bill Pullman, Jeff Goldblum, Mary McDonnell, Judd Hirsch. [Missionary Films; Myth; Ritual; Science Fiction] Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, 1989. Dir. Steven Spielberg. Harrison Ford, Sean Connery, Denholm Elliott, Alison Doody, John Rhys-Davies, Julian Glover, River Phoenix. [Ritual]

510 | Appendix: Filmography

Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, 1984. Dir. Steven Spielberg. Harrison Ford, Kate Capshaw, Jonathan Ke Quan, Amrish Puri, Roshan Seth. [Hinduism] Inherit the Wind, 1960. Dir. Stanley Kramer. Spencer Tracy, Fredric March, Gene Kelly, Dick York, Donna Anderson, Harry Morgan, Claude Akins. [Protestantism] Inn of the Sixth Happiness, The, 1958. Dir. Mark Robson. Ingrid Bergman, Curd Jürgens, Robert Donat, Michael David, Athene Seyler. [Clergy] In Praise of Mother Santoshi. See Jai Santoshi Maa, 1975/2006. Interview with the Vampire: The Vampire Chronicles, 1994. Dir. Neil Jordan. Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt, Kirsten Dunst, Stephen Rea, Antonio Banderas, Christan Slater. [Vampires] In the Company of Men, 1997. Dir. Neil LaBute. Aaron Eckhart, Stacy Edwards, Matt Malloy, Michael Martin, Mark Rector. [Mormonism] Intolerable Cruelty, 2003. Dir. Joel Coen. George Clooney, Catherine ZetaJones, Geoffrey Rush, Cedric the Entertainer, Edward Herrmann. [Coen, Joel and Ethan] Intolerance; Love’s Struggle Throughout the Ages, 1916. Dir. D. W. Griffith. Mae Marsh, Robert Harron, F.A. Turner, Sam De Grasse, Vera Lewis. [Catholicism; Dreyer, Carl Theodor; Judaism; Silent Film] Invasion of the Body Snatchers, 1956. Dir. Don Siegel. Kevin McCarthy, Dana Wynter, Larry Gates, King Donovan, Carolyn Jones. [Science Fiction] Invasion of the Body Snatchers, 1978. Dir. Phillip Kaufman. Donald Sutherland, Brooke Adams, Jeff Goldblum, Veronica Cartwritght. Leonard Nimoy. [Science Fiction] Invisible Invaders, 1959. Dir. Edward L. Cahn. John Agar, Jean Byron, Philip Tonge, Robert Hutton, John Carradine. [Voodoo] Iphigenia. See Ifigeneia. I, Robot, 2004. Dir. Alex Proyas. Will Smith, Bridget Moynahan, Alan Tudyk, James Cromwell, Bruce Greenwood. [Posthumanism; Science Fiction] Iskandariyya . . . leh? (Alexanderia . . . Why?), 1978. Dir. Youssef Chahine. Ahmed Zaki, Naglaa Fathy, Farid Shawqi, Mahmoud El-Meliguy, Ezzat El Alaili. [Arab Film] Island, The. See Ostrov. It Happened One Night, 1934. Dir. Frank Capra. Clark Gable, Claudette Colbert, Walter Connolly, Roscoe Karns, Jameson Thomas. [Capra, Frank] It’s a Wonderful Life, 1946. Dir. Frank Capra. James Stewart, Donna Reed, Lionel Barrymore, Thomas Mitchell, Henry Travers. [Angels; Besson, Luc; Capra, Frank; Catholicism; Heaven; Holidays; Ritual] Italianamerican, 1974. Documentary. Dir. Martin Scorsese. Catherine Scorsese, Charles Scorsese, Martin Scorsese. [Scorsese, Martin]

Appendix: Filmography | 511

Ivan Groznyy I (Ivan the Terrible, Part One), 1944. Dir. Seregei M. Eisenstein. Nikolai Cherkasov, Lyudmila Tselikovskaya, Serafima Birman, Mikhail Nazvanov. [Russia] Ivan Groznyy II: Boyarsky zagovor (Ivan the Terrible, Part Two), 1958. Dir. Seregei M. Eisenstein, M. Filimonova. Nikolai Cherkasov, Serafima Birman, Pavel Kadochnikov, Mikhail Zharov, Amvrosi Buchma. [Russia] Ivan the Terrible, Part One. See Ivan Groznyy I. Ivan the Terrible, Part Two. See Ivan Groznyy II: Boyarsky zagovor. Ivanovo Destvo (My Name Is Ivan), 1962. Dir. Andrei Tarkovsky. Nikolay Burlyaev, Valentin Zubkov, Yevgeni Zharikov, Stepan Krylov, Nikolai Grinko. [Tarkovsky, Andrei] I Walked with a Zombie, 1943. Dir. Jacques Tourneur. James Ellison, Frances Dee, Tom Conway, Edith Barrett, James Bell. [Horror; Voodoo] —J— Jabberwocky, 1977. Dir. Terry Gilliam. Michael Palin, Harry H. Corbett, John Le Mesurier, Warren Mitchell, Max Wall. [Gilliam, Terry] Jack, 1996. Dir. Francis Ford Coppola. Robin Williams, Diane Lane, Brian Kerwin, Jennifer Lopez, Bill Cosby, Fran Drescher. [Coppola, Francis Ford] Jackie Brown, 1997. Dir. Quentin Tarantino. Pam Grier, Samuel L. Jackson, Robert Forester, Britdget Fonda, Michael Keaton, Robert De Niro, Michael Bowen, Chris Tucker. [Tarantino, Quentin] Jacob’s Ladder, 1990. Dir. Adrian Lyne. Tim Robbins, Elizabeth Peña, Danny Aiello, Matt Craven, Pruitt Taylor Vince. [Mysticism] Jai Santoshi Maa (In Praise of Mother Santoshi), 1975. Dir. Vijay Sharma. Kanan Kaushal, Anita Guha, Ashish Kumar. [Bollywood] Jai Santoshi Maa, 2006. Dir. Ahmed Siddiqui. Nushrat Bharucha, Rakest Bapat, Lalit Tiwari, Sanjay Swaraj, Shashi Sharma. [Bollywood] Jason and the Argonauts, 1963. Dir. Don Chaffey. Todd Armstrong, Nancy Kovack, Gary Raymond, Laurence Naismith, Niall MacGinnis. [Greek and Roman Myths] Jason and the Argonauts, 2000. Television. Dir. Nick Willing. Jason London, Olivia Williams, Frank Langella, Dennis Hopper, Adrian Lester, Brian Thompson, Derek Jacobi, Natasha Henstridge. [Greek and Roman Myths] Jaws, 1975. Dir. Steven Spielberg. Roy Scheider, Robert Shaw, Richard Dreyfuss, Lorraine Gary, Murray Hamilton. [Horror; Ritual; Women] Jazz Singer, The, 1927, Dir. Alan Crosland. Al Joslon, May McAvoy, Warner Oland, Eugenie Besserer, Otto Lederer. [Clergy; Judaism] Jazz Singer, The, 1952. Dir. Michael Curtiz. Danny Thomas, Peggy Lee, Eduard Franz, Mildred Dunnock, Alex Gerry. [Clergy]

512 | Appendix: Filmography

Jazz Singer, The, 1980. Dir. Richard Fleischer. Neil Diamond, Laurence Oliver, Lucie Arnez, Catlin Adams, Franklyn Ajaye. [Clergy] Jeanne d’Arc (Joan of Arc), 1899. Dir. Georges Méliès. Bleuette Bernon, Georges Méliès, Jeanne d’Alcy. [Joan of Arc] “Je vous salue, Marie” (Hail Mary), 1985. Dir. Jean-Luc Godard. Myriem Roussel, Thierry Rode, Philippe Lacoste, Manon Anderson, Malachi Jara Kohan. [Europe (Continental)] Jeder für sich und Gott gegen alle (Every Man for Himself and God Against All, also known as The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser), 1974. Dir. Werner Herzog. Bruno S., Walter Ladengast, Brigitte Mira, Willy Semmerlogge, Michael Kroecher. [Europe (Continental)] Jersey Girl, 2004. Dir. Kevin Smith. Betty Aberlin, Matt McFarland, Sarah Stafford, Paulie Litt, Christian Fan. [Smith, Kevin] Jerusalem, 1996. Dir. Bille August. Maria Bonnevie, Ulf Friberg, Pernilla August, Lena Endre, Sven-Bertil Taube. [Europe (Continental)] Jesus, 1979. Dir. John Krish, Peter Sykes. Brian Deacon, Rivka Neuman, Joseph Shiloach, Niko Nitai. [Missionary Films] Jesus Christ Superstar, 1973. Dir. Norman Jewison. Ted Neeley, Carl Anderson, Yvonne Elliman, Barry Dennen, Bob Bingham. [Jesus; Ritual] Jésus de Montréal (Jesus of Montreal), 1989. Dir. Denys Arcand. Lothaire Bluteau, Catherine Wilkening, Johanne-Marie Tremblay, Rémy Girard, Robert Lepage. [Clergy] Jesus of Montreal. See Jésus de Montréal. Jesus of Nazareth, 1977. Television. Dir. Franco Zeffirelli. Robert Powell, Anne Bancroft, Ernest Borgnine, Claudia Cardinale, Valentina Cortese. [Besson, Luc; Bible Films; Jesus; Judaism] Joan of Arc (also known as The Burning of Joan of Arc), 1895. Dir. Alfred Clark. [Joan of Arc] Joan of Arc, 1948. Dir. Victor Fleming. Ingrid Bergman, Francis L. Sullivan, J. Carrol Naish, Ward Bond, Shepperd Strudwick. [Catholicism] Joan of Arc, 1899. See Jeanne d’Arc. Joan of Arc at the Stake. See Giovanna d’Arco al rogo. Joan of Arc of Loos, The, 1916. Dir. George Willoughby. Jane King, Jean Robertson, Clive Farnham, Beatrice Esmond, Arthur Greenaway. [Australia; Joan of Arc] Joan of Ozark, 1942. Dir. Joseph Santley. Judy Canova, Joe E. Brown, Eddie Foy, Jr., Jerome Cowan, Alexander Granach. [Joan of Arc] Joan of Paris, 1942. Dir. Robert Stevenson. Michèle Morgan, Paul Henreid, Thomas Mitchell, Laird Cregar, May Robson. [Joan of Arc]

Appendix: Filmography | 513

Joan of Plattsburg, 1918. Dir. William Humphrey, George Loane Tucker. Mabel Normand, Robert Elliott, William Frederic, Joseph W. Smiley, Edward Elkas. [Joan of Arc] Joan the Maid. See Mädchen Johanna, Das. Joan the Woman, 1917. Dir. Cecil B DeMille. Geraldine Farrar, Raymond Hatton, Hobart Bosworth, Theodore Roberts, Wallace Reid. [Catholicism; Joan of Arc] Joe Versus the Volcano, 1990. Dir. John Patrick Shanley. Tom Hanks, Meg Ryan, Lloyd Bridges, Robert Stack, Abe Vigoda, Dan Hedaya, Amanda Plummer, Ossie Davis. [Indigenous Religions] Jofroi (Ways of Love), 1933. Dir. Marcel Pagnol. Charles Blavette, Henry Darbray, Édouard Delmont, Henri Poupon, Andre Robert. [THE MIRACLE Controversy] Johnny Mnemonic, 1996. Dir. Robert Longo. Keanu Reeves, Dina Meyer, Ice-T, Takeshi Kitano, Dennis Akayama. [Posthumanism] Jonah: A Veggie Tales Movie, 2002. Dir. Mike Nawrocki, Phil Vischer. Phil Vischer, Mike Nawrocki, Tim Hodge, Lisa Vischer, Dan Anderson, Kristin Blegen. [Animated Films] Jonathan Livingston Seagull, 1973. Dir. Hall Bartlett. Phillip Ahn, Richard Crenna, James Franciscus, Kelly Harmon, Hal Holbrook. [Mysticism] Journal d’un curé de campange (Diary of a Country Priest), 1951. Dir. Robert Bresson. Claude Laydu, Jean Riveyre, André Guilbert, Rachel Bérendt, Nicole Maurey. [Bazin, André; Bresson, Robert; Clergy; Europe (Continental); Theology and Film] Joy Luck Club, The, 1993. Dir. Wayne Wang. Kieu Chinh, Tsai Chin, France Nuyen, Lisa Lu, Ming-Na. [Buddhism] Ju Dou, 1990. Dir. Fengliang Yang, Yimou Zhang. Ma Chong, Zhijun Cong, Wu Fa, Li Gong, Jia Jin. [China] Judgment, 2001. Dir. André van Heerden. Corbin Bernsen, Jessica Steen, Leigh Lewis, Mr. T., Nick Mancuso. [End-of-the-World Films] Jules and Jim, 1962. Dir. François Traffaut. Jeanne Moreau, Oskar Werner, Henri Serre, Vanna Urbino, Boris Bassiak. [Traffaut, François] Julien Donkey-Boy, 1999. Dir. Harmony Korine. Ewen Bremner, Brian Fisk, Chloë Sevigny, Werner Herzog, Joyce Korine. [Dogme 95] Juliet of the Spirits. See Guilietta degli spiriti. Jumeaux de Brighton, Les, 1936. Dir. Claude Heymann. Raimu, Suzy Prim, Michel Simon, Charlotte Lysès, Germaine Aussey, Jean Tissier. [Bresson, Robert] Junge Törless, Der (Young Torless), 1966. Dir. Volker Schlöndorff. Mathieu Carrière, Marian Seidowsky, Bern Tischer, Fred Dietz, Lotte Ledl. [Europe (Continental)]

514 | Appendix: Filmography

Jungfrukallan (The Virgin Spring), 1960. Dir. Ingmar Bergman. Max von Sydow, Birgitta Valberg, Gunnel Lindblom, Birgitta Pettersson, Axel Duberg. [Europe (Continental)] —K— Kabhi Kushi Kabhie Gham (Sometimes Happiness, Sometimes Sorrow), 2001. Dir. Karan Johar. Amitabh Bachchan, Jaya Bachchan, Shahrukh Khan, Hrithik Roshan, Kajol, Kareena Kapoor. [Bollywood] Kadosh, 1999. Dir. Amos Gitai. Yaël Abescassis, Yoram Hattab, Meital Barda, Uri Klauzner, Yussuf Abu-Warda. [Judaism] Kagemusha, 1980. Dir. Akira Kurosawa. Tatsuya Nakadai, Tsutomu Yamazaki, Kenichi Hagiwara, Jinpachi Nezu, Hideji Otaki. [Kurosawa, Akira] Kakushi-toride no san-akunin (The Hidden Fortress), 1958. Dir. Akira Kurosawa. Toshirô Mifune, Misa Uehara, Minoru Chiaki, Kamatari Fujiwara, Takashi Shimura. [Kurosawa, Akira] Kaliya Mardan, 1919. Dir. Dhundiraj Govind Phalke. Neelkanth, Mandakini Phalke. [Bollywood] Kandahar. See Safar e Ghandehar. Kashmir, 1951. Kamal Kapoor, Badri Prasad, Nirupa Roy, Achala Sachdev, Sajjan. [Islam] Kaze no tani no Naushika (Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind), 1984. Dir. Hayao Miyazaki. Suma Shimamoto, Mahito Tsujimura, Hisako Kyôda, Gorô Naya, Ichirô Nagai. [Miyazaki, Hayao] Keeping the Faith, 2000. Dir. Edward Norton. Ben Stiller, Edward Norton, Jenna Elfman, Anne Bancroft, Eli Wallach. [Clergy; Judaism; Ritual] Keep Not Silent. See Et Sheaava Nafshi. Keys of the Kingdom, The, 1944. Dir. John M. Stahl. Gregory Peck, Thomas Mitchell, Vincent Price, Rose Stradner, Roddy McDowall. [Censorship in Hollywood; Clergy] Kid, The, 1921. Dir. Charles Chaplin. Carl Miller, Edna Purviance, Jackie Coogan, Charles Chaplin. [Silent Film] Kill Bill, 2003. Dir. Quentin Tarantino. Uma Thurman, Lucy Liu, Vivica A. Fox, Daryl Hannah, David Carradine, Michael Madsen. [Tarantino, Quentin] Kill Bill: Vol, 2, 2004. Dir. Quentin Tarantino. Uma Thurman, David Carradine, Lucy Liu, Vivica A. Fox, Chia Hui Liu, Michael Madsen, Daryl Hannah. [Tarantino, Quentin] Kindred: The Embraced, 1996. Dir. John Leekley. Stacy Haiduk, Mark Frankel, Kelly Rutherford, Patrick Bauchau, Brigid Brannagh. [Vampires] Kingdom Come, 2001. Dir. Doug McHenry. LL Cool J, Jada Pinkett Smith, Vivica A. Fox, Loretta Devine, Anthony Anderson, Toni Braxton, Cedric

Appendix: Filmography | 515

the Entertainer, Darius McCrary, Whoppi Goldberg. [Black Church, The; Protestantism] King and I, The, 1956. Dir. Walter Lang. Deborah Kerr, Yul Brynner, Rita Morena, Martin Benson, Terry Saunders. [Buddhism] King and I, The, 1999. Dir. Richard Rich. Miranda Richardson, Christiane Noll, Martin Vidnovic, Ian Richardson, Darrell Hammond. [Mormonism] King of Comedy, The, 1983. Dir. Martin Scorsese. Robert De Niro, Jerry Lewis, Diahnne Abbot, Sandra Bernhard, Shelly Hack. [Scorsese, Martin] King of Kings, 1961. Dir. Nicholas Ray. Jeffrey Hunter, Siobhan McKenna, Hurd Hatfield, Ron Randell, Viveca Lindfors. [Jesus] King of Kings, The, 1927. Dir. Cecil B. DeMille. H.B. Warner, Dorothy Cumming, Ernest Torrence, Joseph Schildkraut, James Neill. [Bible Films; DeMille, Cecil B.; Jesus; Silent Film] King Kong, 1933. Dir. Merian C. Cooper, Ernest B. Schoedsack. Fay Wray, Robert Armstrong, Bruce Cabot, Frank Reicher, Sam Hardy. [Horror; Indigenous Religions; Myth] King Kong, 1976. Dir. John Gillermin. Jeff Bridges, Charles Grodin, Jessica Lange, John Randolph, Rene Auberjoniois. [Horror; Indigenous Religions; Myth] King Kong, 2005. Dir. Peter Jackson. Naomi Watts, Jack Black, Adrien Brody, Thomas Krestchmann, Colin Hanks. [Horror; Indigenous Religions; Myth] King Solomon’s Mines, 1985. Dir. J. Lee Thompson. Richard Chamberlain, Sharon Stone, Herbert Lom, John Rhys-Davies. [Islam] Kinsey, 2004. Dir. Bill Condon. Liam Neeson, Laura Linney, Chris O’Donnell, Peter Sarsgaard, Timothy Hutton. [Censorship in Hollywood] Kiss Me, Kate, 1953. Dir. George Sidney. Kathryn Grayson, Howard Keel, Ann Miller, Keenan Wynn, Bobby Van, Tommy Rall, James Whitmore, Bob Fosse. [Ritual] Kiss Me, Stupid, 1964. Dir. Billy Wilder. Dean Martin, Kim Novak, Ray Walston, Felicia Farr, Cliff Osmond. [Censorship in Hollywood] Kiss of the Vampire, The, 1963. Dir. Don Sharp. Clifford Evans, Edward de Souza, Noel Willman, Jennifer Daniel, Barry Warren. [Devil; Vampires] Klann—Grand Guignol, 1969. Dir. Patrick Ledoux. Gabriel Cattand, Ursula Kubler, Marie Signe Ledoux, David McNeil, Nathalie Vernier. [Joan of Arc] Kôkaku kidôtai (Ghost in a Shell), 1995. Dir. Mamoru Oshii. Atsuko Tanaka, Akio Ôtsuka, Tamio Ôki, Iemasa Kayumi, Kôichi Yamadera, Tesshô Genda. [Japan] Körkarlen (The Phantom Carriage), 1921. Dir. Victor Sjöström. Victor Sjöström, Hilda Borgström, Tore Svennberg, Astrid Holm, Concordia Selander. [Mysticism] Kosher Kitty Kelly, 1925. Dir. James W. Horne. Viola Dana, Tom Forman, Vera Gordon, Kathleen Myers, Nat Carr. [Silent Film]

516 | Appendix: Filmography

Koyaanisqatsi (Also known as Koyaanisqatsi: Life Out of Balance), 1982. Documentary. Dir. Godfrey Reggio. [Mysticism] K-Pax, 2001. Dir. Iain Softley. Kevin Spacey, Jeff Bridges, Mary McCormack, Alfre Woodward, David Patrick Kelly. [Mysticism] Kravigi Gynaikon (A Dream of Passion), 1978. Dir. Jules Dassin. Melina Mercouri, Ellen Burstyn, Costas Arzoglou, Savvas Axiotis, Katerina Bourlou, Despo Diamantidou. [Greek and Roman Myths] Krótki film o mil⁄os´ci (A Short Film About Love), 1988. Dir. Krzysztof Kies´ lowski. Grazyna Szapolowska, Olaf Lubaszenko, Stefania Iwinska, Piotr Machalica, Artur Barcis. [Kies´ lowski, Krzysztof] Krótki film o zabijaniu (A Short Film About Killing), 1988. Dir. Krzysztof Kies´ lowski. Miroslaw Baka, Krzysztof Globisz, Jan Tesarz, Zbigniew Zapasiewicz, Barbara Dziekan. [Kies´ lowski, Krzysztof] Kumonosu jô (Throne of Blood), 1957. Dir. Akira Kurosawa. Toshirô Mifune, Isuzu Yamada, Takashi Shimura, Akiro Kubo, Hiroshi Tachikawa. [Kurosawa, Akira] Kundun, 1997. Dir. Martin Scorsese. Tenzin Thuthob Tsarong, Gyurme Tethong, Tulku Jamyang Kunga Tenzin, Tenzin Teshi Paichang, Tencho Gyalpo. [Clergy; Mysticism; Ritual; Scorsese, Martin] Kung Fu Hustle, 2004. Dir. Stephen Chow. Stephen Chow, Xiaogang Feng, Way Yuen, Zhi Hua Dong, Kwok-Kwan Chan. [Buddhism] Kuroi ame (Black Rain), 1989. Dir. Shohei Imamura. Yoshiko Tanaka, Kazuo Kitamura, Etsuko Ichihara, Shoichi Ozawa, Morihei Miki. [Japan] Kurtlar vadisi—Irak (Valley of the Wolves: Iraq), 2006. Dir. Serdar Akar, Sadullah Sentürk. Necati Sasmaz, Billy Zane, Ghassan Massoud, Gürkan Uygun, Bergüzar Korel. [Myth] —L— Ladies of the Bois de Bologne. See Dames du Bois de Boulogne, Les. Ladri di biciclette (The Bicycle Thief), 1948. Dir. Vittorio De Sica. Lamberto Maggiorani, Enzo Staiola, Lianella Carell, Gino Saltamerenda, Vittorio Antonucci. [Censorship in Hollywood; Europe (Continental); THE MIRACLE Controversy] Ladykillers, The, 2004. Dir. Ethan Coen, Joel Coen. Tom Hanks, Irma P. Hall, Marlon Wayans, J.K. Simmons, Tzi Ma. [Coen, Joel and Ethan] Lair of the White Worm, The, 1988. Dir. Ken Russell. Amanda Donohoe, Hugh Grant, Catherine Oxenberg, Peter Capaldi, Sammi Davis. [Vampires] Lancelot du Lac (Lancelot of the Lake), 1974. Dir. Robert Bresson. Luc Simon, Laura Duke Condominas, Humbert Balsan, Vladimir Antolek-Oresek, Patrick Bernhard. [Bresson, Robert]

Appendix: Filmography | 517

Lancelot of the Lake. See Lancelot du Lac. Land Before Time, The, 1988. Dir. Don Bluth. Judith Barsi, Burke Byrnes, Gabriel Damon, Bill Erwin, Pat Hingle. [Mormonism] Land of the Dead, 2005. Dir. George A. Romero. Simon Baker, John Leguizamo, Dennis Hopper, Asia Argento, Robert Joy. [Voodoo] Land of the Minotaur. See Devil’s Men, The. Land Without Bread. See Hurdes, Las. Lanka Aflame. See Lanka Dahan. Lanka Dahan (Lanka Aflame), 1917. Dir. Dhundiraj Govind Phalke. Anna Salunke, Ganpat G. Shinde, D.D. Dabke, Mandakini Phakle. [Bollywood] Lars and the Real Girl, 2007. Dir. Craig Gillespie. Ryan Gosling, Emily Mortimer, Paul Schneider, Kelli Garner, Patricia Clarkson. [Protestantism] Last Man on Earth, The, 1964. Dir. Ubaldo Ragona. Vincent Price, Franca Bettoia, Emma Danieli, Giacomo Rossi-Stuart, Umberto Raho. [Vampires] Last Metro, The. See dernier metro, Le. Last Samurai, The, 2003. Dir. Edward Zwick. Ken Watanabe, Tom Cruise, William Atherton, Chad Lindberg, Ray Godshall, Sr. [Buddhism] Last Supper, The. See Última Cena, La. Last Temptation of Christ, The, 1988. Dir. Martin Scorsese. Willem Dafoe, Harvey Keitel, Paul Greco, Steve Shill, Verna Bloom, Barbara Hershey. [Besson, Luc; Bible Films; Jesus; THE LAST TEMPTATION OF CHRIST Controversy; Schrader, Paul; Scorsese, Martin; Women] Last Wave, The, 1977. Dir. Peter Weir. Richard Chamberlain, Olivia Hamnett, David Gulpilil, Frederick Parslow, Vivean Gray. [Australia; Mysticism] Låt den rätte komma in (Let the Right One In), 2008. Dir. Tomas Alfredson. Kåre Hedebrant, Lina Leandersson, Per Ragnar, Henrik Dahl, Karin Bergquist. [Vampires] Late Autumn. See Akibiyori. Late Great Planet Earth, The, 1979. Documentary. Dir. Robert Amram, Rolf Forsbert. Orson Welles. [End-of-the-World Films] Late Spring. See Banshun. Latter Days, 2003. Dir. C. Jay Cox. Steve Sandvoss, Wes Ramsey, Rebekah Johnson, Amber Benson, Khary Payton. [Mormonism] Leap of Faith, 1992. Dir. Richard Pearce. Steve Martin, Debra Winger, Lolita Davidovitch, Liam Neeson, Lukas Haas. [Censorship in Hollywood; Clergy; Ritual] Leaves from Satan’s Book. See Blade af Satan’s Bog. Left Behind: The Movie, 2000. Dir. Vic Sarin. Kirk Cameron, Brad Johnson, Janaya Stephens, Clarence Gilyard, Jr., Colin Fox. [End-of-the-World Films; Missionary Films; Protestantism]

518 | Appendix: Filmography

Left Behind II: Tribulation Force, 2002. Dir. Bill Corcoran. Kirk Cameron, Brad Johnson, Clarence Gilyard, Jr., Janaya Stephens, Gordon Currie. [End-of-theWorld Films] Left Behind: World at War, 2005. Dir. Craig R. Baxley. Louis Gossett, Jr., Kirk Cameron, Brad Johnson, Jessica Steen, Gordon Currie. [End-of-the-World Films] The Left Hand of God, 1955. Dir. Edward Dmytryk. Humphrey Bogart, Gene Tierney, Lee J. Cobb, Agnes Moorehead, E. G. Marshall. [Clergy] Left Luggage, 1998. Dir. Jeroen Krabbé. Laura Fraser, Adam Monty, Isabella Rossellini, Jeroen Krabbé, Topol. [Judaism] Legend of Bagger Vance, The, 2000. Dir. Robert Redford. Will Smith, Matt Damon, Charlize Theron, Bruce McGill, Joel Gretsch. [Hinduism; Sports] Legend of Bailiff Sansho. See Sanshô dayû. Legend of the Overfiend, The,. See Chôjin densetsu Urotsukidôji. Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires, The, 1974. Dir. Roy Ward Baker. Peter Cushing, David Chiang, Julie Ege, Robin Stewart, Szu Shih. [Vampires] Lemora: A Child’s Tale of the Supernatural, 1973. Dir. Richard Blackburn. Lesley Gilb, Cheryl Smith, William Whitton, Steve Johnson, Hy Pyke. [Vampires] Leni, 1994. Television. Dir. Leo Hiemer. Johannes Thanheiser, Johanna Thanheiser, Christa Berndl, Martin Abram, Natalia Wörner. [Holocaust, The] Léon (The Professional), 1994. Dir. Luc Besson. Jean Reno, Gary Oldman, Natalie Portman, Danny Aiello, Peter Appel. [Besson, Luc] Léon Morin, prêtre (The Forgiven Sinner), 1961. Dir. Jean-Pierre Melville. JeanPaul Belmondo, Emmanuelle Riva, Irene Tunc, Nicole Mirel, Gisele Grimm. [Europe (Continental)] Let The Right One In. See Låt den rätte komma in. Let’s Have a Brainwash. See Ro.Go.Pa.G. Lifeforce, 1985. Dir. Tobe Hooper. Steve Rialsbecack, Peter Firth, Frank Finlay, Mathilda May, Patrick Stewart, Michael Gothard. [Vampires] Life Is Beautiful. See Vita é bella, La. Life Is to Whistle. See Vida es Silvar, La. Life of Brian, 1979. Dir. Terry Jones. Graham Chapman, John Cleese, Terry Gilliam, Eric Idle, Terry Jones, Michael Palin. [Bible Films; Britain; Censorship in Hollywood; Jesus] Life of Oharu, The. See Saikaku ichidai onna. Life of Paul, 1949–1951. Dir. John T. Coyle. DeForest Kelley, Nelson Leigh. [Missionary Films] Lilies of the Field, 1963. Dir. Ralph Nelson. Sydney Poitier, Lilia Skala, Lisa Mann, Isa Crino, Francesca Jarvis. [Catholicism; Clergy]

Appendix: Filmography | 519

Liliom, 1934. Dir. Fritz Lang. Charles Boyer, Madeleine Ozeray, Florelle, Pierre Alcover. [Devil] Lion King, The,1994. Dir. Roger Allers, Rob Minkoff. Jonathan Taylor Thomas, Mathew Broderick, James Earl Jones, Jeremy Irons, Moria Kelly, Niketa Calame. [Animated Films] Little Big Man, 1970. Dir. Arthur Penn. Dustin Hoffman, Faye Dunaway, Chief Dan George, Martin Balsam, Richard Mulligan. [American Indian Religion; Ritual] Little Buddha, 1993. Dir. Bernardo Bertolucci. Keanu Reeves, Roucheng Ying, Chris Isaak, Bridget Fonda, Alex Wiesendanger. [Censorship in Hollywood; Clergy; Europe (Continental); Mysticism; Myth] Little Caesar, 1931. Dir. Mervyn LeRoy. Edward G. Robinson, Douglas Fairbanks, Jr., Glenda Farrell, William Collier, Jr., Sidney Blackmer. [Catholicism] Little Women, 1933. Dir. George Cukor. Katherine Hepburn, Joan Bennett, Paul Lukas, Edna May Oliver, Jean Parker. [Ritual] Little Women, 1949. Dir. Mervyn LeRoy. June Allyson, Peter Lawford, Margaret O’Brien, Elizabeth Taylor, Janet Leigh, Rossano Brazzi, Mary Astor. [Ritual] Little Saints. See Santitos. Live and Let Die, 1973. Dir. Guy Hamilton. Roger Moore, Yaphet Kotto, Jane Seymour, Clifton James, Julius Harris. [Voodoo] Living Christ, The, 1951–1957. Dir. John T. Coyle. John Alvin, Art Gilmore, Lowell Gilmore, Eileen Rowe, Bing Russell, Peter Whitney, Robert Wilson, Will Wright. [Missionary Films] Living Dead, The. See Scotland Yard Mystery, The. Lola rennt (Run Lola Run), 1998. Dir. Tom Tykwer. Franka Potente, Moritz Bleibtreu, Herbert Knaup, Nina Petri, Armin Rohde. [Eucatastrophe] Lolita, 1962. Dir. Stanley Kubrick. James Mason, Shelley Winters, Sue Lyon, Gary Cockrell, Jerry Stovin. [Kubrick, Stanley] Long Goodbye, The, 1973. Dir. Robert Altman. Elliott Gould, Nine Van Pallandt, Sterling Hayden, Mark Rydell, Henry Gibson. [Altman, Robert] Long Night’s Journey into Day, 2000. Documentary. Dir. Deborah Hoffman, Frances Reid. Mary Burton, Pumla Gobodo-Madikizela, Mongezi Manqina, Thapelo Mbelo, Robert McBride. [Africa] Look What Happened to Rosemary’s Baby, 1976.Television. Dir. Sam O’Steen. Stephen McHattie, Patty Duke, Broderick Crawford, Ruth Gordon, Lloyd Haynes. [Devil] Lord of the Rings, The: The Fellowship of the Ring, 2001. Dir. Peter Jackson. Alan Howard, Noel Appleby, Sean Astin, Sala Baker, Sean Bean, Cate

520 | Appendix: Filmography

Blanchett, Orlando Bloom, Billy Boyd, Marton Csokas, Iam Holm, Christopher Lee. [Eucatastrophe; Magic; Myth; Ritual] Lord of the Rings, The: The Return of the King, 2003. Dir. Peter Jackson. Sean Astin, Sean Bean, Cate Vlanchett, Orlando Bloom, Billy Boyd, Marton Csokas, Bernard Hill. [Eucatastrophe; Magic; Myth; Ritual] Lord of the Rings, The: The Two Towers, 2002. Dir. Peter Jackson. Sean Astin, Sala Baker, Sean Bean, Cate Blanchett, Orlando Bloom, Billy Boyd, Jed Brophy, Brad Dourif, Christopher Lee, Paris Howe Strewe, Bruce Allpress. [Eucatastrophe; Magic; Myth; Ritual] Lost Horizon, 1937. Dir. Frank Capra. Ronald Colman, Jane Wyatt, Edward Everett Horton, John Howard, Thomas Mitchell, Margo. [Capra, Frank; Clergy; Ritual] Lost in Translation, 2003. Dir. Sofia Coppola. Scarlett Johansson, Bill Murray, Akiko Takeshita, Kazuyoshi Minamimagoe, Kazuko Shibata. [Buddhism] Love and Death, 1975. Dir. Woody Allen. Woody Allen, Diane Keaton, Georges Adet, Frank Adu, Edmond Ardisson. [Allen, Woody] Love at First Bite, 1979. Dir. Stan Dragoti. George Hamilton, Susan Saint James, Richard Benjamin, Dick Shawn, Arte Johnson. [Vampires] Love Eternal. See L’Éternel retour. Love’s a Bitch. See Amores Perros. Lower Depths, The. See Donzoko. Luna Park, 1992. Dir. Pavel Lungin. Oleg Borisov, Andrei Gutin, Natalya Yegorova, Nonna Mordyukova, Mikhail Golubovich. [Russia] Luther, 2003. Dir. Eric Till. Joseph Fiennes, Jonathan Firth, Alfred Molina, Claire Cox, Peter Ustinov, Bruno Ganz. [Protestantism] —M— Mad Max, 1979. Dir. George Miller. Mel Gibson, Joanne Samuel, Hugh KeaysByrne, Steve Bisley, Tim Burns. [End-of-the-World Films] Mad Max 2 (also known as The Road Warrior), 1981. Dir. George Miller. Mel Gibson, Bruce Spence, Michael Preston, Max Phipps, Vernon Wells. [End-of-the-World Films] Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome, 1985. Dir. George Miller, George Ogilvie. Mel Gibson, Tina Turner, Bruce Spence, Adam Cockburn, Frank Thring. [Australia; End-of-the-World Films; Indigenous Religions] Madadayo, 1993. Dir. Akira Kurosawa. Tatsuo Matsumura, Kyôko Kagawa, Hisashi Igawa, Jôji Tokoro, Masayuki Yui. [Kurosawa, Akira] Mädchen Johanna, Das (Joan the Maid), 1935. Dir. Gustav Ucicky. Angela Salloker, Gustaf Gründgens, Heinrich George, René Deltgen, Erich Ponto. [Joan of Arc]

Appendix: Filmography | 521

Madea Goes to Jail, 2009. Dir. Tyler Perry. Tyler Perry, Derek Luke, Keshia Knight Pulliam, David Mann, Tamela J. Mann. [Clergy] Magnolia, 1999. Dir. Paul Thomas Anderson. Julianne Moore, William H. Macy, John C. Reily, Tom Cruise, Philip Baker Hall. [Belief] Mahabharata, The, 1989. Dir. Peter Brook. Erika Alexander, Maurice Bénichou, Amba Bihler, Lou Bihler, Urs Bihler. [Hinduism; Myth] Major League, 1989. Dir. David S. Ward. Tom Berenger, Charlie Sheen, Corbin Bernsen, Margaret Whitton, James Gammon. [Sports] Mala educación, La (Bad Education), 2004. Dir. Pedro Almodóvar. Gael García Bernal, Fele Martínez, Daniel Gimenez Cacho, Lluís Homar, Francisco Maestree, Francisco Boira. [Europe (Continental)] Malcolm X, 1992. Dir. Spike Lee. Denzel Washington, Angela Bassett, Albert Hall, Al Freeman, Jr., Delroy Lindo, Spike Lee. [Ritual] Mamma Roma, 1962. Dir. Pier Paolo Pasolini. Anna Magnani, Ettore Garofolo, Franco Citti, Silvana Corsini, Luisa Loiano. [Europe (Continental); Pasolini, Paolo] Man Bites Dog. See C’est arrivé pres de chez vous. A Man Called Horse, 1970. Dir. Elliot Silverstein. Richard Harris, Judith Anderson, Jean Gascon, Manu Tupou, Corinna Tsopei. [American Indian Religion; Ritual] Man Called Peter, A, 1955. Dir. Henry Koster. Richard Todd, Jean Peters, Marjorie Rambeau, Jill Esmond, Les Tremayne. [Clergy; Protestantism] Man Escaped, A, or The Wind Bloweth Where it Listeth. See condamné à mort s’est échappé, Un, ou vent soufflé où il veut, Le. Man for All Seasons, A, 1966. Dir. Fred Zinnemann. Paul Scofield, Wendy Hiller, Leo McKern, Robert Shaw, Orson Welles, Susannah York, Nigel Davenport, John Hurt. [Clergy] Man from Kangaroo, The, 1920. Dir. Wilfred Lucas. Rex “Snowy” Baker, Agnes Vernon, Charles Villiers, Wilfred Lucas, Walter Vincent. [Australia] Manderlay, 2005. Dir. Lars von Trier. Bryce Dallas Howard, Isaach De Bankolé, Danny Glover, Willem Dafoe, Michaël Abiteboul, Lauren Bacall. [Trier, Lars von] Manhattan, 1979. Dir. Woody Allen. Woody Allen, Diane Keaton, Michael Murphy, Mariel Hemingway, Meryl Streep. [Allen, Woody] Manoir du diable, Le (Manor of the Devil), 1896. Dir. Georges Méliès. Jeanne d’Alcy, Georges Méliès. [Devil] Manor of the Devil. See Manoir du diable, Le. Manos: The Hands of Fate, 1966. Dir. Harold Warren. Tom Neyman, John Reynolds, Diane Mahree, Harold P. Warren, Stephanie Nielson. [Devil] Man They Could Not Hang, The, 1939. Dir. Nick Grinde. Boris Karloff, Lorna Gray, Robert Wilcox, Roger Pryor, Don Beddoe. [Voodoo]

522 | Appendix: Filmography

Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, The, 1962. Dir. John Ford. John Wayne, James Stewart, Vera Miles, Lee Marvin, Edmond O’Brien, Andy Devine, Ken Murray, John Carradine. [Westerns] Man Who Sued God, The, 2001. Dir. Mark Joffe. Billy Connolly, Judy Davis, Colin Friels, Wendy Hughes, Bille Brown. [Australia] Man Who Wasn’t There, The, 2001. Dir. Joel Coen. Billy Bob Thronton, Frances McDormand, Michael Budalucco, James Gandolfini, Katherine Borowitz, Jon Polio, Scarlett Johansson. [Coen, Joel and Ethan] Mar adentro (The Sea Inside), 2004. Dir. Alejandro Amenabar. Javier Bardem, Belen Rueda, Lola Denuas, Mabel Rivera, Ceslo Bugallo. [Europe (Continental)] Married to a Mormon, 1922. Dir. H. B. Parkinson. Evelyn Brent, Clive Brook, George Wynn, Booth Conway, Molly Adair. [Mormonism] Marry Me! Marry Me! See Mazel Tov ou le marriage. Marvelous Visit, The. See Merveilleuse visite, La. M*A*S*H, 1970. Dir. Robert Altman. Donald Sutherland, Elliott Gould, Tom Skerrit, Sally Kellerman, Robert Duvall, Roger Bowen, Rene Auberjonois, Gary Burghoff, Michael Murphy. [Altman, Robert; Clergy] al-Masir (Destiny), 1997. Dir. Youssef Chahine. Nour El-Sherif, Laila Eloui, Mahmoud Hemida, Safia El Emari, Mohamed Mounir. [Africa; Arab Film] Mass Appeal, 1984. Dir. Glenn Jordan. Jack Lemmon, Zeljko Ivanek, Charles Durning, Louise Latham, Alice Hirson. [Clergy] Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World, 2003. Dir. Peter Weir. Russell Crowe, Paul Bettany, James D’Arcy, Edward Woodall, Chris Larkin. [Ritual] Match Point, 2005. Dir. Woody Allen. Jonathan Rhys Meyers, Alexander Armstrong, Paul Kaye, Matthew Goode, Brian Cox. [Allen, Woody] Matrix, The, 1999. Dir. Andy Wachowski, Larry Wachowski. Keanu Reeves, Laurence Fishburne, Carrie-Anne Moss, Hugo Weaving, Gloria Foster, Joe Pantoliano. [End-of-the-World Films; Eucatastrophe; Film as Religion; THE MATRIXTrilogy;Mysticism;Myth;Posthumanism;ScienceFiction;Theology and Film] Matrix Reloaded, The, 2003. Dir. Andy Wachowski, Larry Wachowski. Keanu Reeves, Laurence Fishburne, Carrie-Anne Moss, Hugo Weaving, Gloria Foster, Joe Pantoliano Ray Anthony, Christine Anu, Andy Arness. [End-ofthe-World Films; Film as Religion; THE MATRIX Trilogy; Mysticism; Myth; Posthumanism; Science Fiction] Matrix Revolutions, The, 2003. Dir. Andy Wachowski, Larry Wachowski. Keanu Reeves, Laurence Fishburne, Carrie-Anne Moss, Hugo Weaving, Gloria

Appendix: Filmography | 523

Foster, Joe Pantoliano Ray Anthony. [Bible Films; End-of-the-World Films; Film as Religion; THE MATRIX Trilogy; Mysticism; Myth; Posthumanism; Science Fiction] Matter of Life and Death, A (also known as Stairway to Heaven), 1946. Dir. Michael Powell, Emeric Pressburger. David Niven, Kim Hunter, Robert Coote, Kathleen Byrom, Richard Attenborough. [Heaven; Mysticism] Mazel Tov ou le marriage (Marry Me! Marry Me!), 1969. Dir. Claude Berri. Claude Berri, Elisabeth Wiener, Prudence Harrington, Betsy Blair, Louisa Colpeyn. [Europe (Continental)] McCabe & Mrs, Miller, 1971. Dir. Robert Altman. Warren Beatty, Julie Christie, Rene Auberjonois, William Devane, John Schuck, Corey Fischer, Shelly Duvall, Keith Carradine, Michael Murphy. [Altman, Robert] Mean Streets, 1973. Dir. Martin Scorsese. Robert De Niro, Harvey Keitel, David Proval, Amy Robinson, Richard Romanus. [Scorsese, Martin] Medea, 1969. Dir. Pier Paolo Pasolini. Maria Callas, Massimo Girotti, Laurent Terzieff, Giuseppe Gentile, Margareth Clémenti. [Greek and Roman Myths] Medea, 1988. Dir. Lars von Trier. Udo Kier, Kirsten Olesen, Henning Jensen, Solbjørg Højfeldt, Preben Lerdorff Rye. [Trier, Lars von] Meet John Doe, 1941. Dir. Frank Capra. Gary Cooper, Barbara Stanwyck, Edward Arnold, Walter Brennan, Spring Byington. [Capra, Frank] Meet Me in St, Louis, 1944. Dir. Vincent Minnelli. Judy Garland, Margaret O’Brien, Mary Astor, Lucille Bremer, Leon Ames. [Ritual] Megiddo: The Omega Code 2, 2001. Dir. Brian Trenchard-Smith. Michael York, Michael Biehn, Joseph Makkar, Guy Siner, Diane Venora. [End-of-the-World Films] Melvin and Howard, 1980. Dir. Jonathan Demme. Jason Robards, Paul Le Mat, Elizabeth Cheshire, Mary Steenburgen, Chip Taylor. [Mormonism] Men Who Tread on the Tiger’s Tail, The. See Tora no o wo fumu otokotachi. Mercedes, 1993. Dir. Yousry Nasrallah. Zaki Abdel Wahab, Taheya Cariocca, Seif El Dine, Ahmad Kamal, Magdy Kamel. [Arab Film] Merveilleuse vie de Jeanne d’Arc, La (Saint Joan the Maid), 1929. Dir. Marco de Gastyne. Simone Genevois, Fernand Mailly, Georges Paulais, Jean Debucourt, Philippe Hériat. [Joan of Arc] Merveilleuse visite, La (The Marvelous Visit), 1974. Dir. Marcel Carne. Gilles Kohler, Roland Lesaffre, Debra Berger, Lucien Barjon, Mary Marquet, Yves Barsacq. [Europe (Continental)] Meschugge (Don’t), 1998. Dir. Dani Levy. Maria Schrader, Dani Levy, David Strathairn, Nichole Heesters, Jeffrey Wright. [Europe (Continental)] Meshes of the Afternoon, 1943. Dir. Maya Deren, Alexander Hammid. Maya Deren, Alexander Hammid. [Mysticism]

