In/deCEPTION by maTT vZ

Or… ‘Ah my brain hurts. And my brain’s brain. And my brain’s brain’s brain’s…’

You’ve woken up before, not knowing where you are, what you are and unsure of which body parts are directly attached to which. I know you have. Everyone has. It feels like you are rising out of a big tub of syrup. You’ve even made noises akin to Swamp Thing as you do.

‘Glaaargle….’

So does Leonardo DiCaprio, when awakes washed up on an endless beach in a tux with a gun tucked in his pants. If his character, Dom Cobb, had awoken with a purposeful look on his face we would be less unsure ourselves, but perhaps he is trying to figure out why his name is as weird as ‘Dom Cobb’. It sounds like someone is calling him a silly millie (that’s corn for all y’all not in SA).

Anyway, I’m getting sidetracked and things haven’t even begun to get interesting. No sooner has Dom groggily awoken and gurgled, is he hauled up by the ubiquitous gun-toting henchmen and dragged into a massive oriental fortress on the cliff to meet with an ancient, ancient-looking Ken Watanabe. He is so old he has not hair, but instead what looks like cobwebs wisping happily off his spotty skull. This is Mr. Saito. Both mumble about knowing each other, and Cobb spins a small metal top on the table.

Now that we are thoroughly confused, the scene of course completely shifts and we are at a grand dinner on the self-same cliff-top fortress, Dom Cobb is there, in a fresh tux, and so is Mr. Saito, looking faaaar more sprightly, 40 years easily knocked off. Ken has been in Hollywood too long and obviously has let the surgeons have a go at him.

Thus the tone, pace and magnetism of Inception is set. Most of you know it is a movie about dreams, and of course is going to invite much conversation around that vs. reality etc. We’ll get to that. The film is an original straight from the throbbingly cerebral mind of director Christopher Nolan (although some really bored people mention an old French film) but can best be described as thick slices of the Ocean’s movies and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind layered into each other and sandwiched between a $160 million budget, popped into the oven on low heat for 9-10 years until a complete melt delight, and served as a gourmet burst of originality amongst the fast-food mayhem of sequels and comic book adaptations.

It is rich, delicious, exhausting and you will struggle to finish it (in your head) in one sitting.

Cobb and his team are thieves of the highest order. They steal ideas. They steal them from within the minds of people. And they steal them from the most powerful people, for the most powerful people. This is called extraction. So whether they succeed or not, very powerful people or going to be upset. Mr. Saito is one such powerful person. They try to steal his idea. They fail. Mr. Saito is upset.

This is quite something, as Cobb’s method of theft is devious and mind-bending, as they draw their victim, or Mark, into a dream he does not know is one, a dream constructed by an Architect, a member of the team that can memorise incredible environmental detail and reconstruct it in the dream. They proceed to play a series of intricate psychological mind games to make there way through the dream to a vault, where said idea is hidden. The Mark knows none of this, but if things slip up and he gets suspicious – you know, when you sometimes realize you actually are dreaming – all the people in the dream, who are all constructs of the Mark’s mind, freak out and attack the team. This can be a whole city of people. Very angry people. All coming for you. It’s fun.

Especially when Mr. Saito, who – as a very powerful person – requires their help, catches Cobb & Co. But he does not wish to steal an idea. He wishes to plant one – inception, not extraction. His Mark is Fischer, played wonderfully low-key by Cillian Murphy, who is the son of a dying corporate energy tyrant.

Now this is nigh impossible, but Cobb has done it before, in a very personal way that greatly affects the plot. To do this will require an entertainingly elaborate plan involving entering a dream… within the dream… within a dream.

There is a lot of setup and explanation of how this all works, happily it does not get too technical but is more conceptual, so not too heavy, and it is all done while we are enrapt by brilliantly realised and detailed sequences of dreams – quite literally in one case as Paris becomes a calzone with Citroen and cobblestone filling. The visual effects feel hidden and integrated, an astounding feat considering the warping of reality you are drawn into. It all has a faintly haunting and humanless quality, whether that is intended or not, I have picked up that atmosphere in Nolan’s other films so perhaps just a trait of his work.

All through the movie, Inception chews on the notion that nothing is as subtly powerful, infectious and inexorable as an idea. The simpler, purer and tiny the seed of it, the deeper it slips into our hearts, the swifter and with more potential it grows, spreads and germinates. It can become the core that fuels our every move. It can become our motivation for life, consumes it, and finally destroy us… or set us free.