524 | Appendix: Filmography

Message, The, 1976. Dir. Moustapha Akkad. Anthony Quinn, Irene Papas, Michael Ansara, Johnny Sekka, Michael Forest. [Animated Films; Islam] Messenger: The Story of Joan of Arc, The, 1999. Dir. Luc Besson. Milla Jovovich, Dustin Hoffman, Faye Dunaway, John Malkovich, Vincent Cassel. [Besson, Luc; Europe (Continental); Joan of Arc; Ritual] Messers, Lumière at Card, The. See Partie de cartes. Metropolis, 1927. Dir. Fritz Lang. Alfred Abel, Gustav Frohlich, Rudolf Klein-Rogge, Fritz Rasp, Theodor Loos. [End-of-the-World Films; Myth; Posthumanism; Science Fiction] Metropolis. See Metoroporisu. Metoroporisu (Metropolis), 2001. Dir. Rintaro. Yuka Imoto, Kei Kobayashi, Kouki Okada, Jamieson Price. [Japan] Midnight Express, 1978. Dir. Alan Parker. Brad Davis, Irene Miracle, Bo Hopkins, Paolo Bonacelli, Paul L. Smith. [Islam] Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, 1997. Dir. Clint Eastwood. John Cusack, Kevin Spacey, Jack Thompson, Irma P. Hall, Jude Law. [Ritual] Milky Way, The. See voie lactée, Le. Miller’s Crossing, 1990. Dir. Joel Coen. Gabriel Byrne, Marcia Gay Harden, John Turturro, John Polio, J.E. Freeman. [Coen, Joel and Ethan] Minority Report, 2002. Dir. Steven Spielberg. Tom Cruise, Max von Sydow, Steve Harris, Neal McDonough, Patrick Kilpatrick, Jessica Capshaw. [Dystopia; Protestantism; Science Fiction] Minotaur, The. See Teseo contro il minotauro. Miracle in Milan. See Miracolo a Milano. Miracle, The. See Miracolo, Il. Miracle of the Bells, The, 1948. Dir. Irving Pichel. Fred MacMurray, Alida Valli, Frank Sinatra, Lee J. Cobb, Harold Vermilyea, Charles Meredith. [Clergy] Miracle Man, The, 1919. Dir. George Loane Tucker. Lon Chaney, Betty Compson, Joseph J. Dowling, J.M. Dumont, Elinor Fair, Thomas Meighan. [Silent Film] Miracle of Our Lady of Fatima, The, 1952, Dir. John Brahm. Susan Whitney, Sherry Jackson, Carl Milletair, Sammy Ogg, Gilbert Roland. [Catholicism] Miracle on 34th Street, 1947. Dir. George Seaton. Maureen O’Hara, John Payne, Edmund Gwenn, Gene Lockhart, Natalie Wood. [Ritual] Miracle Woman, The, 1931. Dir. Frank Capra. Barbara Stanwyck, David Manners, Sam Hardy, Beryl Mercer, Russell Hopton. [Clergy] Miracle Worker, The. See Chudotvornaya. Miracolo, Il (The Miracle), 1948. Dir. Roberto Rossellini. Anna Magnani, Sylvia Bataille, Lia Corelli, Federico Fellini, Gabrielle Fontan. [Censorship in Hollywood; Europe (Continental); Fellini, Federico; THE MIRACLE CONTROVERSY]

Appendix: Filmography | 525

Miracolo a Milano (Miracle in Milan), 1951. Dir. Vittorio De Sica. Emma Gramatica, Francesco Golisano, Paolo Stoppa, Guglielmo Barnabò, Brunella Bovo. [Europe (Continental)] Mirror, The. See Zerkalo. Misery, 1990. Dir. Rob Reiner. James Caan, Kathy Bates, Richard Farnsworth, Frances Sternhagen, Lauren Bacall. [Belief] Mission, The, 1986. Dir. Roland Joffe. Robert De Niro, Jeremy Irons, Ray McAnally, Aidan Quinn, Cherie Lunghi, Ronald Pickup. [Britain; Catholicism; Clergy] Mission: Impossible II, 2000. Dir. John Woo. Tom Cruise, Dougray Scott, Thandie Newton, Ving Rhames, Richard Roxburgh. [Tolkin, Michael] Mississippi Mermaid. See Sirene du Mississippi, La. Moment of Innocence, A. See Nun va Goldoon. Monanieba (Repentance), 1984. Dir. Tengiz Abuladze. Avtandil Makharadze, Ya Ninidze, Zeinab Botsvadze, Ketevan Abuladze, Edisher Giorgobiani. [Russia] Monday’s Girls, 1993. Documentary. Dir. Ngozi Onwurah. [Women] Money. See L’Argent. Mononoke Hime (Princess Mononoke), 1997. Dir. Hayao Miyazaki. Yôji Matsuda, Yuriko Ishida, Yûko Tanaka, Kaoru Kobayashi, Masahiko Nishimura. [Japan; Miyazaki, Hayao] Monsieur Vincent, 1947. Dir. Maurice Cloche. Pierre Fresnay, Aime Clairond, Jean Debuourt, Lise Delamare. [Europe (Continental)] Monsignor, 1982. Dir. Frank Perry. Christopher Reeve, Geneviève Bujold, Fernando Rey, Jason Miller, Joseph Cortese. [Clergy] Monsoon Wedding, 2001. Dir. Mira Nair. Naseeruddin Shah, Lillete Dubey, Shefali Shetty, Vijay Raaz, Tilotama Shome. [Hinduism; Ritual] Monty Python and the Holy Grail, 1975. Dir. Terry Gilliam, Terry Jones. Graham Chapman, John Cleese, Eric Idle, Terry Gilliam, Terry Jones. [Gilliam, Terry; Ritual] Moonlight. See Chandni. Mormon Maid, A, 1917. Dir. Robert Z. Leonard. Mae Murray, Frank Borzage, Hobart Bosworth, Edythe Chapman, Noah Beery. [Mormonism] Moslem, A. See Musulmanin. Mother and the Law, The, 1919. Dir. D. W. Griffith. Mae Marsh, Robert Harron, Miriam Cooper, Vera Lewis, Sam De Grasse. [Catholicism] Mouchette, 1967. Dir. Robert Bresson. Nadine Nortier, Jean-Claude Guilbert, Marie Cardinal, Paul Hebert, Jean Vimenet. [Bresson, Robert] Mr. Deeds Goes to Town, 1936. Dir. Frank Capra. Gary Cooper, Jean Arthur, George Bancroft, Lionel Stander, Douglass Dubrille, Raymond Walburn. [Capra, Frank]

526 | Appendix: Filmography

Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, 1938. Dir. Frank Capra. Jean Arthur, James Stewart, Claude Rains, Edward Arnold, Guy Kibbee. [Capra, Frank] al-Muhajir (The Emigrant), 1994. Dir. Youssef Chahine. Ahmed Bedir, Safia El Emari, Mahmoud Hemida, Yousef Ismail, Khaled Habawy. [Africa; Arab Film] Muhammad: The Last Prophet, 2004. Dir. Richard Rich. Eli Allem. [Animated Films] Mulan, 1998. Dir. Tony Bancroft, Barry Cook. Miguel Ferrer, Harvey Fierstein, Freda Foh Shen, June Foray, James Hong. [Animated Films; Buddhism] Mulan 2, 2004. Dir. Darrell Rooney, Lynne Southerland. Ming-Na, B. D. Wong, Mark Moseley, Lucy Liu, Harvey Fierstein. [Buddhism] Mummy, The, 1999. Dir. Stephen Sommers. Brendan Fraser, Rachel Weisz, John Hannah, Arnold Vosloo, Kevin J. O’Connor. [Horror] Music Man, The, 1962. Dir. Morton DaCosta. Robert Preston, Shirley Jones, Buddy Hackett, Hermione Gingold, Paul Ford, Ron Howard. [Ritual] Musulmanin (A Moslem), 1995. Dir. Vladimir Khotinenko. Yevgeni Mironov, Aleksandr Baluyev, Nina Usatova. [Russia] My Big Fat Greek Wedding, 2002. Dir. Joel Zwick. Nia Vardalos, Michael Constantine, Christina Eleusiniotis, Kaylee Vieira, John Kalangis, Lainie Kazan. [Ritual] My Fair Lady, 1964. Dir. George Cukor. Audrey Hepburn, Rex Harrison, Stanley Holloway, Wilfrid Hyde-White, Gladys Cooper. [Ritual] My Name Is Ivan. See Ivanovo Destvo. My Neighbor Totoro. See Tonari no Totoro. My Son the Fanatic, 1997. Dir. Udayan Prasad. Om Puri, Rachel Griffiths, Akbar Kurtha, Stellen Skargard, Gopi Desai. [Britain; Islam] Mystic Masseur, 2001. Dir. Ismail Merchant. Om Puri, Aasif Mandvi, Ayesha Dharker, Jimi Mistry, Sanjeev Bhaskar. [Hinduism] —N— Nacho Libre, 2006. Dir. Jared Hess. Jack Black, Ana de la Reguera, Héctor Jiménez, Darius Rose, Moises Arias. [Clergy] Nadja, 1994. Dir. Michael Almereyda. Elina Lowensohn, Nic Ratner, Karl Geary, Peter Fonda, Martin Donovan. [Vampires] Name der Rose, Der (The Name of the Rose), 1986. Dir. Jean-Jacques Annaud. Sean Connery, Christian Slater, Helmut Qualtinger, Elya Baskin, Michael Lonsdale. [Europe (Continental)] Name of the Rose, The. See Name der Rose, Der. Napoleon Dynamite, 2004. Dir. Jared Hess. Jon Heder, Jon Gries, Aaron Ruell, Efren Ramirez, Diedrich Bader. [Mormonism]

Appendix: Filmography | 527

Naqoyqatsi: Life as War, 2002. Documentary. Dir. Godfrey Reggio. [Mysticism] Nashville, 1975. Dir. Robert Altman. David Arkin, Barbara Baxley, Ned Beatty, Karen Black, Ronee Blakley, Timothy Brown, Keith Carradine, Shelley Duvall, Scott Glenn, Jeff Goldblum. [Altman, Robert] National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, 1989. Dir. Jeremiah S. Chechik. Chevy Chase, Beverly D’Angelo, Juliette Lewis, Johnny Galecki, John Randolph. [Holidays] Nativity, The, 1987. Dir. Don Lusk. Gregory Harrison, Helen Hunt, Vincent Price, David Ackroyd, Roscoe Lee Browne. [Holidays] Nativity Story, The, 2006. Dir. Catherine Hardwicke. Keisha Castle-Hughes, Oscar Isaac, Hiam Abbass, Shaun Toub, Ciarán Hinds. [Holidays] Nattvardsgästerna (Winter Light), 1962. Dir. Ingmar Bergman. Ingrid Thulin, Gunnar Björnstrand, Gunnel Lindblom, Max von Sydow, Allan Edwall. [Clergy; Europe (Continental)] Natural, The, 1984. Dir. Barry Levinson. Robert Redford, Glenn Close, Kim Basinger, Wilford Brimley, Barbara Hershey. [Sports] Natural Born Killers, 1994. Dir. Oliver Stone. Woody Harelson, Juliette Lewis, Tom Sizemore, Rodney Dangerfield, Everett Quinton. [Tarantino, Quentin] Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind. See Kaze no tani no Naushika. Nazarín, 1959. Dir. Luis Buñuel. Francisco Rabel, Marga López, Rita Macedo, Jesús Fernández, Ignacio López Tarso. [Buñuel, Luis; Europe (Continental)] Neon Bible, The, 1995. Dir. Terence Davies. Jacob Tierney, Drake Bell, Gena Rowlands, Diana Scarwid, Denis Leary. [Protestantism] Net, The, 1995. Dir. Irwin Winkler. Sandra Bulock, Jeremy Northam, Dennis Miller, Diane Baker, Wendy Gazelle, Ken Howard. [Posthumanism] Never Say Never Again, 1983. Dir. Irvin Kershner. Sean Connery, Klaus Maria Brandauer, Max von Sydow, Barbara Carrera, Kim Basinger. [Islam] New Age, The, 1994. Dir. Michael Tolkin. Peter Weller, Judy Davis, Patrick Bauchau, Rachel Rosenthal, Adam West. [Tolkin, Michael] New York Hat, The, 1912. Dir. D. W. Griffith. Mary Pickford, Charles Hill Mailes, Kate Bruce, Lionel Barrymore, Alfred Paget. [Clergy; Silent Film] New York, New York, 1977. Dir. Martin Scorsese. Liza Minnelli, Robert De Niro, Lionel Stander, Barry Primus, Mary Kay Place. [Scorsese, Martin] Night of the Hunter, 1955. Dir. Charles Laughton. Robert Mitchum, Shelley Winters, Lillian Gish, James Gleason, Evelyn Varden. [Clergy] Night of the Iguana, 1964. Dir. John Huston. Richard Burton, Ava Gardner, Deborah Kerr, Sue Lyon, Skip Ward. [Clergy] Night of the Living Dead, 1968. Dir. George A. Romero. Duane Jones, Judith O’Dea, Karl Hardman, Marilyn Eastman, Keith Wayne. [Horror; Voodoo]

528 | Appendix: Filmography

Nightmare Before Christmas, The, 1993. Dir. Henry Selick. Danny Elfman, Chris Sarandon, Catherine O’Hara, William Hickey, Glenn Shadix. [Holidays] Nights of Cabiria, The. See Notti de Cabiria, La. 1984, 1956. Dir. Michael Anderson. Edmond O’Brien, Michael Redgrave, Jan Sterling, David Kossoff, Mervyn Johns. [Dystopia] Nineteen Eighty-Four, 1984. Dir. Michael Radford. John Hurt, Richard Burton, Suzanna Hamilton, Cyril Cusack, Gregor Fisher. [Dystopia] Ninth Gate, The, 1999. Dir. Roman Polanski. Johnny Depp, Frank Langella, Lena Olin, Emmanuelle Seigner, Barbara Jefford. [Europe (Continental)] Nirgendwo in Afrika (Nowhere in Africa), 2001. Dir. Caroline Link. Juliane Kohler, Merab Ninidze, Sidede Onyulo, Matthias Habich, Lea Kurka. [Judaism] No Country for Old Men, 2007. Dir. Ethan Coen, Joel Coen. Tommy Lee Jones, Javier Bardem, Josh Brolin, Woody Harrelson, Kelly Macdonald, Garret Dillahunt, Tess Harper, Barry Corbin, Stephen Root. [Coen, Joel and Ethan] No End. See Bez konca. Nocturne, 1980. Dir. Lars von Trier. Yvette, Solbjørg Højfeldt, Anne-Lise Gabold. [Trier, Lars von] Nosferatu, eine Symphonie des Grauens (Nosferatu the Vampire), 1922. Dir. F.W. Murnau. Max Schreck, Gustav von Wangenheim, Greta Schoder, Alexander Granach, Georg H. Schnell. [Horror; Vampires] Nosferatu: Phantom der Nacht (Nosferatu the Vampyre), 1979. Dir. Werner Herzog. Klaus Kinski, Isabelle Adjani, Bruno Ganz, Roland Topor, Walter Ladengast. [Vampires] Nosferatu the Vampire. See Nosferatu, eine Symphonie des Grauens. Nosferatu the Vampyre. See Nosferatu: Phantom der Nacht. Nostalghia (Nostalgia), 1983. Dir. Andrei Tarkovsky. Oleg Yankovsky, Erland Josephson, Domiziana Giordano, Patrizia Terreno, Laura De Marchi. [Russia; Tarkovsky, Andrei] Nostalgia. See Nostalghia. Notti de Cabiria, La (The Nights of Cabiria), 1957. Dir. Federico Fellini. Giulietta Masina, Francois Perier, Franca Marzi, Dorian Gray, Aldo Silvani. [Fellini, Federico; Pasolini, Paolo] Not Without My Daughter, 1991. Dir. Brian Gilbert. Sally Field, Alfred Molina, Sheila Rosenthal, Roshan Seth, Sarah Badel. [Islam] Nowhere in Africa. See Nirgendwo in Afrika. Nuit américaine, La (Day for Night), 1973. Dir. Françiois Truffaut. Jacqueline Bisset, Valentina Cortese, Dani, Alexandra Stewart, Jean-Pierre Aumont. [Truffaut, Françiois]

Appendix: Filmography | 529

Nun, The. See religieuse, La. Nun’s Story, The, 1959. Dir. Fred Zinnemann. Audrey Hepburn, Peter Finch, Edith Evans, Peggy Ashcroft, Dean Jagger. [Catholicism] Nuovo cinema Paradiso (Cinema Paradiso), 1988. Dir. Giuseppe Tornatore. Antonella Attili, Enzo Cannavale, Isa Danieli, Leo Gullotta, Marco Leonardi. [Clergy] Nurse Betty, 2000. Dir. Neil LaBute. Morgan Freeman, Renée Zellweger, Chris Rock, Greg Kinnear, Aaron Eckhart, Tia Texada, Crispin Glover, Allison Janney. [Mormonism] Nutty Professor, The, 1996. Dir. Tom Shadyac. Eddie Murphy, Jada Pinkett Smith, James Coburn, Larry Miller, Dave Chappelle. [Myth] —O— O Brother, Where Art Thou?, 2000. Dir. Joel Coen. George Clooney, John Turturo, Tim Blake Nelson, John Goodman, Holly Hunter, Christ Thomas King. [Coen, Joel and Ethan; Eucatastrophe; Greek and Roman Myth; Posthumanism; Ritual] October. See Oktyabr. Odyssey, The, 1997. Television. Dir. Andrei Konchalovsky. Armand Assante, Greta Scacchi, Isabella Rossellini, Bernadette Peters, Eric Roberts. [Greek and Roman Myth] Oedipus Rex. See Edipo Re. Offret (The Sacrifice), 1986. Dir. Andrei Tarkovsky. Erland Josephson, Susan Fleetwood, Tommy Kjellqvist, Allan Edwall, Gudrún Gísladóttir. [Russia; Tarkovsky, Andrei] Ogre, The. See Unhold, Der. Oh, God! 1977. Dir. Carl Reiner. George Burns, John Denver, Teri Garr, Paul Sorvino. [God] Oh, God! Book II, 1980. Dir. Gilbert Cates. George Burns, Louanne Sirota, David Birney, Suzanne Pleshette, Anthony Holland. [God] Oktyabr (October), 1928. Dir. Grigori Aleksandrov, Sergei M. Eisenstein. Vladimir Popov, Vasili Nikandrov, Layaschenko. [Russia] Omega Code, The, 1999. Dir. Robert Marcarelli. Casper Van Dien, Michael York, Catherine Oxenberg, Michael Ironside, Jan Triska. [End-of-the-World Films; Missionary Films] Omen, The, 1976. Dir. Richard Donner. Gregory Peck, Lee Remick, David Warner, Billie Whitelaw, Harvey Stephens. [Catholicism; Clergy; Devil; End-of-the-World Films; Horror; Mysticism] Omen II. See Damien: Omen II. Omen III: The Final Conflict. See Final Conflict, The.

530 | Appendix: Filmography

Omen IV: The Awakening, 1991. Television. Dir. Jorge Montesi, Dominique Othenin-Girard. Faye Grant, Michael Woods, Michael Lerner, Madison Mason, Ann Hearn. [Clergy; End-of-the-World Films] On the Beach, 1959. Dir. Stanley Kramer. Gregory Peck, Ava Gardner, Fred Astaire, Anthony Perkins, Donna Anderson, John Tate. [End-of-the-World Films; Protestantism] On the Waterfront, 1954. Dir. Elia Kazan. Marlon Brando, Karl Malden, Lee J. Cobb, Rod Steiger, Pat Henning. [Clergy] Once Upon a Time in America,1984. Dir. Sergio Leone. Robert De Niro, James Woods, Elizabeth McGovern, Tuesday Weld, Treat Williams. [Leone, Sergio] Once Upon a Time in China II. See Wong Fei Hung II: Naam yi dong ji keung. Once Upon a Time in the West. See C’era una volta il West. One Foot in Heaven, 1941. Dir. Irving Rapper. Fredric March, Martha Scott, Beulah Bondi, Gene Lockhart, Elisabeth Fraser. [Clergy] One Man’s Way, 1964. Dir. Denis Sanders. Don Murray, Diana Hyland, William Windom, Virginia Christine, Carol Ohmart. [Clergy] Order, The, 2003. Dir. Brian Helgeland. Heath Ledger, Shannyn Sossamon, Benno Furmann, Mark Addy, Peter Weller. [Horror; Mysticism] Ordet (The Word), 1955. Dir. Kaj Munk, Carl Theodor Dreyer. Hanne Agesen, Kristen Andresen, Sylvia Eckhausen, Birgiette Federspiel, Enjer Federspiel. [Clergy; Dreyer, Carl Theodor; Europe (Continental)] Orgazmo, 1997. Dir. Trey Parker. Trey Parker, Dian Bachar, Robyn Lynne Raab, Michael Dean Jacobs, Ron Jeremy. [Mormonism] orgía de los muertos, La (Terror of the Living Dead, also known as The Hanging Woman), 1973. Dir. José Luis Merino. Stelvio Rosi, Maria Pia Conte, Dyanik Zurakowska, Pasquale Basile, Gérard Tichy. [Devil] Orizuru Osen (The Downfall of Osen), 1935. Dir. Kenji Mizoguchi. Isuzu Yamada, Daijirô Natsukawa, Mitsusaburô Ramon, Genichi Fuji, Shin Shibata. [Mizoguchi, Kenji] Orphée (Orpheus), 1950. Dir. Jean Cocteau. Jean Marais, Francois Perier, Maria Casares, Marie Dea, Henri Cremieux. [Greek and Roman Myth; Mysticism] Orpheus. See Orphée. Oscar and Lucinda, 1997. Dir. Gillian Armstrong. Ralph Fiennes, Cate Blanchett, Ciarán Hinds, Tom Wilkinson, Richard Roxburgh. [Australia] Ososhiki (The Funeral), 1984. Dir. Juzo Itami. Tsutomu Yamazaki, Nobuko Miyamoto, Kin Sugai, Hideji Otaki. [Japan] Ostrov (The Island), 2006. Dir. Pavel Lungin. Pyotr Mamonov, Viktor Sukhorukov, Dmitri Dyuzhev, Yuri Kuznetsov, Viktoriya Isakova, Nina Usatova. [Russia]

Appendix: Filmography | 531

Otets Sergiy (Father Sergius), 1917. Dir. Yakov Protazanov, Alexandre Volkoff. Ivan Mozzhukhin, Olga Kondorova, V. Dzheneyeva, Vladimir Gajdarov, Nikolai Panov. [Russia] Others, The, 2001. Dir. Alejandro Amenabar. Nicole Kidman, Fionnula Flanagan, Christopher Eccleston, Alakina Mann, James Bentley. [Europe (Continental)] Ouanga, 1936. Dir. George Terwilliger. Fredi Washington, Philip Brandon, Marie Paxton, Sheldon Leonard, Winifred Harris. [Voodoo] Our Lady of the Assassins. See Virgen de los Sicarios, La. Outlaw, The, 1943. Dir. Howard Hughes. Jack Beautel, Jane Russell, Thomas Mitchell, Walter Huston, Mimi Aguglia. [Censorship in Hollywood] Outsiders. See Ceddo. Outsiders, The, 1983. Dir. Francis Ford Coppola. C. Thomas Howell, Matt Dillon, Ralph Macchio, Patrick Swayze, Rob Lowe, Emilio Estevez, Tom Cruise, Glenn Withrow, Diane Lane, Leif Garrett. [Coppola, Francis Ford] Ox-Bow Incident, The, 1943. Dir. William A. Wellman. Henry Fonda, Dana Andrews, Mary Beth Hughes, Anthony Quinn, Harry Morgan. [Protestantism; Westerns] —P— Pale Rider, 1985. Dir. Clint Eastwood. Clint Eastwood, Michael Moriarty, Carrie Snodgress, Chris Penn, Richard Dysart, Sydney Penny, Richard Kiel. [Protestantism; Westerns] Pandora and the Flying Dutchman, 1951. Dir. Albert Lewin. James Mason, Ava Gardener, Nigel Patrick, Sheila Sim, Harold Warrender. [Mysticism] Paradise Now. See Al-Djanna al’an. Partie de campange (A Day in the Country), 1936. Dir. Jean Renoir. Sylvia Bataille, Georges D’Arnoux, Jane Marken, André Gabriello, Jacques B. Brunius. [THE MIRACLE Controversy] Partie de cartes (The Messers. Lumière at Cards), 1895. Dir. Louis Lumière. Antoine Féraud, Antoice Lumière, Félicien Trewey, Anphonse Winckler. [Russia] Pass the Ammo, 1988. Dir. David Beaird. Bill Paxton, Linda Kozlowski, Tim Curry, Annie Potts, Dennis Burkley. [Clergy] Passion de Jeanne d’Arc, La (The Passion of Joan of Arc), 1928. Dir. Carl Theodor Dreyer. Maria Falconetti, Eugene Silvain, Andre Berley, Maurice Schutz, Antonin Artaud. [Dreyer, Carl Theodor; Europe (Continental); Joan of Arc; Mysticism] Passion of Joan of Arc, The. See Passion de Jeanne d’Arc, La. Passion of the Christ, The, 2004. Dir. Mel Gibson. James Caviezel, Maia Morgenstern, Christo Jivkov, Francesco De Vito, Monica Bellucci.

532 | Appendix: Filmography

[Introduction; Bible Films; Censorship in Hollywood; Horror; Jesus; Missionary Films; Myth; THE PASSION OF THE CHRIST Controversy; Russia; Women] Passion Play, The. See Vie et la passion de Jésus Christ, La. Pastor Jones, 2005. Dir. Jean-Claude La Marre. Tracia Daye, Larry Flash Jenkins, Malik Barnhardt, Jean-Claude La Marre, Doreen Gakwandi. [Clergy] Patriot, The, 2000. Dir. Roland Emmerich. Mel Gibson, Heath Ledger, Joely Richardson, Jason Isaacs, Chris Cooper, Tchéky Karyo, Rene Auberjonois, Lisa Brenner, Tom Wilkinson, Donal Logue, Adam Baldwin. [Protestantism; Ritual] Pawnbroker, The, 1964. Dir. Sidney Lumet. Rod Steiger, Geraldine Fitzgerald, Brock Peters, Jamie Sanchez, Thelma Oliver. [Censorship in Hollywood; Holocaust, The] Peacemaker, The, 1997. Dir. Mimi Leder. George Clooney, Nicole Kidman, Marcel Iures, Aleksanr Baluyev, Rene Medvesek. [Islam] peau douce, La (The Soft Skin), 1964. Dir. François Truffaut. Jean Desailly, Francois Dorleac, Nelly Benedetti, Daneil Ceccaldi, Laurence Badie. [Truffaut, François] Peggy Sue Got Married, 1986. Dir. Francis Ford Coppola. Kathleen Turner, Nicholas Cage, Barry Miller, Catherine Hicks, Joan Allen, Kevin J. O’Connor, Jim Carrey. [Coppola, Francis Ford] Pelle the Conqueror. See Pelle erobreren. Pelle erobreren (Pelle the Conqueror), 1987. Dir. Bille August. Pelle Hvenegaard, Max von Sydow, Erik Paaske, Björn Granath, Astrid Villaume. [Europe (Continental)] Perfect Couple, A, 1979. Dir. Robert Altman. Paul Dooley, Mara Heflin, Titos Vandis, Belita Moreno, Henry Gibson. [Altman, Robert] Per qualche dollaro in più (For a Few Dollars More), 1965. Dir. Sergio Leone. Clint Eastwood, Lee Van Cleef, Gian Maria Volontè, Mara Krupp, Luigi Pistilli. [Leone, Sergio] Per un pugno di dollari (A Fistful of Dollars), 1964. Dir. Sergio Leone. Clint Eastwood, Marianne Koch, Gian Maria Volonté, Wolfgang Lukschy, Sieghardt Rupp. [Leone, Sergio] Perfect Human, The. See perfekte menneske, Det. perfekte menneske, Det (The Perfect Human), 1967. Dir. Jørgen Leth. Claus Nissen, Majken Algren Nielsen. [Trier, Lars von] Peter Ibbetson, 1935. Dir. Henry Hathaway. Gary Cooper, Ann Harding, John Halliday, Ida Lupino, Douglass Dumbrille. [Mysticism]

Appendix: Filmography | 533

Peter Pan, 1953. Dir. Clyde Geronimi, Wilfred Jackson, Hamilton Luske. Bobby Driscoll, Kathryn Beaumont, Hans Conried, Bill Thompson, Heather Angel. [Ritual] Peter Pan, 2003. Dir. P. J. Hogan. Jason Isaacs, Jeremy Sumpter, Rachel HurdWood, Lynn Redgrave, Richard Briers, Olivia Williams. [Ritual] Phantom Carriage, The. See Körkarlen. Phoolan Devi (Bandit Queen), 1994. Dir. Shekhar Kapur. Seema Biswas, Aditya Srivastava, Agesh Markham, Ajai Rohilla, Anirudh Agarwal. [Hinduism] Phörpa (The Cup), 1999. Dir. Khyentse Norbu. Orgyen Tobgyal, Neten Chokling, Jamyang Lodro, Lama Chonjor, Lama Godhi. [Clergy; Ritual] π (Pi), 1998. Dir. Darren Aronofsky. Sean Gullette, Mark Margolis, Ben Shenkman, Pamela Hart, Stephen Pearlman. [Belief; Judaism; Mysticism] Pianist, The, 2002. Dir. Roman Polanski. Adrien Brody, Thomas Kretschmann, Frank Finlay, Maureen Lipman, Emilia Fox. [Europe (Continental); Judaism] Pickpocket, 1959. Dir. Robert Bresson. Matin LaSalle, Marika Green, Jean Pélégri, Dolly Scal, Pierre Leymarie. [Bresson, Robert] Picnic at Hanging Rock, 1975. Dir. Peter Weir. Rachel Roberts, Vivean Gray, Helen Morse, Kirsty Child, Tony Llewellyn-Jones. [Australia] Pilgrim, The, 1923. Dir. Charles Chaplin. Charles Chaplin, Edna Purviance, Kitty Bradbury, Syd Chaplin, Mack Swain. [Clergy; Silent Film] Pilgrim’s Progress, 1950. Dir. Charles O. (Carlos Octavia) Baptista. [Missionary Films] Pink Panther, The, 1963. Dir. Blake Edwards. David Niven, Peter Sellers, Robert Wagner, Capucine, Brenda De Banzie, Colin Gordon. [Myth] Plague of the Zombies, The,1966. Dir. John Gilling. André Morell, Diane Clare, Brook Williams, Jacueline Pearce, John Carson. [Voodoo] Plan 9 from Outer Space, 1959. Dir. Edward D. Wood, Jr. Gregory Walcott, Mona McKinnon, Duke Moore, Tom Keene, Carl Anthony. [Voodoo] Planet of the Apes, 1968. Dir. Franklin J. Schaffner. Charlton Heston, Roddy McDowall, Kim Hunter, Maurice Evans, James Whitmore. [End-of-theWorld Films] Player, The, 1992. Dir. Robert Altman. Tim Robbins, Greta Scacchi, Fred Ward, Whoopi Goldberg, Peter Gallagher, Vincent D’Onofrio, Dean Stockwell, Sydney Pollack, Lyle Lovett, Dina Merrill. [Altman, Robert; Tolkin, Michael] Pocahontas, 1995. Dir. Mike Gabriel, Eric Goldberg. Irene Bedard, Judy Kuhn, Mel Gibson, David Ogden Stiers, John Kassir. [Animated Films] Poltergeist, 1982. Dir. Tobe Hooper. Craig T. Nelson, JoBeth Williams, Beatrice Straight, Dominique Dunne, Oliver Robins, Heather O’Rourke. [Devil]

534 | Appendix: Filmography

Poltergeist II: The Other Side, 1986. Dir. Brian Gibson. JoBeth Williams, Craig T. Nelson, Heather O’Rourke, Oliver Robins, Zelda Rubinstein. [Clergy] Pope Must Die, The (also known as The Pope Must Diet), 1991. Dir. Peter Richardson. Robbie Coltrane, Alex Rocco, Adrian Edmondson, Paul Bartel, Damir Mejovsek. [Clergy] Pope Must Diet, The. See Pope Must Die, The. Popeye, 1980. Dir. Robert Altman. Robin Williams, Shelly Duvall, Ray Walston, Paul Dooley, Paul L. Smith, Richard Libertini, Donald Moffat. [Altman, Robert] Popeye the Sailor Meets Ali Baba’s Forty Thieves, 1937. Dir. Dave Fleischer. Jack Mercer, Mae Questel, Gus Wickie. [Islam] Poseidon Adventure, The, 1972. Dir. Ronald Neame. Gene Hackman, Ernest Borgnine, Red Buttons, Carol Lynley, Roddy McDowall, Stella Stevens, Shelley Winters, Jack Albertson, Pamela Sue Martin. [Protestantism] Posse, 1993. Dir. Mario Van Peebles. Mario Van Peebles, Stephen Baldwin, Charles Lane, Tommy “Tiny” Lester, Big Daddy Kane, Billy Zane, Blair Underwood, Melvin Van Peebles, Ton Loc, Pam Grier, Isaac Hayes. [Westerns] Postman, The, 1997. Dir. Kevin Costner. Kevin Costner, Will Patton, Larenz Tate, Olivia Williams, James Russo. [End-of-the-World Films] Potomok Chingis-Khana (Storm Over Asia), 1928. Dir. Vsevolod Pudovkin. Valéry Inkijinoff, I. Dedintsev, Aleksandr Chistyakov, Viktor Tsoppi. [Russia] Powaqqatsi: Life in Transformation, 1988. Documentary. Dir. Godfrey Reggio. [Mysticism] Powwow Highway, 1989. Dir. Jonathan Wacks. A Martinez, Gary Farmer, Joannelle Nadine Romero, Amandy Wyss, Sam Vlahos. [American Indian Religion; Ritual] Prazdnik svyatogo Yorgena (Holiday of St. Jorgen), 1930. Dir. Yakov Protazanov, Porfiri Podobed. Igor Ilyinsky, Anatoli Ktorov, Mariya Strelkova, Mikhail Klimov, Vladimir Uralsky. [Russia] Preacher’s Wife, The, 1996. Dir. Penny Marshall. Denzel Washington, Whitney Houston, Courtney B. Vance, Gregory Hines, Jenifer Lewis. [Black Church, The; Clergy; Protestantism] Predator, 1987. Dir. John McTiernan. Arnold Schwarzenegger, Carl Weathers, Elpidia Carrillo, Bill Duke, Jesse Ventura. [Science Fiction] Prêt-à-Porter, 1994. Dir. Robert Altman. Marcello Mastroianni, Sophia Loren, Jean-Pierre Cassel, Kim Basinger, Stephen Rea, Rupert Everett. [Altman, Robert] Price Above Rubies, A, 1998. Dir. Boaz Yakin. Renée Zellweger, Christopher Eccleston, Julianna Margulies, Allen Payne, Glenn Fitzgerald. [Judaism]

Appendix: Filmography | 535

Prince of Egypt, The, 1998. Dir. Brenda Chapman, Steve Hickner. Val Kilmer, Ralph Fiennes, Michelle Pfeiffer, Sandra Bullock, Jeff Goldblum. [Animated Films] Princess Diaries, The, 2001. Dir. Garry Marshall. Julie Andrews, Anne Hathaway, Hector Elizondo, Heather Matarazzo, Mandy Moore. [Ritual] Princess Mononoke. See Mononoke Hime. Procès de Jeanne d’Arc (Trial of Joan of Arc), 1962 . Dir. Robert Bresson. Florence Delay, Jean-Claude Fourneau, Roger Honorat, Marc Jacquier, Jean Gillibert. [Bresson, Robert; Europe (Continental)] Prodigal Planet, The, 1983. Dir. Donald W. Thompson. William Wellman, Jr., Lynda Beatie, Terri Lynn Hall, Thom Rachford, Robert Chestnut, Cathy Wellman, Russell S. Doughten, Jr. [End-of-the-World Films] Producers, The, 1968. Dir. Mel Brooks. Zero Mostel, Gene Wilder, Kenneth Mars, Dick Shawn, Estelle Winwood. [Brooks, Mel] Professional, The. See Léon. Prospero’s Books, 1991. Dir. Peter Greenaway. John Gielgud, Michael Clark, Michel Blanc, Erland Josephson, Isabelle Pasco. [Magic] Protocol, 1984. Dir. Herbert Ross. Goldie Hawn, Chris Sarandon, Richard Romanus, Andre Gregory, Gail Strickland. [Islam] Przypadek (Blind Chance), 1987. Dir. Krzysztof Kies´lowski. Boguslaw Linda, Tadeusz Lomnicki, Zbigniew Zapasiewicz, Boguslawa Pawelc, Marzena Trybala. [Kies´lowski, Krzysztof] Psycho, 1960. Dir. Alfred Hitchcock. Anthony Perkins, Janet Leigh, Vera Miles, John Gavin, Martin Balsam. [Devil] Public Affairs. See Affaires Publiques, Les. Public Enemy, The,1931. Dir. William A. Wellman. James Cagney, Jean Harlow, Edward Woods, Joan Blondell, Donald Cook. [Catholicism; Censorship in Hollywood] Pueblo Legend, A, 1912. Dir. D. W. Griffith. Mary Pickford, Wilfred Lucas, Robert Harron, J. Jiquel Lanoe, Charles Hill Mailes, Jack Pickford. [American Indian Religion] Pulp Fiction, 1994. Dir. Quentin Tarantino. Tim Roth, John Travolta, Samuel L. Jackson, Amanda Plummer, Eric Stoltz, Bruce Willis, Ving Rhames, Uma Thurman. [Belief; Tarantino, Quentin] Pyx, The, 1973. Dir. Harvey Hart. Karen Black, Christopher Plummer, Donald Pilon, Jean-Louis Roux, Yvette Brind’amour. [Devil] —Q— al-Qahira munawwara bi ahliha (Cairo as Told by Youssef Chahine), 1991. Documentary. Dir. Youssef Chahine. Khaled Nabawy. [Africa; Arab Film]

536 | Appendix: Filmography

Al qods fee yom akhar (Rana’s Wedding), 2002. Dir. Hany Abu-Assad. Clara Khoury, Khalifa Natour, Ismael Dabbag, Walid Abed Elsalam, Zuher Fahoum, Bushra Karaman. [Ritual] Quarrel, The, 1991. Dir. Eli Cohen. Saul Rubinek, R.H. Thomson, Merlee Shapiro, Arthur Grosser, Jay Aitchess. [Holocaust, The; Judaism] Quartre cents coups, Les (The 400 Blows), 1959. Dir. François Truffaut. JeanPierre Leaud, Claire Maurier, Albert Remy, Guy Decomble, Georges Flamant. [Truffaut, François] Quatre Nuits d’un Rêveur (Four Nights of a Dreamer), 1971. Dir. Robert Bresson. Isabelle Weingarten, Guillaume des Forêts, Maurice Monnoyer. [Bresson, Robert] Question of Silence, A. See Stilte rond Christine M, De. Quick and the Dead, The, 1995. Dir. Sam Raimi. Sharon Stone, Gene Hackman, Russell Crowe, Leonardo DiCaprio, Tobin Bell. [Westerns] Quiet Man, The, 1952. Dir. John Ford. John Wayne, Maureen O’Hara, Barry Fitzgerald, Ward Bond, Victor McLaglen. [Clergy; Protestantism; Ritual] Quinceañera, 2006. Dir. Richard Glatzer, Wash Westmoreland. Jesus Castanos, Araceli Gusman-Rico, Emily Rios, J. R. Cruz, Listette Avila. [Ritual] Quo Vadis, 1951. Dir. Marvyn LeRoy. Robert Taylor, Deborah Kerr, Leo Genn, Peter Ustinov, Patricia Laffan. [Bible Films] —R— Racconti di Canterbury (The Canterbury Tales), 1972. Dir. Pier Paolo Pasolini. Hugh Griffith, Laura Betti, Ninetto Davoli, Franco Citti, Josephine Chaplin, Alan Webb. [Europe (Continental)] Race with the Devil, 1975. Dir. Jack Starrett. Peter Fonda, Warren Oates, Loretta Swit, Lara Parker, R. G. Amrstrong. [Devil] Radio Days, 1987. Dir. Woody Allen. Mike Starr, Paul Herman, Don Pardo, Martin Rosenblatt, Helen Miller. [Judaism] Raging Bull, 1980. Dir. Martin Scorsese. Robert De Niro, Cathy Moiarty, Joe Pesci, Frank Vincent, Nicholas Colasanto, Therese Saldana. [Schrader, Paul; Scorsese, Martin; Sports] Rain People, The, 1969. Dir. Francis Ford Coppola. James Caan, Shirley Knight, Robert Duvall, Marya Zimmet, Tom Aldredge, Morgan Fairchild. [Coppola, Francis Ford] Raining Stones, 1993. Dir. Ken Loach. Bruce Jones, Julie Brown, Gemma Phoenix, Ricky Tomlinson, Tom Hickey. [Britain] Raise the Red Lantern. See Da hong deng long gao gao gua. Raising Arizona, 1987. Dir. Joel Coen. Nicolas Cage, Holly Hunter, Trey Wilson, John Goodman, William Forsythe. [Coen, Joel and Ethan]

Appendix: Filmography | 537

Raja Harischandra, 1913. Dir. Dhundiraj Govind Phalke. D. D. Dabke, P. G. Sane, Bhalachandra D. Phalke, G. V. Sane. [Bollywood] Ran, 1985. Dir. Akira Kurosawa. Tatsuya Nakadai, Akira Terao, Jinpachi Nezu, Daisuke Ryu, Meiko Harada, Yoshiko Miyazaki. [Buddhism; Japan; Kurosawa, Akira] Rana’s Wedding. See Al qods fee yom akhar. Rapture, The, 1941. Dir. Charles O. (Carlos Octavia) Baptista. [Missionary Films] Rapture, The, 1991. Dir. Michael Tolkin. Mimi Rogers, Dawyn Carson, Patrick Bauchau, Marvin Elkins, David Duchovny. [End-of-the-World Films; Tolkin, Michael] Rashômon, 1950. Dir. Akira Kurosawa. Toshirô Mifune, Machiko Kyô, Masayuki Mori, Takashi Shimura, Minoru Chiaki. [Buddhism; Kurosawa, Akira; Myth] Raye makhfi (Secret Ballot), 2001. Dir. Babak Payami. Nassim Abdi, Cyrus Abidi, Youssef Habashi, Farrokh Shojaii, Gholbahar Janghali. [Islam] Razor’s Edge, The, 1946. Dir. Edmund Goulding. Tyrone Power, Gene Tierney, John Payne, Anne Baxter, Clifton Webb. [Hinduism; Mysticism] Razor’s Edge, The, 1984. Dir. John Byrum. Bill Murray, Thereasa Russell, Catherine Hicks, Denholm Elliott, James Keach. [Mysticism] Rebel Without a Cause, 1955. Dir. Nicholas Ray. James Dean, Natalie Wood, Sal Mineo, Jim Backus, Ann Doran. [Jesus] Red Sorghum. See Hong gao liang. religieuse, La (The Nun), 1966. Dir. Jacques Rivette. Anna Karina, Liselotte Pulver, Micheline Presle, Francine Bergé, Francisco Rabal. [Clergy] Repentance. See Monanieba. Reservoir Dogs, 1992. Dir. Quentin Tarantino. Harvey Keitel, Tim Roth, Michael Madsen, Chris Penn, Steve Buscemi. [Tarantino, Quentin] Restless Ones, The, 1965. Dir. Dick Ross. Georgia Lee, Robert Sampson, Johnny Crawford, Kim Darby, Jena Engstrom, Billy Graham. [Missionary Films] Resurrection, 1980. Dir. Daniel Petrie. Ellen Burstyn, Sam Shepard, Richard Farnsworth, Roberts Blossom, Clifford David. [Mysticism] Return of the Exorcist, The. See urlo nelle tenebre, Un. Revelation, 1999. Dir. André van Heerden. Jeff Fahey, Tony Nappo, Carol Alt, Leigh Lewis, Nick Mancuso. [End-of-the-World Films] Revolt of the Zombies, 1936. Dir. Victor Halperin. Dorothy Stone, Dean Jagger, Roy D’Arcy, Robert Noland, George Cleveland. [Voodoo] Right to Be Happy, The, 1916. Dir. Rupert Julian. Rupert Julian, John Cook, Claire McDowell, Frankie Lee, Harry Carter. [Holidays]

538 | Appendix: Filmography

Riti, magie nere e segrete orge nel trecento (Black Magic Rites and the Secret Orgies of the Fourteenth Century), 1973. Dir. Renato Polselli. Mickey Hargitay, Rita Calderoni, Raul Lovecchio, Christa Barrymore, Consolata Moschera. [Devil] River Girl, The. See donna del fiume, La. River Runs Through It, A, 1992. Dir. Robert Redford. Craig Sheffer, Brad Pitt, Tom Skerritt, Brenda Blethyn, Emily Lloyd. [Clergy; Protestantism] Road, The. See strada, La. Road Home, The. See Wo de fu qin mu qin. Road to El Dorado, The, 2000. Dir. Bibo Bergeron, Will Finn. Kevin Kline, Kenneth Branagh, Rosie Perez, Armand Assante, Edward James Olmos. [Animated Films] Road Warrior, The. See Mad Max 2. Robe, The, 1953. Dir. Henry Koster. Richard Burton, Jean Simmons, Victor Mature, Michael Rennie, Jay Robinson. [Bible Films; Jesus; Ritual] Robin Hood: Men in Tights, 1993. Dir. Mel Brooks. Cary Elwes, Richard Lewis, Roger Rees, Amy Yasbeck, Mark Blankfield. [Brooks, Mel] RoboCop, 1987. Dir. Paul Verhoeven. Peter Weller, Nancy Allen, Dan O’Herlihy, Ronny Cox, Kurt Smith. [Posthumanism] Rocky Horror Picture Show, The, 1975. Dir. Jim Sharman. Tim Curry, Susan Sarandon, Barry Bostwick, Richard O’Brien, Patricia Quinn. [Coen, Joel and Ethan; Film as Religion; Myth; Ritual] Ro.Go.Pa.G. (Let’s Have a Brainwash), 1963. Dir. Roberto Rossellini (“Illibatezza”), Jean-Luc Godard (“Il Nuovo mondo”), Pier Paolo Pasolini (“La Ricotta”), Ugo Gregoretti (“Il Pollo ruspante”). Rosanna Schiaffino, Bruce Balaban, Maria Pia Schiaffino, Jean-Marc Bory, Alexandra Stewart, Orson Welles, Mario Cipriani. [Pasolini, Pier Paolo] Rojo no Reikon (Souls on the Road), 1921. Dir. Minoru Murata. Kaoru Osanai, Haruko Sawamura, Koreya Togo, Mikiko Hisamatsu, Ryuko Date. [Japan] Roma, 1972. Dir. Federico Fellini. Peter Gonzales Falcon, Fiona Florence, Britta Barnes, Pia De Doses Marne Maitland. [Fellini, Federico] Roma, citta aperta (Rome, Open City), 1945. Dir. Roberto Rossellini. Aldo Fabrizi, Anna Magnani, Marcello Pagliero, Vito Annichiarico, Nando Bruno. [Clergy; Fellini, Federico] Rome, Open City. See Roma, citta aperta. Romero, 1989. Dir. John Duigan. Raul Julia, Richard Jordan, Ana Alicia, Eddie Velez, Alejandro Brancho. [Catholicism; Clergy] Rooster Cogburn, 1975. Dir. Stuart Millar. John Wayne, Katharine Hepburn, Anthony Zerbe, Richard Jordan, John McIntire. [Protestantism]

Appendix: Filmography | 539

Rosemary’s Baby, 1968. Dir. Roman Polanski. Mia Farrow, John Cassavetes, Ruth Gordon, Sidney Blackmer, Maurice Evans. [Clergy; Devil; End-of-theWorld Films; Europe (Continental); Horror; Mysticism] Rudy, 1993. Dir. David Anspaugh. Sean Astin, Jon Favreau, Ned Beatty, Greta Lind, Scott Benjaminson, Charles Dutton. [Clergy] Rules of Engagement, 2000. Dir. William Friedkin. Tommy Lee Jones, Samuel L. Jackson, Guy Pearce, Ben Kingsley, Bruce Greenwood. [Islam] Rumble Fish, 1983. Dir. Francis Ford Coppola. Matt Dillon, Mickey Rourke, Diane Lane, Dennis Hopper, Diana Scarwid, Vincent Spano, Nicholas Cage, Chris Penn, Laurence Fishburne. [Coppola, Francis Ford] Run Lola Run. See Lola rennt. Run Silent, Run Deep, 1958. Dir. Robert Wise. Clark Gable, Burt Lancaster, Jack Warden, Brad Dexter, Don Rickles. [Ritual] —S— Saam gaang (Three Extremes II ), 2002. Dir. Peter Chan, Ji-woon Kim, Nanzee Nimibutr. Hye-su Kim, Bo-seok Jeong, Suwinit Panjamawat, Leon Lai, Eric Tsang. [China] Saam gaang yi (Three Extremes), 2004. Dir. Fruit Chan, Takashi Miike, ChanWook Park. Ling Bai, Pauline Lau, Tony Leung Ka Fai, Meme Tian, Miriam Yeung Chin Wah. [China] Sabrina, 1954. Dir. Billy Wilder. Humphrey Bogart, Audrey Hepburn, William Holden, Walter Hampden, John Williams. [Ritual] Sabrina, 1995. Dir. Sydney Pollack. Harrison Ford, Julia Ormond, Greg Kinnear, Nancy Marchand, John Wood, Richard Crenna, Angie Dickinson, Lauren Holly. [Ritual] Sacrifice, The. See Offret. Sadie Thompson, 1928. Dir. Raoul Walsh. Lionel Barrymore, Blanche Friderici, Charles Lane, Florence Midgley, Gloria Swanson. [Silent Film] Safar e Ghandehar (Kandahar), 2001. Dir. Mohsen Makhmalbaf. Nelofer Pazira, Hassan Tantai, Sadou Teymouri, Hoyayala Hakimi, Monica Hankievich. [Islam] Sahara, 2005. Dir. Breck Eisner. Jude Akuwidike, Mark Aspinall, Rakie Ayola, Christopher Bello, Nicholas Beveney. [Islam] Saikaku ichidai onna (The Life of Oharu), 1952. Dir. Kenji Mizoguchi. Kinuyo Tanaka, Tsukie Matsuura, Ichirô Sugai, Toshirô Mifune, Toshiaki Konoe. [Mizoguchi, Kenji] Saint Joan, 1927. Dir. Widgey R. Newman. Sybil Thorndike. [Joan of Arc] Saint Joan, 1957. Dir. Otto Preminger. Richard Widmark, Richard Todd, Anton Walbrook, John Gielgud, Felix Aylmer. [Catholicism; Joan of Arc] Saint Joan the Maid. See merveilleuse vie de Jeanne d’Arc, La.

540 | Appendix: Filmography

Saints and Soldiers, 2003. Dir. Ryan Little. Corbin Allred, Alexander Polinsky, Kirby Heyborn, Larry Bagby, Peter Asle Holden. [Protestantism] ‘Salem’s Lot, 2004. Television. Dir. Mikael Salomon. Rob Lowe, Andre Braugher, Donald Sutherland, Samantha Mathis, Robert Mammone. [Vampires] Salò, o le centoventi giornate di Sodoma (Salò—The 120 days of Sodom), 1975. Dir. Pier Paolo Pasolini. Paolo Bonacelli, Giorgio Cataldi, Umberto Paolo Quintavalle, Aldo Valletti. [Pasolini, Pier Paolo] Salò—The 120 days of Sodom. See Salò, o le centoventi giornate di Sodoma. Salvation Army Lass, 1909. Dir. D. W. Griffith. Florence Lawrence, Harry Solter, Charles Inslee, Linda Ardivson, Charles Avery. [Silent Film] Samidare zoshi (A Chronicle of the May Rain), 1924. Dir. Kenji Mizoguchi. Harue Ichikawa, Hiroshi Inagaki, Teruko Katsura, Yoshisuke Koizumi, Morio Mikoshiba. [Mizoguchi, Kenji] Samson and Delilah, 1949. Dir. Cecil B. DeMille. Hedy Lamarr, Victor Mature, George Sanders, Angela Lansbury, Henry Wilcoxon. [Bible Films] San Francisco, 1936. Dir. W. S. Van Dyke, II. Clark Gable, Jeanette MacDonald, Spencer Tracy, Jack Holt, Jessie Ralph. [Clergy] Sanjuro. See Tsubaki Sanjûrô. Sanshô dayû (Legend of Bailiff Sansho), 1954. Dir. Kenji Mizoguchi. Kinuyo Tanaka, Yoshiaki Hanayagi, Kyôko Kagawa, Eitarô Shindô, Akitake Kôno. [Mizoguchi, Kenji] Santa Clause, The, 1994. Dir. John Pasquin. Tim Allen, Wendy Crewson, Judge Reinhold, Eric Lloyd, David Krumholtz. [Holidays] Santa Clause 2, The, 2002. Dir. Michael Lembeck. Tim Allen, Elizabeth Mitchell, David Krumholtz, Eric Lloyd, Judge Reinhold. [Holidays] Santa Clause 3, The: The Escape Clause, 2006. Dir. Michael Lebeck. Tim Allen, Elizabeth Mitchell, Eric Lloyd, Judge Reinhold, Wendy Crewson. [Holidays] Santitos (Little Saints), 1999. Dir. Alejandro Springall. Dolores Heredia, Demián Bichir, Alberto Estrella, Pedro Altamirano, Roberto Cobo. [Latin America] Såsom i en spegel (Through a Glass Darkly), 1961. Dir. Ingmar Bergman. Harriet Andersson, Gunnar Bjornstrand, Max von Sydow, Lars Passgard. [Europe (Continental)] Satan. See Satanas. Satanas (Satan), 1920. Dir. F.W. Murnau. Fritz Kortner, Sadjah Gezza, Ernst Hofmann, Margit Barnay, Else Berna. [Dreyer, Carl Theodor] Satan’s Cheerleaders, 1977. Dir. Greydon Clark. John Ireland, Yvonne De Carlo, Jack Kruschen, John Carradine, Sydney Chaplin. [Devil] Satan’s School for Girls, 1973. Television. Dir. David Lowell Rich. Pamela Franklin, Kate Jackson, Lloyd Bochner, Jamie Smith-Jackson, Roy Thinnes. [Devil]

Appendix: Filmography | 541

Satan’s Slave, 1976. Dir. Norman Warren. Michael Gough, Martin Potter, Candace Glendenning, Barbara Kellerman, Michael Craze. [Devil] Satyricon, 1969. Dir. Federico Fellini. Martin Potter, Hiram Keller, Max Born, Salvo Randone, Mario Romagnoli. [Fellini, Federico] Saved!, 2004. Dir. Brian Dannelly. Jena Malone, Mandy Moore, Macaulay Culkin, Patrick Fugit, Heather Matarazzo, Mary-Louise Parker. [Protestantism] Satyavan Savitri, 1914. Dir. Dhundiraj Govind Phalke. [Bollywood] Say One for Me, 1959. Dir. Frank Tashlin. Bing Crosby, Debbie Reynolds, Robert Wagner, Ray Walston, Les Tremayne. [Clergy] Scarlet Letter, The, 1926. Dir. Victor Sjöström. Lillian Gish, Lars Hanson, Henry B. Walthall, Karl Dane, William H. Tooker. [Silent Film] Scarlet Letter, The, 1995. Dir. Roland Joffé. Demi Moore, Gary Oldman, Robert Duvall, Lisa Joliffe-Andoh, Edward Hardwicke. [Protestantism] Schastye (Happiness), 1934. Dir. Aleksandr Medvedkin. Pyotr Zinovyev, Yelena Yegorova, Nikolai Cherkasov, Mikhail Gipsi, Vikto Kulakov. [Russia] Schindler’s List, 1993. Dir. Steven Spielberg. Liam Neeson, Ben Kingsley, Ralph Fiennes, Caroline Goodall, Jonathan Sagall. [Holocaust, The; Judaism; Mamet, David; Protestantism] School of the Holy Beast. See Seijû gakuen. School Ties, 1992. Dir. Robert Mandel. Brendan Fraser, Matt Damon, Chris O’Donnel, Randall Batinkoff, Andrew Lowery. [Sports] Scotland Yard Mystery, The (also known as The Living Dead), 1933. Dir. Thomas Bentley. Gerald du Murier, George Curzon, Grete Natzler, Belle Chrystall, Leslie Perrins. [Voodoo] Scottish Covenanters, The, 1909. Dir. Joseph Perry. [Australia] Scream, Blacula, Scream, 1973. Dir. Bob Kelljan. William Marshall, Don Mitchell, Pam Grier, Michael Conrad, Richard Lawson. [Voodoo] Scrooged, 1988. Richard Donner. Bill Murray, Karen Allen, John Forsythe, John Glover, Bob Goldthwait. Sea Inside, The. See Mar adentro. Searchers, The, 1956. Dir. John Ford. John Wayne, Jeffrey Hunter, Vera Miles, Ward Bond, Natalie Wood. [Greek and Roman Myths; Protestantism; Westerns] Secret Ballot. See Raye makhfi. Secret of NIMH, The, 1982. Dir. Don Bluth. Derek Jacobi, Elizabeth Hartman, Arthur Malet, Dom DeLuise, Hermione Baddeley, Shannen Doherty, Wil Wheaton, John Carradine, Peter Strauss. [Mormonism] Seijû gakuen (School of the Holy Beast), 1974. Dir. Norofumi Suzuki. Yumi Takigawa, Emiko Yamauchi, Yayoi Watanabe, Ryouko Ima, Harumi Tajima. [Japan]

542 | Appendix: Filmography

Sen to Chihiro no Kamikakushi (Spirited Away), 2000. Dir. Hayao Miyazaki, Kirk Wise (co-director, English version). Rumi Hîragi, Miyu Irino, Mari Natsuki, Takashi Naitô, Yasuko Sawaguchi, Tatsuya Gashuin. [Japan; Miyazaki, Hayao] Senkiföldje (Why Wasn’t He There?), 1993. Dir. András Jeles. Cora Fischer, Lörinc Gulyás, Péter Halász, Györgyi Kari, Kathleen Gati. [Holocaust, The] Serenades, 2001. Dir. Mojgan Khadem. Alice Haines, Aden Young, Sanisa Copic, Bille Broen, David Gulpilil. [Australia] Sergeant York, 1941. Dir. Howard Hawks. Gary Cooper, Walter Brennan, Joan Leslie, George Tobias, Stanley Ridges. [Clergy; Protestantism] Sermons of Sister Jane, The: Believing the Unbelievable, 2007. Documentary. Dir. Allie Light, Irving Saraf, Carol Monpere. [Women] Serpent and the Rainbow, The, 1988. Dir. Wes Craven. Bill Pullman, Cathy Tyson, Zakes Mokae, Paul Winfield, Brent Jennings. [Horror; Voodoo] Setu Bandhan, 1932. Dir. Dhundiraj Govind Phalke. [Bollywood] Se7en, 1995. Dir. David Fincher. Brad Pitt, Morgan Freeman, Gwyneth Paltrow, R. Lee Ermey, Andrew Kevin Walker. [Belief] Seven Alone, 1974. Dir. Earl Bellamy. Dewey Martin, Aldo Ray, Anne Collings, Dean Smith, James Griffith. [Mormonism] Seven Samurai. See Shichinin no samurai. 7 Women, 1966. Dir. John Ford. Anne Bancroft, Sue Lyon, Margaret Leighton, Flora Robson, Mildred Dunnock. [Clergy] Seven Years in Tibet, 1997. Dir. Jean-Jacques Annaud. Brad Pitt, David Thewlis, B.D. Wong, Mako, Danny Denzongpa. [Clergy; Europe (Continental); Myth] 1776, 1972. Dir. Peter H. Hunt. William Daniels, Howard Da Silva, Ken Howard, Donald Madden, John Cullum, Blythe Danner. [Ritual] Seventh Seal, The. See Sjunde Inseglet, Det. Seventh Sign, The, 1988. Dir. Carl Schultz. Demi Moore, Michael Biehn, Jürgen Prochnow, Peter Friedman, Manny Jacobs. [Clergy] Shadow of the Boomerang, 1960. Dir. Dick Ross. Georgia Lee, Dickie Jones, Jimmy Little, Marcia Hathaway, Ken Fraser, Billy Graham. [Australia; Missionary Films] Shadowlands, 1993. Dir. Richard Attenborough. Anthony Hopkins, Debra Winger, Julian Fellowes, Roddy Maude-Roxby, Michael Denison, Andrew Seear, Tim McMullan, John Wood, Andrew Hawkins. [Protestantism] Shadows, 1922. Dir. Tom Forman. Lon Chaney, Marguerite De La Motte, Harrison Ford, John St. Polis, Walter Long. [Clergy; Silent Film] Shadows and Fog, 1992. Dir. Woody Allen. Woody Allen, Mia Farrow, John Malkovich, Madonna, David Ogden Stiers. [Allen, Woody]

Appendix: Filmography | 543

Shaka (Buddha), 1961. Dir. Kenji Misumi. Kijiro Hongo, Charito Solis, Shintarô Katsu, Machiko Kyô, Raizô Ichikawa. [Myth] Shane, 1953. Dir. George Stevens. Alan Ladd, Jean Arthur, Van Heflin, Brandon De Wilde, Jack Palance, Ben Johnson. [Myth; Westerns] Shaolin Temple, 1976. Dir. Sheng Tang. Ling Chia, Yuan Chuan, Feng Hsu, Gwong-Tsang Lam, Ming Liu. [Myth] Shawshank Redemption, The, 1994. Dir. Frank Darabont. Tim Robbins, Morgan Freeman, Bob Gunton, William Sadler, Clancy Brown. [Belief; Eucatastrophe] She Done Him Wrong, 1933. Dir. Lowell Sherman. Mae West, Cary Grant, Owen Moore, Gilbert Roland, Noah Beery. [Censorship in Hollywood] Sheltering Sky, The, 1990. Dir. Bernardo Bertolucci. Debra Winger, John Malkovich, Campbell Scott, Jill Bennett, Timothy Spall. [Islam] Shenandoah, 1965. Dir. Andrew V. McLaglen. James Stewart, Doug McClure, Glenn Corbett, Patrick Wayne, Rosemary Forsyth, Katharine Ross. [Protestantism] Shepherd, The (also known as Cybercity), 1999. Dir. Peter Hayman. C. Thomas Howell, Roddy Piper, David Carradine, Heidi von Palleske, Mackenzie Gray. [End-of-the-World Films] Shi mian mai fu (House of Flying Daggers), 2004. Dir. Yimou Zhang. Takeshi Kaneshiro, Andy Lau, Ziyi Zhang, Dandan Song. [China] Shichinin no samurai (Seven Samurai), 1954. Dir. Akira Kurosawa. Takashi Shimura, Toshirô Mifune, Yoshio Inaba, Seiji Miyaguchi, Minoru Chiaki. [Buddhism; Kurosawa, Akira] Shin heike monogatari (Tales of the Tiara Clan), 1955. Dir. Kenji Mizoguchi. Narutoshi Hayashi, Raizô Ichikawa, Tatsuya Ishiguro, Michiyo Kogure, Akitake Kôno. [Mizoguchi, Kenji] Shine, 1996. Dir. Scott Hicks. Geoffrey Rush, Justin Braine, Sonia Todd, Chris Haywood, Alex Rafalowicz. [Australia] Shining, The, 1980. Dir. Stanley Kubrick. Jack Nicholson, Shelley Duvall, Danny Lloyd, Scatman Crothers, Barry Nelson. [Belief; Horror; Kubrick, Stanley] Shoah, 1985. Documentary. Dir. Claude Lanzmann. Simon Srebnik, Michael Podchlebnik, Motke Zaidl, Hanna Zaidl, Jan Piwonski. [Europe (Continental)] Sholay, 1975. Dir. Ramesh Sippy. Dharmendra, Sanjeev Kumar, Hema Malini, Amitabh Bachchan, Jaya Bhaduri. [Bollywood] Shoot the Piano Player. See Tirez sur le pianiste. Shooting Dogs (also known as Beyond the Gates), 2005. Dir. Michael CatonJones. John Hurt, Hugh Dancy, Dominique Horwitz, Louis Mahoney, Nicola Walker. [Africa]

544 | Appendix: Filmography

Short Cuts, 1993. Dir. Robert Altman. Andie MacDowell, Bruce Davidson, Jack Lemmon, Zane Cassidy, Julianne Moore, Matthew Modine, Anne Archer, Fred Ward, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Chris Penn, Lili Taylor, Robert Downey, Jr., Madeleine Stowe, Tim Robbins, Lily Tomlin, Tom Waits, Frances McDormand, Peter Gallagher, Lyle Lovett, Buck Henry, Huey Lewis. [Altman, Robert] Short Film About Killing, A. See Krótki film o zabijaniu. Short Film About Love, A. See Krótki film o mil⁄o´S ci. Shower. See Xizao. Siddartha, 1972. Dir. Conrad Rooks. Shashi Kapoor, Simi Garewal, Romesh Sharma, Pinchoo Kapoor, Zul Vellani. [Mysticism] Siege, The, 1998. Dir. Edward Zwick. Denzel Washington, Annette Bening, Bruce Willis, Tony Shalhoub, Sami Bouajila. [Islam] Sign of the Cross, The, 1899. See diable au convent, Le. Sign of the Cross, The, 1932. Dir. Cecil B. DeMille. Frederic March, Elissa Landi, Claudette Colbert, Joyzelle Joyner, Charles Laughton. [DeMille, Cecil B.] Signs, 2002. Dir. M. Night Shyamalan. Mel Gibson, Joaquin Phoenix, Rory Culkin, Abigail Breslin, Cherry Jones. [Protestantism] Silence, The. See Tystnaden. Silence of Dean Maitland, The, 1914. Dir. Raymond Longford. Gwil Adams, Nellie Brooks, Ada Clyde, Jack Goodall, Rebe Grey. [Australia] Silence of the Lambs, The, 1991. Dir. Jonathan Demme. Jodie Foster, Anthony Hopkins, Scott Glenn, Anthony Heald, Ted Levine. [Horror] Silent Movie, 1976. Dir. Mel Brooks. Mel Brooks, Marty Feldman, Dom DeLuise, Sid Ceasar, Harold Gould. [Brooks, Mel] Silsila (The Affair), 1981. Dir. Yash Chopra. Shashi Kapoor, Amitabh Bachchan, Jaya Bhaduri, Rekha, Sudha Chopra. [Bollywood] Silver Bullet, 1985. Dir. Daniel Attias. Gary Busey, Everett McGill, Corey Haim, Megan Follows, Robin Groves. [Clergy] Simón del desierto (Simon of the Desert), 1965. Dir. Luis Buñuel. Claudio Brook, Enrique Alvarez Felix, Hortensia Santovena, Francisco Reguera, Luis Aceves Castaneda. [Buñuel, Luis; Europe (Continental)] Simon of the Desert. See Simón del desierto. Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas, 2003. Dir. Patrick Gilmore, Tim Johnson. Brad Pitt, Catherine Zeta-Jones, Michelle Pfeiffer, Joseph Fiennes, Dennis Haysbert. [Animated Films] Sirene du Mississippi, La (Mississippi Mermaid), 1969. Dir. François Truffaut. Jean Paul Belmondo, Catherine Denevue, Nelly Borgeaud, Martine Ferriere, Marcel Berbert. [Truffaut, François]

Appendix: Filmography | 545

Sirens, 1994. Dir. John Duigan. Hugh Grant, Tara Fitzgerald, Sam Neill, Elle Macpherson, Portia de Rossi. [Australia; Clergy] Sister Act, 1992. Dir. Emile Adolino. Whoopie Goldberg, Maggie Smith, Kathy Najimy, Wendy Makkena, Mary Wickes. [Catholicism] Sixteen Candles, 1984. Dir. John Hughes. Molly Ringwald, Justin Henry, Michael Schoeffling, Haviland Morris, Gedde Watanabe, Anthony Michael Hall, John Cusack. [Ritual] Sixth Sense, The, 1999. Dir. M. Night Shyamalan. Bruce Willis, Haley Joel Osment, Olivia Williams, Donnie Walhberg. [Mysticism] Sjunde Inseglet, Det (The Seventh Seal), 1957. Dir. Ingmar Bergman. Gunnar Björnstrand, Bengt Ekerot, Nils Poppe, Max von Sydow, Bibi Andersson. [Bergman, Ingmar; Europe (Continental); Mysticism;Theology and Film] Skeleton Key, The, 2005. Dir. Iain Softley. Kate Hudson, Gena Rowlands, John Hurt, Peter Sarsgaard, Joy Bryant. [Voodoo] Skins, 2002. Dir. Chris Eyre. Eric Schweig, Graham Greene, Gary Farmer, Noah Watts, Lois Red Elk. [American Indian Religion] Sky Over Berlin, The (also known as Wings of Desire). See Himmel über Berlin, Der. Sky Pilot, The, 1921. Dir. King Vidor. John Bowers, Colleen Moore, David Butler, Harry Todd, James Corrigan. [Silent Film] Sleepers, 1996. Dir. Barry Levinson. Kevin Bacon, Billy Crudup, Robert De Niro, Ron Eldard, Minnie Driver, Vittorio Gassman, Dustin Hoffman, Terry Kinney, Bruno Kirby, Frank Medrano, Jason Patric, Brad Pitt, Brad Renfro. [Clergy] Small Change. See L’Argent de poche. Smoke Signals, 1998. Dir. Chris Eyre. Adam Beach, Evan Adams, Irene Bedard, Gary Farmer, Tantoo Cardinal. [American Indian Religion; Ritual] Smultronstället (Wild Strawberries), 1957. Dir. Ingmar Bergman. Victor Sjöström, Bibi Anersson, Ingrid Thulin, Gunnar Björnstrand, Jullan Kindahl. [Bergman, Ingmar] Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, 1937. Dir. David Hand. Roy Atwell, Stuart Buchanan, Adriana Caselotti, Eddie Collins, Pinto Colvig. [Magic] Soft Skin, The. See peau douce, La. Solaris. See Solyaris. Soldiers of the Cross, 1900. Dir. Herbert Booth, Joseph Perry. Beatrice Day, Harold Graham, Mr. Graham, John Jones, Orrie Perry. [Australia] Solyaris (Solaris), 1972. Dir. Andrei Tarkovsky. Natalya Bondarshuk, Donatas Banionis, Jüri Järvet, Vladislav Dvorzhetsky, Nikolai Grinko. [Tarkovsky, Andrei] Sometimes Happiness, Sometimes Sorrow. See Kabhi Kushi Kabhie Gham. Son of the Bride, The. See El Hijo de la novia.

546 | Appendix: Filmography

Son of Man, 2006. Dir. Mark Dornford-May. Andile Kosi, Pauline Malefane, Andries Mbali, Mvuyisi Mjali, Zorro Sidloyi. [Africa] Song of Bernadette, The, 1943. Dir. Henry King. William Eythe, Charles Bickford, Vincent Price, Lee J. Cobb, Gladys Cooper. [Catholicism; Censorship in Hollywood; Clergy] Sorcières de Salem, Les (The Crucible), 1957. Dir. Raymond Rouleau. Simone Signoret, Yves Montand, Mylène Demongeot, Alfred Adam, Pierre Larquey. [Magic] Sorrows of Satan, The, 1926. Dir. D. W. Griffith. Adolph Menjou, Ricardo Cortez, Carol Dempster, Lya De Putti, Ivan Lebedeff. [Devil] Soshun (Early Spring), 1956. Dir. Yasujiro¯ Ozu. Chikage Awashima, Takako Fujino, Ryo Ikebe, Daisuke Katô, Keiko Kishi. [Ozu, Yasujiro¯] Soul Food, 1997. Dir. George Tillman, Jr. Vanessa Williams, Vivica A. Fox, Nia Long, Michael Beach, Mekhi Phifer, Brandon Hammond. [Black Church, The] Souls for Sale, 1923. Dir. Rupert Hughes. Eleanor Boardman, Frank Mayo, Richard Dix, Mae Busch, Barbara La Marr. [Clergy] Souls on the Road. See Rojo no Reikon. Sound of Music, The, 1965. Dir. Robert Wise. Julie Andrews, Christopher Plummer, Richard Haydn, Peggy Wood, Anna Lee, Portia Nelson. [Catholicism; Clergy; Ritual] Sous le soleil de Satan (Under the Sun of Satan), 1987. Dir. Maurice Pialat. Gerard Depardieu, Sandrine Bonnaire, Maurice Pialat, Alain Artur, Yann Dedet. [Europe (Continental)] Southern Carrier. See Courier Sud. Spaceballs, 1987. Dir. Mel Brooks. Mel Brooks, Rick Moranis, Bill Pullman, Daphne Zuniga, John Candy. [Brooks, Mel] Spartacus, 1960. Dir. Stanley Kubrick. Kirk Douglas, Laurence Oliver, Jean Simmons, Charles Laughton, Peter Ustinov. [Kubrick, Stanley] Sparrow, The. See al-Asfur. Sparrows, 1926. Dir. William Beaudine. Marry Pickford, Roy Stewart, Mary Louise Miller, Gustav von Seyffertitz, Charolotte Mineau. [Silent Film] Spider-Man, 2002. Dir. Sam Raimi. Tobey Maguire, Willem Dafoe, Kristen Dunst, James Franco, Cliff Robertson. [Myth; Posthumanism] Spider-Man 2, 2004. Dir. Sam Raimi. Tobey Maguire, Kristen Dunst, James Franco, Alfred Molina, Rosemary Harris. [Posthumanism] Spider-Man 3, 2007. Dir. Sam Raimi. Tobey Maguire, Kirsten Dunst, James Franco, Thomas Haden Church, Topher Grace. [Superheroes] Spirited Away. See Sen to Chihiro no Kamikakushi. Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter . . . and Spring. See Bom yeoreum gaeul gyeoul geurigo bom.

Appendix: Filmography | 547

Stachka (Strike), 1925. Dir. Sergei M. Eisenstein. Grigori Aleksandrov, Aleksandr Antonov, Yudif Glizer, Mikhail Gomorov. [Russia] Stagecoach, 1939. Dir. John Ford. Claire Trevor, John Wayne, Andy Devine, John Carradine, Thomas Mitchell, Louise Platt. [Westerns] Stairway to Heaven. See Matter of Life and Death, A. Stalker, 1979. Dir. Andrei Tarkovsky. Aleksandr Kaidanovsky, Alisa Frejndlikh, Anatoli Solonitsyn, Nikolai Grinko, Natasha Abramova. [Russia; Tarkovsky, Andrei] Stanley and Livingstone, 1939. Dir. Henry King, Otto Brower. Spencer Tracy, Nancy Kelly, Richard Greene, Walter Brennan, Charles Coburn, Cedric Hardwicke. [Clergy] Stardust Memories, 1980. Dir. Woody Allen. Woody Allen, Charlotte Rampling, Jessica Harper, Marie-Christine Barrault, Tony Roberts. [Allen, Woody] Star Trek: First Contact, 1996. Dir. Jonathan Frakes. Patrick Stewart, Jonathan Frakes, Brent Spiner, LeVar Burton, Michael Dorn. [Science Fiction] Star Trek: Nemisis, 2002. Dir. Stuart Baird. Patrick Stewart, Jonathan Frakes, Brent Spiner, LeVar Burton, Michael Dorn. [Posthumanism] Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, 1982. Dir. Nicholas Meyer. William Shatner, Leonard Nimoy, DeForest Kelley, James Doohan, Walter Koenig, George Takei, Nichelle Nichols, Bibi Besch, Paul Winfield, Kirstie Alley, Ricardo Montalban. [Ritual] Star Trek V: The Final Frontier, 1989. Dir. William Shatner. Lawrence Luckinbill, William Shatner, Leonard Nimoy, DeForest Kelley. [God] Star Wars, 1977. Dir. George Lucas. Mark Hamill, Harrison Ford, Carrie Fisher, Peter Cushing, Alec Guinness, Anthony Daniels. [Belief; Brooks, Mel; Censorship in Hollywood; Eucatastrophe; Film as Religion; Myth; Ritual; Science Fiction; Theology and Film; Westerns] Star Wars: Episode V—The Empire Strikes Back, 1980. Dir. Irvin Kershner. Mark Hamill, Harrison Ford, Carrie Fisher, Billy Dee Williams, Anthony Daniels. [Greek and Roman Myths; Westerns] Star Wars: Episode VI—Return of the Jedi, 1983. Dir. Richard Marquand. Mark Hamill, Harrison Ford, Carrie Fisher, Billy Dee Williams, Anthony Daniels, Peter Mayhew, Sebastian Shaw, Ian McDiarmid, Frank Oz, James Earl Jones, David Prowse, Alec Guinness. [Westerns] Stepford Wives, The, 1975. Dir. Bryan Forbes. Katharine Ross, Paula Prentiss, Peter Masterson, Nanette Newman, Tina Louise. [Science Fiction; Women] Stepford Wives, The, 2004. Dir. Frank Oz. Nicole Kidman, Matthew Broderick, Bette Midler, Glenn Close, Christopher Walken, Jon Lovits, Faith Hill. [Science Fiction; Women]

548 | Appendix: Filmography

Steppenwolf, 1974. Dir. Fred Haines. Max von Sydow, Dominique Sanda, Pierre Clementi, Carla Romanelli, Roy Bosier, Alfred Baillou. [Mysticism] Stigmata, 1999. Dir. Rupert Wainwright. Patricia Arquette, Gabriel Byrne, Jonathan Pryce, Nia Long, Thomas Kopache. [Catholicism; Clergy; Horror; Mysticism] Stilte rond Christine M, De, 1982. Dir. Marleen Gorris. Edda Barends, Nelly Frijda, Henriëtte Tol, Cox Habbema, Eddie Brugman. [Women] Storm Over Asia. See Potomok Chingis-Khana. Story of Floating Weeds. See Ukikusa monogatari. Story of a Fountain Pen, The, 1939. Dir. Charles O. (Carlos Octavia) Baptista. [Missionary Films] Story of Mankind, The, 1957. Dir. Irwin Allen. Ronald Colman, Hedy Lamarr, Groucho Marx, Harpo Marx, Chico Marx, Virginia Mayo, Agnes Moorehead, Vincent Price, Peter Lorre, Cesar romero, John Carradine, Dennis Hopper. [Joan of Arc] Strada, La (The Road), 1954. Dir. Federico Fellini. Anthony Quinn, Giulietta Masina, Richard Basehart, Aldo Silvani, Marcella Rovere. [Fellini, Federico] Strange Days, 1995. Dir. Kathryn Bigelow. Ralph Fiennes, Angela Bassett, Juliette Lewis, Tom Sizemore, Michael Wincott. [Posthumanism] Strange Meeting, A, 1909. Dir. D. W. Griffith. Charles Avery, Kate Bruce, John R. Cumpson, Arthur V. Johnson, James Kirckwood. [Silent Film] Stranger Among Us, A, 1992. Dir. Sidney Lumet. Melanie Griffith, John Pankow, Tracy Pollan, Lee Richardson, Mia Sarah. [Clergy; Judaism] Stranger Than Fiction, 2006. Dir. Marc Forster. Will Ferrell, William Dick, Guy Massey, Martha Espinoza, T. J. Jagodowski. [Myth] Strawberries and Chocolate. See Fresa y chocolate. Strike. See Stachka. Strike Me Lucky, 1934. Dir. Ken G. Hall. Roy Rene, Yvonne Barnard, Lorraine Smith, John D’Arcy, Eric Masters. [Australia] Strikebound, 1983. Dir. Richard Lowenstein. Chris Haywood, Carol Burns, Hugh Keays-Byrne, Rob Steele, Nik Forster. [Australia] Subspecies, 1991. Dir. Ted Nicolaou. Angus Scrimm, Anders Hove, Irina Movila, Laura Tate, Michelle McBride. [Vampires] Subspecies II: Bloodstone, 1993. Dir. Ted Nicolaou. Anders Hove, Denice Duff, Kevin Spirtas, Melanie Shatner, Michael Denish. [Vampires] Subspecies III: Bloodlust, 1994. Dir. Ted Nicolaou. Anders Hove, Denice Duff, Kevin Spirtas, Melanie Shatner, Pamela Gordon. [Vampires] Subspecies IV: Bloodstorm, 1998. Dir. Ted Nicolaou. Anders Hove, Denice Duff, Jonathan Morris, Ioana Abur, Mihai Dinvale. [Vampires]

Appendix: Filmography | 549

Sugar Hill (also known as The Zombies of Sugar Hill and Voodoo Girl), 1994. Dir. Leon Ichaso. Wesley Snipes, Khandi Alexander, DeVaughn Nixon, Marquise Wilson, O. L. Duke. [Voodoo] Sugata Sanshirô, 1943. Dir. Akira Kurosawa. Denjirô Ôkôchi, Susumu Fujita, Yukiko Todoroki, Ryunosuke Tsukigata, Takashi Shimura. [Kurosawa, Akira] Sullivans, The (also known as The Fighting Sullivans), 1944. Dir. Lloyd Bacon. Anne Bazter, Thomas Mitchell, Selena Royle, Edward Ryan, Trudy Marshall. [Catholicism] Sum of Us, The, 1994. Dir. Geoff Burton and Kevin Dowling. Jack Thompson, Russell Crowe, John Polson, Deborah Kennedy, Joss Moroney. [Australia] Summer of Sam, 1999. Dir. Spike Lee. John Leguizamo, Adrien Brody, Mira Sorvino, Jennifer Esposito, Michael Rospoli. [Belief] Sunshine, 1999. Dir. Istvan Szabo. Ralph Fiennes, Rosemary Harris, Rachel Weisz, Jennifer Ehle, Deborah Karah Unger. [Holocaust, The] Superman, 1948. Dir. Spencer Gordon Bennet, Thomas Carr. Kirk Alyn, Noel Neill, Tommy Bond, Carol Forman, Pierre Watkin. [Superheroes] Superman II, 1980. Dir. Richard Lester. Gene Hackman, Christopher Reeve, Ned Beatty, Jackie Cooper, Sarah Douglas. [Superheroes] Superman: The Movie, 1978. Dir. Richard Donner. Marlon Brando, Gene Hackman, Christopher Reeve, Ned Beatty, Jackie Cooper. [Myth; Superheroes; Theology and Film] Superman Returns, 2006. Dir. Bryan Singer. Brandon Routh, Kate Bosworth, Kevin Spacey, James Marsden, Parker Posey. [Superheroes] Suzie Gold, 2004. Dir. Ric Cantor. Ariana Fraval, Daniel Mendoza, Summer Phoenix, Stanley Townsend, Rebecca Front, Gem Souleyman. [Judaism] Swan Princess, The, 1994. Dir. Richard Rich. Jack Palance, Howard McGillin, Michelle Nicastro, John Cleese, Steven Wright. [Mormonism] Sweet Hereafter, The, 1997. Dir. Atom Egoyan. Ian Holm, Caerthan Banks, Sarah Polley, Tom McCamus, Gabrielle Rose, Alberta Watson, Maury Chaykin. [Belief] Sweet Life, The. See Dolce Vita, La. The Swindle, The. See Bidone, Il. —T — Tabu, 1931. Dir. F. W. Murnau. Matahi, Anne Chevalier, Bill Bambridge, Hitu, Jean. [Indigenous Religions] Tale of the Priest and of his Workman Balda, The, 1934. Dir. Mikhail Tsekhanovsky. [Russia] Tales of the Tiara Clan. See Shin heike monogatari. Tales of Ugetsu. See Ugetsu monogatari.

550 | Appendix: Filmography

Taxi Driver, 1976. Dir. Martin Scorsese. Rober De Niro, Cybill Shepherd, Peter Boyle, Jodie Foster, Harvey Keitel. [Schrader, Paul; Scorsese, Martin] Teeth, 2007. Dir. Mitchell Lichtenstein. Jess Weixler, John Hensley, Josh Pais, Hale Appleman, Lenny von Dohlen. [Women] Tempter, The (also known as The Antichrist). See L’Anticristo. Ten Commandments, The, 1923. Dir. Cecil B. DeMille. Theodore Roberts, Charles de Rochefort, Estelle Taylor, Julia Faye, Pat Moore. [DeMille, Cecil B.] Ten Commandments, The, 1956. Dir. Cecil B. DeMille. Charlton Heston, Yul Brynner, Anne Baxter, Edward G. Robinson, Yvonne De Carlo. [Animated Films; Bible Films; DeMille, Cecil B.; Holidays; Horror; Myth; Ritual] Tender Mercies, 1983. Dir. Bruce Beresford. Robert Duvall, Tess Harper, Betty Buckley, Wilford Brimley, Ellen Barkin. [Clergy] Tengoku to jigoku (High and Low), 1963. Dir. Akira Kurosawa. Toshirô Mifune, Tatsuya Nakadai, Kyôko Kagawa, Tatsuya Mihashi, Isao Kimura. [Kurosawa, Akira] Tenku no shiro Rapyuta (Castle in the Sky), 1986. Dir. Hayao Miyazaki. Mayumi Tanaka, James Van Der Beek, Anna Paquin, Keiko Yokozawa, Kotoe Hatsui. [Miyazaki, Hayao] Teorema (Theorem), 1968. Dir. Pier Paolo Pasolini. Silvana Mangano, Terence Stamp, Massimo Girotti, Anna Wiazemsky, Laura Betti. [Pasolini, Pier Paolo] Terminator, The, 1984. Dir. James Cameron. Arnold Schwarzenegger, Michael Biehn, Linda Hamilton, Paul Winfield, Lance Henriksen. [End-of-the-World Films; Myth; Posthumanism; Science Fiction] Terminator 2: Judgment Day, 1991. Dir. James Cameron. Arnold Scharzenegger, Linda Hamilton, Edward Furlong, Robert Patrick, Earl Boen. [End-of-theWorld Films; Ritual; Science Fiction] Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines, 2003. Dir. Jonathan Mostow. Arnold Schwarzenegger, Nick Stahl, Claire Danes, Kristanna Loken, David Andrews. [End-of-the-World Films; Science Fiction] Terror of the Living Dead (also known as The Hanging Woman). See orgía de los muertos, La. Teseo contro il minotauro (The Minotaur), 1960. Dir. Silvio Amadio. Bob Mathias, Rosanna Schiaffino, Alberto Lupo, Rik Battaglia, Carlo Tamberlani. [Greek and Roman Myth] Tess of the Storm Country, 1914. Dir. Edwin S. Porter. Mary Pickford, Harold Lockwood, Olive Carey, David Hardford, Louise Dunlap. [Silent Film] That Cold Day in the Park, 1969. Dir. Robert Altman. Sandy Dennis, Michael Burns, Susanne Benton, David Garfield, Luana Anders, Michael Murphy. [Altman, Robert]

Appendix: Filmography | 551

That Obscure Object of Desire. See Cet obscur objet du desir. Theorem. See Teorema. Thérèse, 1986. Dir. Alain Cavalier. Catherine Mouchet, Hélène Alexandridis, Aurore Prieto, Clémence Massart-Weit, Sylvie Habault. [Europe (Continental)] There Was a Father. See Chichi ariki. There Will Be Blood, 2007. Dir. Paul Thomas Anderson. Daniel Day-Lewis, Mary Elizabeth Barrett, Paul Dano, Dillon Freasier, Christine Olejniczak. [Protestantism] Thief in the Night, A, 1972. Dir. Donald W. Thompson. Patty Dunning, Mike Niday, Colleen Niday, Maryann Rachford, Thom Rachford, Russell S. Doughten, Jr. [End-of-the-World Films; Missionary Films] Thieves Like Us, 1974. Dir. Robert Altman. Keith Carradine, Shelley Duvall, John Schuck, Bert Remsen, Louise Fletcher, Ann Latham, Tom Skerritt. [Altman, Robert] Things to Come, 1936. Dir. William Cameron Menzies. Raymond Massey, Edward Chapman, Ralph Richardson, Margaretta Scott, Cedric Hardwicke. [End-of-the-World Films] Third Miracle, The, 1999. Dir. Agnieszka Holland. Sofia Polanska, Pavol Simon, Ivan Lukac, Patrik Minar, Michael Rispoli. [Catholicism] 30 Days of Night, 2007. Dir. David Slade. Josh Hartnett, Melissa George, Danny Huston, Ben Foster, Mark Boone, Jr. [Vampires] Thoroughly Modern Millie, 1967. Dir. George Roy Hill. Julie Andrews, James Fox, Mary Tyler Moore, Carol Channing, John Gavin. [Ritual] Three Colors: Blue. See Trois couleurs: Bleu. Three Colors: Red. See Trois couleurs: Rouge. Three Colors: White. See Trzy kolory: Bialy. Three Extremes. See Saam gang. Three Extremes II. See Saam gaang yi. 3 Women, 1977. Dir. Robert Altman. Shelley Duvall, Sissy Spacek, Janice Rule, Robert Fortier, Ruth Nelson. [Altman, Robert] 300, 2006. Dir. Zack Snyder. Gerard Butler, Lena Headey, Dominic West, David Wenham, Wincent Regan. [Greek and Roman Myth] Throne of Blood. See Kumonosu jô. Through a Glass Darkly. See Såsom i en spegel. Thunderheart, 1992. Dir. Michael Apted. Val Kilmer, Sam Shepard, Graham Greene, Fred Ward, Fred Dalton Thompson. [American Indian Religion; Myth] Tim Burton’s The Nightmare Before Christmas. See Nightmare Before Christmas, The.