The way this movie so vividly reveals this made me realise just how powerful our thinking, and what influences it, can be. In part it terrified me, as I reflected on my life and how ideas, thoughts, whispers and opinions can dictate your path, or confuse it. The parallels with our journey and influences we either exert or are subject to are profound.

Just as Cobb and his crew draw their Mark into a labyrinth weaved of his own personal fears, securities and perceptions to a degree that he accepts their falsely created version of his reality, so the enemy tries desperately to do the same in ours, as he plays out the same game in our heads and hearts. Cobb’s goal was to put an idea deep in the core of Fischer’s psyche, one that alters his view of life and his actions, what he thinks of himself and others.

In short, he stole Fischer’s original identifying thought and replaces it with one that served his own purposes. Sound like someone we know?

‘The thief does not come except to steal, and to kill, and to destroy.’ That’s John 10:10a.

We all know it. And we know how he tries in so many different and devious ways to steal our truth, kill our hope and destroy our purpose: That we are free in Christ, that we are kings and children of our Almighty uber-awesome Father. That we are holy, called, powerful living conduits of His will, His love, His message. No-no. He uses every vile and subtle trick to try get us to think less of ourselves, to question the unquestionable and indescribable work God has done for and in us, all of Himself. He tells us we have failed, we are not worthy, that we are not enough. None of which is even relevant – BEACAUSE OF WHAT GOD HAS DONE. Because He has done it all. And offered it to us.

Awesome.

And just like Fischer, and even Cobb and his team, we can get so flipped around and inside out within our own heads and hearts, pulled by perception and emotion, that we struggle to know up from down, truth from fiction, lie from revelation in any area of our lives that we have vulnerabilities.

In the film, Cobb & Co each carry a token, something they use to test whether what they are in is reality. And they had to know, absolutely, that that token was real. Each token is deeply personal and if it is lost, so is that person. In limbo. Forever.

We all have the same token, but it becomes deeply personal to us in many different ways and yet always leads us to the same beautiful, liberating and powerful truth. It’s that kind of awesome. It is the Word. It even comes with a tutor, God Himself, His Holy Spirit, within us. Keep it’s truth with you always, so whenever you become confused, flipped around and inside out within your own head and heart – it provides the directions out of the maze and into the real, real arms of your all-loving, all-conquering Father.

Because the enemy knows ‘as a man thinks, so is he.’ That’s Psalm 23:7, roughly. It’s talking about a miser specifically, but applies to any dude or dudette.

Yep, I said dude or dudette. I’m sooo old-school-cool.

Anyway, if the enemy can change your thinking, he can change you. It is why we are called to renew our minds – and this we do not through force but with a willing, tender heart for God’s Words. Sometimes the journey out of the maze can seem long and as confusing as the maze itself – so don’t lose sight of your guide, or drop your directions. And know, absolutely, that they are real.

Bill Johnson once said, ‘Any area in you life that is without hope is under the influence of a lie.’

For every area in your life that feels hopeless, take out your token, consult your guide, and blow yourself out of the maze of that lie and into the clear, open air of God’s beautiful truth: YOU ARE HIS AND YOU ARE AWESOME.

Have a coolio day.

Deceit and Thuggery live in 3D! by maTT vZ

It is the biggest production ever.

The budget is absolutely enormous; the sets built for it are stunning and expansive, among the largest in the world. Filming on-sight has been at 9 different locations and in more than fifty studios on six continents, with the largest cast of extras ever used – up to 100 000 in one area alone. Hundreds of cameras shoot close-up, on the ground, on tracks, on cranes, with robotic cables and helicopter shots from every angle to capture the action in high-definition, three-dimensional glory. More graphics firms have been involved in the effects than any other production. There are more installments than Harry Potter and there’s a sequel every four years. It will be the best thing on screen this year and boasts the largest all-star, highest-earning, most award-winning all-male cast of the biggest names of anything filmed ever.

The filming is superb, with beautiful slow close-ups and bullet-time cascades of salivating action.

The script is nail biting, with all to lose and ecstatic victory teasing in every scene.

The soundtrack is vivid and powerful, rising in crescendo at key points and invoking dizziness in tense moments. All in all it could be the most exciting spectacle you ever see.

Which is a pity, because the acting utterly, utterly sucks.