552 | Appendix: Filmography

Time Bandits, 1981. Dir. Terry Gilliam. John Cleese, Sean Connery, Shelly Duvall, Katherine Helmond, Ian Holm. [Gilliam, Terry; God] Time Changer, 2002. Dir. Rich Christiano. D. David Morin, Gavin MacLeod, Hal Linden, Jennifer O’Neill, Paul Rodriguez. [Protestantism] Time of Favor. See Ha-Hesder. Tirez sur le pianiste (Shoot the Piano Player), 1960. Dir. François Truffaut. Charles Aznavous, Marie Dubois, Nicole Berger, Michèle Mercier, Serge Davri. [Truffaut, François] Titan A.E., 2000. Dir. Don Bluth, Gary Goldman, Art Vitello. Matt Damon, Bill Pullman, John Leguizamo, Nathan Lane, Janeane Garofalo, Drew Barrymore, Ron Perlman. [Mormonism] To Be or Not to Be, 1983. Dir. Alan Johnson. Mel Brooks, Anne Bancroft, Tim Mathenson, Charles Durning, Christopher Lloyd. [Brooks, Mel] To the Devil a Daughter, 1976. Dir. Peter Sykes. Richard Widmark, Christopher Lee, Honor Blackman, Denholm Elliott, Michael Goodliffe, Nastassja Kinski. [Devil] To End All Wars, 2001. Dir. David L. Cunningham. Ciarán McMenamin, Robert Carlyle, Kiefer Sutherland, Mark Strong, Yugo Saso. [Protestantism] Tôkyô monogatari (Tokyo Story), 1953. Dir. Yasujiro¯ Ozu. Chishu Ryu, Chieko Higashiyama, Setsuko Hara, Haruko Sugimura, Sô Yamamura. [Ozu, Yasujiro¯] Tokyo Story. See Tôkyô monogatari. Tonari no Totoro (My Neighbor Totoro), 1988. Dir. Hayao Miyazaki. Noriko Hidaka, Chika Sakamoto, Shigesato Itoi, Sumi Shimatomoto, Tanie Kitabayashi. [Miyazaki, Hayao] Tony Fontane Story, The, 1963. Dir. Jan Sadlo. Char Fontane, Tony Fontane, Kerry Vaughn. [Missionary Films] Topo, El, 1970. Dir. Alejandro Jodorwsky. Alejandro Jodorwsky, Brontis Jodorowsky, Jose Legarreta, Alfonso Arau, Jose Luis Fernandez. [Mysticism] Tora no o wo fumu otokotachi (The Men Who Tread on the Tiger’s Tail), 1945. Dir. Akira Kurosawa. Denjirô Ôkôchi, Susumu Fujita, Kenichi Enomoto, Masayuki Mori, Takashi Shimura. [Kurosawa, Akira] Tornado, The. See al-A’asar. Trapped by the Mormons, 1922. Dir. H. B. Parkinson. Evelyn Brent, Louis Willoughby, Ward McAllister, Olaf Hytten, Olive Sloan. [Mormonism] Trial of Joan of Arc. See Procès de Jeanne d’Arc. Tribulation, 2000. Dir. André van Heerden. Gary Busey, Howie Mandel, Nick Mancuso, Margot Kidder, Sherry Miller. [End-of-the-World Films] Trip to Bountiful, The, 1985. Dir. Peter Masterson. Geraldine Page, John Heard, Crlin Glynn, Richard Bradford, Rebecca De Mornay, Kevin Cooney. [Ritual] Trip to the Moon, A. See voyage dans la lune, Le.

Appendix: Filmography | 553

Trois couleurs: Bleu (Three Colors: Blue), 1993. Dir. Krzysztof Kies´lowski. Juliette Binoche, Benoît Régent, Florence Pernel, Charlotte Véry, Hélène Vincent. [Kies´ lowski, Krzysztof] Trois couleurs: Rouge (Three Colors: Red), 1994. Dir. Krzysztof Kies´ lowski. Irene Jacob, Jean Louis Trinitigant, Frederique Feder, Jean Pierre Lorit, Samuel Le Bihan. [Europe (Continental); Kies´ lowski, Krzysztof] Trojan Women, The, 1971. Dir. Mihalis Kakogiannis. Katherine Hepburn, Vanessa Redgrave, Genevieve Bujold, Irene Papas, Patrick Magee. [Greek and Roman Myth] Tron, 1982. Dir. Steven Lisberger. Jeff Bridges, Bruce Boxleitner, David Warner, Cindy Morgan, Barnard Hughes. [Mysticism] Troy, 2004. Dir. Wolfgang Petersen. Julian Glover, Brian Cox, Nathan Jones, Adoni Maropis, Jacob Smith, Brad Pitt, Diane Kruger. [Greek and Roman Myth; Myth] True Grit, 1969. Dir. Henry Hathaway. John Wayne, Glen Campbell, Kim Darby, Jeremy Slate, Robert Duvall, Dennis Hopper. [Westerns] True Lies, 1994. Dir. James Cameron. Arnold Schwarzenegger, Jamie Lee Curtis, Tom Arnold, Bill Paxton, Charlton Heston. [Islam] True Romance, 1993. Dir. Tony Scott. Christian Slater, Patricia Arquette, Michael Rapaport, Val Kilmer, Bronson Pinchot, Dennis Hopper. [Tarantino, Quentin] Truly Madly Deeply, 1990. Dir. Anthony Minghella. Juliet Stevenson, Jenny Howe, Carolyn Choa, Bill Paterson, Christopher Rozycki. [Theology and Film] Truman Show, The, 1998. Dir. Peter Weir. Jim Carrey, Laura Linney, Noah Emmerich, Natascha McElhone, Ed Harris, Paul Giamatti, Harry Shearer, Philip Baker Hall. [Theology and Film] Trzy kolory: Bialy (Three Colors: White), 1994. Dir. Krzysztof Kies´ lowski. Zbigniew Zamachowski, Julie Delpy, Janusz Gajos, Jerzy Sturh, Aleksander Bardini. [Kies´ lowski, Krzysztof] Tsubaki Sanjûrô (Sanjuro), 1962. Dir. Akira Kurosawa. Toshirô Mifune, Tatsuya Nakadai, Keiju Kobayashi, Yuzo Kayama, Reiko Dan. [Buddhism; Kurosawa, Akira] Tuchi nad Borskom (Clouds over Borsk), 1960. Dir. Vasili Ordynsky. Inna Gulaya, Roman Khomyatov, Vladimir Ivashov, Natalya Antonova. [Russia] Tucker, 1988. Dir. Francis Ford Coppola. Jeff Bridges, Joan Allen, Martin Landau, Frederic Forrest, Mako, Christian Slater. [Coppola, Francis Ford] Tutti i colori del buio (All the Colors of the Dark), 1972. Dir. Sergio Martino. George Hilton, Edwige Fenech, Ivan Rassimov, Julián Ugarte, George Rigaud. [Devil]

554 | Appendix: Filmography

Twelve Chairs, The, 1970. Dir. Mel Brooks. Ron Moody, Frank Langella, Dom DeLuise, Andréas Voutsinas, Diana Coupland. [Allen, Woody] Twelve Monkeys, 1995. Dir. Terry Gilliam. Joseph Melito, Bruce Willis, Brad Pitt, Jon Seda, Michael Chance, Vernon Campbell. [End-of-the-World Films; Gilliam, Terry; Science Fiction] Twilight, 2008. Dir. Catherine Hardwicke. Kristen Stewart, Robert Pattinson, Billy Burke, Ashley Greene, Nikki Reed. [Vampires] Twinkle in God’s Eye, The, 1955. Dir. George Blair. Mickey Rooney, Coleen Gray, Hugh O’Brian, Joey Forman, Don “Red” Barry, Mike Connors. [Clergy] 2001: A Space Odyssey, 1968. Dir. Stanley Kubrick. Keir Dullea, Gary Lockwood, William Sylvester, Daniel Richter, Leonard Rossiter. [Kubrick, Stanley; Mysticism; Science Fiction; Tarkovsky, Andrei] Tystnaden (The Silence), 1963. Dir. Ingmar Bergman. Ingrid Thulin, Gunnel Lindblom, Birger Malmsten, Håkan Jahnberg, Jörgen Lindstrom. [Europe (Continental)] —U— Uccellacci e Uccellini (The Hawks and the Sparrows), 1966. Dir. Pier Paolo Pasolini. Toto, Ninetto Davoli, Femi Benussi, Rossana Di Rocco, Renato Capogna. [Pasolini, Pier Paolo] Ugetsu monogatari (Tales of Ugetsu), 1953. Dir. Kenji Mizoguchi. Masayuki Mori, Machiko Kyô, Kinuyo Tanaka, Eitarô Ozawa, Ikio Sawamura. [Japan; Mizoguchi, Kenji] Ukhod velikovo startza (Departure of a Grand Old Man), 1912. Dir. Yakov Protazanov and Elizaveta Thiman. Olga Petrova, Vladimir Shaternikov, Mikhail Tamarov, Elizaveta Thiman. [Russia] Ukikusa monogatari (Story of Floating Weeds), 1934. Dir. Yasujiro¯ Ozu. Takeshi Sakamoto, Chouko Iida, Koji Mitsui, Rieko Yagumo, Yoshiko Tsubouchi. [Ozu, Yasujiro¯] última cena, La (The Last Supper), 1976. Dir. Tomas Gutierrez Alea. Mario Acea, Mario Balmaseda, Francisco Borroto, Samuel Claxton, Andes Cortina. [Latin America] Ultraviolet, 1998. Television. Dir. Joe Ahearne. Fiona Dolman, Jack Davenport, Idris Elba, Colette Brown, Susannah Harker. [Vampires] Ultraviolet, 2006. Dir. Kurt Wimmer. Milla Jovovich, Cameron Bright, Nick Chinlund, Sepastien Andieu, Ida Martin. [Vampires] Unbreakable, 2000. Dir. M. Night Shyamalan. Bruce Willis, Samuel L. Jackson, Robin Wright Penn, Spence Treat Clark, Charlayne Woodard. [Myth] Undead, The, 1957. Dir. Roger Corman. Pamela Duncan, Richard Garland, Allison Hayes, Val Dufour, Mel Welles. [Devil]

Appendix: Filmography | 555

Under the Sun of Satan. See Sous le soleil de Satan. Underworld, 2003. Dir. Len Wiseman. Kate Beckinsale, Scott Speedman, Michael Scheen, Shane Brolly, Bill Nighy. [Vampires] Unforgiven, 1992. Dir. Clint Eastwood. Clint Eastwood, Gene Hackman, Morgan Freeman, Richard Harris, Jamz Woolvett, Saul Rubinek. [Greek and Roman Myths; Westerns] unge år, De: Erik Nietzsche sagaen del 1 (The Early Years: Erik Nietzsche, Part I ), 2007. Dir. Jacob Thuesen. Jonatan Spang, David Dencik, Carl Martin Norén, Therese Damsgaard, Mille Lehfeldt. [Trier, Lars von] Unhold, Der (The Ogre), 1996. Dir. Volker Schlondorff. John Malkovich, Gottfried John, Marianne Sagebrecht, Bolker Spengler, Henio Ferch. [Europe (Continental)] Unholy, The 1988. Dir. Camilo Vila. Ruben Rabasa, Nicole Fortier, Peter Frechette, Phil Becker, Ned Beatty. [Horror] Unstrung Heroes, 1995. Dir. Diane Keaton. Andie MacDowell, John Turturro, Michael Richards, Maury Chaykin, Nathan Watt. [Ritual] Uptown Saturday Night, 1974. Dir. Sidney Poitier. Sidney Poitier, Bill Cosby, Harry Belafonte, Flip Wilson, Richard Pryor. [Clergy] urlo nelle tenebre, Un (The Return of the Exorcist), 1975. Dir. Franco Lo Cascio, Angelo Pannacciò. Richard Conte, Françoise Prévost, Patrizia Gori, JeanClaude Vernè, Sonia Viviani. [Devil] Urs al-jalil (Wedding in Galilee), 1987. Dir. Michel Khleifi. Mohamad Ali El Akili, Bushra Karaman, Makram Khoury, Yussuf Abu-Warda, Anna Condo, Nazih Akleh. [Ritual] —V — V for Vendetta, 2005. Dir. Andy Wachowski, Larry Wachowski. Natalie Portman, Hugo Weaving, Stephen Rea, Stephen Fry, John Hurt. [Superheroes] Vagabond, The. See Awaara. Valley of the Wolves: Iraq. See Kurtlar vadisi—Irak. Vampyres, 1974. Dir. José Ramón Larraz. Marianne Morris, Anulka Dziubinska, Murray Brown, Brian Deacon, Sally Faulker. [Vampires] vangelo secondo Matteo, Il (The Gospel According to St, Matthew), 1964. Dir. Pier Paolo Pasolini. Enrique Irazoqui, Margherita Caruso, Susanna Pasolini, Marcello Morante, Mario Socrate. [Pasolini, Pier Paolo] Van Helsing, 2004. Dir. Stephen Sommers. Hugh Jackman, Kate Beckinsale, Richard Roxburgh, David Wenham, Shuler Hensley. [Clergy; Horror; Vampires] Vanilla Sky, 2001. Dir. Cameron Crowe. Tom Cruise, Penélope Cruz, Cameron Diaz, Kurt Russell, Jason Lee. [Belief; Protestantism]

556 | Appendix: Filmography

Vanishing American, The, 1925. Dir. George Seitz. Richard Dix, Lois Wilson, Noah Beery, Malcolm McGregor, Nocki. [American Indian Religion] vida es silbar, La (Life Is to Whistle), 1998. Dir. Fernando Perez. Jose Andrade, Maudelet Badia, Elena Bolanos, Rolando Brito, Alina Canizares. [Latin America] vie et la passion de Jésus Christ, La (The Passion Play), 1903. Dir. Lucien Nonguet, Ferdinand Zecca. Madame Moreau, Monsieur Moreau. [Russia] Vincent and Theo, 1990. Dir. Robert Altman. Tim Roth, Paul Rhys, Adrian Brine, Jean-François Perrier, Yves Dangerfield. [Altman, Robert] Virgen de los sicarios, La (Our Lady of the Assassins), 2000. Dir. Barbet Schroeder. German Jaramillo, Anderson Ballesteros, Juan David Resterpo, Manual Busquets, Wilmar Agudelo. [Latin America] Virgin Spring, The. See Jungfrukallan. Virginian, The, 1914. Dir. Cecil B. DeMille. Dustin Farnum. [Westerns] Viridiana, 1961. Dir. Luis Buñuel. Silvia Pinal, Francisco Rabal, Fernando Rey, José Calvo, Margarita Lozano. [Buñuel, Luis] Virtuosity, 1995. Dir. Brett Leonard. Denzel Washington, Kelly Lynch, Russell Crowe, Stephen Spinella, William Forysthe. [Posthumanism] Visitor, The, 1979. Dir. Giulio Paradisi. Mel Ferrer, Glenn Ford, Lance Henriksen, John Huston, Joanne Nail, Sam Peckinpah, Shelley Winters. [Devil] Vita é bella, La (Life Is Beautiful), 1997. Dir. Roberto Benigni. Roberto Benigni, Nicoletta Braschi, Giorgio Cantarini, Giustino Durano, Sergio Bini Bustric. [Judaism] Vivement dimanche! (Confidentially Yours), 1983. Dir. François Truffaut. Fanny Ardant, Jean-Louis Trintignant, Jean-Pierre Kalfon, Philippe Laundenbach, Philippe Morier-Genoud. [Truffaut, François] voie lactée, Le (The Milky Way), 1969. Dir. Luis Buñuel. Paul Frankeur, Laurent Terzieff, Alain Cuny, Edith Scob, Bernard Verley. [Buñuel, Luis; Europe (Continental)] Voodoo Girl (also known as The Zombies of Sugar Hill). See Sugar Hill. Voodoo Island, 1957. Dir. Reginald Le Borg. Boris Karloff, Beverly Tyler, Murvyn Vye, Elisha Cooke, Jr., Rhodes Reason, Jean Engsrom. [Voodoo] Voyage dans la lune, Le (A Trip to the Moon), 1902. Dir. Georges Méliès. Victor Andre, Bleuette Bernon, Brunnet, Jeanne d’Alcy, Henri Delannoy. [Science Fiction] Vrendens dag (Day of Wrath), 1943. Dir. Carl Theodor Dreyer. Kristen Andersean, Sigurd Berg, Albert Hoeberg, Harald Holst, Emanuel Jorgensen. [Clergy; Dreyer, Carl Theodor]

Appendix: Filmography | 557

Vsyo ostayotsya lyudyam (Everything Remains for the People), 1963. Dir. Georgi Natanson. Nikolai Cherkasov, Sofiya Pilyavskaya, Andrei Popov, Elina Bystritskaya, Igor Ozerov. [Russia] —W — Wagon Master, 1950. Dir. John Ford. Ben Johnson, Joanne Dru, Harry Carey, Jr., Ward Bond, Charles Kemper. [Mormonism] Wait Until Dark, 1967. Dir. Terence Young. Audrey Hepburn, Alan Arkin, Richard Crenna, Efrem Zimbalist, Jr., Jack Weston. [Ritual] Waking Life, 2001. Dir. Richard Linklater. Trevor Jack Brooks, Lorelei Linklater, Wiley Wiggins, Glover Gill, Lara Hicks. [Mysticism] Walkabout, 1971. Dir. Nicolas Roeg. Jenny Agutter, Luc Roeg, David Gulpilil, John Meillon, Robert McDarra. [Ritual] Walking Dead, The, 1936. Dir. Michael Curtiz. Boris Karloff, Ricardo Cortez, Edmund Gwenn, Marguerite Chuchill, Warren Hull. [Voodoo] Walt Disney’s Fantasia. See Fantasia. Wandâfuru raifu (After Life), 1998. Dir. Hirokazu Koreeda. Arata, Erika Oda, Susumu Terajima, Takashi Naitô, Kyôko Kagawa. [Japan] WarGames, 1983. Dir. John Badham. Matthew Broderick, Dabney Coleman, John Wood,Ally Sheedy, Barry Corbin. [End-of-the-World Films; Science Fiction] War of the Worlds, The, 1953. Dir. Bryon Haskin. Gene Barry, Ann Robinson, Les Tremayne, Robert Cornthwaite, Sandro Giglio. [Clergy] War of the Worlds, 2005. Dir. Steven Spielberg. Tom Cruise, Dakota Fanning, Miranda Otto, Justin Chatwin, Tim Robbins. [Myth; Science Fiction] Water, 2005. Dir. Deepa Mehta. Sarala, Buddhi Wickrama, Rinsly Weerarathne, Iranganie Serasinghe, Hermantha Gamage. [Women] Wedding in Galilee. See Urs al-jalil. We Free Kings (1996). See I magi randagi. In weiter Ferne, so nah! (Faraway, So Close!), 1993. Dir. Wim Wenders. Otto Sander, Bruno Ganz, Nastassja Kinski, Martin Olbertz, Aline Krajewski. [Angels; Europe (Continental)] Werewolves on Wheels, 1971. Dir. Michael Levesque. Steve Oliver, D. J. Anderson, Gene Shane, Billy Gray, Gray Johnson. [Devil] West Side Story, 1961. Dir. Jerome Robbins, Robert Wise. Natalie Wood, Richard Beymer, Russ Tamblyn, Rita Moreno, George Chakiris. [Ritual] Whale Rider, 2002. Dir. Niki Caro. Keisha Castle-Hughes, Rawiri Paratene, Vicky Haughton, Cliff Curtis, Grant Roa. [Indigenous Religions; Mysticism] What Am I to You . . . ! See Hum Aapke Hain Koun . . . ! What Dreams May Come, 1998. Dir. Vincent Ward. Robin Williams, Cuba Gooding, Jr., Annabella Sciorra, Max von Sydow, Jessica Brooks Grant. [Heaven; Mysticism]

558 | Appendix: Filmography

What the #&*! Do We (K)now?!, 2004. Dir. William Arntz. Marlee Matlin, Elaine Hendrix, John Ross Bowie, Robert Bailey, Jr., Barry Newman. [Mysticism] Wheel of Time, 2003. Documentary. Dir. Werner Herzog. Dali Lama, Lama Lhundup Woeser, Takna Jigme Sangpo, Mattiew Ricard, Madhurita Negi Anand. [Europe (Continental)] When Harry Met Sally . . . 1989. Dir. Rob Reiner. Billy Crystal, Meg Ryan, Carrie Fisher, Bruno Kirby. [Myth] Where Are My Children?, 1916. Dir. Lucy Payton and Franklin Hall. Tyrone Power, Sr., A. D. Blake, Marjorie Blynn, Juan de la Cruz, Cora Drew. [Silent Film] Where the Green Ants Dream. See Wo die grünen Ameisen träumen. Where the Red Fern Grows, 1974. Dir. Norman Tokar. James Whitmore, Beverly Garland, Jack Ging, Lonny Chapman, Steward Peterson. [Mormonism] Which Way Is Up?, 1977. Dir. Michael Schultz. Richard Pryor, Lonette McKee, Margaret Avery, Morgan Woodward, Marilyn Coleman. [Black Church, The] White Buffalo, The, 1977. Dir. J. Lee Thompson. Charles Bronson, Jack Warden, Will Sampson, Clint Walker, Slim Pickens, Kim Novak, John Carradine. [Ritual] White Sister, The, 1923. Dir. Henry King. Lillian Gish, Ronald Colman, Gail Kane, J. Barney Sherry, Charles Lane. [Silent Film] White Zombie, 1932. Dir. Victor Halperin. Bela Lugosi, Madge Bellamy, Joseph Cawthorn, Robert Frazer, John Harron. [Horror; Voodoo] Who’s That Knocking at My Door (also known as I Call First), 1969. Dir. Martin Scorsese. Zina Bethune, Harvey Keitel, Anne Collette, Lennard Kuras, Michael Scala. [Scorsese, Martin] Why Wasn’t He There? See Senkiföldje. Wild Child, The. See L’Enfant sauvage. Wild Strawberries. See Smultronstället. Wind Will Carry Us, The. See Bad ma ra khahad bord. Wings of Desire (also known as The Sky Over Berlin). See Himmel über Berlin, Der. Winter Light. See Nattvardsgästerna. Wired Angel. 1999. Dir. Sam Wells. Yuri Delaney, Marc Masino, Claudia Reeves, Caroline Ruttle, Ed Stout. [Joan of Arc] Witchcraft Through the Ages, 1968. See Häxan. Witches, The. See Häxan. Witches of Eastwick, The, 1987. Dir. George Miller. Jack Nicholson, Cher, Susan Sarandon, Michelle Pfeiffer, Veronica Cartwright. [Magic]

Appendix: Filmography | 559

Witchfinder General (also known as The Conqueror Worm), 1968. Dir. Michael Reeves. Vincent Price, Ian Ogilvy, Rupert Davies, Hilary Heath, Robert Russell. [Magic] Witness, 1985. Dir. Peter Weir. Harrison Ford, Kelly McGillis, Josef Sommer, Lukas Haas, Jan Rubes. [Judaism; Protestantism] Wizard of Oz, The, 1939. Dir. Victor Fleming. Judy Garland, Frank Morgan, Ray Bolger, Bert Lahr, Jack Haley, Billie Burke, Margaret Hamilton. [Heaven; Magic; Ritual] Wo de fu qin mu qin (The Road Home), 1999. Dir. Yimou Zhang. Ziyi Zhang, Honglei Sun, Hao Zheng, Yulian Zhao, Bin Li. [China; Ritual] Wo die grünen Ameisen träumen (Where the Green Ants Dream), 1984. Dir. Werner Herzog. Bruse Spence, Wandjuk Marika, Roy Marika, Ray Barrett, Norman Kaye. [Europe (Continental)] Wo Hu Cang Long, (Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon), 2000. Dir. Ang Lee. Yun-Fat Chow, Michelle Yeoh, Ziyi Zhang, Chen Chang, Sihung Lung. [Buddhism; China] Woman Thou Art Loosed, 2004. Dir. Michael Schultz. Kimberly Elise, Loretta Devine, Debbi Morgan, Michael Boatman, Clifton Powell. [Black Church, The; Clergy] Wong Fei Hung II: Naam yi dong ji keung (Once Upon a Time in China II), 1992. Dir. Hark Tsui. Jet Li. [China] Wooden Man’s Bride, The. See Wu kui. Word, The. See Ordet. Wpisany w gwiazde Davida (The Cross Inscribed in the Star of David), 1997. Documentary. Dir. Grzegorz Linkowski. [Holocaust, The] Wu kui (The Wooden Man’s Bride), 1994. Dir. Jianxin Huang. Shih Chang, Bao-ming Gu, Kao Mingjun, Fuli Wang, Lan Wang. [China] —X— “X”: The Man with X-Ray Eyes, 1963. Dir. Roger Corman. Ray Milland, Diana Van der Vlis, Harold J. Stone, John Hoyt, Don Rickles. [Horror] X-Men, 2000. Dir. Bryan Singer. Hugh Jackman, Patrick Stewart, Ian McKellen, Famke Janssen, James Marsden, Halle Berry, Anna Paquin. [Myth] X-Men: The Last Stand, 2006. Dir. Brett Ratner. Hugh Jackman, Halle Berry, Ian McKellen, Patrick Stewart, Famke Janssen. [Superheroes] X2: X-Men United, 2003. Dir. Bryan Singer. Patrick Stewart, Hugh Jackman, Ian McKellen, Halle Berry, Famke Janssen. [Superheroes] Xingfu shiguang (Happy Times), 2000. Dir. Yimou Zhang. Benshan Zhao, Jie Dong, Lifan Dong, Biao Fu, Xuejian Li. [China]

560 | Appendix: Filmography

Xizao (Shower), 1999. Dir. Yang Zhang. Wu Jiang, Du Jiayi, Quanxin Pu, He Zeng, Xu Zhu. [China] —Y — Yacoubian Building, The. See ‘Imarat al-Ya’qubiyan. Yaddun ilahiya (Divine Intervention), 2002. Dir. Elia Suleiman. Elia Suleiman, Manal Khader, George Ibrahim, Amer Daher, Jamel Daher. [Arab Film] Yakuza, The, 1974. Dir. Sydney Pollack. Robert Mitchum, Ken Kakakura, Brian Keith, Herb Edelman, Richard Jordan. [Schrader, Paul] Yanqui Cur, The, 1913. Dir. D. W. Griffith. Robert Harron, Kate Bruce, Walter Miller, Lionel Barrymore, Frank Opperman. [Silent Film] Yeelen (Brightness), 1987. Dir. Souleymane Cissé. Issiaka Kane, Aoua Sangare, Niamanto Sanogo, Balla Moussa Keita, Soumba Traore. [Africa] Yentl, 1983. Dir. Barbra Streisand. Barbra Streisand, Mandy Patinkin, Amy Irving, Nehemiah Persoff, Steven Hill. [Clergy; Judaism] Yin shi nan nu (Eat Drink Man Woman), 1994. Dir. Ang Lee. Sihung Lung, Yu-Wen Wang, Chien-lien Wu, Kuei-Mei Yang, Sylvia Chang. [Buddhism; China] Ying xiong (Hero), 2002. Dir. Yimou Zhang. Jet Li, Tony Leung Chiu Wai, Maggie Cheung, Ziyi Zhang, Daoming Chen. [China] Yojimbo, 1961. Dir. Akira Kurosawa. Toshirô Mifune, Tatsuya Nakadai, Yôko Tsukasa, Isuzu Yamada, Daisuke Katô. [Buddhism; Japan; Kurosawa, Akira] Yo, La Peor de Todas (I, the Worst of All), 1990. Dir. María Luisa Bemberg. Assumpta Serna, Dominique Sanda, Héctor Alterio, Lautaro Murúa, Graciela Araujo. [Latin America] Young Frankenstein, 1974. Dir. Mel Brooks. Gene Wilder, Peter Boyle, Marty Feldman, Madeline Kahn, Cloris Leachman. [Brooks, Mel] Young Torless. See Junge Törless, Der. —Z— Zawadj al-mukhtalat fi-l-ardi al-muqadassa, Al (Forbidden Marriages in the Holy Land), 1995. Documentary. Dir. Michel Khleifi. [Arab Film] Zelig, 1983. Dir. Woody Allen. Woody Allen, Mia Farrow, John Buckwalter, Patrick Horigan, Marvin Chatinover. [Allen, Woody] Zemlya (Earth), 1930. Dir. Aleksandr Dovzhenko. Stepan Shkurat, Semyon Svashenko, Yuliya Solntseva, Yelena Maksimova, Nikolai Nademsky. [Russia] Zerkalo (The Mirror), 1975. Dir. Andrei Tarkovsky. Margarita Terekhova, Ignat Daniltsev, Larisa Tarkovskaya, Alla Demidova, Anatoli Solonitsyn. [Russia] Zhivoy (The Hero), 2006. Dir. Aleksandr Veledinsky. Olga Arntgolts, Aleksey Chadov, Maksim Lagashkin, Aleksandr Robak, Viktoriya Smirnova. [Russia]

Appendix: Filmography | 561

Zombi 2 (Zombie), 1979. Dir. Lucio Fulci. Tisa Farrow, Ian McColloch, Richard Johnson, Al Cliver, Aureta Gay. [Voodoo] Zombie. See Zombi 2. Zombies of Mora Tau, 1957. Dir. Edward L. Cahn. Gregg Palmer, Allison Hayes, Autumn Russell, Joel Morris Ankrum. [Voodoo] Zombies of Sugar Hill, The (also known as Voodoo Girl). See Sugar Hill.

Selected Bibliography

Because of the recent increase of interest in the intersection of religion and film, a complete bibliography on the topic runs the risk of being out of date by the time it is published. The following materials are meant only to supplement those provided in the specific entries, and are (for the most part) primarily more general in scope. Except in unusual circumstances, articles, interviews, movie reviews, nonfiction essays, and editorials from newspapers, newsweeklies, and religious periodicals have not been included; neither have works produced to fulfill requirements for graduate degrees, materials about television programs, materials not published in English, or individual articles and chapters within works already listed separately. Some “crossover” materials—related to both television and film—have been included. Emphasis has been put on scholarly publications on religion and film, materials that take a theological, sociological, historical, textual, cultural studies, and (on occasion) confessional approach to the intersection of religion and film. The first (and for many, the most accessible) place to begin any investigation into the relationship of religion and film is the Internet, and interested readers are strongly encouraged to become familiar with the vast online resources available there, specifically the Journal of Religion & Film (www.unomaha.edu/~jrf ) and the Journal of Religion & Popular Culture (www.usask.ca/relst/jrpc). Altman, Sig. The Comic Image of the Jew: Explorations of a Pop Culture Phenomenon. Rutherford, NJ: Farleigh Dickinson University Press, 1971. Aylmer, Kevin J. “Towering Babble and Glimpses of Zion: Recent Depictions of Rastafari in Cinema.” In Chanting Down Babylon: The Rastafari Reader, edited by Nathaniel Samuel Murrel, William David Spencer, and Adrian Anthony McFarlane, 284–307. Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1998. Barbour, Dennis H. “Heroism and Redemption in the Mad Max Trilogy.” Journal of Popular Film and Television 27, no. 3 (1999): 28–34. 563

564 | Selected Bibliography

Baron, Lawrence. Projecting the Holocaust into the Present: The Changing Focus of Contemporary Holocaust Cinema. Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2005. Bartunek, John, L. C. Inside The Passion: An Insider’s Look at The Passion of the Christ. West Chester, PA: Ascension Press, 2005. Bazin, André. “Cinema and Theology.” In Bazin at Work: Major Essays and Reviews from the Forties and Fifties. Translated by Alain Piette and Bert Cardullo, edited by Bert Cardullo, 61–72. New York: Routledge, 1997. Beal, Timothy, and Tod Linafelt, eds. Mel Gibson’s Bible: Religion, Popular Culture, and The Passion of the Christ. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005. Bergesen, Albert J., and Andrew Greeley. God in the Movies: A Sociological Investigation. New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction, 2000. Bernheimer, Kathryn. The 50 Greatest Jewish Movies: A Critic’s Ranking of the Very Best. Secaucus, NJ: Birch Lane Press, 1998. Billingsley, K. L. The Seductive Image: A Christian Critique of the World of Film. Westchester, IL: Crossway, 1989. Black, Gregory D. The Catholic Crusade Against the Movies, 1940–1975. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1998. Blake, Richard A. “Secular Prophecy in an Age of Film.” Journal of Religious Thought 27, no. 1 (1970): 63–75. Blake, Richard A. Screening America: Reflections on Five Classic Films. New York: Paulist Press, 1991. Bland, Henderson. From Manger to Cross: The Story of the World-Famous Film of the Life of Jesus. London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1922. Boyd, Malcolm. “Theology and the Movies.” Theology Today 14, no. 3 (1957): 359–375. Boyer, Mark G. Using Film to Teach New Testament. Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 2002. Brackman, Harold. “The Attack on ‘Jewish Hollywood’: A Chapter in the History of Modern American Anti-Semitism.” Modern Judaism 20, no. 1 (2000): 1–19. Burnett, R. G., and E. D. Martell. The Devil’s Camera: Menace of Film-Ridden World. London: Epworth Press, 1932. Butler, Ivan. Religion in the Cinema. New York: A.S. Barnes, 1969. Cadegan, Uma M. “Guardians of Democracy or Cultural Storm Troopers? American Catholics and the Control of Popular Media, 1934–1966.” Catholic Historical Review 87 (2001): 252–282. Campbell, Richard H., and Michael R. Pitts. The Bible on Film: A Checklist, 1897–1980. Metuchen, NJ: Scarecrow Press, 1981.

Selected Bibliography | 565

Cargal, Timothy B. Hearing a Film, Seeing a Sermon: Preaching and Popular Movies. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2007. Carr, Steven Alan. Hollywood and Anti-Semitism: A Cultural History up to World War II. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2001. Chattaway, Peter T. “Jesus at the Movies.” Books and Culture 6 (March/April, 2000): 10–14. Christianson, Eric, Peter Francis, and William R. Telford, eds. Cinéma Divinité: Religion, Theology and the Bible in Film. London: SCM Press, 2005. Coats, Paul. Cinema, Religion and the Romantic Legacy: Through a Glass Darkly. Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2003. Cohen, Jeremy. Christ Killers: The Jews and the Passion from the Bible to the Big Screen. New York: Oxford University Press, 2006. Cohen, Sarah Blacher, ed. From Hester Street to Hollywood: The Jewish-American Stage and Screen. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1983. Cooke, John. “Patterns of Shamanic Ritual in Popular Film.” Literature/Film Quarterly 12, no. 1 (1984): 50–57. Coopenger, Mark. “A Christian Perspective on Film.” In The Christian Imagination, edited by Leland Ryken, 285–302. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Book House, 1981. Cooper, James F. “Reflections on The Passion.” American Arts Quarterly (Spring 2004): 2–8. Cooper, John C., and Carl Skrade, eds. Celluloid and Symbols. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1970. Corley, Kathleen E., and Robert L. Webb, eds. Jesus and Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ: The Film, the Gospels, and the Claims of History. New York: Continuum, 2004. Cosandey, Roland, André Gaudreault, and Tom Gunning, eds. Une Invention du Diable? Cinéma des Premiers Temps et Religion [An Invention of the Devil? Religion and Early Cinema]. Sainte Foy, Canada: Les Presses du l’Université Laval, 1992. Couvares, Francis G. “Hollywood, Main Street, and the Church: Trying to Censor Movies before the Production Code.” In Movie Censorship and American Culture, edited by Francis G. Courvares, 129–158. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institute Press, 1996. Cox, Harvey G. “Theological Reflections on Cinema.” Andover Newton Quarterly 3, no. 2 (1962): 28–40. Cunneen, Joseph E. “Film and the Sacred.” Cross Currents 43, no. 1 (1993): 92–104. Cunningham, Philip A., ed. Pondering the Passion: What’s at Stake for Christians and Jews. Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2004.

566 | Selected Bibliography

Dalton, Russell W. Faith Journey Through Fantasy Lands: A Christian Dialogue with Harry Potter, Star Wars, and The Lord of the Rings. Minneapolis, MN: Augsburg Fortress Press, 2003. Dans, Peter E. Christians in the Movies: A Century of Saints and Sinners. Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2009. Darby, Ken. Hollywood Holyland: The Filming and Scoring of The Greatest Story Ever Told. Metuchen, NJ: Scarecrow Press, 1992. Deacy, Christopher. “An Application of the Religious Concept of Redemption Through Film Noir.” Scottish Journal of Religious Studies 18, no. 2 (1997): 199–212. Deacy, Christopher. “Integration and Rebirth Through Confrontation: Fight Club and American Beauty as Contemporary Religious Parables.” Journal of Contemporary Religion 17, no. 1 (2002): 61–73. Deacy, Christopher. “Paradise Lost or Paradise Learned?: Sin and Salvation in Pleasantville.” In Mediating Religion: Conversations in Media, Religion, and Culture, edited by Jolyon Mitchell and Sophia Marriage, 201–210. London: Continuum, 2003. Deacy, Christopher. “Screen Christologies: An Evaluation of the Role of Christfigures in Film.” Journal of Contemporary Religion 14, no. 3 (1999): 325–337. Deacy, Christopher. “The Christian Concept of Redemption and Its Application Through the Films of Martin Scorsese.” Religious Studies and Theology 17, no. 1 (1998): 46–70. Deacy, Christopher. Faith in Film: Religious Themes in Contemporary Cinema. Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2005. Desser, David, and Lester D. Friedman. American Jewish Filmmakers, 2nd ed. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2004. Detweiler, Craig. Into the Dark: Seeing the Sacred in the Top Films of the 21st Century. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Publishing, 2008. Dietrich, Bryan. “Prince of Darkness, Prince of Light: From Faust to Physicist.” Journal of Popular Film and Television 19, no. 2 (1991): 91–96. Doherty, Thomas. Pre-Code Hollywood: Sex, Immorality, and Insurrection in American Cinema, 1930–1934. New York: Columbia University Press, 1999. Donaldson, Mara E. “Bordercrossing: Fall and Fantasy in Blade Runner and Thelma and Louise.” In The Monstrous and the Unspeakable: The Bible as Fantastic Literature, edited by George Aichele and Tina Pippin, 19–42. Sheffield, UK: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997. Dooley, Roger Burke. “In Heaven’s Name: Religion, True and False.” In From Scarface to Scarlett: American Films in the 1930s, edited by Roger Burke Dooley, 276–286. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1981. Dorsky, Nathaniel. Devotional Cinema. Berkeley, CA: Tuumba Press, 2003.

Selected Bibliography | 567

Douglas, Lloyd C. “The Gospel According to DeMille.” Christian Century (July 14, 1927): 851–853. Downing, Crystal. “Woody Allen’s Blindness and Insight: The Palimpsests of Crimes and Misdemeanors.” Religion and the Arts 1, no. 2 (1997): 73–92. Duhourq, José L. “The Presentation and Interpretation of Moral Evil in the Contemporary Cinema.” In Moral Evil Under Challenge, edited by Johannes B. Metz, 134–142. New York: Herder and Herder, 1970. Encyclopaedia Judaica. “Motion Pictures.” New York: Macmillan, 1971. Encyclopedia of Religion. “Cinema and Religion.” New York: Macmillan, 1987. Epstein, J. “Jews and Film in Australia.” In A Grain of Eternity: 1997 Australian International Religion, Literature and the Arts Conference Proceedings, edited by M. Griffith and J. Tulip, 229–235. Sydney: Centre for Studies in Religion, Literature and the Arts, 1997. Erens, Patricia. “Between Two Worlds: Jewish Images in American Film.” In The Kaleidoscope Lens: How Hollywood Views Ethnic Groups, edited by Randall M. Miller, 114–134. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Jerome S. Ozer, 1980. Erens, Patricia. “Gangster, Vampires, and J.A.P.s: The Jew Surfaces in American Movies.” Journal of Popular Film 4, no. 3 (1975): 208–222. Erens, Patricia. The Jew in American Cinema. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1984. Ferlita, Ernest, and John R. May. Film Odyssey: The Art of Film as Search for Meaning. New York: Paulist Press, 1976. Field, Alex. The Hollywood Project: A Look Into the Minds of the Makers of Spiritually Relevant Films. Lake Mary, FL: Relevant, 2004. Fielding, Julien. Discovering World Religions at 24 Frames per Second. Metuchen, NJ: Scarecrow Press, 2008. Filmography Catalog of Jewish Films in Israel: The Abraham F. Rad Jewish Film Archives. Jerusalem: Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Institute of Contemporary Jewry, 1972. Flesher, Paul V. M., and Robert Torry. Film and Religion: An Introduction. Nashville, TN: Abington Press, 2007. Forshey, Gerald E. American Religious and Biblical Spectaculars. Westport, CT: Praeger, 1992. Fox, Stuart. Jewish Films in the United States: A Comprehensive Survey and Descriptive Filmography. Boston: G.K. Hall, 1976. Fraser, Peter. Images of the Passion: The Sacramental Mode in Film. Westport, CT: Praeger, 1998. Friedman, Lester D. “ ‘Canyons of Nightmare’: The Jewish Horror Film.” In Planks of Reason: Essays on the Horror Film, edited by Barry Keith Grant and Christopher Sharrett, 82–106. Metuchen, NJ: Scarecrow Press, 2004.

568 | Selected Bibliography

Friedman, Lester D. Hollywood’s Image of the Jew. New York: Frederick Ungar, 1982. Friedman, R. M. “Exorcising the Past: Jewish Figures in Contemporary Films.” Journal of Contemporary History 19, no. 3 (1984): 511–527. Gardner, Jared. “Covered Wagons and Decalogues: Paramount’s Myth of Origins.” Yale Journal of Criticism 13, no. 2 (2000): 361–389. Garrett, Greg. The Gospel According to Hollywood. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2007. Getlein, Frank, and Harold C. Gardiner. Movies, Morals, and Art. New York: Sheed and Ward, 1961. Giles, Dennis. “The Tao in Woman in the Dunes.” In Renaissance of the Film, edited by Julius Bellone, 340–348. New York: Macmillan, 1970. Giles, Paul. “Guilt and Salvation: Alfred Hitchcock and Martin Scorsese.” In American Catholic Arts and Fiction: Culture, Ideology, Aesthetics, edited by Paul Giles, 324–350. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1992. Goldberg, Judith N. Laughter Through Tears: The Yiddish Cinema. Rutherford, NJ: Fairleigh Dickenson University Press, 1983. Goldman, Eric A. “Avalon and Liberty Heights: Toward a Better Understanding of the American Jewish Experience Through Cinema.” American Jewish History 91, no. 1 (2003): 109–127. Goldman, Eric A. Visions, Images, and Dreams: Yiddish Film Past and Present. Teaneck, NJ: Ergo Media, 1988. Grace, Pamela. The Religious Film: Christianity and the Hagiopic. Hoboken, NJ: Wiley-Blackwell, 2009. Gracia, Jorge J. E., ed. Mel Gibson’s Passion and Philosophy: The Cross, the Questions, the Controversy. Chicago: Open Court, 2004. Graham, David J. “Christ Imagery in Recent Film: A Saviour from Celluloid?” In Images of Christ: Ancient and Modern, edited by Stanley E. Porter, Michael A. Haynes, and David Tombs, 305–314. Sheffield, UK: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997. Greeley, Andrew. “A God Who Plays It by Ear: Five Metaphors for God in Recent Films.” Journal of Popular Film and Television 19, no. 2 (1991): 67–71. Grodal, Torben. “Born Again Heathenism: Enchanted Worlds on Film.” Northern Lights 6 (2008): 45–58. Gross, Barry. “No Victim She: Barbra Streisand and the Movie Jew.” Journal of Ethnic Studies 3, no. 1 (1975): 28–40. Hagen, W. M. “Shadowlands and the Redemption of Light.” Literature/Film Quarterly 26, no. 1 (1998): 10–15. Hatt, Harold. “Relating to the Indigenous Culture: Theology and Film in Dialogue.” Arts: The Arts in Religious and Theological Studies 4 (Summer 1992): 15–17.

Selected Bibliography | 569

Henderson, Mary. Star Wars: The Magic of Myth. New York: Bantam Books, 1997. Herrmann, Jörg. “From Popular to Arthouse: An Analysis of Love and Nature as Religious Motifs in Recent Cinema.” In Mediating Religion: Conversations in Media, Religion, and Culture, edited by Jolyon Mitchell and Sophia Marriage, 189–199. London: Continuum, 2003. Herx, Henry. “Religion and Film.” In Encyclopedia of the American Religious Experience: Studies of Traditions and Movements, edited by Charles H. Lippy and Peter W. Williams, 3:1341–1358. New York: Scribner’s, 1988. Hirschman, Elizabeth. Heroes, Monsters, and Messiahs: Movies and Television Shows as the Mythology of American Culture. Kansas City, MO: Andrews McMeel, 2000. Hoberman, Jim. Bridge of Light: Yiddish Film Between Two Worlds. Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1995. Holberg, Amelia S. “Betty Boop: Yiddish Film Star.” American Jewish History 87, no. 4 (1999): 291–312. Holloway, Ronald. “Religious Themes in Films of the Last Decade.” Media Development 40, no. 1 (1993): 12–13. Holloway, Ronald. The Religious Dimension in Cinema: With Particular Reference to the Films of Carl Theodor Dreyer, Ingmar Bergman and Robert Bresson. Hamburg, Germany: University of Hamburg Press, 1972. Howard, Jessica. “Hallelujah! Transformation in Film.” African-American Review 30, no. 3 (1996), 441–451. Hurley, Neil P. Soul in Suspense: Hitchkock’s Fright and Delight. Metuchen, NJ: Scarecrow Press, 1993. Hurley, Neil P. Theology Through Film. New York: Harper and Row, 1970. (Republished as Toward a Film Humanism. New York: Delta Books, 1975.) Jewett, Robert. Saint Paul at the Movies: The Apostle’s Dialogue with American Culture. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1993. Jewett, Robert. Saint Paul Returns to the Movies: Triumph Over Shame. Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans, 1999. Johnston, Robert K. Reel Spirituality: Theology and Film in Dialogue. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Book House, 2000. Johnston, Robert K. Useless Beauty: Ecclesiastes Through the Lens of Contemporary Film. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Book House, 2004. Jones, G. William. Sunday Night at the Movies. Richmond, VA: John Knox Press, 1967. Jump, Herbert A. The Religious Possibilities of the Motion Picture. New Britain, CT: South Congregational Church, 1911. Kahle, Roger, and Robert E. Lee. Popcorn and Parables: A New Look at the Movies. Minneapolis, MN: Augsburg, 1971.

570 | Selected Bibliography

Konzelman, Robert G. Marquee Ministry: The Movies Theater as Church and Community Forum. New York: Harper and Row, 1971. Kraemer, Ross S., William Cassidy, and Susan L. Schwartz. Religions of Star Trek. Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 2000. Kreitzer, L. J. The New Testament in Fiction and Film: On Reversing the Hermeneutical Flow. Sheffield, UK: Sheffield Academic Press, 1993. Kreitzer, Larry J. Gospel Images in Fiction and Film: On Reversing the Hermeneutical Flow. London: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002. Kreitzer, Larry J. The Old Testament in Fiction and Film: On Reversing the Hermeneutical Flow. Sheffield, UK: Sheffield Academic Press, 1994. Kreitzer, Larry J. Pauline Images in Fiction and Film: On Reversing the Hermeneutical Flow. Sheffield, UK: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999. Leab, Daniel J., ed. Film and Religion. Special issue, Film History 14, no. 2 (2002). Lindlof, Thomas R. Hollywood Under Siege: Martin Scorsese, the Religious Right, and the Culture Wars. Lexington: The University Press of Kentucky, 2008. Lindvall, Terry. “Holy Architecture: Cinematic Images of the Church.” In Beyond the Stars: Studies in American Popular Film. Vol. 4, Locales in American Popular Film, edited by Paul Loukides and Linda K. Fuller, 136–171. Bowling Green, OH: Bowling Green University Popular Press, 1993. Lindvall, Terry. “Religion and Film, Part I: History and Criticism.” Communication Research Trends 23, no. 4 (2004): 3–44. Lindvall, Terry. “Religion and Film: Part II: Theology and Pedagogy.” Communication Research Trends 24, no. 1 (2005): 1–42. Loughlin, Gerard. Alien Sex: The Body and Desire in Cinema and Theology. Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2004. Lyden, John C. Film as Religion: Myths, Morals, and Rituals. New York: New York University Press, 2003. Lyman, Darryl. Great Jews on Stage and Screen. Middle Village, NY: Jonathan David, 1987. Malone, Peter, with Rose Pacatte. Lights, Camera . . . Faith: A Movie Lover’s Guide to Scripture. 3 Vols. Boston: Pauline Books and Media, 2001, 2003. Malone, Peter. From Back Pews to Front Stalls: The Churches in 100 Years of Australian Cinema. Kensington, New South Wales, Australia: Chevalier Press, 1996. Mararushka, Irena. “Subverting Eden: Ambiguity of Evil and the American Dream in Blue Velvet.” Religion and American Culture 1, no. 1 (1991): 31–46. Marsden, Michael T. “Savior in the Saddle: The Sagebrush Testament.” In Shane: The Critical Edition, edited by James C. Work, 393–404. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1984.

Selected Bibliography | 571

Marsh, Clive, and Gaye Ortiz, eds. Explorations in Theology and Film: Movies and Meaning. Malden, MA: Blackwell, 1997. Marsh, Clive. “A Feast of Learning: On Using Film in Theological Education.” British Journal of Theological Education 5, no. 2 (1992/1993): 33–43. Marsh, Clive. Cinema and Sentiment: Film’s Challenge to Theology. Carlisle, UK: Paternoster Press, 2004. Martin, Joel W., and Conrad E. Ostwalt, Jr., eds. Screening the Sacred: Religion, Myth, and Ideology in Popular American Film. Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1995. Martin, Thomas M. “Approaches to Religion and Film Studies.” In Academic Study of Religion: 1974 Proceedings, edited by Ann Carr, 92–106. Tallahassee, FL: American Academy of Religion, 1974. Martin, Thomas M. Image and the Imageless: A Study in Religious Consciousness and Film, 2nd ed. Lewisburg, PA: Bucknell University Press, 1991. May, John R. “Close Encounters: Hollywood and Religion after a Century.” Image: A Journal of the Arts and Religion 20 (Summer 1998): 87–100. May, John R. “Con Men and Conned Society: Religion in Contemporary American Cinema.” Horizons 4, no. 1 (1977): 15–26. May, John R. “Religion and Film: Recent Contributions to the Continuing Dialogue.” Critical Review of Books in Religion 9 (1996): 105–121. May, John R. Nourishing Faith Through Fiction: Reflections of the Apostles’ Creed in Literature and Film. Franklin, WI: Sheed and Ward, 2001. May, John R., and Michael Bird, eds. Religion in Film. Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 1982. May, John R., ed. Image and Likeness: Religious Visions in American Film Classics. Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press, 1992. May, John R., ed. New Image of Religious Film. Kansas City, MO: Sheed and Ward, 1997. May, Lary A. “Apocalyptic Cinema: D. W. Griffith and the Aesthetics of Reform.” In Movies and Mass Culture, edited by John Belton, 25–58. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1996. Mayer, David, ed. Playing Out the Empire: Ben-Hur and Other Toga Plays and Films, 1883–1908, A Critical Anthology. Oxford: Clarendon, 1994. Mazierska, Ewa. “Non-Jewish Jews, Good Poles and Historical Truth in the Films of Andrzej Wajda.” Historical Journal of Film, Radio, and Television 20, no. 2 (2000): 213. McDermott, Jim. “Is It Possible to Portray Christ in Film?” Christianity and the Arts 1 (1994): 20–22. McDonogh, Gary W., and Cindy Hing-Yuk Wong. “Religion and Representation in the Filmic South.” In Images of the South: Constructing a Regional Culture

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on Film and Video, edited by Karl G. Heider, 24–54. Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1993. McNulty, Edward. Faith and Film: A Guidebook for Leaders. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2007. McNulty, Edward. Praying the Movies, II: More Daily Meditations from Classic Films. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2003. McNulty, Edward. Praying the Movies: Daily Meditations from Classic Films. Louisville, KY: Geneva Press, 2001. Michalczyk, John J. “Celluloid Passions.” In Pondering the Passion: What’s at Stake for Christians and Jews, edited by Philip A. Cunningham, 109–115. Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2004. Mikkelson, Douglas K, and Amy C. Gregg. King of Kings: A Silver Screen Gospel. New York: University Press of America, 2001. Miles, Herbert. Movies and Morals. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 1947. Miles, Margaret R., and S. Brent Plate. “Hospitable Vision: Some Notes on the Ethics of Seeing Film.” Cross Currents 54, no. 1 (2004): 22–31. Miller, William. “Hollywood and Religion.” Religion in Life 22 (1953): 273–279. Mitchell, Jolyon, and S. Brent Plate, eds. The Religion and Film Reader. New York: Routledge, 2007. Morris, Michael. “Looking for Reel Religion.” Image: A Journal of the Arts and Religion 20 (Summer 1998): 72–78. Musser, Charles. “Passions and the Passion Play: Theater, Film, and Religion in America, 1880–1900.” In Movie Censorship and American Culture, edited by Francis G. Courvares, 43–72. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institute Press, 1996. Nathanson, Paul. Over the Rainbow: The Wizard of Oz as a Secular Myth of America. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1992. Nelson, John Wiley. “Films: The Classic Western—The Ritual Affirmation of Popular Culture.” In Your God is Alive and Well and Appearing in Popular Culture, 30–55. Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1976. Noel, Daniel C. “ ‘I Have Seen the Future, Brother: It Is Murder.’ Apocalypse Noir in Natural Born Killers and Leonard Cohen’s ‘The Future.’ ” Literature and Theology 12, no. 1 (1998): 39–49. Nolan, Steve. “The Books of the Films: Trends in Religious Film-Analysis.” Literature and Theology 12, no. 1 (1998): 1–15. Nolan, Steve. “Towards a New Religious Film Criticism: Using Film to Understand Religious Identity Rather than Locate Cinematic Analogue.” In Mediating Religion: Conversations in Media, Religion, and Culture, edited by Jolyon Mitchell and Sophia Marriage, 169–178. London: Continuum, 2003.

Selected Bibliography | 573

Nolletti, Arthur Jr. “Spirituality and Style in The Nun’s Story.” Film Criticism 20 (1994): 82–100. Norden, Marty F. “The Transformation of Religion in John Sayles’ Matewan.” Crossroads: A Journal of Southern Culture 2, no. 1 (1993/1994): 87–93. O’Brien, Tom. The Screening of America: Movies and Values from Rocky to Rainman. New York: Continuum, 1990. Ostriker, Alicia. “Whither Exodus? Movies as Midrash.” Michigan Quarterly Review 42, no. 1 (2003): 139–150. Ostwalt, Conrad E. Jr. “The Apostle.” Church History 68 (September 1999): 666– 673. Paine, Stephen W. The Christian and the Movies. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1957. Parshall, Peter F. “Die Hard and the American Mythos.” Journal of Popular Film and Television 18, no. 4 (1991): 134–144. Pauly, Thomas. “The Way to Salvation: The Hollywood Blockbusters of the 1950s.” Prospects: An Annual of American Cultural Studies 5 (1980): 467–487. Pavelin, Alan. Fifty Religious Films. Chislehurst, Kent, UK: A.P. Pavelin, 1990. Peters, Charles C. Motion Pictures and Standards of Morality. New York: Macmillan, 1933. Plantinga, Carl. Moving Viewers: American Film and the Spectator’s Experience. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2009. Plate, S. Brent, and David Jasper, eds. Imag(in)ing Otherness: Filmic Visions of Living Together. Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1999. Plate, S. Brent, ed. Representing Religion in World Cinema: Filmmaking, Mythmaking, Culture Making. New York: Palgrave/Macmillan, 2003. Plate, S. Brent. “Religion/Literature/Film: Toward a Religious Visuality of Film.” Literature and Theology 12, no. 1 (1998): 16–38. Porter, Jennifer, and Darcee McLaren. Star Trek and Sacred Ground: Explorations of Star Trek, Religion, and American Culture. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1999. Rogin, Michael. Blackface, White Noise: Jewish Immigrants in the Hollywood Melting Pot. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996. Roncace, Mark, and Patrick Gray, eds. Teaching the Bible: Through Popular Culture and the Arts. Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature, 2007. Rosen, Irwin C. “The Effect of the Motion Picture Gentlemen’s Agreement on Attitudes Toward Jews.” Journal of Psychology 26 (October 1948): 525–536. Rosenberg, Joel. “Jewish Experience on Film: An American Overview.” In American Jewish Year Book 1996, edited by David Singer, 3–50. New York: American Jewish Committee, 1996.

574 | Selected Bibliography

Rothman, Stanley. “Is God Really Dead in Beverly Hills? Religion and the Movies.” The American Scholar 65, no. 2 (1996): 272–278. Runions, Erin. How Hysterical: Identification and Resistance in the Bible and Film. New York: Palgrave/Macmillan, 2003. Ruppersberg, Hugh. “The Alien Messiah.” In Alien Zone: Cultural Theory and Contemporary Science Fiction, edited by Annette Kuhn, 32–38. London: Verso, 1990. Russell-Jones, Iwan. “Cady’s Cross and the Cross of Christ.” Journal for Preachers 15, no. 3 (1992): 34–36. Sanchez-Escalonilla, Antonio. “The Hero as a Visitor in Hell: The Descent into Death in Film Structure.” Journal of Popular Film and Television 32, no. 4 (2005): 149–156. Schillaci, Anthony, O.P. Movies and Morals. Notre Dame, IN: Fides Publishers, 1968. Shaw, Tony. “Martyrs, Miracles, and Martians: Religion and Cold War Cinematic Propaganda in the 1950s.” Journal of Cold War Studies 4, no. 2 (2002): 3–22. Short, Kenneth R. M. “Hollywood Fights Anti-Semitism, 1945–1947.” In Feature Films as History, edited by Kenneth R. M. Short, 157–189. Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 1981. Short, Kenneth R. M. “The Experience of Eastern Jewry in America—As Portrayed in the Cinema of the 1920s and ’30s.” In History and Film: Methodology, Research, Education, edited by Kenneth R. M. Short and Karsten Fledelius, 113–150. Copenhagen: Eventus, 1980. Smith, Jeffery A. “Hollywood Theology: The Commodification of Religion in Twentieth-Century Films.” Religion and American Culture 11, no. 2 (2001): 191–231. Sorlin, Pierce. “Jewish Images in the French Cinema of the 1930s.” Historical Journal of Film, Radio, and Television 1, no. 2 (1981): 139–150. Staley, Jeffrey L., and Richard Walsh. Jesus, the Gospels, and Cinematic Imagination: A Handbook to Jesus on DVD. Louisville, KY.: Westminster John Knox Press, 2007. Stevens, Matthew, ed. Jewish Film Directory: A Guide to More than 1200 Films of Jewish Interest from 32 Countries Over 85 Years. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1992. Summers, Stanford. Secular Films and the Church’s Ministry. New York: Seabury, 1969. Taub, Michael, ed. Films about Jewish Life and Culture. Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen Press, 2005. Telford, William R. “The New Testament in Fiction and Film: A Biblical Scholar’s Perspective.” In Words Remembered, Texts Renewed: Essays in Honor of

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John F.A. Sawyer, edited by Jon G. Davies, Graham Harvey, and Wilfred G. E, 360–394. Watson. Sheffield, UK: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995. Thompson, John O. “Jesus as Moving Image: The Question of Movement.” In Images of Christ: Ancient and Modern, edited by Stanley E. Porter, Michael A. Haynes, and David Tombs, 290–304. Sheffield, UK: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997. Torry, Robert. “Politics and Parousia in Close Encounters of the Third Kind.” Literature/Film Quarterly 19, no. 3 (1991): 188–196. Tybjerg, Casper. “Forms of the Intangible: Carl Th. Dreyer and the Concept of ‘Transcendental Style.’ ” Northern Lights 6 (2008): 59–73. Vaux, Sara Anson. Finding Meaning at the Movies. Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 1999. Wagner, Jon, and Jan Lundeen. Deep Space and Sacred Time: Star Trek in the American Mythos. Westport, CT: Praeger, 1998. Wall, James M. Church and Cinema: A Way of Viewing Film. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1971. Ward, Graham, ed. Film and Religion. Special issue, Literature and Theology 12, no. 1 (1998). Watkins, Gregory J., ed. Teaching Religion and Film. New York: Oxford University Press, 2008. Weinberg, David. “The ‘Socially Acceptable’ Immigrant Minority Group: The Image of the Jew in American Popular Films.” North Dakota Quarterly 40, no. 4 (1972): 60–68. Whitfield, Stephen J. “Movies in America as Paradigm of Accommodation.” In The Americanization of the Jews, edited by Robert M. Seltzer and Norman J. Cohen, 79–94. New York: New York University Press, 1995. Wilkinson, D. The Power of the Force: The Spirituality of the Star Wars Films. Oxford, UK: Lion, 2000. Williams, Peter W. “Review Essay: Religion Goes to the Movies.” Religion and American Culture 10, no. 2 (2000): 225–239. Winkler, Martin M., ed. Classical Myth and Culture in the Cinema. New York: Oxford University Press, 2001. Wright, Melanie J. “Cinema and Film.” In A Dictionary of Jewish-Christian Relations, edited by Edward Kessler and Neil Wenborn, 97–99. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2006. Wright, Melanie J. “Lights! Camera! Antisemitism?: Jewish-Christian Relations and the Cinema.” In Themes in Jewish-Christian Relations, edited by Edward Kessler and Melanie J. Wright, 171–200. Cambridge, UK: Orchard Academic, 2005. Wright, Melanie J. Religion and Film: An Introduction. New York: I.B. Tauris, 2006.

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Wright, Rochelle. The Visible Wall: Jews and Other Ethnic Outsiders in Swedish Film. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1998. Young, Vernon. “The Moral Cinema.” Film Quarterly 15 (Fall 1961): 14–22. Zeffirelli, Franco. Franco Zeffirelli’s Jesus: A Spiritual Diary. San Francisco: Harper and Row, 1984.

About the Editor

ERIC MICHAEL MAZUR is the Gloria and David Furman Chair of Judaic Studies at Virginia Wesleyan College (Norfolk), where he teaches courses in Judaism, religion in American culture, and the academic study of religion. His work has appeared in the Journal of Church and State, Insights, Social Justice Research, and Social Studies, as well as in edited volumes on religious freedom, the sociology of religion, popular culture, race and religion, the arts, and Native American studies, and encyclopedias of religion in America, religious liberty, and race, ethnicity, and society. He is the author of The Americanization of Religious Minorities: Confronting the Constitutional Order (1999), coauthor of Religion on Trial: How Supreme Court Trends Threaten Freedom of Conscience in America (with Phillip E. Hammond and David W. Machacek, 2004), coeditor of God in the Details: American Religion in Popular Culture (with Kate McCarthy, 2001; 2nd ed., 2010), and editor of Art and the Religious Impulse (2002). Eric has served on the editorial board of the Journal of Religion and Popular Culture (where he was also the book review editor) and is currently an editorial board member of the Journal of Religion and Theatre. He has been quoted in more than a dozen newspapers and news Web sites, including the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, the Baltimore Jewish Times, the Chicago Tribune, the Christian Science Monitor, the Fort Worth Star-Telegram, the Kansas City Star, the Toronto Star, TV Guide, and the Washington Post, as well as local newspapers in California, Massachusetts, Mississippi, Pennsylvania, and Virginia. Before joining the faculty at Virginia Wesleyan College, Eric taught courses at the University of California, Santa Barbara; the California State University, Chico; and Bucknell University, where he was chair of the Religion Department and co-coordinator of the American studies and legal studies programs.

577

List of Contributors

Michael Berenbaum American Jewish University

Beth Davies-Stofka Front Range Community College

Donna Bowman University of Central Arkansas

Dell deChant University of South Florida

Darryl V. Caterine Le Moyne College

Michael W. DeLashmutt Sarum College

Christopher Chinn Pomona College

Marc DiPaolo Oklahoma City University

Eric S. Christianson University of Chester

Julien R. Fielding University of Nebraska at Omaha

Peter Ciaccio Independent Scholar

Andrew Flescher State University of New York, Stony Brook

Chris Conkling American Jewish University Tim Craig Warner University Lisle Dalton Hartwick College

Christopher Garbowski Maria Curie-Sklodowska University Robert L. Green Jr. University of California, Santa Barbara

579

580 | List of Contributors

Aaron Gross University of San Diego

John Longaker Susquehanna University

Brannon Hancock Independent Scholar

Jeffrey Mallinson Trinity Lutheran College

R. Christopher Heard Pepperdine University

Eric Michael Mazur Virginia Wesleyan College

Robert Hornak Independent Scholar

Karline McLain Bucknell University

Mark Hulsether University of Tennessee

Garay Menicucci University of California, Santa Barbara

Adam Isler Independent Scholar Christopher Jocks Independent Scholar Jeff Keuss Seattle Pacific University Tara Keiko Koda Independent Scholar Anton Karl Kozlovic Flinders University Christine Hoff Kraemer Cherry Hill Seminary J. Shawn Landres Independent Scholar Gabriel Levy University of Aarhus Terry Lindvall Virginia Wesleyan College

Stuart Minnis Virginia Wesleyan College Jolyon P. Mitchell University of Edinburgh Kerry Mitchell Independent Scholar Christopher M. Moreman California State University, East Bay Shannon Nagy Independent Scholar Sean Samuel O’Neil University of Florida Kim Paffenroth Iona College Rodger M. Payne University of North Carolina at Asheville

List of Contributors | 581

Thomas E. Phillips Point Loma Nazarene University Frank Pittenger Independent Scholar Andrew Quicke Regent University Laurence Roth Susquehanna University

Jon R. Stone California State University, Long Beach Don Surrency University of South Florida Andrew Tate Bowland College, Lancaster University

Julie Scanlon Northumbria University

John Vassar Louisiana State University in Shreveport

Cybelle Shattuck Independent Scholar

Rachel Wagner Ithaca College

James Mark Shields Bucknell University

Brian Wilson Western Michigan University

Elijah Siegler College of Charleston

Melanie J. Wright The Open University

Roger Sneed Furman University

Donna Yarri Alvernia University

Index

Aaron, 26 al-A’asar (The Tornado, 1992), 36 Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein (1948), 444 ABCD (1999), 217 Abie’s Irish Rose (1928), 399 Abie’s Irish Rose (stage), 399 Aboriginal peoples (Australia): culture, 43; influences, 42; music, 336; religion/spirituality, 39, 43, 44, 45, 334, 181. See also Indigenous religions; Native peoples Aboriginals, 40, 41 About Schmidt (2002), 342 Abraham, 55, 56, 104, 266 Abrahamic faiths, 67, 424. See also Christianity; Islam; Judaism Abrahams, Harold, 87 – 88, 89 al-Abwab al-moghlaka (The Closed Doors, 1999), 35 Academy Award, 92, 87, 101, 131, 136, 137 139, 267, 276, 288, 320, 362, 392, 392, 462. See also Oscar Accattone (1961), 347 Ace Ventura (1994), 340 Achilles, 26, 205, 206 Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome (AIDS), 449 Acts, Book of, 70, 349

Adam, 464 Adam’s Rib (1949), 465 Adaptation (2002), 341 The Addiction (1995), 444 ADL. See Anti-Defamation League Adriatic Sea, 183 Adventures of Baron Munchausen (1988), 194 The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938), 129 Aenied (Virgil), 143 The Affair (1981). See Silsila Les affairs publiques (Public Affairs, 1934), 82 Afghanistan, 379; Afghan culture, 43 Africa, 1 – 6, 28, 129, 241, 317, 450, 451; African-derived religions, 289, 292; African Latin religions, 292. See also specific groups, regions, and countries African Americans, 73, 74, 240, 459 The African Queen (1951), 129, 364 Africans, 452, 453, 468; Bushmen, 239, 240 After Hours (1985), 392 After Life (1998). See Wandâfuru raifu Against a Crooked Sky (1975), 329 Agamemnon, 206 L’age d’or (The Golden Age, 1930), 99 583

584 | Index

The Age of Innocence (1993), 392 Agnes of God (1985), 114, 335 Agni Varsha (The Fire and the Rain, 2002), 340 Agostino di Ippone (Augustine of Hippo, 1972), 178 Aguirre, der Zorn Gottes (Aguirre: The Wrath of God, 1972), 143, 180 Aguirre: The Wrath of God (1972). See Aguirre, der Zorn Gottes Ahearne, Joe, 444 AIDS. See Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome Ainu tribe (Japan), 322. See also Indigenous religions; Native peoples Air Force One (1997), 243 Akibiyori (Late Autumn, 1960), 343 Akira (1988), 253 Akutagawa, Ryu¯nosuke, 279 Aladdin (1992), 245, 246, 248 Albanese, Catherine, 461 Aleksandr Nevskiy (Alexander Nevsky, 1938), 377 Alexander (2004), 203 Alexander III, Tsar, 377 Alexander, Ilil, 468 Alexander Nevsky (1938). See Aleksandr Nevskiy Alexandria, Egypt, 2, 33 Alexandria . . . Why? (1978). See Iskandariyya . . . leh? Alexie, Sherman, 18 Algeria, 3, 34 Algiers, Algeria, 34 Algonquin, 41. See also American Indians Ali (201), 405, 406 Ali, Muhammad, 406 Alice (1990), 9

Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore (1974), 391 Alien (1979), 233, 388 Aliens (1986), 371, 444, 465 Alien Sex: The Body and Desire in Cinema and Theology (Loughlin), 190 Aligheri, Dante. See Dante All Dogs Go to Heaven (1989), 29, 31 Allen, Irwin, 262 Allen, Woody, 6 – 10, 53, 54, 92, 157, 264, 268, 307 Alles auf Zucker! (Go for Zucker!, 2004), 181 All the Colors of the Dark (1976). See Tutti I colori del buio Almodovar, Pedro, 179 Altered States (1980), 334 Althusser, Louis, 48 Altman, Robert, 11 – 14, 430 Alton, John, 316 Always (1989), 212 Alyn, Kirk, 408 Amacord (I Remember, 1973), 185 Amazing Grace (2006), 135, 361 – 62 Ambricourt, France, 82 Amenabar, Alejandro, 179 America, 117 America, 21, 40, 67, 68, 73, 90, 103, 151, 196, 212, 222, 319, 361, 363, 402, 406, 435, 455, 458. See also United States; specific states and regions American Beauty (1999), 54, 55, 342 American Family Association, 286, 287, 288 American Film Institute, 92 American Gigolo (1980), 381, 382, 383

Index | 585

American Indian religion, 14 – 19; Ghost dance, 17; Sun Dance, 16, 368; Sweat lodge, 17 American Indians, 14 – 19. See also Indigenous religions; Native Americans; Native peoples; specific tribes American International Pictures, 153 Americanization, 109, 399 American Midwest, 130 American Ninja 3: Blood Hunt (1989), 247 American Ninja 4: The Annihilation (1990), 247 American North, 239 American Northwest, 12 Americans, 11, 14, 112, 147, 187, 190, 243, 248, 286, 363, 392, 404, 405 American South, 137, 239; Deep South, 139 An American Tale (1986), 329 American West, 458; Old West, 397; Wild West, 460 Americas, the, 241 Amish, 268, 364 Amityville II: The Possession (1982), 236 The Amityville Horror (1979), 114, 134, 236 L’amore (Love, 1948), 184 Amores Perros (Love’s a Bitch, 2000), 55, 291 Amorites, 411 Amritsar, India, 216 Anastasia (1997), 329 Andalusia, 2 An Andalusian Dog (1929). See Un Chien andalou

Anderson, Carl, 256 Anderson, G. M. (Gilbert), 397 Anderson, Ken, 317 Anderson, Wes, 157 Andrei Rublev (1966). See Andrey Rublyov Andrey Rublyov (Andrei Rublev, 1966), 378, 421, 422 – 23, 429 Andromeda, 204 Angel-A (2005), 61 Angel and the Bad Man (1947), 364 Angel Baby (1961), 130 Angels, 19 – 26, 172, 173, 194, 195, 201, 210, 212, 310, 384, 387, 388, 407, 411, 412; avenging angels, 297; Gabriel, 20, 21, 22, 27; Raphael, 20, 24 Angels in the Outfield (1994), 407 Angels of the Streets (1943). See Las anges du péché Angels With Dirty Faces (1938), 109, 129 Anger Management (2003), 135 Angers, France, 47 Les anges du peche (Angels of the Streets, 1943), 82, 179 Angry Harvest (1986). See Bittere Ernte Angkor Wat (Cambodia), 143 Anglican Church 89; Anglican nuns, 333; Anglican priest, 41, 133. See also Clergy Anglicans, 4 Animated film, 26 – 31, 321 Anime, 250, 252, 253, 320 Animism/Animist, 28, 321, 323 Anker, Roy, 425 Annaud, Jean-Jacques, 180, 181 Annie Hall, 8

586 | Index

The Annunciation, 20 The Annunciation (Fra Angelico), 21 Another Woman (1988), 9 Ansky, S., 265 – 66 Antichrist, 153–54, 168, 169, 170, 171, 172 Antichrist (2009), 435 The Antichrist (1974). See L’Anticristo Anticolonialism, 32 L’Anticristo (The Antichrist, 1974), 156 Anti-Defamation League (ADL), 351 Anti-imperialism, 36 Anti-intellectualism, 262 Antioch, 350, 446 Anti-Semitism, 87, 92, 94, 149, 225, 227, 231, 258, 267, 308, 328, 404; Christian anti-Semitism, 68 – 69; European anti-Semitism, 351; Islamic anti-Semitism, 351 Anything Else (2003), 10 Apache, 15 – 16. See also American Indians Apocalypse: Caught in the Eye of the Storm (1998), 170, 319 Apocalypse II: Revelation. See Revelation Apocalypse III: Tribulation. See Tribulation Apocalypse IV: Judgment. See Judgment The Apocalypse (1997), 167, 172 Apocalypse Now (1979), 141, 143, 144, 203, 340, 368 Apocalypto (2006), 241, 242, 368 Apollo, 27, 206 Apollonius, 204 The Apostle (1997), 53, 121, 135, 364, 368

Arab film, 32 – 39; Arab filmmakers, 244 Arabia, gods of, 27 Arabian Nights (1974). See Il fiore delle Mille e una note Arabic (language), 244, 247 Arabs, 245, 246, 248; Bedouin Arabs, 245 Arafat, Yasser, 38 Arbuckle, Roscoe “Fatty,” 399 Arcand, Denys, 257 L’Argent (Money, 1983), 84, 179 L’Argent de poche (Small Change, 1976), 440 Argonautica (Apollonius), 204 Argonauts, 204 Aristotle, 189 Arjuna, 407 Armageddon, 168 Armageddon (1998), 340, 386 Aronofsky, Darren, 264 Arrival of a Train at La Ciotat (1896). See L’Arrivée d’un train à La Ciotat L’Arrivée d’un train à La Ciotat (Arrival of a Train at La Ciotat, 1896), 374 Arthur (King), 193; Arthurian legend, 305 Artificial Intelligence: AI (2001), 339, 358 – 59, 387 The Art of the Moving Picture (Lindsay), 304 Aryan, 228, 396 Asbury Park, New Jersey, 402 The Ascension of Christ (Rembrandt van Rijn), 21 Al-Asfur (The Sparrow, 1973), 33 As Good as It Gets (1997), 371 Asia, 317; Buddhists in, 97; countries in, 123; faiths in, 45; films and

Index | 587

filmmakers in, 95, 428. See also China; Japan; specific countries, regions, and religious traditions Asimov, Isaac, 384 Assisi, Italy, 348 Association of Japanese Motion Pictures, 249 Aswany, Alaa el-, 35 Atheism, 59, 273 – 74, 419, 422; atheistic worldview, 53 Athena, 206 Athens, Greece, 287, 349 Atlantic City, New Jersey, 394 Atlantic Ocean, 178, 350 Atwood, Margaret, 163, 384, 385 August, Bille, 177 Augustine (of Hippo), 106, 178 Augustine of Hippo (1972). See Agostino di Ippone Au hazard Balthazar (Balthazar, 1966), 83, 179 Au revoir, les enfants (1987), 132, 180 Austen, Jane, 216 Australia, 39 – 46; Australian film, 263, 334, 368; Central Australia, 43 Auteur theory, 48, 151, 156 – 58, 439, 467; Catholic auteur, 81 Auto Focus (2002), 381, 382, 383 Avary, Roger, 415 The Avenging Conscience (1914), 396 The Aviator (2004), 392 Awaara (The Vagabond, 1951), 76, 77 Awful Disclosures (Monk), 114 Axel, Gabriel, 178 Ayers Rock (Australia; also known as Uluru), 43 Aylward, Gladys, 130 Aymara peoples (Andes), 242. See also Indigenous religions; Native peoples

Ayodhya, India, 77 al Azhar Mosque (Cairo), 33 Aztecs (Mexica), 29 – 30, 242, 377; Aztec sun god, 29. See also Indigenous religions; Native peoples. Ba, Amadou Hampaté, 1 Bab al-sama maftuh (A Door to the Sky, 1989), 34, 368 Bab el-Hadid (Cairo Station, 1958), 2 Bab el Oued City (1994), 34 Babe (1995), 44 Babette’s Feast (1987). See Babettes gaestebud Babettes gaestebud (Babette’s Feast, 1987), 132, 178, 425 Babylon, 394; Babylonians, 252, 411 Bacchus, 27 Bach, Richard, 334 Bacheha—Ye aseman (Children of Heaven, 1997), 243 Bad Boy Bubby (1993), 42 Bad Education (2004). See La Malla educación Bad Girls (1994), 462 Bad ma ra khahad bord (The Wind Will Carry Us, 1999), 243 Bad Santa (2003), 224 Bahai, 42 Baheb el cima (I Love Cinema, 2004), 37 Baker’s Hawk (1976), 329 Bakushû (Early Summer, 1951), 249, 343, 344 Balthazar (1966). See Au hazard Balthazar De Balzac, Honoré, 437, 439 Bambara, 5. See also Mali Bancroft, Anne, 91 Bandit Queen (1994). See Phoolan Devi

588 | Index

Bannings, 36, 37, 47, 177, 179, 287, 326. See also Censorship Banshun (Late Spring, 1949), 343, 344, 345 Bantu Educational Kinema Experiment (BEKE), 2 Baptist, 71, 131, 135, 318, 362, 364 Baptista, Carlos Octavia, 316 – 18; and the Miracle Projector, 316; and the Miracle 2, 316; and the Tel N’See, 316 Barabbas, 255 Baraka (1992), 339 Barrett, Franklyn, 40, 45 Barrett, Wilson, 149 Barry Lyndon (1975), 278 Barsoum Looking for a Job (1923). See Barusm yabhath ‘an wathifah Barton Fink (1991), 136, 137, 139 Barusm yabhath ‘an wathifah (Barsoum Looking for a Job, 1923), 32 Bash (2001), 328 Batman (1989), 410 Batman Begins (2005), 410, 411 Batman Returns (1992), 411 The Battle at Elderbrush Gulch (1913), 15 Battle for the Planet of the Apes (1973), 172 Battle Hymn (1957), 129 The Battle of Broken Hill (1982), 43 Battleship Potemkin (1925). See Bronenosets Potyomkin Baudrillard, Jean, 196, 311 Baum, L. Frank, 306 Bayoumi, Muhammad, 32 Bazin, André, 47 – 50, 82, 438, 439; “Evolution of the Language of Cinema,” 49; “Ontology of the Photographic Image,” 48

BBC. See British Broadcasting Corporation Bean, Henry, 227 Beat Zen, 97 Beatles, 194, 333 Beatty, Warren, 286 Becket (1964), 130, 190 Beckham, David, 90 Bedazzled (1967), 153 Befrielsesbilleder (Images of Relief, 1983), 437 Behemoth, 233 Beirut, Lebanon, 36 BEKE. See Bantu Educational Kinema Experiment Belgium, 37 The Believer (2001), 227 Bell, Book, and Candle (1958), 304 Bellerophon, 26 The Bells of St. Mary’s (1945), 109, 110, 131 Belly of the Beast (2003), 97 Ben-Hur (1959), 67, 255, 372 Bend it Like Beckham (2003), 89 – 90, 368 Beneath the Planet of the Apes (1970), 172 Benedict, Pope, 353 Benedict XV, Pope, 260 Bengali (language), 76 Benin, 450 Benton, Robert, 12 Bergman, Ernst Ingmar. See Bergman, Ingmar Bergman, Ingmar, 12, 56 – 60, 84, 132, 161, 177, 178, 332, 426 Bergson, Henri, 48 Berkeley, Busby, 94 Berlin, Germany, 22 – 23, 24; Berlin Wall, 23

Index | 589

Berlingske Tindede, 159 Bernanos, Georges, 82 Berri, Claude, 181 Bertolucci, Bernardo, 181, 335 Besson, Luc, 61 – 65, 180, 262 Best Intentions (1992). See Den goda viljan Bez Ko´nca (No End, 1985), 274 Bezhin lug (Bezhin Meadow, 1937), 377 Bezhin Meadow (1937). See Bezhin lug Bhagavad Gita, 219, 407 Bharata, 77 Bible. See Hebrew Bible; Hebrew Scriptures; Jewish Bible; New Testament; Old Testament; Torah; specific figures, doctrines, events, and locations The Bible Code (Drosnin), 169 Bible Code II: The Countdown (Drosnin), 169 Bible films, 65 – 70, 265 The Bicycle Thief (1948). See Ladri di biciclette Il bidone (The Swindle, 1955), 185 The Big Chill (1983), 368 The Big Kahuna (1999), 362 The Big Lebowski (1998), 138, 139, 140, 338 Big Mama’s House (2000), 133 The Big Tip Off (1955), 263 Bilhah, 163 Bill & Ted’s Bogus Journey (1991), 212 Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure (1989), 262, 372 Bill Bumper’s Bargain (1911), 152 Biograph Studios, 395 A Biography of Lilith (1997), 465

Bird, Michael, 426 The Birth of a Nation (1915), 239 – 40, 341, 396 Biruma no tategoto (The Burmese Harp, 1956), 251, 253 The Bishop’s Wife (1947), 74, 130, 363, 372 Bittere Ernte (Angry Harvest, 1986), 181 Björk, 436 The Black Cauldron (1985), 329 Black Church, 70 – 75 The Black Crook (1916), 152 Black Death, 58 Black Fury (1935), 119 Black Hawk Down (2001), 246 Black, Karen, 154 Black magic, 183, 450, 454 Black Magic Rites and the Secret Orgies of the Fourteenth Century (1973). See Riti, magie nere e segrete orge nel trecento Black Narcisus (1947), 333 Black Rain (1989). See Kuroi ame Black Robe (1991), 41, 115, 132 Black Sox scandal, 407 Blacula (1972), 453 Blade Af Satans Bog (Leaves from Satan’s Book, 1921), 160 Blade Runner (1982), 69, 358 Blade: Trinity (2004), 411 Blake, William, 87, 307 Blatty, William Peter, 234, 334 Das Blaue Licht (The Blue Light, 1932), 332 Blaxploitation, 415, 453, 454 Blazing Saddles (1974), 92, 94, 462 Blessed Virgin, 64. See also Mary, mother of Jesus Blind Chance (1987). See Przypadek

590 | Index

Blockbuster Video, 288 The Blob (1988), 134 Blonde Venus (1932), 117 The Blood of Jesus (1941), 133 Blood on Satan’s Claw (1971), 155 Blood Simple (1984), 136 Bloom, Orlando, 97 The Blot (1921), 396 Blue Blood (1973), 155 The Blue Light (1932). See Das Blaue Licht The Blues Brothers (1980), 72 Bluth, Don, 329 Bodh Gaya, India, 181 Body and Soul (1925), 133 Bogdanovich, Peter, 286 Bohemia, 394 Bollywood, 4, 75 – 81, 457. See also Hinduism; India Bologna, Italy, 347 Bolsheviks, 2, 377; Bolshevik Revolution, 376 – 77 Bom yeoreum gaeul gyeoul geurigo bom (Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter . . . and Spring, 2003), 368 Bombay, India, 75, 76, 77 Bondanella, Peter, 184 Bonnie and Clyde (1967), 460 Bora Bora, 240 “Borscht Belt,” 92 The Boss of It All (2006). See Direktøren for det hele Boston, Massachusetts, 191 Boston Red Sox, 176 Á bout de soufflé (Breathless, 1960), 439 Boxcar Bertha (1972), 285, 391 Boy Scouts, 2 Boys Town (1938), 109, 129 Brahm, John, 112

Brahman, 311 Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1992), 144, 446 Brazil (1985), 194, 195 Brazil, 292; Brazilian conflict, 132; Brazilian film, 293 The Breaking of the Drought (1920), 45 Breaking the Waves (1996), 51, 55, 178, 331, 435, 436 Breathless (1960). See Á bout de soufflé Breen, Joseph, 108, 109, 111, 112, 117, 118, 119, 120 Bresson, Robert, 81 – 85, 132, 179, 180, 262, 381, 426, 427, 438 Brewster McCloud (1970), 12 Bride and Prejudice (2004), 216 – 17, 368 The Brides of Dracula (1960), 445 Bride of Frankenstein (1935), 385 Brigadoon (1954), 331 Brigham Young (1940), 328, 459 Brigham Young University, 329; BYU Motion Picture Studio, 329 Bright, Bill, 287, 318 – 19 Bringing Out the Dead (1999), 382 Britain, 85 – 91, 267, 444; British cinema, 213, 243; British colonialism, 32, 76; British Colonial Office, 2; British crown, 130; British Empire, 453; British film, 154, 328; British government, 412; British slave trade, 135; hatred of, 62 – 63; National Lottery, 85. See also England; United Kingdom British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC), 194 British Sky Broadcasting (BSkyB), 4 Broadway (Manhattan), 91, 130

Index | 591

Broadway Danny Rose (1984), 7 Brokeback Mountain (2005), 339, 363, 462 Broken Arrow (1950), 15 Bromont-Lamothe, France, 81 Broncho Billy. See Anderson, G. M Broncho Billy’s Sentence (1915), 397 Bronenosets Potyomkin (Battleship Potemkin, 1925), 376 Bronx, New York, 7 Brooklyn, New York, 55, 91, 299; Flatbush, 7 Brooks, Mel, 10, 91 – 95, 462 Brooks, Peter, 219 Brother Bear (2003), 28, 31 Brother Sun, Sister Moon (1972). See Fratella sole, sorella luna The Brotherhood of Satan (1971), 154 Brown, James, 72 Brown, Norman, 18 Browning, Tod, 232 Bruce Almighty (2003), 197, 198 Brugundians, 260 BSkyB. See British Sky Broadcasting Buck and the Preacher (1972), 133 Budapest, Hungary, 153 Buddha, 96, 249 – 50, 252, 333, 335, 339, 377, 447 – 48; Buddha-like, 369; Great Buddha, 344; Maitreya/ Miroku (the future Buddha), 322 Buddha (1961). See Shaka Buddhism, 95 – 98, 123, 135, 181, 189, 191, 250, 251, 282, 321, 324, 326, 327, 331, 339, 343, 344, 368, 403; bodhisattva, 252 – 53, 310, 322, 326. See also specific Buddhist movements Buddhists, 425, 459 Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1992), 444

Bugs Bunny’s Third Movie: 1001 Rabbit Tales (1982), 245 Bull Durham (1988), 403 – 4 Buñuel, Luis, 99 – 102, 132, 179, 438 Bunyan, John, 211, 316, 397 Il Buono, il brutto, il cattivo (The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, 1966), 297 Burkina Faso (formerly Upper Volta), 2 Burma, 251; Burmese Buddhism, 96 The Burmese Harp (1956). See Biruma no tategoto Burn Witch Burn (1970). See Hexen bis aufs Blut genquält The Burning Hell (1974), 318 The Burning Times (1990), 466 Burroughs, William, 154 Burstyn, Ellen, 391 Burstyn, Joseph, 313, 314 Burton, Harold (U.S. Supreme Court Justice), 314 Burton, Tim, 410 Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee (2007, television), 17 The Business of Fancydancing (2002), 17, 18 Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969), 460 Butler, Judith, 464 Cabeza de Vaca (1991), 294, 368 Cabeza de Vaca, Alvar Nuñez, 294 Cabin in the Sky (1943), 153 Caesar, Sid, 92 Le Cabinet de Méphistophélès (The Cabinet of Mephistopheles, 1896), 152 The Cabinet of Mephistopheles (1896). See Le Cabinet de Méphistophélès