Strangely, in theory this should present no problem, because these superstars were never hired to act, or even look pretty – although apparently some of them do this so well women melt like toffee when they grin. No, these guys were all hired, every one of them, at the centre of all the cameras, extras, graphics, studios and sets… to kick a ball.

And they do this well, fantastically well. It provides enthrallment unmatched in entertainment -- especially if you’ve been lucky enough to catch a game live at one of the 3D cinemas (yes, based on that, this a cinamah article and I get to rant for a bit, but this had it coming). Anyway, with such awesome camerawork you see the depth and delicacy of some magnificent footwork and teamplay. Unfortunately, you also then see wailing, flailing & grimacing of such quality it’s worthy of a 3rd grade mimed stage play of Grey’s Anatomy.

Aaaaannd here enters the happily raging debate. Some say it is part of the game, some say these incidents should be cited post-match. Others call for more exotic and although appealing, ultimately unrealistic measures. If you banned everyone guilty for 5 or 10 matches, we’d always be watching 5-a-side.

I suppose being from a rugby nation, it all looks a little…. naff. If a guy in the rugby team rolled around like that the opposing team would be so embarrassed for their opponents they’d offer to take the dude out back and sort him out, but will be declined because his own team would rather do it. It goes the same for the screaming at the ref, throwing of tantrums or blatant fouls – you do any of that, you get sent off my friend.

The argument for it is that unless a player elaborates, professional fouls go unpunished and strikers are not protected. But when you see the theatrics on display, courtesy the barrage of high-tech equipment that captures every treacherous moment, that argument is shown up for what it is – justification.

Take Kieta in Ivory Coast’s matchup against Brazil. When it is he who in fact runs into Kaka, he seemingly mistakes his chest for his head and a body bump for vicious blunt force trauma inflicted by a raving lunatic. A common mistake, really, we can reflect, as he rolls on the floor in agony, the only thing holding his apparently eviscerated face together being his righteously trembling hands.

Or Torres when Spain met Chile, performing an elegant pirouette midair, having not being touched by defender Estrada who wasn’t even looking at the guy but rather the BALL and the PLAY, and obviously not the dramatic ballet that Torres was wrapped up in.

The list goes on, almost every team, in every game. This list is joined by another just as long, from the other side of this dirty coin – that of players who blatantly hack and slash at opponents, spontaneously take up volleyball and perform any number of pro fouls to achieve their goals. Thierry Henry’s callous double handball prior to the finals seemed too much but became only the opening scene for Brazil’s Fabiano to impress enough to be offered a spot in the Chicago Bulls lineup with his b-ball skillz in the same Ivory Coast game that Kaka was red-carded, and for the ultimate slap in the face of FIFA’s ‘fair play’ motto: Suarez’s flappy-flap pinball save of Ghana’s last-minute-of-extra-time-semi-final-here-we-come goal against Uruguay.

The sadness of all this that there has been some really special football played, but it has been marred by this behaviour, which although is not from all the players, is to some degree largely accepted and practiced by many. Looking at it, the best way to describe it is well, childish. Spoilt, pampered and adored childish. Which is kinda pathetic.

But, as many say, it’s part of the game. That cannot be denied, and sadly the reason for this is that it is allowed to be part of the game. If we are in the sorry state where we can’t expect grown men to act as such and with sportsmanship, honour and dignity, and have to police them like spoilt whiny children -- albeit very talented and hard-training ones – then it falls to the governing body to take responsibility, otherwise you are looking at deceit and thuggery in every game. That’s as far as I’ll go on the matter – FIFA has so much flak heading it’s way now that digressing on the subject would be like pelting them with olive pips while they are being stoned with Jubalani balls filled with cement.

End of the day, the question begs; why is it football/soccer suffers such indignity and no other sport? Really, think about it. Any other sports come to mind? Now if you are thinking to defend football, might I suggest not thinking ‘professional wrestling’, you’re not helping your case much. But that’s about all you got out there. Really, really sad.

And why? It is the most popular sport on the planet. Teams and players are idolized way beyond the imaginings of ancient Greek, Viking or Egyptian gods. In England it’s practically a religion. They have a slush fund there to prop up the Monday economy when there is a derby game in London Sunday and half the people from the losing team don’t pitch for work. These players, particularly the adored strikers of sublime skill and rippling abs, are worshipped to a degree that they can get away with anything. Ronaldo is caught with two prostitutes, fathers a child with another woman other than his girlfriend and announces the joyful birth online in a webcast for fans to celebrate. This is in one week. They can do no wrong. One does not question the glorious, talented, beautiful gods. They are not subject to the morals of mere men. On contrare, they are to be adored. Highlighting this point is Suarez, upon ‘saving’ Uruguay, hoisted on shoulders as a hero, vindicated by coach and country, even himself claiming ‘the Hand of God now belongs to me’.