592 | Index

Cahiers du cinema, 47, 48, 438 Caiaphas, 151 Cain and Abel, 291 Cairo, Egypt, 2, 34, 35; Cairo University, 35 Cairo as Told by Youssef Chahine (1991). See al-Qahira munawwara bi ahliha. Cairo Station (1958). See Bab el-Hadid Calanda, Spain, 99 California, 24, 97, 286, 393, 394, 429, 430 California Angels, 407 California Split (1974), 12 The Callahans and the Murphys (1927), 108, 399 Calvin College, 381 Calvinist theology, 397 Cambridge University, 87, 405 Cambodia, 95, 451; Cambodian ruins, 143 Camelot (1967), 305 Cameroon, 3, 453 Campbell, Joseph, 175, 339, 460 Campus Crusade for Christ, 287, 318 Camus, Albert, 56, 59 Canadian Artic, 28 Canadians, 170; Afghani-Canadian, 243; French Canadian, 133, 257 Canby, Vincent, 441 Cannes Film Festival, 85, 100, 136, 415, 433, 435 Cannibalism, 241, 450 Cannibals of the South Seas (1912), 239 Cannon Productions, 247 The Canterbury Tales (1972). See Racconti di Canterbury Cantwell, John (Bishop), 117, 118

Cape Fear (1962; 1991), 392 Cape Town, South Africa, 5 Capital (Marx), 349 Capra, Frank, 21 – 22, 103 – 7, 129, 212 Captain Kronos—Vampire Hunter (1974), 448 Car Wash (1976), 133 The Cardinal (1963), 130 Caribbean Sea, 450; Caribbean island, 453 Carne, Marcel, 180 Carnegie Trust, 2 Carpenter, John, 286, 382 Carrera, Carlos, 290 Carroll, Lewis, 194 Carver, Raymond, 13 Casillo, Robert, 391 Casino (1995), 392 Cassiopeia, 204 Castle in the Sky (1986). See Tenku no Shiro Rapyuta Casualties of War (1989), 362 Cat Ballou (1965), 462 Cathedral Films, 316, 317 Cathedral of the Assumption (Moscow), 374 Catholic Communication Campaign, 113. See also Catholic League for Religious and Civil Rights; Legion of Decency; National Catholic Office for Motion Pictures (NCOMP); U.S. Catholic Conference Office for Film and Broadcasting Catholic League for Religious and Civil Rights, 24, 113, 114, 402. See also Catholic Communication Campaign; Legion of Decency; National Catholic Office for Motion Pictures (NCOMP); U.S. Catholic

Index | 593

Conference Office for Film and Broadcasting Catholic Reformation, 449 Catholic Church, 30, 42, 63, 89, 99, 112, 115, 177, 179, 183, 185, 186, 201, 230, 260, 274, 290, 291, 293, 390, 445, 468. See also Roman Catholic Church Catholicism, 107 – 15, 142, 178, 179, 183, 236, 261, 273, 293, 336, 352, 401, 404, 410, 435, 445, 447, 448, 449, 450; “popular” Catholicism, 294; Tridentine Catholicism, 353. See also Roman Catholicism Catholics, 107 – 15, 118, 201, 230, 236, 237, 288, 314, 348, 351, 352, 399, 458, 459; and non-Catholics, 119, 449. See also Roman Catholics Catwoman (2004), 411 Cavalier, Alain, 180 CBS. See Columbia Broadcasting System Ceddo (Outsiders, 1977), 3 The Celebration (1998). See Festen Celebrity (1998), 9 Censorship, 24, 32, 34, 68, 86, 108, 177, 188, 313, 314, 374, 375, 394, 399, 420; censors, 109, 132, 251; censorship in Hollywood, 115 – 22, 150. See also Bannings Central America, 242. See also Latin America Central Asia, 95. See also Asia Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), 97 C’era una volt ail West (Once Upon a Time in the West, 1968), 297, 298 C’est arrive pres de chez vous (Man Bites Dog, 1992), 341 Cet obscure objet du désir (That Obscure Object of Desire, 1977), 99

Chad, 3 Chadha, Gurinder, 89 Chahine, Youssef, 2, 32, 34, 35, 36 Chain of Command (1994), 247 Chamberlain, Lindy and Azaria, 43 Ch’an (Zen), 95 Chan, Peter, 123, 127 Chandni (Moonlight, 1989), 78 Chaney, Lon, 398 Change of Habit (1969), 111, 131 Changing Lanes (2002), 430 The Chant of Jimmie Blacksmith (1978), 41 Chaplin, Charlie, 398 Charles VII, King, 259 – 60 Chariots of Fire (1981), 87 – 88, 89, 90, 131, 362, 403, 405 Charlie’s Angels (TV), 155 Le Charme discret de la bourgeoisie (The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie, 1972), 101 Charney, Leo, 333 La Charrette fantôme (The Phantom Wagon, 1939), 332 Chasing Amy (1997), 401 Cheyenne, 16. See also American Indians Chi gong, 127 Chiba, Sonny, 416 Chicago, Illinois, 117, 316 Chichi ariki (There Was a Father, 1942), 343 Un Chien andalou (An Andalusian Dog, 1929), 99 Children of Heaven (1997). See Bacheha—Ye aseman Children of the Corn (1984), 131 Children Shouldn’t Play with Dead Things (1972), 155 Chile, 179; Chilean film, 295

594 | Index

China, 95, 98, 123 – 28, 129, 130, 131; Imperial China, 96 Ching, Siu-Tang, 97 Chocolat (2000), 133, 178 Chôjin densetsu Urotsukidôji (Legend of the Overfiend, 1989), 253 Chopra, Yash, 78 The Chosen (1981), 134, 368, 404 The Chosen (Potok), 404 Chow, Stephen, 98 Chrétien de Troyes, 84 Christ, Carol, 466 Christensen, Benjamin, 232 Christensen, Bernard, 154 The Christian (1911), 40 Christian Bible, 68. See also Bible; Holy Scripture; New Testament Christian Democrats, 348 The Christian Herald, 398 Christian – Jewish relationships, 225, 229, 230, 231 Christmas, 21, 105, 106, 223, 372; Christmas Eve, 224 A Christmas Carol (1908), 220, 223 – 24 A Christmas Carol (Dickens), 21, 222, 372 A Christmas Story (1984, television), 155 The Chronicle of May Rain (1924). See Samidare zoshi The Chronicles of Narnia (Lewis), 66 The Chronicles of Narnia: the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe (2005), 69 – 70, 175 Chronos. (1993). See Cronos Chudotvornaya (The Miracle Worker, 1960), 377 Chung King, China, 447 The Church and the Woman (1917), 42

Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (LDS), 327, 329. See also Mormonism; Mormons CIA. See Central Intelligence Agency Cidade de Deus (City of God, 2002), 55, 293 Cinema Magazine, 381 Cinema Paradiso (1988). See Nuovo cinema Paradiso Cinema verité, 262 The Circus (1928), 398 Cissé, Souleymane, 5 Citti, Sergio, 350 City of Angels (1998), 23 – 25, 180 City of God (2002). See Cidade de Deus Civil Rights era, 133 Clancy’s Kosher Wedding (1927), 399 The Clansman (Dixon), 239 Clark, Arthur C., 384 Clark, Tom (U.S. Supreme Court Justice), 314 Clash of the Titans (1981), 203, 204, 206 Cleopatra (1963), 203 Clergy, 128 – 36. See also specific religious denomination and, traditions Clerks (1994), 401 Clerks II (2006), 401 Cleveland, Ohio, 118 Cloche, Maurice, 179 – 80 A Clockwork Orange (1971), 277 Close Encounter of the Third Kind (1977), 388 The Closed Doors (1999). See al-Abwab al-moghlaka Cloud Ten Pictures, 319 Clouds over Borsk (1960). See Tuchi nad Borskom

Index | 595

Cochise, 15 – 16. See also American Indians Cocteau, Jean, 82, 205 – 6, 331 Coen, Joel and Ethan, 136 – 41, 157 Coeur d’Alene, 372. See also American Indians Cohen, Eli, 225 The Cohens and the Kellys (1926), 399 Cold Mountain (2003), 371 Cold Turkey (1971), 131 Cold War, 23, 112, 130, 150, 173 Collateral (2004), 339 College for Theatre Technicians, 272 – 73 Colonial Film Units, 2 The Color of Money (1986), 392 The Color Purple (1985), 72 Colorado, 97 Colossus: The Forbin Project (1970), 173 Columbia Broadcasting System (CBS), 155 Columbia Pictures, 103, 154 Columbia University, 381 Columbus Ohio Centenary, 396 Come Back to the Five and Dime, Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean (1982), 13 Come to the Stable (1949), 110 A Corner in Wheat (1909), 395 Commercialism, 195, 262 Communism, 112 Communists, 123, 227, 347, 375 Como, Perry, 91 Compiegne, France, 260 Comstock Act (1873), 116 Un condamné à mort s’est échappé ou Le vent soufflé où il veut (A Man Escaped, or The Wind Bloweth Where it Listeth, 1956), 82 – 83, 179

The Confession (1920), 128 Confidentially Yours (1983). See Vivement dimanche Confucianism, 123, 126, 128, 251; Confucian patriarchy, 124; Confucian values, 125, 127 Confucius, 125 Connor, Ralph, 396 – 97 The Conqueror Worm (1968). See Witchfinder General Conquest of Planet of the Apes (1972), 172 Conrad, Joseph, 143 Conspiracy of Terror (1975), 155 Constantine (2005), 134, 411 Contact (1997), 385 The Conversation (1974), 141, 142, 143, 145 Conversations across the Bosphorus (1995), 468 The Convert (1911), 395 Coppola, Francis Ford, 11, 113, 141 – 45, 446 Coppola, Sofia, 97 Coptic Christianity, 37; Copts, 32 Corinthians, Epistle to the, 70, 252 Corman, Roger, 153 Courrier sud (Southern Carrier, 1937), 82 Cours Toujours (Dad on the Run, 2000), 368 The Craft (1996), 305 Crane, Bob, 382 Craven, Wes, 454 Creature With the Atom Brain (1955), 452 Crime and Punishment (Dostoyevsky), 83 Crimes and Misdemeanors (1989), 7, 8, 9, 10, 53, 54

596 | Index

The Crime of Father Amaro (2002). See El Crimen del Padre Amaro El Crimen del Padre Amaro (The Crime of Father Amaro, 2002), 133, 290, 291, 292 Crimes of Passion (1984), 131 The Critic (1963), 92 Crocodile Dundee (1986), 239 Cromwell, Oliver, 40 Cronos (Chronos, 1993), 444 Cross Inscribed in the Star of David (1997). See Wpisany w gwiazde Davida Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (2000). See Wo Hu Cang Long The Crucible (1957; 1996), 305 The Crucible (Miller), 305 Cruise into Terror (1978, television), 155 Crusades, 58, 178, 446, 449 Cry, the Beloved Country (1952; 1995), 133 CSI (TV), 418 Cuba, 292, 451; Cuban film, 290, 291 Cukor, George, 465 Curb Your Enthusiasm (television), 92 Cushing, Peter, 156, 444 Cyborg (1989), 359 Cyclops, 139 Cypher (2002), 359 – 60 Czechoslovakia, 230 Dad on the Run (2000). See Cours Toujours Dagon, 411 Dahomey. See Benin Da hong deng long gao gao gua (Raise the Red Lantern, 1991), 123, 124 Daily News, 429

Dalai Lama, 135, 181, 335, 392, 393 Dalí, Salvador, 99, 179 Les dames du Bois de Boulogne (Ladies of the Bois de Bologne, 1945), 82 Damien: Omen II (1978), 134, 171 Dancer in the Dark (2000), 435, 436 Dances with Wolves (1990), 16, 368 Daniel, Book of, 386 Danish Broadcasting Company, 178, 434 Danish Film Institute, 433 – 34, 437 Dante (Aligheri), 61, 104, 105 Danube River, 445 Daoism, 123, 125, 126, 127, 128; Dao De Jing, 126, 127. See also Taoism Daratt (Dry Season, 2006), 3 Daredevil (2003), 357, 410 Dark City (1998), 386 Dark Habits (1983). See Entre Tinieblas The Dark Secret of Harvest Home (1978), 155 Dark Shadows (television), 447, 448 Darwin, Charles, 99 Dash, Julie, 467, 468 Dassin, Jules, 205 Daughters of Satan (1972), 154 Daughters of the Dust (1991), 467 David and Bathsheba (1951), 67 David and Goliath, 398 DaVinci, Leonardo, 101 Davis, Wade, 454 Dawn, Norman, 40 Dawn of the Dead (1978), 452, 453 Day, Dorothy, 115 Day, Laraine, 328 Day for Night (1973). See La Nuit Américaine

Index | 597

A Day in the Country (1936). See Partie de campagne Day of the Dead (1985), 452 Day of Triumph (1954), 317 Day of Wrath (1943). See Vrendens dag The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951), 172, 386, 387 Dayton, Lyman, 329 DC/Vertigo comics, 411 DEA. See Drug Enforcement Agency Dead Man Walking (1995), 135 Dear Wendy (2005), 434 Death of a Princess (1980, television), 244 The Death of Ivan Ilyich (Tolstoy), 280 Death Takes a Holiday (1934), 332 De Azevedo, Lex, 329 Decalogue (1989). See Dekalog Il Decameron (The Decameron, 1971), 179 The Decameron (1971). See Il Decameron Deconstructing Harry (1997), 7, 8 Deep Cover (1992), 430 Deep Impact (1998), 430 Defending Your Life (1991), 333 De Gastyne, Marc[o], 261 Dekalog (1989), 180, 274, 275 Delannoy, Jean, 262, 331 Delilah, 464 Delman, David, 155 The Delta Force (1986), 247 Del Toro, Guillermo, 412 Dementia 13 (1963), 141 Demian (Hesse), 333 DeMille, Cecil B., 67, 69, 147 – 51, 236, 254, 261, 328, 398

Demons, 55, 153, 154, 173, 195, 233, 253, 262, 282, 303, 369, 384, 388, 393, 411, 412. See also Devil Demon Seed (1977), 173 Den goda viljan (Best Intentions, 1992), 177 De Niro, Robert, 392 Denmark, 160, 161, 177, 433, 434, 436 The Departed (2006), 392 Departure of a Grand Old Man (1912). See Ukhod velikovo startza Deren, Maya, 333 Le Dernier Metro (The Last Metro, 1981), 180 Descartes, René, 311 The Descent of the Ganga (1937). See Gangavataran Desi, 217 De Sica, Vittorio, 178, 181 Des Moines, Iowa, 318 Destiny (1997). See al-Masir Deuteronomy, 164 Devi (The Goddess, 1960), 218 Devigny, Andre, 82 Devil, 43, 63, 139, 152 – 56, 236, 334, 335, 394; Devil worshipping, 455; Guardian devil, 410 The Devil and Daniel Webster (1941), 153 The Devil and the Statue (1902). See Le Diable géant ou Le Miracle de la madonne Devil at 4 O’Clock (1961), 130 Devil Dog: The House of Hell (1978, television), 155 The Devil in the Convent (1899), 152 The Devil Probably (1977). See Le diable, probablement The Devil Rides Out (also known as The Devil’s Bride, 1968), 154 – 55

598 | Index

The Devil’s Advocate (1997), 335 The Devil’s Camera (Martell and Brunett), 424 The Devil’s Daughter (1939), 451 The Devil’s Daughter (1973), 155 The Devil’s Hand (1962), 153 The Devil’s Men (also known as Land of the Minotaur, 1976), 156 The Devil’s Partner (1962), 153 The Devil’s Rain (1975), 154 The Devil Wears Prada (2006), 371 Devlin, Fr. John, 108 Al-Dhakira al-khisba (Fertile Memory, 1980), 37 Le diable, probablement (The Devil Probably, 1977), 84 Le Diable géant ou Le Miracle de la madonne (The Devil and the Statue, 1902), 152 Diamond, Neil, 334 Diary of a Country Priest (1951). See Journal d’un cure de champagne Diary of a Mad Black Woman (2005), 72, 73, 133 The Diary of Anne Frank (1959), 226, 229 Der Dibuk (The Dybbuk, 1937), 265, 332 Dick, Philip K., 384 Dickens, Charles, 222, 226, 372 Diderot, Denis, 82 Et Dieu . . . créa la femme (. . . And God Created Woman, 1956), 464 Dimension (unfinished film), 434 Diné (Navajo), 15, 18. See also American Indians Dinneen, Fr. FitzGeorge, 117 Direktøren for det hele (The Boss of It All, 2006), 435

The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie (1972). See Le Charme discret de la bourgeoisie Disney. See Walt Disney Company Disney, Walt, 27, 153 Disneyland, 196 Dispensational theology, 363 A Distant Thunder (1978), 169 The Divine Comedy (Dante), 61, 105 Divine Intervention, 2002. See Yaddun ilahiya Diwali, 79, 80 Dix, Richard, 15 Dixon, Thomas, 239 Al-Djanna al’an (Paradise Now, 2005), 38, 39 Doctor Dolittle (1967; 1998), 339 Dr. Strangelove (1964), 167 The Doe Boy (2001), 17 Dogma (1999), 20, 24 – 25, 114, 132, 200 – 201, 401 Dogme 95, 156 – 59, 161, 434 – 35 Dogville (2003), 436 Doig, Agnes, 41 Doig, Wattie, 41 – 42 La dolce vita (The Sweet Life, 1960), 185, 186 Dome of the Rock (Jerusalem), 38, 269 Dominion: Prequel to the Exorcist (2005), 383 La donna del fiume (The River Girl, 1955), 347 Donner, Richard, 409 Donnie Darko (2001), 167, 336, 342 Donovan (Donovan Philips Leitch), 334 A Door to the Sky (1989). See Bab al-sama maftuh

Index | 599

Don’t (1998). See Meschugge Donzoko (The Lower Depths, 1957), 282 El Dorado, 28, 30, 143 Dornford-May, Mark, 5 Dostoyevsky, Fyodor, 56, 83, 84, 419, 431 The Double Life of Véronique (1991). See La double vie de Véronique La double vie de Véronique (The Double Life of Véronique, 1991), 272, 274 Doubt (2009), 135 Doughton, Russell S., 318 Douglas, Mary, 232 Douglas, William (U.S. Supreme Court Justice), 313 Dovzhenko, Aleksandr, 375 – 76 Downfall of Osen (1935). See Orizuru Osen Dracul, Vlad, 144, 446 Dracula (1931), 232, 445 Dracula (1979), 444 Dracula (Stoker), 444 Dracula 2000 (2000), 446 Dracula: Dead and Loving It (1995), 92 Dracula’s Daughter (1936), 447 A Dream of Passion (1978). See Kravigi Gynaikon Dreamworks, 28 Dreyer, Carl Theodor, 132, 159 – 62, 177, 178, 332, 381, 435 Drug Enforcement Agency (DEA), 64 Drums O’Voodoo (1934), 451 The Drunkard’s Reformation (1909), 395 Dry Season (2006). See Daratt Duel in the Sun (1946), 120, 121

Dummar, Melvin, 328 Dusseldorf, Germany, 180 Duvalier, Jean-Claude “Baby Doc,” 454 Dystopia, 163 – 66, 322, 385 E.T. the Extra Terrestrial (1982), 388 Early Spring (1956). See Soshun Early Summer (1951). See Bakushû The Early Years: Erik Nietzsche, Part I (2007). See De unge år: Erik Nietzsche sagaen del 1 Earth (1930). See Zemlya Earth (1998), 247, 339, 467 The Earth Dies Screaming (1965), 452 Eastern religions, 387. See also specific religious traditions East Africa, 2, 4 East Asian culture, 411 East Coast, United States, 458 Easter, 222, 372 Eastern Europe, 265, 271, 274 Eastman Kodak, 396 Eastwood, Clint, 363, 461, 462 Easy Rider (1968), 337 Easy Street (1917), 398 Eat a Bowl of Tea (1989), 96 Eat Drink Man Woman (1994). See Yin shin an nu Ebert, Roger, 11 Eco, Umberto, 180 Eden, 45, 461, 340 Edison, Thomas Alva, 394 Edipo Re (Oedipus Rex, 1967), 203 Egypt, 22, 26, 27, 32, 34, 35 – 36, 37, 101, 148, 150, 340, 451 8½ (1963), 184, 185 Eight Crazy Nights (2002), 372 Einstein, Albert, 8

600 | Index

Eisenstein, Sergei, 49, 376 – 77 The Electric Horseman (1979), 462 Elektra (2005), 411 The Element of Crime (1984). See Forbrydelsens element Elements trilogy. See Earth; Fire; Water The Elephant Man (1980), 232 – 33 Eliade, Mircea, 175 Elmer Gantry (1960), 130, 362 Elmer Gantry (Lewis), 399 El Salvador, 115, 135 The Emigrant (1994). See al-Muhajir Emishi tribe, 322. See also Indigenous peoples; Native peoples; specific groups Emmerich, Sr. Anne Catherine, 353 Emmy award, 91 Empire State building (Manhattan), 389 End of Days (1999), 430 The End of the Spear (2005), 361 End-of-the-world films, 167 – 73, 318, 339 Enemies, A Love Story (1989), 226, 228 An Enemy of the People (1989). See Ganashatru An Enemy of the People (Ibsen), 218 L’Enfant Sauvage (The Wild Child, 1970), 440 L’Enfer (Hell, 2005), 180, 275 Engakuji temple (Kamakura), 344 England, 40, 41, 90, 177, 452 The English Patient (1996), 247 Enlightenment, 302 – 3, 355 The Ensign, 330 Entertaining Angels (1996), 115 Enthusiasm. (1931). See Entuziazm: Simfoniya Donbassa

Entre Tinieblas (Dark Habits, 1983), 179 Entuziazm: Simfoniya Donbassa (Enthusiasm, 1931), 376 Epidemic (1987), 436 Episcopal Church, 147; Episcopalian minister, 364. See also Clergy Epstein, Jean, 99 Ernest in the Army (1998), 246 Esau, 3 Escape from Planet of the Apes (1971), 172 ESP. See Extra sensory perception Esperanto (language), 154 Esprit, 48 Essanay Studios, 397 Esther, Book of, 265 L’Eternal Retour (Love Eternal, 1942), 331 Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004), 54 Eucatastrophe, 104, 174 – 77 Eucharist, 113 Euripides, 205 Europa (1991), 436 Europa, Europa (1991), 181, 227 Europe, 4, 32, 34, 47, 69, 91, 99, 145, 159, 177 – 82, 193, 231, 265, 328, 434, 435, 436, 447, 466; Old World, 391 European Union, 169 Europeans, 239, 453 Eurydice, 205 Eusebius, 150 Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, 288 Evangelicals, 318, 353 Evangelism, 147, 150, 353, 395, 398 Eve, 464 Eve of Destruction (1991), 359

Index | 601

Every Man for Himself and God Against All (also known as The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser, 1974). See Jeder fur Sich un Gott Gegen Alle Everyone Says I Love You (1996), 10 Everything Remains for the People (1963). See Vsyo ostayotsya lyudyam Evil Angels (1988), 43 Evilspeak (1981), 236 Excalibur (1981), 305 Executive Decision (1996), 243, 246, 247 Existentialism, 48, 177, 334; Christian existentialism, 49 Exodus, 26, 222, 267, 278 The Exorcist (1973), 114, 134, 153, 171, 234 – 35, 236, 237, 333, 334 Expiration Date (2006), 17 Explorations in Theology and Film (Marsh and Ortiz), 187, 188 Extra sensory perception (ESP), 173 Eyre, Chris, 18 Ezekiel, Book of, 416 Le Fabuleaux Destin d’Amelie Poulain (The Fabulous Destiny of Amelie Poulain, 2001), 180 The Fabulous Destiny of Amelie Poulain (2001). See Le Fabuleaux Destin d’Amelie Poulain Fahrenheit 9/11 (2004), 337 Fährmann Maria (Death and the Maiden, 1936), 332 Fail-Safe (1964), 172 Fairbanks, Douglas, 398 Faith and Film: Theological Themes at the Cinema (Stone), 188 Falk, Peter, 22, 23

Fanny and Alexander (1982). See Fanny och Alexander Fanny och Alexander (Fanny and Alexander, 1982), 132 Fantasia (1940), 27, 153 Fantasia 2000 (1999), 26 Fantastic Four (2005), 340 Faraway, So Close (1993). See In weiter Ferne, so nah! A Farewell to Arms (Hemingway), 117 Fargo (1996), 136, 139, 140 Fascism, 99, 183, 328, 347; neofascists, 348 Father Brown (1954), 130 Father of the Bride II (1995), 244 Father Sergius (1917). See Otets Sergiy Fatima, Portugal, 112 Faust (1915), 152 Faust, A German Folktale (1926). See Faust—Eine deutsche Volkssage Faust—Eine deutsche Volkssage (Faust, A German Folktale, 1926), 152 FBI. See Federal Bureau of Investigation Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (1998), 196 Fear and Trembling (Kierkegaard), 50 Fearless (2006). See Huo Yuan Jia The Fearless Vampire Killers (1967), 447 Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI), 17, 246, 412 Federal Council of Churches, 117 Fellini, Federico, 178, 183 – 87, 194, 331, 347 A Female Cabby in Sidi Bel-Abbes (2000). See Une femme taxi à Sidi Bel-Abbes

602 | Index

De fem benspœnd (The Five Obstructions, 2003), 434 Feminism, 61 Feminists, 468 Une femme douce (A Gentle Woman, 1969), 84 Femme fatale, 464, 465 Fertile Memory (1980). See Al-Dhakira al-khisba FESPAC. See Pan-African Film and TV Festival of Ouagadougou Festen (The Celebration, 1998), 158 Fiddler on the Roof (1971), 134, 368 Field of Dreams (1989), 403, 406, 407 The Fifth Element (1997), 61, 62, 134, 180, 466 The Fighting 69th (1940), 109, 129 The Fighting Sullivans (1944), 109 Film as religion, 187 – 92 Film as Religion: Myths, Morals, and Rituals (Lyden), 189, 190 – 91 Film noir, 175, 464 The Films of Andrei Tarkovsky: A Visual Fugue (Johnson and Petrie), 421 The Final Conflict (1981), 134 Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within (2001), 176 Fine Line Features, 11 Finland, 160 Finley, Jeanne, 468 Il fiore delle Mille e una note (Arabian Nights, 1974), 179 Fire (1996), 339, 467 The Fire and the Rain (2002). See Agni Varsha The Fisher King (1991), 194, 195, 331, 371 A Fistful of Dollars (1964). See Per un pugno di dollari

A Fistful of Dynamite (1971). See Giù la testa The Five Obstructions (2003). See De fem benspœnd Flanagan, Fr. Edward, 109 Flatliners (1990), 335, 425 Flax, Judith, 464 Fleming, Victor, 111 The Flood, 307 Flossmoor, Illinois, 307 The Flying Nun (television), 131 A Fond Kiss (2004). See Ae Fond Kiss Ae Fond Kiss (A Fond Kiss, 2004), 90 Footloose (1984), 131 For a Few Dollars More (1965). See Per qualche dollar in più Forbidden Marriages in the Holy Land (1995). See Al Zawadj al-mukhtalat fi-l-ardi al-muqadassa Forbidden Planet (1956), 387 Forbrydelsens element (The Element of Crime, 1984), 435 – 36 Ford, John, 328, 363 Fordham University, 391 Forever (1921), 331 The Forgiven Sinner (1961). See Léon Morin, prête Forman, Tom, 398 The Forsaken (2001), 446 For the Term of His Natural Life (1927), 40 Foucault, Michel, 358 Four Christmases (2008), 368 The 400 Blows (1959). See Les quatre cents coups Four Nights of a Dreamer (1971). See Quatre nuits d’un reveur Four Weddings and a Funeral (1994), 89, 132, 368 Fox, Michael J., 362

Index | 603

The Fox and the Hound (1981), 329 Foxman, Abraham, 351 Frailty (2001), 55 France, 34, 35, 44, 47, 81, 100, 101, 132, 157, 159, 177, 179, 181, 259 – 61, 263, 274, 433; French critics, 397; French film industry, 438, 439; French New Wave, 47, 437, 439 France-Culture, 423 Francesco, giullare di Dio (The Flowers of St. Francis, 1950), 178, 184 Francis (of Assisi), 178, 333 – 34, 349 Franciscans, 180, 334, 348 Frank, Anne, 226 Frank, Otto, 226 Frankenstein (1931), 232, 385 Frankenstein (Shelley), 384 Frankfurter, Felix (U.S. Supreme Court Justice), 314 Frankl, Viktor, 175 Fraser, Peter, 427 Fratella sole, sorella luna (Brother Sun, Sister Moon, 1972), 333 Fraternal Order of Eagles, 151 Frazer, James, 303 Fresa y Chololate (Strawberries and Chocolate, 1994), 292 Freud, Sigmund, 53 Friday the 13th (1980), 232 Friedrich, James Kempe, 316, 317 Friendly Persuasion (1956), 364 Fright Night (1985), 448 The Frisco Kid (1979), 134, 462 From Dusk Till Dawn (1996), 444 La Frontera (The Frontier, 1991), 295 The Frontier (1991). See La Frontera The Fugitive (1947), 129 The Fugitive (1993), 372

Fulci, Lucio, 453 Full Circle (1993), 466 Fuller Theological Seminary, 363 Fundamentalism, 85, 90, 157, 164, 187, 342 The Funeral (1984). See Ososhiki Galdós, Benito Pérez, 100 Ganashatru (An Enemy of the People, 1989), 218 Gandhi (1982), 219 Gandhi, Mohandas K. (Mahatma), 219 Gangavataran (The Descent of the Ganga, 1937), 75 Gangs of New York (2002), 392 The Garden of Allah (1936), 111 Garden of Gethsemane, 62 The Garden of the Finzi-Continis (1970). See Il Giardino dei Finzi-Contini The Gaucho (1928), 128, 398 Gaza, 38 Gelbart, Larry, 92 Geisel, Theodor Seuss, 222 Generation X, 21 La Genèse (Genesis, 1999), 3 Genesis, 20, 69, 137, 163, 211, 269, 294, 427, 464 Genesis (1999). See La Genèse A Gentle Woman (1969). See Une femme douce Geographic Film Company, 316 Georgetown University, 236 Georgia, 467 Gere, Richard, 97 Germans, 82, 93, 94, 228, 246, 459 Germany, 23, 159, 180, 181, 266, 271, 332, 460; Nazi Germany, 94, 437 Gerry (2002), 342

604 | Index

Get Smart (television), 92 Ghana, 4, 5 Ghost (1990), 331 The Ghost Breakers (1940), 451 Ghost in the Shell (1995). See Kôkaku kidôtai The Ghoul (1933), 451 Il Giardino dei Finzi-Contini (The Garden of the Finzi-Continis, 1970), 181 Gibson, Mel, 66, 68, 86, 237, 241, 350 – 53 Gidget (1959), 370 Gieogamah, Hanay, 17, 18 Gigi (1958), 370 Gilgamesh, 206 Gilliam, Terry, 193 – 97, 331 Gimbutas, Marija, 466 Giovanna d’Arco al Rogo (Joan of Arc at the Stake, 1954), 178, 261 Girard, Rene, 189 Giù la testa (A Fistful of Dynamite, 1971), 297, 298 Gladiator (2000), 67, 203 Glass, Phillip, 335 Glaswegians, 90 Gleaming the Cube (1989), 429 Glengarry Glen Ross (1992), 307 Glengarry Glen Ross (stage), 307 Globalization, 341 Gnosticism, 191, 309, 310, 311, 339, 386 – 87; Christian Gnosticism, 331 Go Down Death (1944), 133 Go for Zucker! (2004). See Alles auf Zucker! Goa, India, 216 God, 197 – 203 God in the Movies (Greeley), 425 God Is My Co-Pilot (1945), 109 Godard, Jean-Luc, 47, 180, 347, 439

Goddess, 464, 466, 467 The Goddess (1960). See Devi Goddess Remembered (1989), 466 The Godfather (1972), 70, 110, 113, 141, 142, 144, 368 The Godfather: Part II (1974), 70, 113, 141 The Godfather: Part III (1990), 70, 113, 142, 144 The Gods Must Be Crazy (1980), 239, 240 Godspell (1973), 255, 256, 372 Goebbels, Joseph 332 Going My Way (1944), 109 – 10, 129 Gojira (Godzilla, 1954), 389 The Golden Age (1930). See L’age d’or “Golden age of Hollywood,” 129, 131, 232 Golden Braid (1990), 42 The Golden Child (1986), 96 Golden Fleece, 204 Golding, William, 335 Goldwyn, Samuel, 264 Der Golem (The Golem, 1920), 134, 232, 332 Le Golem (1936), 332 The Golem (1920). See Der Golem Goodfellas (1990), 392 Gorbachev, Mikhail, 378 Gordon, Andrew, 189 Golden Temple (Amritsar), 216 Gone With the Wind (1939), 316 The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly (1966). See Il Buono, il brutto, il cattivo Good Samaritan, 395, 425 The Good Wife of Tokyo (1992), 468 Gore, Al (Vice President), 172 Gorgon, 204

Index | 605

Gorky, Maxim, 251 Gorriss, Marleen, 465 Goskino, 419, 421 – 22 Gospel Films, 317 Gospels, 66, 149, 175, 179, 258, 285, 291, 348, 374, 386, 388, 424; canonical Gospels, 256 – 57 The Gospel (2005), 363 The Gospel According to Disney: Faith, Trust, and Pixie Dust (Pinsky), 188 The Gospel According to St. Matthew (1964). See Il vangelo secondo Matteo The Gospel Blimp (1967), 317 Gothic literature, 114, 179, 231, 232, 236, 444 Gough, Michael, 155 Gould, Eliot, 11 Gounod, Charles, 152 Graham, Billy, 40 Graham, Franklin, 352 Grammy award, 91 Grand Canyon (1991), 52 Grand Central Station (Manhattan), 195 Grand Rapids, Michigan, 381 Le Grand Voyage (2004), 368 Grave of the Fireflies (1988). See Hotaru no haka The Great Commandment (1939), 316 – 17 Great Depression, 139, 150, 316, 407, 451 Great War, 374. See also World War I The Greatest Story Ever Told (1965), 236, 255, 372 Greece, 204, 205; Greek island, 168 Greek and Roman myths, 26, 139, 203 – 7, 310, 340, 387; Greek gods, 27. See also specific figures

Greeley, Andrew, 425 The Green Pastures (1936), 133 Greene, David, 255 Greene, Graham, 129 Gregoretti, Ugo, 347 Grey, Zane, 15 Greystoke: The Legend of Tarzan, Lord of the Apes (1984), 339 Griffith, D. W. (David Llewelyn Wark), 15, 107, 152, 160, 239 – 40, 265, 395, 396 Ground Zero (1987), 246 Gruz 200 (Cargo 200, 2007), 379 The Guardian, 308 Guest, Christopher, 157 Guilietta degli spiriti (Juliet of the Spirits, 1965), 184, 331 Gulf Coast, United States, 294 Gulf War, 139 Gunning, Tom, 395 Gutiérrez Alea, Tomás, 290 A Guy Named Joe (1943), 212 Ha-Hesder (Time of Favor, 2000), 269, 341 – 42 Hackers (1995), 359 Hades, 27 Hadley, Henry, 394 Hagen, Walter, 407 Haggard, Ted, 352 Haifa, Israel, 33 “Hail Mary,” 113 Hail Mary (1985). See “Je vous Salue, Marie” Haiti, 450, 451, 454 Haitians, 452 Haitian superstition, 455 Hajj, 368. See also Pilgrimage Hallelujah (1929), 133 Halloween, 223, 372

606 | Index

Halloween (1978), 233 Hallstrom, Lasse, 178 Hamas, 39 Hammer Films, 444 Hamor, 3 Han Dynasty, 123, 126. The Handmaid’s Tale (1990), 163 – 64, 165, 166, 385 The Handmaid’s Tale (Atwood), 163 Hanging Rock (Australia), 45 Hannah and Her Sisters (1986), 7, 8 Hannukah, 226 Happiness (1934). See Schastye Happy Times (2000). See Xingfu shiguang Hara, Setsuko, 345 Hardcore (1979), 382, 383 Hardware (1990), 359 Hark, Tsui, 127 “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing,” 105 Harmon, William E., 316 Haroun, Mahamat-Saleh, 3 Harrer, Heinrich, 181 Harrison, George, 194 Harry Potter and the Camber of Secrets (2002), 305 Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (2005), 305 Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (2004), 305 Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone (2001), 305 Hart, William S., 397 Hasidism, 265, 268; Hasidic Jews, 265, 267, 268, 269, 335, 404 The Haunting (1999), 232 Hauptmann, Gerhard, 152 Hawaii, 95 Hawaii (1966), 131 Hawks, Howard, 48, 438

The Hawks and the Sparrows (1966). See Uccellacci e uccellini Häxan (The Witches, 1922), 154, 205, 232 Hays Code, 108 Hays Office, 115, 118 – 19, 120. See also Production Code Administration (PCA) Hays, Will H., 108, 116, 117, 118, 120, 399 HBO. See Home Box Office HealtH (1980), 11 Heart of Darkness (Conrad), 143 Heaven, 209 – 14 Heaven (2002), 180, 213, 275 Heaven Can Wait (1978), 210, 212, 213 Heaven Help Us (1985), 131 Heavens Above (1963), 130 Hebrew Bible, 411. See also Bible; Hebrew scripture; Old Testament; Torah The Hebrew Hammer (television), 269 Hebrew scripture, 65, 66. See also Bible; Hebrew Bible; Old Testament; Torah Hebrews, 30, 223 Hector, 206 Heder, Jon, 330 Helfgott, David, 44 Hell, 153, 171, 195, 201, 209, 214, 252, 253, 283, 411, 412, 449, 453 Hell (2005). See L’Enfer Hell’s Hinges (1916), 128, 397 Hell’s Kitchen (Manhattan), 382, 410 Hellblazer, 411 Hellboy (2004), 412 Hello, Dolly! (stage), 92 Help! (1965), 333 Hemingway, Ernest, 117

Index | 607

Henry, Buck, 92 Hera, 26 Hercules, 27 Hercules (1997), 26, 27, 340 Hercules: The Legendary Journeys (television), 203 Here Comes Mr. Jordan (1941), 210 Hero (2002). See Ying xiong The Hero (2006). See Zhivoy Heroes of the Cross (1909), 40 Hershey, Barbara, 285 Herzl, Theodor, 137 Herzog, Werner, 143, 180, 181, 444 Hess, Dean, 129 Hess, Jared, 330 Hess, Jerusha, 330 Hesse, Hermann, 333 Hester Street (1975), 268 Hexen bis aufs Blut genquält (Burn Witch Burn, 1970), 304 Hickok, “Wild” Bill, 372 Hicks, Scott, 44 The Hidden Fortress (1958). See Kakuski-toride no san-akunin Hideous Kinky (1998), 243 Hiemer, Leo, 230 Hier, Marvin, 351 High and Low (1963). See Tengoku to jigoku High Anxiety (1977), 92 High Noon (1952), 364, 460 High Plains Drifter (1973), 461 Highlands, New Jersey, 400 El Hijo de la Novia (The Son of the Bride, 2001), 293 Der Himmel über Berlin (Wings of Desire, also known as The Sky Over Berlin, 1987), 21, 22 – 23, 24, 180, 212 Hindi cinema, 75. See also Bollywood

Hinduism, 76 – 80, 214 – 20, 331, 368, 404, 407; darshan, 79; darshanic gaze, 76, 81; dharma, 77; gods and goddesses, 75, 80, 217 – 18, 377, 467. See also specific figures and texts Hindus, 247; and non-Hindus, 220; Thugees, 215 Hiroshima, Japan, 253, 389 His People (1925), 399 Historical Film Corporation of America, 315 – 16 History of the World, Part I (1981), 94 Hitchcock, Alfred, 48, 92, 109, 153, 157, 438 Hitler, Adolf, 150, 227, 332 Hitler Youth, 181, 228 The Hitman (1991), 246 Hoffman, Deborah, 5 Hogan’s Heroes (television), 382 Holi, 80 Holiday Inn (1942), 220 Holiday of St. Jorgen, (1930). See Prazdnik svyatogo Yorgena Holidays, 220 – 25. See also specific holidays Hollaman-Eaves’s Passion Play (1987), 394 Holland, Agnieszka, 181, 227, 273 Hollywood Production Code, 115, 118, 328, 460. See also Hays Code; Production Code Hollywood Ten, 317 Hollywood vs. America: Popular Culture and the War Against Traditional Values (Medved), 131, 288 Holocaust, 8, 163, 180, 225 – 31, 247, 266, 267, 308, 353; post-Holocaust, 94, 266

608 | Index

Holy Grail, 371; quest for, 193 The Holy Mountains (1973), 334 Holy Scriptures, 150 Home Box Office (HBO), 17, 142 Homer, 143, 176, 206 Homicide (1991), 307 – 8 Hong gao liang (Red Sorghum, 1987), 123, 124 Hong Kong, 123 Hoodoo, 454 – 55 Hook (1991), 369 – 70 Hoosiers (1986), 135 Hop, the Devil’s Brew (1916), 396 Hopi, 15. See also American Indians Hopkins, Anthony, 362 Horror films, 134, 153, 209, 231 – 38 Hotaru no haka (Grave of the Fireflies, 1988), 253 House of Evil (1974), 155 House of Flying Daggers (2004). See Shi mian mai fu House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC), 460 How the Grinch Stole Christmas! (Seuss), 222 HUAC. See House Un-American Activities Committee Huang, Jianxin, 124 The Hudsucker Proxy (1994), 136, 140 Hughes, Howard, 119, 328, 392 Hugo, Victor, 437 Hulk (2003), 70, 357, 430 Hum Aapke Hain Koun . . .! (What am I to You . . .!, 1994), 78 Humoresque (1920), 399 The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996), 30, 31 Hundred Years War, 259 Hungary, 225

Hunt, Claire, 468 The Hunt for Red October (1990), 372 Hurley, Neil P., 425 Huron, 41, 132. See also American Indians Huo Yuan Jia (Fearless, 2006), 125, 126, 127 Las hurdes (Land Without Bread, 1933), 99 Husbands and Wives (1992), 8 The Hustler (1961), 392 Hypocrites (1915), 128, 396 I, Robot (2004), 358 – 59, 385, 387 I, the Worst of All (1990). See Yo, La Peor de Todas I Am Legend (2007), 444 I Am Legend (Matheson), 448, 452 Ibsen, Henrik, 218 I Call First (also known as Who’s That Knocking at My Door, 1967), 391 Ichikawa, Kon, 251 I Confess (1953), 109 I’d Climb the Highest Mountain (1951), 130 The Idea of the Holy (Otto), 233 Identity (2003), 55 Idioterne (The Idiots, 1998), 435, 436 The Idiots (1998). See Idioterne I Drink Your Blood (1970), 154 If Footmen Tire You, What Will Horses Do? (1971), 318 IFCA. See International Federation of Catholic Alumnae Ifigeneia (Iphigenia, 1977), 203 Ifugao people (Luzon), 144 Igorot peoples (Luzon), 242 I ♥ Huckabees (2004), 342 Ikiru (1952), 280 – 81, 282, 283

Index | 609

Iliad (Homer), 203, 206 Illinois, 459 I Love Cinema (2004). See Baheb el cima Image of the Beast (1980), 169 Images (1972), 13 Images of the Passion (Fraser), 427 Images of Relief (1983). See Befrielsesbilleder I magi randagi (We Free Kings, 1996), 350 Imamura, Shohei, 253 ‘Imarat al-Ya’ qubiyan (The Yacoubian Building, 2006), 35 I Married a Witch (1942), 304 Immaculate conception, 112 Imperial Palace (Kyoto), 325 An Inconvenient Truth (2006), 172 The Incredible Hulk (2008), 340 The Incredible Shrinking Man (1957), 234 Incubus (1965), 154 Independence Day (1996), 319, 340, 372, 388 Independence Day (United States), 372 India, 75, 76, 78, 80, 95, 215, 216, 218, 219, 220; Partition, 247 Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (1989), 371 Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (1984), 215 Indian Americans, 220 Indians, 217 Indigenous religions, 239 – 43, 294 – 95, 321; rituals, 368. See also American Indian religion Indo-Islamic culture, 80 Ines de la Cruz, Sor Juana, 291 Ingraham, J. H. (Joseph Holt), 150

Inherit the Wind (1960), 362 Inn of Sixth Happiness (1958), 130 Inquisition, 94, 160, 449 In the Company of Men (1997), 329 International Catholic Cinema Organization. See Signis International Church Films Corporation, 315 International Federation of Catholic Alumnae (IFCA), 108, 117, 118 International Missionary Council, 2 Internet, 196, 351, 385, 428 Interview with a Vampire (1994), 448 Intifada, 39 Intolerable Cruelty (2003), 137 Intolerance (1916), 107, 109, 160, 265, 396 Inuit, 28 The Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956; 1978), 388 Inventing the Dream: California Through the Progressive Era (Starr), 393 – 94 Invisible Invaders (1959), 452 The Invisible Man (Wells), 384 Iolcus, Greece, 204 Iowa, 407 Iphigenia (1977). See Ifigeneia Iran, 245, 424; Iranian films, 243; Iranian Revolution, 245, 424 Iranians, 244 I Remember (1973). See Amacord Irenaeus (of Lyons), 174 Irish Catholics, 399; Irish Catholic characters, 109, 299; Irish minister, 362; Irish priest, 111, 129; Irish-Catholic town, 401. See also Catholicism, Roman Catholicism “An Irish Lullaby,” 110

610 | Index

Iroquois, 41, 132. See also American Indians Isaac, 55 Iskandariyya . . . leh? (Alexandria . . . Why?, 1978), 33 Islam, 2, 3, 32, 34, 37, 38, 43, 189, 243 – 48, 295, 368, 379, 403, 406; Sufi Islam, 34, 243, 331. See also Muslims The Island (2006). See Ostrov The Island of Dr. Moreau (Wells), 384 Israel, 27, 32, 33, 37, 38, 178, 228, 264, 269, 348, 353 Israelites, 151; priesthood, 30. See also Hebrews Istanbul, Turkey, 468 Italian Americans, 142; Italian American culture, 393 It Happened One Night (1934), 104, 106 It’s a Wonderful Life (1946), 21–22, 61, 103, 105, 106, 110, 212, 220, 372 Italianamerican (1974), 391 Italy, 64, 155, 178, 183, 297, 348, 422, 457 Itami, Juzo, 251 Ivan Groznyy I (Ivan the Terrible Part I, 1944), 377 Ivan Groznyy II: Boyarsky Zagovor (Ivan the Terrible Part 2, 1958), 377 Ivanovo Destvo (My Name is Ivan, 1962), 419, 421 I Walked with a Zombie (1943), 235, 451 “I Wish We’d All Been Ready,” 318 Jabberwocky (1977), 194, 195 Jack (1996), 141 Jackie Brown (1997), 418 Jackson, Joe (“Shoeless Joe”), 407

Jackson, Kate, 155 Jackson, Peter, 175 Jackson, Robert (U.S. Supreme Court Justice), 314 Jacob, 3, 20, 211, 378 – 79 Jacob’s Ladder (1990), 335 Jacobsen, Søren Krag, 157 Jacques le fataliste et son maitre (Diderot), 82 Jai Santoshi Maa (In Praise of Mother Santoshi, 1975), 78, 79, 80 Jai Santoshi Maa (2006), 78 Jakes, T. D. (Thomas Dexter), 71 – 72, 133 James, William, 50 Japan, 95, 249 – 54, 279, 282, 320 – 25, 326, 343 – 45, 460, 468; Japanese religion, 320, 323 Jason, 204, 205 Jason and the Argonauts (1963; 2000), 204, 206 Jaws (1975), 233, 465 Jazz Age, 394 The Jazz Singer (1927; 1952; 1980), 134, 267 “Je vous Salue, Marie” (Hail Mary, 1985), 180 Jeanne d’Arc. See Joan of Arc Jeanne d’Arc (1899), 260 Jeder fur Sich un Gott Gegen Alle (Every Man for Himself and God Against All, also known as The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser, 1974), 180 Jeffords, Tom, 15 – 16 Jeles, Andras, 225 Jenkins, Jerry B., 170, 363 Jerry Springer: The Opera (2005), 288 Jersey Girl (2004), 401 “Jerusalem” (Blake), 87

Index | 611

Jerusalem (1996), 177 Jerusalem, Israel, 33, 38, 168, 178, 349, 468; Mea Sharim, 269 Jesse Lasky Feature Play Company, 147 Jesuits, 41, 99, 108, 132, 236 Jesus, 254 – 59 Jesus (1979), 318; “The Jesus Film,” 318 – 19 Jesus Christ Superstar (1973), 255, 372 Jésus de Montréal (Jesus of Montreal, 1989), 133, 257 The Jesus Film Project, 319. See also Jesus (1979) Jesus films, 257, 258, 348, 464 Jesus of Montreal (1989). See Jésus de Montréal Jesus of Nazareth (1977), 69, 257, 266 Jesus Seminar, 258 The Jewel of the Nile (1985), 245 Jewett, Robert, 427, 461 Jewish Bible, 68 Jewish – Catholic relations, 351 Jewish mysticism, 134, 332; Gematria, 268; Kabbalah, 265, 331 – 32 Jewison, Norman, 255 Jews, 8, 37, 38, 43, 45, 67, 69, 93, 94, 134, 181, 237, 264 – 69, 308, 332, 351 – 53, 398 – 99, 458, 459; and the Holocaust, 225 – 31 Jindra, Michael, 190 Joan of Arc, 44, 61, 62 – 63, 83, 111, 120, 160, 161, 177, 178, 259 – 64 Joan of Arc (1895), 260 Joan of Arc (1948), 111, 261 Joan of Arc at the Stake (1954). See Giovanna d’Arco al Rogo The Joan of Arc of Loos (1916), 44, 263

Joan of Ozark (1942), 263 Joan of Paris (1942), 263 Joan of Plattsburg (1918), 263 Joan the Maid (1935). See Das Mädchen Johanna Joan the Woman (1917), 111, 261 Job, 56, 152, 198 J¯odo (Pure Land) Buddhism, 95, 322 J¯odo Shinshu, 95 Joe Versus the Volcano (1990), 239, 241 Joffe, Mark, 42 Joffe, Roland, 88 Jofroi (1933), 313 Johar, Karan, 77 John, 168, 173 John, Gospel of, 348, 404, 411 John the Baptist, 310, 387 John XXIII, Pope, 349 John Paul I, Pope, 113 John Paul II, Pope, 272, 353 Johnny Mnemonic (1996), 359 Johnson, Jack, 117 Johnson, Vida, 421 Johnston, Eric, 120 Johnston, Robert K., 187 – 88, 190, 427 Jonah: A VeggieTales Movie (2002), 26, 27 Jonathan Livingston Seagull (1973), 334 Jones, Bobby, 407 Joseph, 2, 34 Joseph, husband of Mary, 184, 266, 313 Joseph Burstyn, Inc., v. Wilson (1952), 120, 314 Josephus, 150 Journal d’un cure de champagne (Diary of a Country Priest, 1951), 47, 82 – 83, 132, 179, 426, 427

612 | Index

Journey to the Center of the Earth (Verne), 384 Journey to the East (Hesse), 333 Joy Luck Club (1993), 96 Joyner, Joyzelle, 150 Ju Dou (1990), 123 Judaism, 3, 7, 30, 32, 38, 81, 83, 134, 181, 225 – 31, 264 – 70, 295, 308, 404, 435 Judas, Gospel of, 257 Judas Iscariot, 149, 254 – 55, 256, 257, 285, 298, 317, 387, 394, 446 Judgment (2001), 170 Jules and Jim (1962), 440 Julian Donkey Boy (1999), 159 Juliet of the Spirits (1965). See Guilietta degli spiriti Jump, Herbert A., 395, 425 Jung, Carl, 175, 195; Jungian psychoanalysis, 184 Der Junge Törless (Young Torless, 1966), 181 Jungfrukallan (The Virgin Spring, 1960), 178 Les jumeaux de Brighton (1936), 82 Jurassic Park (1993), 339 “Kabhi Kushi Kabhie Gham,” 80 Kabhi Kushi Kabhie Gham (Sometimes Happiness, Sometimes Sorrow, 2001), 77, 79, 80 Kabuki theater, 249, 282 Kachinas, 15. See also American Indian religion; American Indians; Hopi Kadosh (1999), 269 Kael, Pauline, 12, 13 Kagemusha (1980), 282, 283 Kaikeyi, 77 Kakogiannis, Mihalis, 203

Kakuski-toride no san-akunin (The Hidden Fortress, 1958), 281 Kali, 215, 218 Kaliya Mardan (1917), 75 Kamakura, Japan, 344 Kaminsky, Melvin. See Brooks, Mel Kammarspel (Strindberg), 161 Kandahar (2001). See Safar e Ghandehar Kansas, 305 – 6, 334 Kansas City, Missouri, 11 Kanto, Japan, 326 Kapoor, Raj, 76, 77 Kashmir (1951), 243 Kawalerowicz, Jerzy, 273 Kazantzakis, Nikos, 257, 285, 286, 382, 392 Kaze no tani no Naushika (Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind, 1984), 321, 322 Keeping the Faith (2000), 134, 268, 368 Keep Not Silent: Ortho-Dykes (2004). See Et Sheaava Nafshi Kelly, Gene, 64 Ken Anderson Films, 317 Kensington Gardens (London), 370 Kerouac, Jack, 97 The Keys of the Kingdom (1944), 119, 120, 129 Khleifi, Michel, 37 Khotinenko, Vladimir, 379 Khrushchev, Nikita, 377 The Kid (1921), 398 Kidman, Nicole, 436 Kierkegaard, Søren, 50, 51, 56, 161, 310 Kies´lowski, Krzysztof, 180, 213 – 14, 271 – 75 Kiev, Russia, 374

Index | 613

Kigali, Rwanda, 5 Kijowski, Janusz, 273 Kiju, Yoshida, 344 Kill Bill (2003; 2004), 418 Kilmer, Val, 17 Kimball, Heber C., 328 Kimball, Spencer W., 330 Kindred: The Embraced (1996), 449 King, Henry, 111 King, Martin Luther, Rev., 266 King, Stephen, 235, 277 The King and I (1956; 1999), 95, 329 The Kingdom (1994). See Riget The Kingdom II (1997). See Riget II Kingdom Come (2001), 71, 72, 73, 363 King Kong (1933; 1976; 2005), 232, 240, 241, 339, 389 King Lear (Shakespeare), 252 The King of Comedy (1983), 392 King of Kings (1961), 255 The King of Kings (1927), 69, 148, 149, 151, 254, 398 King Solomon’s Mines (1985), 247 Kinsey (2004), 121 Kiowa/Delaware, 17. See also American Indians Kipsigis (people), 29 Kiss Me, Kate (1953), 371 Kiss Me, Stupid (1964), 120 – 21 The Kiss of the Vampire (1963), 153, 447 Kiyomizu-dera temple (Kyoto), 344 Klann—Grand Guignol (1969), 263 Kôkaku kidôtai (Ghost in the Shell, 1995), 252 Kolker, Robert, 13 “Kol Nidre,” 399 Konigsberg, Allan Stewart. See Allen, Woody

Korea, 95, 129 Korean War, 11 Koreeda, Hirokazu, 252 Korinne, Harmony, 159 Körkarlen (The Phantom Carriage, 1921), 332 Kosher Kitty Kelly (1925), 399 Kotto, Yaphet, 453 Koyaanisqatsi (1983), 335 K-PAX (2001), 336 The Kraft Music Hall (television), 91 Kragh-Jacobsen, Søren, 434 Kramer, Stanley, 364 Kravigi Gynaikon (A Dream of Passion, 1978), 205 Kreitzer, Larry, 427 Kremlin (Moscow), 374 Krishna, 75, 339 Kristeva, Julia, 232 Krótki film o miłos´ci (A Short Film About Love, 1988), 274 Krótki film o zabijaniu (A Short Film About Killing, 1988), 274 Kubrick, Stanley, 157, 235, 276 – 79, 333, 421 Ku Klux Klan, 139, 240 Kumonosu jô (Throne of Blood, 1957), 282 Kundun (1997), 135, 335, 368, 392 Kung Fu Hustle (2004), 98 Kung Fu movies, 340 Kureshi, Hanif, 90 Kuroi ame (Black Rain, 1989), 253 Kurosawa, Akiro, 95, 96, 252, 253, 279 – 83, 325, 343 Kurtlar vadisi—Irak (Valley of the Wolves: Iraq, 2006), 341 Kushner, Lawrence, 308 Kyoto, Japan, 326, 344

614 | Index

LA Weekly, 381 LaBute, Neil, 329 Lacan, Jacques, 277 Ladd, Cheryl, 155 Ladies of the Bois de Bologne (1945). See Les dames du Bois de Boulogne Ladri di biciclette (The Bicycle Thief, 1948), 121, 178, 313 Lady for a Day (1933), 104 The Lady Killers (2004), 137 LaHaye, Tim, 170, 363 The Lair of the White Worm (1988), 448 Lakota, 16; Lakota Civil War, 17. See also American Indians Laksmi, 311 Lalonde, Paul and Peter, 170, 319 LaMotta, Jake, 382, 392, 406 Lancelot du lac (Lancelot of the Lake, 1974), 84 Lancelot of the Lake (1974). See Lancelot du lac The Land Before Time (1988), 329 Land of the Dead (2005), 452 Land Without Bread (1933). See Las hurdes Lang, Fritz, 153, 173, 355, 384 Lang, Walter, 96 Lanka Dahan (Lanka Aflame, 1917), 75 Lanka, India, 76 Lanzmann, Claude, 180 Laos, 95 Lars and the Real Girls (2007), 364 Las Vegas, Nevada, 196 Lasky, Jesse, 147 The Last Man on Earth (1964), 448 The Last Metro (1981). See Le Dernier Metro Last Night of the Proms, 87

The Last Samurai (2003), 97 The Last Supper, 290 The Last Supper (1976). See La Última Cena The Last Supper (DaVinci), 101 The Last Temptation of Christ (1988), 66, 257, 285–89, 381, 382, 383, 392, 464 The Last Temptation of Christ (Kazantzakis), 257 The Last Wave (1977), 44, 334 Låt den rätte komma in (Let the Right One In, 2008), 448 Late Autumn (1960). See Akibiyori The Late Great Planet Earth (1979), 169 Late Spring (1949). See Banshun Latin America, 289 – 95, 353. See also South America; specific countries Latter Days (2003), 328 Latter-day Saints, 328. See also Church of Jesus Christ of Latterday Saints; Mormonism; Mormons de Laurentis, Teresa, 4664 Lawrence, John Shelton, 461 LDS. See Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints Leap of Faith (1992), 122, 130, 132, 368 Leary, Tim, 196 Leaves from Satan’s Book (1921). See Blade Af Satans Bog Lebanon, 35 – 36 Lebowski Fest, 138 Led Zeppelin, 194 Ledoux, Patrick, 263 Lee, Ang, 70, 96, 97, 123, 124, 125, 462 Lee, Christopher, 444 Lee, Spike, 55

Index | 615

Left Behind: The Movie (2000), 170, 319, 363 Left Behind: World at War (2005), 170 Left Behind II: Tribulation Force (2002), 170 The Left Hand of God (1955), 130 Left Luggage (1998), 267 The Legend of Bagger Vance (2000), 219, 406, 407 Legend of Bailiff Sansho (1954). See Sanchô dayû Legend of the Overfiend (1989). See Chôjin densetsu Urotsukidôji The Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires (1974), 447 Legion of Decency, 108, 110, 115, 117, 119, 313. See also Catholic Communication Campaign; Catholic League; National Catholic Office for Motion Pictures (NCOMP); U.S. Catholic Conference Office for Film and Broadcasting Lemora: A Child’s Tale of the Supernatural (1973), 444 Leni (1994), 230 Leningrad University, 379 Léon (The Professional, 1994), 61, 64 – 65 Léon Morin, prête (The Forgiven Sinner, 1961), 181 Leonard, Elmore, 418 Leone, Sergio, 295 – 300; “The Man with No Name Trilogy,” 297 Lerner, Alan Jay, 331 Let the Right One In (2008). See Låt den rätte komma in Let’s Have a Brainwash (1963). See Ro.Go.Pa.G. Leth, Jørgen, 434

Leviathan, 233 Levin, Ira, 181 Leviticus, 164 Levring, Kristian, 157, 434 Levy, Dani, 181 Lewis, C. S. (Clive Staples), 66, 175, 362 Lewis, Sinclair, 130, 399 Liberation theology, 290 Liddell, Eric, 87 – 88, 89, 131, 362 Life Is to Whistle (1998). See La Vida es Silvar Life of an Amorous Woman (Saikaku), 325 Life of Brian (1979), 66, 70, 86, 121, 258 The Life of Oharu (1952). See Saikaku ichidai onna Life of Paul (1949 – 1951), 317 Life is Beautiful (1997). See La vita é bella Lifeforce (1985), 448 Light, Allie, 468 Lights Camera . . . Faith! (Malone and Pacatte), 428 Lilies of the Field (1963), 110, 130 Liliom (1934), 153 Lilith, 464 – 65 Lindsay, Vachel, 304 Lindsey, Hal, 169 Linkowski, Grzegorz, 230 The Lion King (1994), 28 The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe: A Story for Children (Lewis), 175 Lion’s Gate Films, 12 Little Big Man (1970), 16, 368 Little Buddha (1993), 121, 135, 181, 335, 340 Little Caesar (1933), 109

616 | Index

Little Italy (Manhattan), 391, 392 Little Saints (1999). See Santitos Little Women (1933; 1949), 370 The Living Christ (1951 – 1957), 317 The Living Dead (also known as The Scotland Yard Mystery, 1933), 451 Livingstone, David, 130 Loach, Ken, 88, 89, 90 Lodz, Poland, 227; Lodz Film School, 273 Loew, Judah (Rabbi), 332 Loewe, Frederick, 331 Lola rennt (Run Lola Run, 1998), 176 Lolita (1962), 276 – 77, 278 London, England, 40, 78, 350; North London, 267 The Long Goodbye (1973), 13 Long Night’s Journey into Day (1995), 5, 6 Longford, Raymond, 40, 42 Longinotto, Kim, 468 Look What Happened to Rosemary’s Baby (1976), 155 Loos, France, 44 Lord, Fr. Daniel, 108, 117 Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring (2001), 175, 305, 340, 372 Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King (2003), 175, 176, 305, 340, 372 Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers (2002), 175, 305, 340, 372 Lord’s Prayer, 293 Los Angeles, California, 13, 97, 117, 139, 286, 382, 429, 430, 431, 457; Archdiocese of Los Angeles, 108 Los Angeles Jewish Journal, 351 Los Angeles Times, 148 Lost Horizon (1937), 105, 135 Lost in Translation (2003), 97

Loughlin, Gerard, 190 Louis, Adrian C., 18 Louisiana, 53 Lourdes, France, 111 – 12, 130 Love (1948). See L’amore Love and Death (1975), 7, 10 Love at First Bite (1979), 444, 447 Love Eternal (1942). See L’Eternal Retour Love’s a Bitch (2000). See Amores Perros The Lower Depths (1957). See Donzoko The Lower Depths (Gorky), 251 Lower East Side (Manhattan), 267, 399 Lubin, Sigmund, 394 Lucas, George, 11, 339 Lucas, Wilfred, 40 Lugosi, Bela, 450 Luke, Gospel of, 84 Lumet, Sidney, 226, 264, 268 Luna Park (1992), 378 Lund, Sweden, 59 Luther (2003), 361 Luther, Martin, 361 Lutheran church, 317 Lyden, John C., 189, 190 – 92 Lyons, France, 82 Macbeth (Shakespeare), 282 MacPherson, Aimee Semple, 129 M*A*S*H (1970), 11, 12, 131 Mad, 194 Mad About You (television), 91 Madadayo (1993), 279 Das Mädchen Johanna (Joan the Maid, 1935), 261 Madea Goes to Jail (2009), 133 Mad Max (1979), 172

Index | 617

Mad Max 2 (also known as The Road Warrior, 1981), 172 Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome (1985), 44, 172, 242 Madonna, 152. See also Mary, mother of Jesus; Virgin Mary; Blessed Virgin Madrid, University of, 99 Magic, 301 – 7 The Magical Lantern (1988), 57 The Magic Island (Seabrook), 450 Magic lantern, 1, 303, 424 Magic Money (1993). See Owo Idan Magnolia (1999), 51, 55 Magnum, P.I. (television), 154 Mahabharata, 75, 77; Kauravas, 219; Pandavas, 219. See also Hinduism The Mahabharata (1989), 219, 340 Mahayana Buddhism, 95, 322 Mahmoody, Betty, 245 “Main to Arti Utaru,” 80 Major League (1989), 403, 405, 406 Malcolm X (1992), 368 Mali, 1, 3 La Malla educación (Bad Education, 2004), 179 Malle, Louis, 132, 180 Malone, Peter, 428 Mamet, David Alan, 307 – 8 Mamma Roma (1962), 178, 347 Man Bites Dog (1992). See C’est arrive pres de chez vous The Man Born to Be King (Sayers), 255 A Man Called Horse (1970), 16, 368 A Man Called Peter (1955), 130, 362 Manderlay (2005), 436 A Man Escaped, or The Wind Bloweth Where it Listeth (1956). See Un condamné à mort s’est échappé ou Le vent soufflé où il veut

A Man for All Seasons (1966), 130 The Man from Kangaroo (1920), 40 Manhattan (1979), 7 Manhattan, New York, 7, 171 Le Manior du diable (Manor of the Devil, 1896), 152 Mankiewicz, Tom, 409 Manobo peoples (Mindanao), 242 Manor of the Devil (1896). See Le Manior du diable Manos: The Hands of Fate (1966), 153 The Man They Could Not Hang (1939), 451 The Man Who Sued God (2001), 42 The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962), 459 The Man Who Wasn’t There (2001), 139, 140 Maori, 336 Mar Adentro (The Sea Inside, 2004), 179 Marc’ Aurelio, 184 Marduk, 465 Maritain, Jacques, 48 Mark IV Pictures, 318 Maronite Christians, 36 The Marriage of Heaven and Hell (Blake), 307 Married to a Mormon (1922), 328 Marry Me! Marry Me! (1969). See Mazel Tov au le Mariage La Marseillaise, 44 Marsh, Clive, 187, 188, 425 Marshall, Peter, 130, 362 Martin, Joel, 189 Marvell, Andrew, 212 The Marvelous Visit (1974). See La Merveilleuse Visite Marx, Karl, 99, 349; Marxism, 32, 36, 349

618 | Index

Mary Magdalene, 149, 254 – 55, 285, 286, 310, 387, 409, 464 Mary, the mother of Jesus, 20, 107, 111 – 12, 149, 266, 348, 409, 410 Masala (films), 78 Masina, Giulietta, 184 al-Masir (Destiny, 1997), 2, 34 Mass Appeal (1984), 131 “Mass in C Minor” (Mozart), 83 Masson, Alain, 327 Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World (2003), 372 Mastermedia, 286 Match Point (2005), 7, 9, 10 Matheson, Richard, 448, 452 Matthew, Gospel of, 23, 258, 265, 348 The Matrix (1999), 173, 175, 191, 308, 335, 338, 339, 358, 386, 425 The Matrix Reloaded (2003), 173, 191, 309, 310, 335, 338, 358, 386 The Matrix Revolutions (2003), 66, 70, 173, 191, 309, 311, 335, 338, 358, 386 The Matrix trilogy, 308 – 12, 359, 387 A Matter of Life and Death (also known as Stairway to Heaven, 1946), 210 – 12, 213, 333 Maugham, W. Somerset, 215, 333, 399 May, John R., 187 Maya peoples (Yucatan), 242; Mayan civilization, 241 – 42 “Maybe God is Trying to Tell You Something,” 73 Mazel Tov au le Mariage (Marry Me! Marry Me!, 1969), 181 Mazursky, Paul, 226 MCA Entertainment Group, 286, 287 McCabe & Mrs. Miller (1971), 12 McCaffrey, Edward, 313 McCarthy, Cormac, 137

McCarthy, Joseph (Senator), 112 McDonald, Frank, 263 Mean Streets (1973), 391 Mecca, Saudi Arabia, 247, 368; Ka’bah, 247 Medea, 204, 205 Medea (1969), 205, 207 Medea (Euripides), 435 Medina, Saudi Arabia, 30 Mediterranean Sea, 350 Medusa, 26, 204 Medved, Michael, 131, 288 Medvedkin, Alexander, 376 Meet John Doe (1941), 105 Meet Me in St. Louis (1944), 372 Megiddo, Israel, 169 Megiddo: The Omega Code 2 (2001), 169 Mehta, Deepa, 467, 468 Melbourne, Australia, 39 Méliès, George, 152, 194, 260, 303, 384 Melville, Herman, 186, 372 Melville, Jean-Pierre, 181 Melvin and Howard (1980), 328 The Men Who Tread on the Tiger’s Tail (1945). See Tora no o wo fumu otokotachi Mephistopheles, 152. See also Devil Mercedes (1993), 36 Merleau-Ponty, Maurice, 48 Merrick, John, 232 – 33 La Merveilleuse vie de Jeanne d’Arc (Saint Joan the Maid, 1929), 261 La Merveilleuse Visite (The Marvelous Visit, 1974), 180 Meschugge (Don’t, 1998), 181 Meshes of the Afternoon (1943), 333 The Message (1976), 27, 244

Index | 619

The Messenger: The Story of Joan of Arc (1999), 61, 62, 180, 262 The Messers. Lumière at Cards (1895). See Partie de cartes Methodists, 4, 119, 364, 396, 398 Metoroporisu (Metropolis, 2001), 252 Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM), 12, 108, 203, 264 Metropolis (1927), 173, 339, 355, 384, 387 Mexica. See Aztecs Mexicans, 297, 298, 458 Mexico, 100, 101, 155, 459; Mexican Revolution, 298 Meyer, Stephanie, 448 MGM. See Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Michelangelo, 409 Middle Ages, 93, 104 Middle East, 32, 35, 264, 319; Middle Eastern culture, 246; Middle Eastern films, 428 Middlebury College, 429 Midnight Express (1978), 247 Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil (1997), 368 Midrash, 150 Mignola, Mike, 412 Milbank, Jeremiah, 149 Miles, Margaret, 188 Milky Way, 202 The Milky Way (1969). See La Voie lactée Miller, Arthur, 305 Miller, George, 44 Miller’s Crossing (1990), 137, 140 Minelli, Vincente, 331 Minneapolis, Minnesota, 137 Minority Report (2002), 163, 165, 166, 363, 385 Minotaur, 26, 278

The Minotaur (1960). See Teseo contro il minotauro The Miracle (1948). See Il Miracolo The Miracle controversy, 312 – 15 The Miracle Man (1919), 398 Miracle in Milan (1951). See Miracolo a Milano The Miracle of the Bells (1948), 130 Miracle of Our Lady of Fatima (1952), 112 Miracle on 34th Street (1947), 372 The Miracle Woman (1931), 129 The Miracle Worker (1960). See Chudotvornaya Il Miracolo (The Miracle, 1948), 120, 178, 313 Miracolo a Milano (Miracle in Milan, 1951), 178 Miramax, 11, 13, 24 Miranda Prorsus (Pius XII), 112 Misery (1990), 55 The Mission (1986), 88, 115, 131 Mission: Impossible 2 (2000), 430 Missionaries, 1, 15, 41, 115, 132, 149, 315, 361 Missionary films, 315 – 20 Mississippi, 318 Mississippi Mermaid. (1969). See La Sirene du Missisipi Mississippi River, 458 Miyazaki, Hayao, 250, 320 – 24 Mizoguchi, Kenji, 250, 325 – 27, 343, 344, 345 Moby Dick (Melville), 186, 372 Modernity, 32, 90, 218, 244, 384, 385, 426 Molnár, Ferenc, 153 Monanieba (Repentance, 1984), 378 Monday’s Girls (1993), 468 Money (1983). See L’Argent

620 | Index

Monk, Maria, 114 Mononoke Hime (Princess Mononoke, 1997), 250, 320, 321, 322, 323, 324 Monpere, Carol, 468 Monsieur Vincent (1947), 180 The Monsignor (1982), 131 Monsoon Wedding (2001), 216, 368 Montagnard, 144 Montreal, Canada, 266 Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975), 193, 372 Monty Python’s Flying Circus, 86, 193 – 94, 258 Monty Python’s Flying Circus (TV), 194 Moody Church (Chicago), 316 Moonlight (1989). See Chandni Morality in Media, 286 Mormonism, 327 – 30, 459; anti-Mormon films, 328; Mormon church, 317; Mormon migration of 1846 – 1847, 459. See also Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (LDS) A Mormon Maid (1917), 328 Mormons, 327, 448. See also Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (LDS) Mormon Tabernacle Choir, 329 Morocco/Moroccan, 3, 34, 243, 285 Moses, 26, 27, 30, 65, 147, 148, 149, 151, 223, 310, 339, 409 Mosfilm, 421, 422 A Moslem (1995). See Musulmanin The Mother and the Law (1919), 107 Motion Picture Association of America (MPAA), 120; MPAA ratings, 154. See also Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America

Motion Picture Herald, 117 Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America (MPPDA), 108, 116, 120, 399. See also Motion Picture Association of America Mouchette (1967), 83 Mounier, Emmanuel, 48 Mount Sinai, Egypt, 30, 149 Mozart, Amadeus, 83 MPPA. See Motion Picture Association of America MPPDA. See Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936), 105, 106 Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1938), 105, 106 MTV. See Music Television MTV-India, 80 al-Muhajir (The Emigrant, 1994), 2, 33 Muhammad (prophet), 27, 30, 32 Muhammad: The Last Prophet (2004), 26, 27, 29, 30 Mulan (1998), 28, 29, 96 Mulan 2 (2004), 96 – 97 Multiculturalism, 90, 266 Mumbai. See Bombay The Mummy (1999), 235 Mundelein, George (Cardinal), 117, 118 Munk, Andrzej, 273 Munk, Kaj, 161, 177 Murata, Minoru, 251 Murnau, F. W. (Friedrich Wilhelm), 152, 160, 232, 444 Muscular Christianity, 397 The Music Man (1962), 372

Index | 621

Music Television (MTV), 330 Musil, Robert, 181 Muslims, 30, 37, 38, 43, 67, 90, 244, 245, 247, 248; Islamists, 34, 35. See also Islam Mussolini, Benito, 183 Musulmanin (A Moslem, 1995), 379 Mutual Film Corporation v. the Industrial Commission of Ohio, 116, 312 – 13, 314 My Big, Fat Greek Wedding (2002), 368 My Fair Lady (1964), 370 My Last Sigh (Buñuel), 102 My Neighbor Totoro (1988). See Tonari no Totoro My Son the Fanatic (1997), 90, 243 The Mysteries (Dimpho Di Kopane), 5 Mystic Masseur (2001), 218 Mysticism, 331 – 37 Myth, 337 – 42 Nabokov, Vladimir, 276 – 77 Nacho Libre (2006), 132 Nadja (1994), 444 Nagasaki, Japan, 253, 389 Der Name der Rose (The Name of the Rose, 1986), 180 The Name of the Rose (1986). See Der Name der Rose Namisha (1999), 4 Naples, Italy, 350 Napoleon Dynamite (2004), 330 Naqoyqatsi (2002), 335 Narcissus, 278 Nashville (1975), 12 Nasser, Gamal, 33 Nation of Islam, 406 National Association of Evangelicals, 288

National Board of Censorship, 117 National Board of Review, 117 National Catholic Office for Motion Pictures (NCOMP), 112, 121. See also Catholic Communication Campaign; Catholic League; Legion of Decency; United States Conference of Catholic Bishops: Office for Film and Broadcasting National Catholic Welfare Conference, 117 National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation (1989), 223 Nationalism, 32, 34, 36, 326, 363, 405 Native Americans, 41, 93, 115, 328, 368, 371, 462, 458, 459; religious traditions, 458. See also American Indians; American Indian religions Native peoples, 14, 16. See also Aboriginal peoples; American Indians; Native Americans The Nativity (1986), 222 The Nativity Story (2006), 222 Nattvardsgästerna (Winter Light, 1962), 132, 178 The Natural (1984), 403, 406 – 7 Natural Born Killers (1994), 415 Nausea (Sartre), 334 Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind (1984). See Kaze no tani no Naushika Navajo. See Diné Nazareth, Israel, 37, 38, 398 Nazarín (1959), 100, 132, 179 Nazis, 8, 92, 93, 94, 181, 226, 227, 228, 230, 231, 261 Nazism, 130; Neo-Nazism, 227 NCOMP. See National Catholic Office for Motion Pictures Nebuchadnezzar, 309

622 | Index

Nelson, “Baby Face,” 139 Neo-Thomism, 48 The Neon Bible (1995), 363 Nero, 149, 150, 151 The Net (1995), 359 Never Say Never Again (1983), 245 The New Age (1994), 430, 431, 432 New Age movement, 25, 45, 336, 431 – 32; neo-New Age, 44 New Britain, Connecticut, 395 New England, 155 New Era Films, 316 New Hope Mission, 398 New Jersey, 201, 400, 401 Newman, Widgey R., 260 New Orleans, Louisiana, 287 New religious movements, 153, 187 New South Wales, Australia, 41 New Testament, 66, 69, 70, 149, 258, 265, 350, 402; See also Bible; specific books, figures, doctrines, events, and locations New World, 450 New Year’s Eve, 332; New Year’s Day, 372 New York, 64, 97, 147, 268, 276, 287, 313, 349, 382, 389, 391, 394, 404, 429, 457; Archdiocese of New York, 391 New York, governmental bodies: Board of Censorship, 117; Board of Regents, 314; Court of Appeals, 314; State Education Department, 314; Supreme Court, 313, 314 The New York Hat (1912), 128, 396 New York, New York (1977), 392 New York Times, 441 New York University, 391 New York Yankees, 176 New Zealand, 336

Nichiren, 326 Nicholas I, Tsar, 375 Nicholas II, Tsar, 374 Nielsen, Karl. See Dreyer, Carl Theodor Nietzsche, Friedrich, 53 Niger, 3 Nigeria, 4, 5; Nollywood, 4 Night of the Hunter (1955), 129 Night of the Iguana (1964), 130 – 31 Night of the Living Dead (1968), 232, 235, 452 The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993), 223 The Nights of Cabiria (1957). See La notti di Cabiria Nihilism, 205 1984 (1956), 165 Nineteen Eighty-Four (1984), 163, 165, 166 Nineteen Eighty-Four (Orwell), 385 The Ninth Gate (1999), 182 Nirgendwo in Afrika (Nowhere in Africa, 2001), 267 Noah, 26, 56 No Country for Old Men (2007), 137, 139, 140 No End (1985). See Bez Ko´nca Noh theater, 282 Noonan, Chris, 44 North Africa, 2, 91; North African cinema, 39 North America, 379, 428, 458; North American cinema, 176 Northern Ireland, 86. See also Britain; England; United Kingdom Notre Dame Cathedral (Paris), 30 Nordics, 228 Northern Europe, 161 Norway, 159; Norwegian film, 448

Index | 623

Nosferatu (1922), 232 Nosferatu, eine Symphonie des Grauens (Nosferatu the Vampire, 1922), 444 Nosferatu: Phantom der Nacht (Nosferatu the Vampire, 1979), 444 Nosferatu the Vampire (1922). See Nosferatu, eine Symphonie des Grauens Nosferatu the Vampire (1979). See Nosferatu: Phantom der Nacht Nostalghia (Nostalgia, 1982), 378, 421, 422 Nostalgia (1982). See Nostalghia La notti di Cabiria (The Nights of Cabiria, 1957), 184, 185, 347 Not Without My Daughter (1991), 245 Nowhere in Africa (2001). See Nirgendwo in Afrika La Nuit Américaine (Day for Night, 1973), 440 The Nun (1966). See La Religieuse The Nun’s Story (1959), 110 Nuovo cinema Paradiso (Cinema Paradiso, 1988), 132 Nuri, Fazlollah (Sheykh), 424 Nurse Betty (2000), 329 The Nutty Professor (1996), 340 Nyquist, Sven, 316 Oberammergau, Germany, 394 O Brother, Where Art Thou? (2000), 137, 139, 176, 203, 362, 368 October (1928). See Oktyabr Odyssey (Homer), 139, 143, 203, 340 Odysseus, 26, 176 The Odyssey (1997), 203 Oedipus at Colonus (Sophocles), 203 Oedipus the King (Sophocles), 203

Offret (The Sacrifice, 1986), 172, 378, 422, 423 The Ogre (1996). See Der Unhold Oh, God! (1977), 197, 201 Oh, God! Book II (1980), 198, 201 Ohio, 312 – 13 “O Holy Night,” 394 Oklahoma, 17 Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, 287 Oktyabr (October, 1928), 376 “The Old Country” (E. Coen), 137 “Old Landmark,” 72 Old Testament, 66, 67, 68 – 69, 149, 163 – 64. See also Bible; Hebrew Bible; Hebrew Scriptures; Torah; specific figures, doctrines, events, and locations Olson, Moroni, 328 Olympus, 27 The Omega Code (1999), 169, 319 The Omen (1976), 114, 134, 153, 171, 236, 333 Omen III: The Final Conflict (1981), 171 – 72 Omen IV: The Awakening (1991), 134, 172 Once Upon a Time in America (1984), 299 Once Upon a Time in China II (1992). See Wong Fei Hung II: Naam yi dong ji keung Once Upon a Time in the West (1968). See C’era una volt ail West On Eagles’ Wings (Southon), 150 One Foot in Heaven (1941), 130 One Man’s Way (1964), 130 Ontario, Canada, 319 On the Beach (1959), 172, 364 On the Waterfront (1954), 129 Onwurah, Ngozi, 468

624 | Index

OPEC. See Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries The Order (2003), 236, 336 Ordet (The Word, 1955), 132, 161, 177 Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries (OPEC), 244 Orgazmo (1997), 328 La orgía de los muertos (Terror of the Living Dead, also known as The Hanging Woman, 1973), 155 Orientalism, 214 – 15 Orizuru Osen (Downfall of Osen, 1935), 326 Orleans, France, 83 Ormond, Ron, 318 Orphée (Orpheus, 1950), 205, 206, 331 Orpheus, 205 – 6 Orpheus (1950). See Orphée Orthodox Church, 374, 375, 376, 378, 379 Ortiz, Gaye, 187, 188 Orwell, George, 165, 385 Oscar, 91, 97, 103, 141, 178, 391, 440. See also Academy Award Oscar and Lucinda (1997), 41 Oshii, Mamoru, 252 Oslo, Norway, 39 Ososhiki (The Funeral, 1984), 251 Ostrov (The Island, 2006), 379 Ostwalt, Conrad, 189 Otets Sergiy (Father Sergius, 1917), 375 The Others (2001), 179 Otomo, Katsuhiro, 253 Otto, Rudolf, 233 Ouanga (1936), 451 Our Lady of the Assassins (2000). See La Virgen de los Sicarios Ousmane, Sembene, 3

The Outlaw (1943), 119 Outreach Films, 317 Outsiders (1977). See Ceddo The Outsiders (1983), 141 Owo Idan (Magic Money, 1993), 4 The Ox-Bow Incident (1943), 362, 458 Ozark Mountains, 263 Ozu, Yasujiro¯, 249, 252, 325, 343 – 45, 381 Pacatte, Rose, 428 Pacific Ocean, 241, 459; Pacific islands, 241 Paganism, 45; Neopaganism, 302, 305, 406; symbolism, 412, 423 Pale Rider (1985), 363, 461 Palestine, 38, 160; Palestinian cinema, 37; Palestinian fanatics, 246; Palestinian filmmaking, 37 – 39; Palestinian nationalism, 37 Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO), 37 Palestinians, 38, 247 Pan-African Film and TV Festival of Ouagadougou (FESPAC), 2 Pandora and the Flying Dutchman (1951), 331 Paradise Lost (John Milton), 21 Paradise Now (2005). See Al-Djanna al’an Paramount Pictures, 147, 264, 285, 429 Paramount Television, 155 Paris (character in Troy), 206 Paris, France, 30, 47, 48, 61, 82, 83, 99, 101, 160, 206, 239, 263, 287, 349, 423, 437, 438 Paris Olympics (1924), 87, 131, 362, 405 Paris Theater (Manhattan), 313 – 14

Index | 625

Parris Island, South Carolina, 278 Parsi theater, 81 Parsons, Fr. Wilfred, 117 Partie de campagne (A Day in the Country, 1936), 313 Partie de cartes (The Messers. Lumière at Cards, 1895), 374 Pascal, Blaise, 50 Pasolini, Pier Paolo, 178, 184, 203, 205, 347 – 50 Pass the Ammo (1988), 131 La Passion de Jeanne d’Arc (The Passion of Joan of Arc, 1928), 129, 132, 160 – 61, 177, 260, 332 The Passion, 149, 255 The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928). See La Passion de Jeanne d’Arc The Passion of the Christ (2004), 66, 68, 121, 222, 223, 237, 258 – 59, 319, 340, 350 – 53, 379, 464 The Passion of the Christ controversy, 350 – 54 The Passion Play (1903). See La Vie et La Passion du Christ Passover, 222, 372 Pastor Jones (2005), 133 Patmos, Island of, 168 The Patriot (2000), 363, 372 Paul, 40, 70, 185, 285, 349 – 50, 355; Pauline texts, 427 The Pawnbroker (1964), 121, 226, 229 Payne Fund Studies, 118 PBS. See Public Broadcasting Service PCA. See Production Code Administration The Peacemaker (1997), 243 Peale, Norman Vincent, 130 La Peau douce (The Soft Skin, 1964), 440 Peck, Raoul, 455

Pegasus, 26 Peggy Sue Got Married (1986), 141 Pelle erobreren (Pelle the Conqueror, 1987), 177 Pelle the Conqueror (1987). See Pelle erobreren Penelope, 139 Penn, Arthur, 16 Penn, Leo, 155 Pentecostalism, 295; Pentecostal churches, 4 People for the American Way, 402 Per qualche dollar in più (For a Few Dollars More, 1965), 297 Per un pugno di dollari (A Fistful of Dollars, 1964), 297 A Perfect Couple (1979), 11 The Perfect Human (1967). See Det perfekte menneske Det perfekte menneske (The Perfect Human, 1967), 434 Perry, Tyler, 133 Perseus, 26, 204 Peryy Dyen (The First Day, unfinished), 421 Pesci, Joe, 392 Peter, 40, 201, 394 Peter Ibbetson (1935), 331 Peter Pan (1953), 370 Peter Pan (2003), 370 Petrie, Graham, 421 Phalke, Dhundiraj Govind, 75, 76 The Phantom Wagon (1939). See La Charrette fantôme Pharisees, 265 Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, 118, 394 Philippines, 143 Philo, 150 Phoolan Devi (Bandit Queen, 1994), 217

626 | Index

Phörpa (The Cup, 1999), 135, 368 Π (Pi, 1998), 55, 269, 335 Pialat, Maurice, 180 The Pianist (2002), 181, 267 Pichel, Irving, 317 Pickford, Mary, 15, 397, 398 Pickpocket (1959), 83 Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975), 45 Piesiwicz, Krzysztof, 213 – 14, 274, 275 Pilate, Pontius, 69 The Pilgrim (1923), 130, 398 Pilgrim’s Progress (1950), 316 The Pilgrim’s Progress (Bunyan), 211 Pilgrimage, 38, 100, 101, 147, 178, 179, 190, 213, 217, 334, 349, 367, 368, 371; Pilgrims, 100, 218, 367, 374 Pillar of Fire (Ingraham), 150 Pincher Martin (Golding), 335 Pine Ridge Reservation, 17, 18 Pink Floyd, 194 The Pink Panther (1963), 340 Pinkle, Estus, 318 Pinsky, Mark I., 188 Pintoff, Ernest, 92 Pius XI, Pope, 108 Pius XII, Pope, 110, 112 The Plague (Camus), 59 The Plague of the Zombies (1966), 452 Plain of Meggido. See Armageddon Plan 9 From Outer Space (1959), 452 Planet of the Apes (1968), 172 Plaszow, Poland, 230 Platonic philosophy, 309 Plattsburg, New York, 263 The Player (1992), 11, 13, 430 Pleasance, Donald, 156 PLO. See Palestine Liberation Organization

Plummer, Christopher, 154 Pluralism, 68, 405 Pocahontas (1995), 28 Poe, Edgar Allen, 396 Poland, 180, 226, 271 – 72, 274 Poland, Larry, 286 Polanski, Roman, 181 Poles, 272, 273 Politiken, 159 Pollack, Sydney, 381, 462 Poltergeist (1982), 156 Poltergeist II (1986), 131 The Pope Must Die (1991), 131 Popeye (1980), 13 Popeye Meets Ali Baba and His Forth Thieves (1937), 245 Il popolo, 348 Porno-Teo-Kolossal (unfinished), 349 Porter, Jennifer E., 190 Portolés, Luis Buñuel. See Buñuel, Luis Portugal, 112 The Poseidon Adventure (1972), 364 Posse (1993), 462 Posthumanism, 354 – 61 The Postman (1997), 172 Postmodernism, 360; postmodern America, 196; postmodern concerns, 354, 360; postmodern films, 357; postmodern period, 173; postmodern science fiction, 356; postmodern viewers, 426 Potok, Chaim, 404 Potomok Chingis-Khana (Storm Over Asia, 1928), 376 Powaqqatsi (1988), 335 Powell, Michael, 213 The Power and the Glory (Greene), 129 Powwow Highway (1989), 17, 371

Index | 627

In Praise of Mother Santoshi (1975). See Jai Santoshi Maa Pravda, 375 Prazdnik svyatogo Yorgena (Holiday of St. Jorgen, 1930), 376 The Preacher’s Wife (1996), 74, 130, 363 Predator (1987), 388 Prejean, Sr. Helen, 135 Preminger, Otto, 111, 262 Presbyterian Church, 396; Presbyterian minister, 132, 364. See also Christianity; Clergy; Protestantism Presbyterian Church in America, 288 Presbyterians, 4 Presley, Elvis, 111, 338 Pressburger, Emeric, 213 Pressfield, Steven, 407 Preston, Idaho, 330 Prêt-à-Porter (1994), 13 A Price Above Rubies (1998), 269 Pride and Prejudice (Austen), 216 Primitivism, 44, 245 Prince of Egypt (Wilson), 150 The Prince of Egypt (1998), 26, 27, 30 The Princess Diaries (2001), 370 Princess Mononoke (1997). See Mononoke Hime Procès de Jeanne d’Arc (Trial of Joan of Arc, 1962), 83, 179, 262 The Prodigal Planet (1983), 169 The Producers (1968), 91, 93, 94 The Producers (stage), 91 The Producers (recording), 91 Production Code, 129, 130, 399. See also Hollywood Production Code Production Code Administration (PCA), 108, 112, 116, 120. See also Hays Office