It’s a state of affairs that allows us to look as how desperate we are for victory and heroes in our lives that we make gods out of men and sainthood out of banditry. After the final, when everything calms down to a panic and the feeding frenzy continues, can we look at each other and ask – was the last time a game of football simply a blast to watch, or play? And are the awesome people around us, the beautiful life around us enough, that who won or lost can be celebrated or mourned, and then the really awesome stuff continue? Hope so. Cos’ it’s just a game, in the end.

The Iwo Jima Double Whammy

It’s odd through what avenues of thought you can be taken down to reach a realization. Or in this case what dark and dirty tunnels within an ugly lump of mountain, poking out of the vast pacific 60yrs ago, seen through the camera lens of a 78-year-old Dirty Harry.

I have a fascination with war movies – particularly the 2nd World War – that has been happily fed in regular dollops, most often dollops generously garnished with Oscars. There is something about this particular genre that attracts intense, passionate film-making. I think it has something to do with the subject matter.

War almost always has a massive impact on worldwide society and history. None more so than WWII, for obvious reasons, but it’s more than that. It deeply affected the generations coming out of it, and they take great pains to make sure we remember it viscerally. The part that draws me to these films is the utter, stripped-down humanity that comes out. The narrative of these movies generally follows the foot soldiers and their struggles, horrors and loves within an incredibly stressful environment. Always in stark contrast are the little quirks and habits these men have in the midst of life-tearing battle.
And it all seems so heroic, in that real, broken, human way; these tough but fragile men throwing themselves into the storm of artillery and bullets, stoic against the faceless and seemingly monstrous enemy.

And that’s always been the one thing missing. The enemy. Always a grim, relentless and heartless force of stone-faced men. Cinematically it works because you get behind the ‘real’ people in the stories by demonizing the enemy, making them faceless. It’s a standard film-making tactic. Which makes what Clint Eastwood has done so daring.

He filmed one of the most important and intense battles of WWII – the battle for Iwo Jima, a 4km lump of rock sticking out of the pacific like a deranged mutant hippo – that despite being about as exciting a holiday destination as the loading bay of a bakkie, was of vital importance to both the US and Japan at the time.

What was different was this: he filmed full 360. By that I mean the full story, from both sides. He followed the full extent of the events on the island, showing both the preparations by the Japanese for the incoming Americans, and the US plans and maneuvers to capture the island. Artillery thunders, bullets fly, earth churns and burns until the whole place resembles one of those little burning packages left on you front door after being stomped on.

It is all shot beautifully, on a relatively small budget, with bleached-out or darkened scenes, powerful performances from a relatively nameless cast (with the exception of Ryan Phillipe as an American medic and Ken Watanabe as the Japanese general) and potent, researched scripting.
And then it is split into 2 companion films; Flag of our Fathers and Letters from Iwo Jima.

I had been itching to watch them, but wanting to do so in the way intended, had waited for it to be released on DVD as a box set together. When I finally sat down to watch, in addition to having my WWII fetish scratched, I had the “flick here to blow my mind” patch on my brain given a good tickle.

First on the menu is Flag of our Fathers, which covers the battle of Iwo Jima from invading force landing amongst massive naval bombardment to grim flame-throwing cleanup, all centralized around the story of one of the most famous photographs in war history – the raising of the American flag on the island hilltop. This photo looks epic, 5 or six battered soldiers hoisting the American flag, all in stark Hollywood silhouette. And the photo drives the folks back home into a frenzy of patriotism. You can’t make this stuff up. Thing is, those soldiers were just ordinary, somewhat shattered men just carrying out an order. But the US military and government milk it and the soldiers for all they’re worth to extract more money from the American people in the form of war bonds. The stark contrast of the cheering crowds and flashbulbs back home and the grim mortars and trenches on the island, the depiction of these soldiers as ultimate heroes and the their actual broken frailty unsettles you. Three soldiers are central to the hero worship; a medic just trying to stay alive, a private milking the publicity for all he is worth and a native American raging against the trauma left inside him by the war. All the while the men left behind are still fighting and dying on the island. This coupled with the seemingly relentless resistance and ferocity of the Japanese foe on the island leaves you by the end of the film not pumped with battle-fury, but more in a deep disquiet about the unfortunate human creation of war.