Progressive Era, 128, 394 Prohibition, 299, 395 Prometheus, 340 Prospero’s Books (1991), 305 Protazanov, Yakov, 375 Protestantism, 361 – 65 Protestants, 170, 236, 237, 351, 352, 362 – 64, 394, 399, 458. See also Christians; specific denominations Protocol (1984), 245 Proulx, Annie, 462 Proverbs, Book of, 269 Pryor, Richard, 71 Przypadek (Blind Chance, 1987), 274 Psalms, Book of, 25 Psycho (1960), 153 Public Affairs (1934). See Les affairs publiques Public Broadcasting Service (PBS), 244 Public Enemy (1931), 109, 117 Pudovkin, Vsevolod Illarionovich, 376 A Pueblo Legend (1912), 15 Pulitzer Prize, 307 Pulp Fiction (1994), 51, 415 – 18 Purim, 265 Puritan, 459 Pushkin, Alexander, 376 Pygmalion (Shaw), 370 The Pyx (1973), 154 al-Qahira munawwara bi ahliha (Cairo as Told by Youssef Chahine, 1991), 2, 33 Al qods fee yom akhar (Rana’s Wedding, 2002), 368 Quaker, 364, 460 The Quarrel (1991), 225, 226, 266 Les quatre cents coups (The 400 Blows, 1959), 439

628 | Index

Quatre nuits d’un reveur (Four Nights of a Dreamer, 1971), 84 Quebec, Canada, 41 Queens Work, 117 A Question of Silence (1982). See De Stilte rond Christine M. The Quick and the Dead (1995), 462 The Quiet Man (1952), 129, 362, 371 Quigley, Martin, 108, 117 Quigley Exhibitor’s Poll, 397 Quinceañera (2006), 368 Quo Vadis (1951), 66 – 67 Qur’an, 30, 219, 246, 248 Racconti di Canterbury (The Canterbury Tales, 1972), 179 Race with the Devil (1975), 154 Racism, 235 Radcliffe, Ann, 232 Radio Days (1987), 268 Radio-television-cinema, 48 Raging Bull (1980), 382, 383, 392, 404, 406 Rain (1932), 362 “Rain” (Maugham), 399 The Rain People (1969), 141 Raining Stones (1993), 88 Raise the Red Lantern (1991). See Da hong deng long gao gao gua Raising Arizona (1987), 136, 140 Raja Harischandra (1913), 75 Rama, 75, 76, 77 Ramadan, 32 Ramayana, 75, 76, 77. See also Bollywood; Hinduism; India Rambova, Natasha, 328 Ramchandra, 311 Rameses II, 26, 148, 150, 151 Ramsaye, Terry, 394 Ran (1985), 95, 96, 252, 282, 283

Raphael, Frederic, 276 Rapture, 168, 170 The Rapture (1941), 318 The Rapture (1991), 170–71, 430, 431, 432 Rashômon (1950), 95, 279 – 80, 282, 342 Rasputin, Grigori, 412 Ravana, 76 Ray, Nicholas, 69, 255 Ray, Satyajit, 218 Raye Makhfi (Secret Ballot, 2001), 243 The Razor’s Edge (1946), 215, 333 The Razor’s Edge (1984), 333 Read, Donna, 466 Reagan, Ronald, 319; Reagan presidency, 286 Realism, 194, 213; Cinematic realism, 49; Neorealism, 132, 174, 184, 325, 347; Social realist cinema, 88 Rebel without a Cause (1955), 255 Red Bank, New Jersey, 201, 400 Red Sea, 27, 150 Red Sorghum (1987). See Hong gao liang Redford, Robert, 392 Reel Spirituality (Johnston), 187, 190, 427 Reformation, 236, 302 Regnault, Félix-Louis, 239 Reid, Frances, 5 Reid, Wallace, 399 Reilly, Joseph, 286 Reiner, Carl, 92 Reinhartz, Adele, 427 La Religieuse (The Nun, 1966), 132 Religion in Film (May), 187 Religious Motion Picture Foundation, 316

Index | 629

The Religious Possibilities of the Motion Picture (Jump), 395 Renaissance, 24, 302 Renoir, Jean, 438, 439 Repentance (1984). See Monanieba Reservoir Dogs (1992), 415 The Restless Ones (1965), 318 Resurrection, 175, 176, 453 Resurrection (1980), 334 The Return of the Exorcist (1975). See Un urlo nelle tenebre Return of the Player (Tolkin), 430 Revelation (1999), 170 Revelation (also known as The Apocalypse), Book of, 20, 168, 169, 236, 386 Reverend James Cleveland Choir, 72 Revolt of the Zombies (1936), 451 Rheims Cathedral (France), 259, 261 Rice, John, 424 Rice, Tim, 255 Rich, Richard, 329 Richie, Donald, 249 “La ricotta,” 347 – 48 Riefenstahl, Leni, 332 Rintaro, 252 Ritchie, Michael, 96 Ride of the Valkyres (Wagner), 144 Riget (The Kingdom, 1994), 178 Riget II (The Kingdom II, 1997), 178 The Right to be Happy (1916), 220 Rimini, Italy, 183 Riti, magie nere e segrete orge nel trecento (Black Magic Rites and the Secret Orgies of the Fourteenth Century, 1973), 155 – 56 Ritual, 367 – 73 The River Girl (1955). See La donna del fiume

A River Runs through It (1992), 132, 364 Ro.Go.Pa.G. (Let’s Have a Brainwash, 1963), 347 The Road (1954). See La strada The Road to El Dorado (2000), 27, 28, 29, 30 The Road Home (1999). See Wo de fu qin mu qin The Robe (1953), 67, 255, 372 Robin Hood: Men in Tights (1993), 92, 93 Robinson Crusoe (Defoe), 70 RoboCop (1987), 359 The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975), 138, 190, 338, 373 Le Roi des Aulnes (Tournier), 181 Rojo no Reikon (Souls on the Road, 1921), 251 Roma (1972), 185, 186 Roma, citta aperta (Rome, Open City, 1945), 132, 184 Roman Catholic Church, 88, 89, 114, 130, 132, 177, 260, 261, 352, 399 Roman Catholicism, 183, 236, 289, 291, 292, 349, 447, 450. See also Catholicism Roman Catholics, 351. See also Catholics Roman Circus, 149 – 50 Roman Empire, 150, 255, 258; debauchery of, 119; Imperial Rome, 45; pre-Christian, 149; Roman authorities, 168; Roman epics, 66 Romanticism, 212 Rome, Italy, 67, 130, 144, 149, 184, 186, 255, 347, 349; Ostia (Rome), 350

630 | Index

Rome, Open City (1945). See Roma, citta aperta Romeo and Juliet, 152 Romero (1989), 115, 135 Romero, George A., 452, 453, 454 Romero, Oscar (Bishop), 115 Rooster Cogburn (1975), 364 Rosemary’s Baby (1968), 134, 153, 171, 181, 236, 333, 334 Rosh Hashanah, 266 Ross, Dick, 317 Rosselini, Roberto, 132, 178, 184, 261, 347 Roth, Philip, 307 Rouen, France, 259 Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, 99 Rowling, J. K. (Joanne), 305 Rudolph, Alan, 12 Rudy (1993), 135 Rules of Engagement (2000), 247 Rum Punch (Leonard), 418 Rumble Fish (1983), 141 Run Lola Run (1998). See Lola rennt Run Silent, Run Deep (1958), 372 Ibn Rushd (Averroes), 34 Russia, 112, 228, 373 – 80; Medieval Russia, 420; postrevolutionary Russia, 2; revolutions of 1917, 375 Russian Orthodoxy, 379 – 80 Russian Orthodox, 419 Russians, 227 Rwanda, 5 Ryoanji temple (Kyoto), 344 Saam gaang yi (Three Extremes, 2004), 127 Saam gang (Three Extremes II, 2002), 127 Sabrina (1954; 1995), 370 Sachs, Lynne, 465

Sacred space, 341, 407, 457, 462 The Sacrifice (1986). See Offred Sadat, Anwar, 33 Sadie Thompson (1928), 399 Safar e Ghandehar (Kandahar, 2001), 243 Sahara (2005), 246 Saikaku ichidai onna (The Life of Oharu, 1952), 325 Saikaku, Ihara, 325 Saint-Exupery, Antoine de, 82 Saint Joan (1927), 260 Saint Joan (1957), 111, 262 Saint Joan the Maid (1929). See La Merveilleuse vie de Jeanne d’Arc Saints and Soldiers (2003), 364 ‘Salem’s Lot (2004), 444, 448 Salò, o le centoventi giornate di Sodoma (Salò—The 120 Days of Sodom, 1975), 349 Salò—The 120 Days of Sodom (1975). See Salò, o le centoventi giornate di Sodoma Salome, 464 Salt Lake City, Utah, 328 Salvation Army, 39 – 40, 41, 42, 364 Salvation Army Lass (1909), 395 Samidare zoshi (The Chronicle of May Rain, 1924), 326 Sampedro, Ramon, 179 Samson and Delilah (1949), 66 Samurai, 95, 96, 97, 252, 279, 281, 325 Samurai films, 280, 281, 282, 418 San Francisco (1936), 129 San Francisco, California, 196, 315 San Paolo (unfinished film), 349 – 50 Sanchô dayû (Legend of Bailiff Sansho, 1954), 326 Sanhedrin, 69, 257

Index | 631

Sanjuro (1962). See Tsubaki Sanjûrô Santa Ana, California, 287 Santa Claus, 38, 223, 224 The Santa Clause (1994), 223 The Santa Clause 2 (2002), 223 The Santa Clause 3: The Escape Clause (2006), 223 Santería, 292 Santiago de Compostela, Spain, 101 Santitos (Little Saints, 1999), 293 Santley, Joseph, 263 Santoshi Maa, 78, 79 Saraf, Irving, 468 Sartre, Jean-Paul, 48, 56, 334 Såsom I en spegel (Through a Glass Darkly, 1961), 178 Satan, 101, 133, 142, 152, 153 – 54, 155, 156, 160, 168, 169, 171, 173, 233, 235 – 37, 255, 285, 307, 368, 411; Satanism, 153 – 56 Satan’s Cheerleaders (1977), 155 Satan’s School for Girls (1973), 155 Satan’s Slave (1976), 155 Satanas (1920), 160 Saturday’s Warrior (stage), 329 Satyavan Savitri (1914), 75 Satyricon (1969), 186 Saudi Arabia, 32, 244 Savannah, Georgia, 287 Saved! (2004), 362 Sayers, Dorothy, 255 Say One for Me (1959), 130 Scandinavian countries, 177; Scandinavian film, 332. See also specific countries Scandinavian Lutheranism, 162 The Scarlet Letter (1926), 399 The Scarlet Letter (1995), 363 Sceaux, France, 82 Schastye (Happiness, 1934), 376

Schepisi, Fred, 41 Schindler’s List (1993), 230, 266, 308, 361 Schlöndorff, Volker, 181 Schneider, Kirk, 234 School of the Holy Beast (1974). See Seijû gakuen School Ties (1992), 404, 405 Schrader, Paul, 81, 285, 381 – 83; The Transcendental Style in Film: Ozu, Bresson, and Dreyer, 381 Schwartz, Stephen, 255 Science fiction, 133, 167, 173, 189, 331, 336, 356, 383 – 90, 444 Scorsese, Martin, 11, 66, 137, 254, 257, 285, 286, 288, 335, 381, 382, 390 – 93 Scotland, 405; Scottish Christians, 40; Scottish missionary, 131 The Scotland Yard Mystery (1933). See The Living Dead Scott, Ridley, 67, 69 The Scottish Covenanters (1909), 40 Scream, Blacula, Scream (1973), 453 Screening the Sacred: Religion, Myth, and Ideology in Popular American Film (Martin and Ostwalt), 189 Scripture on the Silver Screen (Reinhartz), 427 Scriptures Visualized Institute (SVI), 316, 317 Sculpting in Time (Tarkovsky), 420 The Sea Inside (2004). See Mar Adentro Seabrook, William, 450 Seagal, Stephen, 97 The Searchers (1956), 203, 363, 462 Second Vatican Council, 111, 112, 120, 348, 352. See also Vatican II

632 | Index

Second World War, 2, 106, 151, 251, 342, 347. See also World War II Secret Ballot (2001). See Raye Makhfi The Secret of NIMH (1982), 329 Sectarianism, 36, 302 Secularism, 36, 39, 205, 468 Secularization, 121, 122, 251, 253, 342, 389, 405 Seeing and Believing: Religion and Values in the Movies (Miles), 188 Seijû gakuen (School of the Holy Beast, 1974), 253 Seine River, 260 Selleck, Tom, 154 Sen to Chihiro no Kamikakushi (Spirited Away, 2000), 250, 320, 322, 323, 324 Senkiföldje (Why Wasn’t He There? 1993), 225 Sennett, Mack, 103 Serenades (2001), 43 Sergeant York (1941), 129, 362 The Sermons of Sister Jane: Believing the Unbelievable (2007), 468 The Serpent and the Rainbow (1988), 235, 454 Seti I, 26 Seton, Marie, 376 Setu Bandhan (1932), 75 Seuss, Dr. See Geisel, Theodor Seuss Se7en (1995), 55 Seven Alone (1974), 329 Seven Samurai (1954). See Shichinin no samurai 1776 (1972), 372 The Seventh Seal (1957). See Det Sjunde Inseglet The Seventh Sign (1988), 134 Seven Women (1966), 131

Seven Years in Tibet (1997), 135, 181, 342 Shadow of the Boomerang (1960), 40, 318 Shadowlands (1993), 362 Shadows (1922), 135, 398 Shadows and Fog (1992), 8 Shaka (Buddha, 1961), 340 Shakespeare, William, 96, 124, 212, 252, 282, 305, 371 Shamanism, 29, 223, 293, 321, 323; shaman, 28, 223, 294, 368, 406, 411 Shane (1953), 339, 461 Shaolin Monastery (China), 411 Shaolin Temple (1976), 340 The Shape of Things to Come (Wells), 385 Sharma, Vijay, 78 Shaw, George Bernard, 63, 260, 370 The Shawshank Redemption (1994), 52, 176 She Done Him Wrong (1933), 117 Et Sheaava Nafshi (Keep Not Silent: Ortho-Dykes, 2004), 468 Shelley, Mary, 384 Shelley, Percy Bysshe, 212 The Sheltering Sky (1990), 245 Shenandoah (1965), 363 The Shepherd (also known as Cybercity, 1999), 172 Shi mian mai fu (House of Flying Daggers, 2004), 126 – 27 Shichinin no samurai (Seven Samurai, 1954), 95, 281, 283 Shihuang, Qin (Emperor), 126 Shin heike monogatari (Tales of the Taira Clan, 1955), 326 Shin Sena, 467 Shine (1996), 44 The Shining (1980), 55, 235, 277, 278

Index | 633

The Shining (King), 277 Shinto, 95, 250, 321, 323, 324, 343; shrines, 97, 253; temples, 249 Shirow, Masamune, 252 Shiva, 215, 311 Shoah (1985), 180 Sholay (1975), 78 Shoot the Piano Player (1960). See Tirez sur le pianiste Shooting Dogs (2005), 5 Short Cuts (1993), 13 A Short Film About Killing (1988). See Krótki film o zabijaniu A Short Film About Love (1988). See Krótki film o miłos´ci Shoten, Sakaki, 321 Shower (1999). See Xizao Siberling, Brad, 23 – 24 Sicily, Italy, 103; Sicilian code, 142 Siddhartha (1927), 333 Siddartha (Hesse), 333 Siddhartha Gautama, 95, 181 Siddiqui, Ahmed, 78 The Siege (1998), 243, 246, 248 The Sign of the Cross (1932), 148, 149, 150 Signis, 348 Signs (2002), 364 Sikhism, 216 Sikhs, 247 The Silence (1963). See Tystnaden The Silence of Dean Maitland (1914), 40 The Silence of the Lambs (1991), 234 Silent film, 45, 75, 76, 128, 134, 149, 177, 220, 261, 301, 331, 375, 393 – 400, 444, 457; silent film industry, 254 Silent Movie (1976), 92 Silsila (The Affair, 1981), 78

Silver Bullet (1985), 134 Silver, Joan Micklin, 264 Simón del desierto (Simon of the Desert, 1965), 100, 101, 179 Simon, Neil, 92 Simon of the Desert (1965). See Simón del desierto Simon Stylites, 179 Simon Wiesenthal Center, 351 Sims Act (1912), 117 Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas (2003), 27 Singer, Bryan, 409 Singer, Isaac Bashevis, 228 Sioux, 93. See also American Indians Sippy, Ramesh, 78 La Sirene du Missisipi (Mississippi Mermaid, 1969), 440 Sirens, 139 Sirens (1994), 41, 135 Sissoko, Cheick Oumar, 3 Sister Act (1992), 111, 179 Sisters of Bethany, 82 Sita, 76, 77 Sixteen Candles (1984), 371 The Sixth Sense (1999), 335 Det Sjunde Inseglet (The Seventh Seal, 1957), 58, 59, 178, 332, 426 The Skeleton Key (2005), 454 – 55 Skinheads, 227 Skins (2002), 18 The Sky Over Berlin (also known as Wings of Desire). See Der Himmel über Berlin The Sky Pilot (1921), 397 Slater, Christian, 429 Sleepers (1996), 132 Sloman, Edward, 152 Small Change (1976). See L’Argent de poche

634 | Index

Smith, Joseph, 459 Smith, Kevin Patrick, 20, 24 – 25, 400 – 402 Smith, Paul, 315 Smoke Signals (1998), 17, 18, 372 Smultronstället (Wild Strawberries, 1957), 59 Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937), 304 Social gospel, 395 Socialism, 376; Portuguese socialist, 112; Russian socialist, 251 Societé Générale des Films, 160 Society for Biblical Literature, 69 The Soft Skin (1964). See La Peau douce Soka Gakkai, 310 Solaris (1972). See Solyaris Soldati, Mario, 347 Soldiers of the Cross (1900), 39 – 40, 43 Solidarity, 271, 274 Solomon, King, 299 Solyaris (Solaris, 1972), 421 Somalia, 246 Sometimes Happiness, Sometimes Sorrow (2001). See Kabhi Kushi Kabhie Gham Son of Man (2005), 5, 6 The Son of the Bride (2001). See El Hijo de la Novia The Song of Bernadette (1943), 111, 120, 121, 129 – 30 Song of Songs, 299 Sophocles, 203 The Sopranos (television), 142 The Sorrows of Satan (1926), 152 Soshun (Early Spring, 1956), 343 Soubirous, Berndette, 111 – 12, 130 Soul Food (1997), 72, 73

Souls for Sale (1922), 128 Souls on the Road (1921). See Rojo no Reikon The Sound of Music (1965), 111, 131, 370, 371, 372 Sous le Soleil di Satan (Under the Sun of Satan, 1987), 180 South Africa, 4, 5, 133; Truth and Reconciliation Commission, 5 – 6 South America, 155; South American films, 428. See also Latin America; specific countries South Asia, 97; South Asian culture, 214. See also Asia South Asians, 217 South Carolina, 467 Southeast Asia, 96, 97. See also Asia Southern Baptist Convention, 288 Southern Carrier (1937). See Courrier sud South Gippsland, Australia, 41 Southon, A.E. (Arthur Eustace), 150 South Pacific, 239, 389 Soviet Union, 36, 271, 373, 376, 419, 420, 421, 460; Soviet director, 49. See also Russia Spaceballs (1987), 92, 93 Spain, 101, 459; conquistadores, 241 – 42; Spanish Civil War, 100; Spanish films, 179 Spaniard, 179 Spanish Harlem (Manhattan), 111 The Sparrow (1973). See Al-Asfur Sparrows (1926), 397 Spartacus (1960), 276, 278 Spelling, Aaron, 155 Spellman, Francis (Cardinal), 314 Spence, William Hartzell, 130 Spencer, Herbert, 99 Spider-Man (2002), 340, 357

Index | 635

Spider-Man 2 (2004), 357 Spider-Man 3 (2007), 410 Spielberg, Steven, 156, 212, 230, 264, 308, 358 Spirited Away (2000). See Sen to Chihiro no Kamikakushi Spiritualist groups, 302 Sports, 402 – 8 Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter . . . and Spring (2003). See Bom yeoreum gaeul gyeoul geurigo bom Springall, Alejandro, 294 Springtime for Hitler (stage), 94 St. Joan (Shaw), 63 St. Louis University, 108 St. Patrick’s Cathedral (NY), 314 St. Patrick’s Day, 108 St. Petersburg, Russia, 374 St. Valentine’s Day, 45 Stachka (Strike, 1925), 376 Stagecoach (1939), 461 Stairway to Heaven. See A Matter of Life and Death Stalin, Joseph, 271, 377 Stalker (1979), 378, 421, 422 Stanley and Livingstone (1939), 130 Star of David, 230 Star Trek (television), 373, 461; conventions, 190; fans, 190 Star Trek: First Contact (1996), 387 Star Trek: Nemesis (2002) Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan (1982), 372 Star Trek V: The Final Frontier (1989), 202 Star Wars (1977), 53, 92, 122, 138, 175, 189, 191, 339, 369, 372, 373, 425, 427, 460, 461 “Star Wars: A Myth for Our Time” (Gordon), 189

Star Wars: Episode V—The Empire Strikes Back (1980), 203, 460 Star Wars: Episode VI—Return of the Jedi (1983), 460 Stardust Memories (1980), 7, 8 Starhawk (Miriam Simos), 466 Starr, Kevin, 393 Steadicam, 277 – 78 The Stepford Wives (1975; 2004), 387, 466 Stephen, 40, 350 Steppenwolf (1974), 334 Steppenwolf (Hesse), 333 Stevens, George, 226, 255 Stevenson, Robert, 263 Steward, Doug, 329 Steward, Mike, 92 Stigmata (1999), 114, 134, 236, 335–36 De Stilte rond Christine M. (A Question of Silence, 1982), 465 Stoker, Bram, 444, 445 Stone, Bryan, 188 Stone, Merlin, 466 Stone, Oliver, 286 Storm Over Asia (1928). See Potomok Chingis-Khana The Story of a Fountain Pen (1939), 316 Story of Floating Weeds (1934). See Ukikusa monogatari The Story of Mankind (1957), 262 Stowe, Harriet Beecher, 120 La strada (The Road, 1954), 184, 185 Strange Days (1995), 359 A Strange Meeting (1909), 395 A Stranger Among Us (1992), 134, 268, 269 Stranger than Fiction (2006), 341 Strawberries and Chocolate (1994). See Fresa y Chololate

636 | Index

Strike (1925). See Stachka Strike Me Lucky (1934), 43 Strikebound (1983), 41 Strindberg, August, 161 Studio Ghibli, 320. See also Miyazaki, Hayao Subspecies (1991), 447 Subspecies II: Bloodstone (1993), 447 Subspecies III: Bloodlust (1994), 447 Subspecies IV: Bloodstorm (1998), 447 Sugar Hill (also known as The Zombies of Sugar Hill and Voodoo Girl, 1994), 454 Sugata Sanshirô (1943), 279 Suleiman, Elia, 38 The Sum of Us (1994), 42 Sumer, 411 Summer of Sam (1999), 55 Sundance Film Festival, 5 Sunshine (1999), 227 Superheroes, 354, 356 – 57, 359, 408 – 13 Superman: The Movie (1978), 339, 409, 425 Superman II (1980), 409 Superman Returns (2006), 409 Supreme Being, 54. See also God “Suraj Hua Madham,” 80 Surrealism, 99, 154, 179, 184, 296. See also Realism Sutherland, Donald, 11 Suzie Gold (2004), 267, 268 Suzuki, Norifumi, 253 SVI. See Scriptures Visualized Institute The Swan Princess (1994), 329 Sweden, 159, 161, 178, 422 The Sweet Hereafter (1997), 55

The Sweet Life (1960). See La dolce vita The Swindle (1955). See Il bidone “Sword and Sandal” films, 297 Sydney, Australia, 40, 41, 44 Syria, 35 Szabo, Istvan, 227 Szpilman, Wladyslaw, 181 T’ai Chi Chuan, 127 Tabu (1931), 240 Taiwan, 123, 124 Takahata, Isao, 253 Takayama, Hideki, 253 Tales of the Taira Clan (1955). See Shin heike monogatari Tales of Ugetsu (1953). See Ugetsu monogatari The Tale of the Priest and of His Workman Balda (1934), 376 Taliban, 243 Talmud, 230, 308 The Taming of the Shrew (Shakespeare), 371 Tanovic, Danis, 180 Tantric Buddhism, 96 Taoism, 140, 251. See also Daoism Tarantino, Quentin, 296, 415 – 19 Tarkovsky, Andrei Arsenyevich, 378, 419 – 23 Taxi Driver (1976), 381, 391 TBN. See Trinity Broadcasting Network Technicolor, 150, 210, 305 Teeth (2007), 465 Teilhard de Chardin, Pierre, 48 The Tempest (Shakespeare), 305 Ten Commandments, 30, 180, 274 The Ten Commandments (1927), 148, 149, 398

Index | 637

The Ten Commandments (1956), 26, 65, 67, 147, 150, 222, 223, 236, 340, 372 Tender Mercies (1983), 135 Tengoku to jigoku (High and Low, 1963), 282 Tenku no Shiro Rapyuta (Castle in the Sky, 1986), 322 Teorema (Theorem, 1968), 349 The Terminator (1984), 167, 339, 359, 386 Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991), 167, 371, 386 Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines (2003), 167, 386 Terror of the Living Dead (also known as The Hanging Woman, 1973). See La orgía de los muertos Teseo contro il minotauro (The Minotaur, 1960), 203 Tess of the Storm Country (1914), 397 Texas, 135, 139 Tezuka, Osamu, 252 Thailand, 95 Thanksgiving, 372 That Cold Day in the Park (1969), 13 That Obscure Object of Desire (1977). See Cet obscure objet du désir Thatcher, Margaret, 87 Theology and Film, 423 – 29 Theology Goes to the Movies (Marsh), 425 Theology Through Film (Hurley), 425 Theorem (1968). See Teorema Theravada Buddhism, 95 Theresa (of Avila), 278 Thérése (1986), 180 Thérése of Liseux, St. 180 There Was a Father (1942). See Chichi ariki

There Will Be Blood (2007), 363 A Thief in the Night (1972), 168, 170, 318 Thieves like Us (1974), 13 Thiman, Elizaveta, 375 Things to Come (1936), 173 The Third Miracle (1999), 114 30 Days of Night (2007), 444 Thomas, Gospel of, 309 Thompson, Donald W., 318 Thompson, Hunter S., 196 Thompson, William Asbury, 130 Thornton, Billy Bob, 224 “This Week in Bible Prophecy,” 319 Thoroughly Modern Millie (1967), 370 Three Colors: Blue (1993). See Trois couleurs: Bleu Three Colors: Red (1994). See Trois couleurs: Rouge Three Colors: White (1994). See Trzy kolory: Bialy Three Extremes (2004). See Saam gaang yi Three Extremes II (2002). See Saam gang 300 (2006), 203 Three Wise Men, 179 3 Women (1977), 13 Throne of Blood (1957). See Kumonosu jô Through a Glass Darkly (1961). See Såsom I en spegel Thunderheart (1992), 17, 342 Tiamat, 465 Tibetan Buddhism, 95, 96, 97, 181 Tillich, Paul, 187, 277 Time Bandits (1981), 194, 195, 198 – 200 Time Changer (2002), 363

638 | Index

The Time Machine (Wells), 384 Tirez sur le pianiste (Shoot the Piano Player, 1960), 440 Titan, A.E. (2000), 329 Tito, Josip Broz, 347 The Tornado (1992). See al-A’asar To Be or Not to Be (1983), 91 Tobias, 20 Tobit, Book of, 20 To End All Wars (2001), 364 To the Devil a Daughter (1976), 155 Tower of Babel, 252 Togliatti, Palmiro, 349 Tokyo, Japan, 97, 326, 345 Tôkyô monogatari (Tokyo Story, 1953), 343, 345 Tokyo Story (1953). See Tôkyô monogatari Tolkien, J.R.R. (John Ronald Reuel), 104, 174 – 75, 305; “On Fairy Stories” (Tolkien), 175 Tolkin, Michael, 170, 429 – 33 Tolstoy, Leo, 84, 280, 375 Tonari no Totoro (My Neighbor Totoro, 1988), 322 Tony award, 91, 92, 96 The Tony Fontane Story (1963), 317 El Topo (1970), 334 Tora no o wo fumu otokotachi (The Men Who Tread on the Tiger’s Tail, 1945), 282 Torah, 226, 227, 268, 308. See also Bible; Hebrew Bible; Hebrew Scriptures, Old Testament Totalitarianism, 460 Tournier, Michel, 181 Transcendentalists, 95 Transylvania, Romania, 445 Trapped by the Mormons (1922), 328

Trappist monks, 111 Travail et culture, 48 Travolta, John, 154 Trevi Fountain (Rome), 186 Trial of Joan of Arc (1962). See Procès de Jeanne d’Arc Tribulation (2000), 170 Tribulation, 168 – 69 Trier, Lars von, 157, 161, 178, 331, 433 – 37 Trinidad, 218 The Trinity, 378 Trinity Broadcasting Network (TBN), 169, 319 A Trip to the Moon (1902). See Le Voyage dans la lune Tristan and Isolde, 277, 331 Trois couleurs: Bleu (Three Colors: Blue, 1993), 275 Trois couleurs: Rouge (Three Colors: Red, 1994), 180, 275 Trojan War, 26; Trojan Horse, 206 The Trojan Women (1971), 203 Tron (1982), 335 Trotsky, Leon, 375 Troy, 206 Troy (2004), 203, 205, 206, 340 True Grit (1969), 462 True Lies (1994), 243, 247 True Romance (1993), 415 Truffaut, François, 47, 156 – 57, 180, 437 – 41; “Une certain tendance du cinema francais,” 157 Truly Madly Deeply (1990), 425 The Truman Show (1998), 427 Tryon, Tom, 155 Trzy kolory: Bialy (Three Colors: White, 1994), 275 Tsubaki Sanjûrô (Sanjuro, 1962), 95, 281

Index | 639

Tuchi nad Borskom (Clouds over Borsk, 1960), 377 Tucker: The Man and his Dream (1988), 141 Tucker, George Loane, 263, 398 Tunisia, 3 Turin, Italy, 213 Turkey, 43, 247; Turkish Army, 446 Turks, 244 Turner, Victor, 189 Tutsis, 5 Tutti I colori del buio (All the Colors of the Dark, 1976), 156 TV Guide, 48 The Twelve Chairs (1970), 10 Twelve Monkeys (1995), 167, 194, 195, 386 Twentieth Century Fox, 154, 316, 328 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea (Verne), 384 Twilight (2008), 448 The Twinkle in God’s Eye (1955), 130 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), 276, 278, 333, 384 – 85, 421 The 2000 Year Old Man in the Year 2000 (recording), 91 Tykwer, Tom, 176, 180, 213 – 14, 275 Tylor, E. B. (Edward Burnett), 303 Tystnaden (The Silence, 1963), 178 Tzu, Lao, 125, 126 Uccellacci e uccellini (The Hawks and the Sparrows, 1966), 349, 350 UCLA. See University of California, Los Angeles Ucicky, Gustav, 261 UFO. See Unidentified Flying Object Ugetsu monogatari (Tales of Ugetsu, 1953), 250, 325, 326

Ukhod velikovo startza (Departure of a Grand Old Man, 1912), 375 Ukikusa monogatari (Story of Floating Weeds, 1934), 343 La Última Cena (The Last Supper, 1976), 290, 291 Ultra-Orthodox (Haredi) Jews, 134, 268 – 69 Ultraviolet (1998; 2006), 444 Uluru. See Ayers Rock (Australia) Ulysses, 58, 139 Unbreakable (2000), 340 Uncle Tom’s Cabin (Stowe), 120 The Undead (1957), 153 Under the Sun of Satan (1987). See Sous le Soleil di Satan Underworld (2003), 444 Une femme taxi à Sidi Bel-Abbes (A Female Cabby in Sidi Bel-Abbes, 2000), 35 Unforgiven (1992), 203, 462 De unge år: Erik Nietzsche sagaen del 1 (The Early Years: Erik Nietzsche, Part I, 2007), 434 Der Unhold (The Ogre, 1996), 181 The Unholy (1988), 236 Unidentified Flying Object (UFO), 139 United Artists, 287, 398 United Church of Christ, 288 United Kingdom, 86. See also Britain; England United Nations, 168, 170 United States, 24, 32, 34, 67, 90, 95, 96, 97, 100, 126, 169, 193, 194, 212, 217, 222, 232, 235, 236, 264, 266, 313, 318, 334, 350, 352, 389, 410, 450, 460. See also America United States Conference of Catholic Bishops, 288, 351

640 | Index

United States Conference of Catholic Bishops: Office for Film and Broadcasting, 113. See also Catholic Communication Campaign; Catholic League; Legion of Decency; National Catholic Office for Motion Pictures (NCOMP) United States Constitution: First Amendment, 120, 286, 313 United States government: Congress, 117; Senate, 130, 362; Supreme Court, 120, 312, 314 United States military, 143, 368; Army, 91; Department of Defense, 247; Marines, 246, 247 United States v. Paramount Pictures, Inc., 313 Universal Product Code (UPC), 169 Universal Studios, 155, 285, 286, 287 – 88, 444 University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA), 381 Unstrung Heroes (1995), 368 UPC. See Universal Product Code Upper Volta. See Burkina Faso Uppsala, Sweden, 56 Uptown Saturday Night (1974), 133 Un urlo nelle tenebre (The Return of the Exorcist, 1975), 156 Urs al-jalil (Wedding in Galilee, 1987), 368 Utah, 330 V for Vendetta (2005), 412 Vadim, Roger, 464 The Vagabond (1951). See Awaara Valenti, Jack, 120 Valentino, Rudolph, 328 Valley of the Wolves: Iraq (2006). See Kurtlar vadisi—Irak

Vamp (1986), 465 Vamp, 464, 465 Vampire: The Masquerade, 449 Vampires, 134, 156, 161, 233, 411, 443 – 49, 465; Jewish vampire, 447 Vampyres (1974), 444 Van Dieman’s Land, Australia, 40 Van Gennep, Arnold, 369 Il vangelo secondo Matteo (The Gospel According to St. Matthew, 1964), 179, 348, 350 Van Gogh, Vincent, 13 Van Helsing (2004), 134, 236, 444 Vanilla Sky (2001), 54, 361 The Vanishing American (1925), 15 Varanasi, India, 467 Vatican, 113, 134, 144, 184, 185, 236, 276, 334, 336, 353. See also Catholicism; Roman Catholic Church Vatican II, 112, 351. See also Second Vatican Council Venice Film Festival, 161, 313 Verne, Jules, 384 Vertov, Dziga, 376 Vichy, France, 132 Victorian era, 303, 444, 394, 395; piety, 397; scholars of, 301, 303; Victorian ghost story, 231 La Vida es Silvar (Life Is to Whistle, 1998), 291, 294 Vidal, Gore, 186 Vidor, King, 396 La Vie et La Passion du Christ (The Passion Play, 1903), 374 Vietnam War, 11, 13, 368; post-Vietnam era, 11; Vietnam era, 130; Vietnam veteran, 143, 335 View Askew Productions, 401. See also Smith, Kevin Patrick Vigilanti Cura (Pius XI), 108

Index | 641

Village Voice, 429 Vincent and Theo (1990), 13 Vinterberg, Thomas, 157, 158, 434 La Virgen de los Sicarios (Our Lady of the Assassins, 2000), 293 Virgil, 143 The Virginian (1914), 457 Virgin Mary, 293, 398. See also Blessed Virgin; Mary, mother of Jesus The Virgin Spring (1960). See Jungfrukallan Viridiana (1961), 100 Virtuousity (1995), 359 Vishnu, 77, 311 Vision quest, 367, 371 The Visitor (1979), 156 VistaVision, 150 La Vita é bella (Life is Beautiful, 1997), 267, 342 Vivement dimanche (Confidentially Yours, 1983), 441 Vladimir, Russia, 420 “Vodka, the Church, and the Cinema” (Trotsky), 375 La Voie lactée (The Milky Way, 1969), 101, 179 Volkoff, Alexandre, 375 Voodoo, 235, 450 – 56 Voodoo Girl (also known as The Zombies of Sugar Hill, 1994). See Sugar Hill Voodoo Island (1957), 452 Vørsel, Nils, 435 – 36 Le Voyage dans la lune (A Trip to the Moon, 1902), 384 Vrendens dag (Day of Wrath, 1943), 132, 161, 177 Vsyo ostayotsya lyudyam (Everything Remains for the People, 1963), 377

Wachowski, Laurence and Andrew, 311, 312, 339 Wacks, Jonathan, 17 Wadja, Andrzej, 273 Wagner, Richard, 144 Wagon Master (1950), 328 Wagon Train (television), 328, 461 Wait Until Dark (1967), 371 Waking Life (2001), 336 Walkabout (1971), 368 Walker, Alice, 97 The Walking Dead (1936), 451 Walt Disney Company, 24, 26, 28, 96, 188, 245, 246, 248, 288, 306, 369 Wandâfuru raifu (After Life, 1998), 252, 253 Wang, Wayne, 96 The War of the Worlds (1953), 133 – 34 War of the Worlds (2005), 340, 388 War of the Worlds (Wells), 384 Ward, Vincent, 211 WarGames (1983), 172, 386 Warner Bros. Studios, 319 Warren, Rick, 352 Warsaw, Poland, 271, 273, 274 Washington, D.C., 165, 166 Washita Massacre, 17 Wasserman, Lew, 287 Waszynski, Michal, 266 Water (2005), 467 Watts, Alan, 97 Wayne, John, 339, 362, 459 Webber, Andrew Lloyd, 255 Weber, Lois, 395, 396 Wedding in Galilee (1987). See Urs al-jalil We Free Kings (1996). See I magi randagi Wegener, Paul, 231 – 32 Weir, Peter, 44, 45, 268

642 | Index

In weiter Ferne, so nah! (Faraway, So Close, 1993), 23, 180 Weksler-Waskinel, Fr. Romuald Jakub, 230 Welles, Orson, 169, 348, 438 Wells, H. G. (Herbert George), 180, 384, 385 Wells, Sam, 263 Wenders, Wim, 21, 22 – 23, 24, 180, 212 Werewolves on Wheels (1971), 154 West Africans, 239; West African spiritual traditions, 467 West Bank, Palestine, 37 – 38 West Coast, United States, 95, 457 Westerns, 92, 120, 134, 150, 151, 252, 296, 297, 299, 339, 384, 396, 397, 418, 444, 457 – 63; American Westerns, 281; Curry Westerns, 78, 457; Spaghetti Westerns, 297, 415, 457 West Indies, 450 West Side Story (1961), 370 Whale Rider (2002), 242 – 43, 336 Whale, James, 232 What am I to You . . .! (1994). See Hum Aapke Hain Koun . . .! What Dreams May Come (1998), 211, 212, 213, 331 What Is Wrong with the Movies? (Rice), 424 What the #&*! Do We (K)now?! (2004), 336 Wheel of Time (2003), 181 When Harry Met Sally . . . (1989), 339 Where Are My Children (1916), 396 Where the Green Ants Dream (1984). See Wo die grünen Ameisen träumen

Where the Red Fern Grows (1974), 329 Which Way is Up? (1977), 71 The White Buffalo (1977), 372 “White Nights” (Dostoyevsky), 84 The White Sister (1923), 399 White Zombie (1932), 235, 450, 452 Who’s That Knocking at My Door (1967). See I Call First Why Wasn’t He There? (1993). See Senkiföldje Wicca, 406 Wilberforce, William, 135, 362 Wilcot, Horace, 394 The Wild Child (1970). See L’Enfant Sauvage Wild Strawberries (1957). See Smultronstället Wilder, Billy, 286 Wildmon, Donald, 286 Willoughby, Bertram, 316 Willoughby, George, 44, 263 Wilson, Dorothy Clarke, 150 Wimmer, Kurt, 444 The Wind Will Carry Us (1999). See Bad ma ra khahad bord Wings of Desire (also known as The Sky Over Berlin, 1987). See Der Himmel über Berlin Winter Light (1962). See Nattvardsgästerna Wired Angel (1999), 263 Wister, Owen, 457 Witchcraft Through the Ages (1968), 154 The Witches (1922). See Häxan The Witches of Eastwick (1987), 305 Witchfinder General (also known as The Conqueror Worm, 1968), 305 Witness (1985), 268, 364

Index | 643

The Wizard of Oz (1939), 211, 305 – 6, 371, 372 Wo de fu qin mu qin (The Road Home, 1999), 124, 368 Wo die grünen Ameisen träumen (Where the Green Ants Dream, 1984), 181 Wo Hu Cang Long (Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, 2000), 97 – 98, 125, 126 Wojtyla, Karol (Cardinal), 272 Woman Thou Art Loosed (2004), 71, 73, 133 Women, 463 – 69 Women and Film, 463 Women in Spirituality series. See The Burning Times; Full Circle; Goddess Remembered The Wonderful Visit (Wells), 180 Wong Fei Hung II: Naam yi dong ji keung (Once Upon a Time in China II, 1992), 127 Wood Painting (Berman), 58 The Wooden Man’s Bride (1994). See Wu Kui The Word (1955). See Ordet Wordsworth, William, 212 Working Title Films, 89 Works Progress Administration (WPA), 139 World Cup Tournament, 135 World Series, 176, 407 World War I, 44, 129, 213, 215, 263, 316, 362, 399 World War II, 21, 22, 86, 91, 93, 93, 100, 103, 120, 129, 132, 139, 150, 180, 181, 210, 211, 227, 249, 272, 317, 332, 333, 377, 379, 389, 398, 404, 408, 419, 459; America’s entry into, 316; Axis

powers, 408. See also Second World War WPA. See Works Progress Administration Wpisany w gwiazde Davida (Cross Inscribed in the Star of David, 1997), 230, 231 Wright, Harold Bell, 396 Wu Kui (The Wooden Man’s Bride, 1994), 124 “X”: The Man With the X-Ray Eyes (1963), 234 X-Men (2000), 340 X-Men: The Last Stand (2006), 410 Xingfu shiguang (Happy Times, 2000), 124 Xizao (Shower, 1999), 124 X2: X-Men United (2003), 410 The Yacoubian Building (2006). See ‘Imarat al-Ya’ qubiyan Yaddun ilahiya (Divine Intervention, 2002), 28 The Yakuza (1974), 381 The Yanqui Cur (1913), 395 Yeats, William Butler, 212 Yentl (1983), 134, 269 Yiddish, 92, 93; cinema, 265, 266, 399; tale, 332 Yimou, Zhang, 123, 124, 126, 128 Ying xiong (Hero, 2002), 126 Yin shin an nu (Eat Drink Man Woman, 1994), 96, 124, 127 Yo, La Peor de Todas (I, the Worst of All, 1990), 291 Yojimbo (1961), 95, 252, 253, 281, 283 Yom Kippur, 267, 268, 399

644 | Index

York, Alvin C., 362 Yoruba, 467 Young Frankstein (1974), 92, 94 Young Torless (1966). See Der Junge Törless Your Show of Shows (television), 10, 92 YouTube, 18 Yu, Ronny, 123, 125 Yucatan, Mexico, 242 Zanussi, Krzysztof, 273 Al Zawadj al-mukhtalat fi-l-ardi al-muqadassa (Forbidden Marriages in the Holy Land, 1995), 37 Z˙ ebrowski, Edek, 273 Zechariah, Book of, 70 Zedong, Mao, 123 Zeffirelli, Franco, 69, 257, 266 Zelig (1983), 7, 9 Zemlya (Earth, 1930), 375 – 76

Zen Buddhism, 95, 96, 97, 191, 249, 281, 310, 331, 343, 344. See also Chan Buddhism Zeoli, Billy, 317 Zerkalo (The Mirror, 1975), 378, 421 Zeus, 26, 27 Zhang, Yang, 124 Zhivoy (The Hero, 2006), 378 Zion, 168 Zionism, 33 Zipporah, 26 Zola, Emile, 395 Zombie. (1979). See Zombi 2 Zombies, 232, 233, 235, 450; zombie films, 444 Zombies of Mora Tau (1957), 452 The Zombies of Sugar Hill (also known as Voodoo Girl, 1994). See Sugar Hill Zombi 2 (Zombie, 1979), 453 Zucker, Adolph, 264 Zwick, Edward, 97