This sets you up nicely for the sucker-punch of Letters from Iwo Jima. The story is told based on hundreds of letters found buried on the island recently, and so carries with it a deep personal weight from the men that fought and died there. It is a massive switcheroo of the picture painted in the first film, that of a fanatical, cruel and hardened enemy, nameless and faceless, to scared, undernourished and doomed men expected to stay, fight and die, whether by enemy fire or there own hands, simply in order to buy the Empire time. This time it is the Americans who seem to be a faceless juggernaut force, wielding massive firepower and numbers. The story is told through the letters of several soldiers and the defending general, who arrives on the island knowing he and his men shall not be leaving it. Immediately he makes plans for a protracted defense, and orders a massive network of tunnels to be built into the mountains. There is much conflict in the ranks, and it is fascinating to see the ravages of war through the eyes of a culture quite different from your own, with its own understanding of honour and duty. As the soldiers suffer first the attacks of little food and dysentery and then the immense onslaught of American bombardment and invasion, the desperation of the situation slowly fractures the defense, their morale and sanity. It is a shock to discover the seemingly stalwart enemy form the first film as starving rag-tag army of terrified men, the humanness of their frailty punctuated by the letters, narrated around key characters with flashbacks to their lives before the island. The young baker who is forced to leave his wife by the army to go fight, while she is told to be proud that he will die for her. The disgraced secret police officer who discovered he could not be cruel and ruthless to his own people. And the general himself, who spent time in America and made strong friends there. It is a slowly heartbreaking but beautiful story, all in Japanese with subtitles, and the two films do a powerful work in you.

And the work is this. You see the cold distant manner in which the leaders of these governments casually expect men to fight and die. You see the horrors that war inflicts on people – physically, emotionally and mentally – and you see that very enemy you face is as human and real as you are, despite appearances. These are hard films to watch, but very rewarding. They leave you with an aching desire for people in general, and thinking deeply how really, really pointless and horrifying war becomes on a personal level. It makes you ask a lot of questions, makes you realize you have been given the answers, and gives you much motivation to share them.

Wall-e vs Wanted by maTT vZ

I watched WANTED a while ago. What a pretty film. What great CGI and directing. What awesome action.

What a hunk of junk.

Man, it felt like I was having sour vinegar poured down my lungs, pausing only to let the odd pickle slide in there, but why? What was it about this film? It felt so bitter, so angry and so disdainful of well, pretty much anyone who slogs it through a rough day. And I wasn’t alone in this. We all exited with a heavy feeling of having chugged down something never intended for human consumption. And the aftertaste was one of disgust and shame. Disgust that people’s mindsets could portray them as so defeated, so vicious, so sad. Shame that I should feel or act so surprised. By now, I know better – not I should know better, I do know better, because my Father knows better, period. I even knew before I went into that cinema that this was a film we should not be watching. I don’t think the others did, but I did. And I never said a word, cos I wanted to watch the cool flick…

I’m a film nut, I obsess over directors and writers and actors, and who is going to be collaborating together to blow a 100-odd million dollars on a flashy piece of eye and ear candy just for me (and their pockets). I check out the backstory, find out where it all started, by whom and in whose dingy garage and whose mom supplied the brownies. In this case it was a pair of disgruntled comic book writers and illustrators who where sick of their industry’s cliché-ridden formulas, gave them a particular finger to contemplate and decided to make there own flavour of anti-super-villain-hero effort.

And that flavour is bitter.

They tell you your life is pathetic. They tell you you are pathetic (literally, the main dude in the film addresses you as such). And that now he has a purpose and freedom and other adjectives that made no sense compared to what we see, it’s reckoned that unless you quit your job, assault your co-workers and assassinate random fat guys smoking cigars because a woven tapestry told you to… you’re not complete. Yeeeeah, ookay…

But, mebe i’m just being… conservative, yes? Mebe, you say, it’s just a movie, don’t take it so seriously.

Boy then, are there a lot of films not to take seriously.

And each and every one of them have a line on what is the way to live, a snappy manifesto, an awesome cast and killer soundtracks that woo us to there way of thinking. But then who’s right? Which is the way to live? What happens when the credits roll and you bouncy-bouncy out of that cinema and you try live the life they showed you is the shizness and oops – you don’t have the mutli-angle close-ups, the sweet grading and snappy one-liners? Ya git stuck.

I watched WALL·E a couple weeks later. What a cutesy film. What lack of dialog. What weird main characters.

What a slice of awesome.

You know that somebody has done summin’ different when a hardened film buff watching odd little robots drops a few salty ones as the credits roll. I laughed, man I laughed. How is it that these guys are so good that I feel more emotionally attached to a CGI walking, talking garbage disposal than anything else I’ve seen on screen. Pixar are another level. The detail of character that is not just captured, but created from scratch that makes these little guys feel more human than most shot film.

This little guy is so independent, so hopelessly romantic and gob-smackingly plucky I was writing up the adoption papers. The way in which he never gives up, always pushes for the positive in the most negative sitchiation makes you feel anything is possible. So you bouncy-bouncy outta the cinema, thinking you gonna be as plucky and cute and successful and oops – you don’t have the robotic puppy-dog eyes or the adorable SFX or un-dent-able optimism. So what happens? Ya git stuck.

Okay, so mebe you don’t take in this stuff. Mebe you just watch and let go. But mebe, just mebe, you do, and you just don’t know it. We have a lot of entrances into each of our temples (some exits too, but lets leave that, shall we), we’ve got eyegates and eardoors that take in all we swing our head towards or around. And everything that comes in pours through our brain-filter and settles in our heart-wells, good or bad. Yeah, the brain will pick up on the obvious stuff – the swearing and the gratuitous sex and the gore and the etc. etc. – those big chunky bits we all know aren’t good – problem is it clogs everything up there and whatever passes through strains out all the underlying essence it seeps out like a Lipton’s triangular teabag, straight into our hearts, where it joins everything we don’t pick up.

Like what? Well, whether you like it or not. Every film you watch, e-v-e-r-y film, has an agenda and influence. This is not conspiracy stuff, it’s just common sense. People have opinions, pastimes, causes, preferences and beliefs. People make films. Do the math. Like it or not, that stuff is gonna come through. Whether it’s a brainless popcorn flick or a deep emo indie film, there is lovin’, hatin’, purity, perversion, anxiety, anger, intimacy, indifference, decadence, desolation, gory, horny, and porny. The experiences people have had and chosen and made instantly affects their creations.

So what’s my point? Wait, do I have one….? Oh, yes. Right. Yeah, I know, you’re not gonna go monkish and cut off all entertainment, but at the very least, a quick review of what you take in will help. Some stuff is just pretty obvious. You can feel it in your spirit, how is twists at it, discomforts it. Use that.

But more importantly, be AWARE of this reality, that all this stuff will affect you, and more importantly, how it can affect you relationship with your Father. I can tell you I’ve had instances where something has affected me to a degree that it seems to put a sticky wall up, or sometimes loses me in a fog, and I struggle to just be in God’s presence. And sometimes it can draw me right to Him, or give me a profound and powerful connection to Him through something He has shown me through what I’m taking in. Check out the Iwo Jima article coming for eg.

It’s something no one can judge you on or tell you which and what. You’ve got to make a call on that each time. There is some truly awesome stuff out there watch, big budget and small setup, fun and light and heavy and dark. God has given people awesome gifts to tell a story, or make a statement. You’ll make right calls, and wrong ones, more than once. May each instance and experience push you closer to Him, and help you choose again, even better each time. Happy watchin’.

Superheroes by maTT vZ

Boy oh boy do I love comic book movies. Man they are fun. All those crazy powers and mad stunts and beautiful CGI.  ‘Did you see that guy? He just went BOOOM and then the WHOLE thing came down and flipped that truck like a flapjack’ etc. etc. Funny, when I put it like that I sound just like a kid. Funny, cos nowadays these films are getting grittier, ‘darker’, more …serious?

I mean, sure, the latest hero flicks have gotten more realistic… yeah ok… but that’s just compared to how ridiculous they used to be and they do it through tighter, better acting, directing, sets, script etc.

In the 60’s Batman movie for example, he fought off a shark that grabbed onto him while hanging from a rope attached to a helicopter flying over the ocean, and he fought it off with… shark repellant spray. Then rescued the heads of state that had been dehydrated into powder form in little piles on the table of the UN HQ.

I often have to ask myself, how is it I can find no trouble enjoying watching a full-grown, apparently genius man flap around tall buildings in black lycra that is tight to the point of individual muscle definition, wearing a mask that has little pointy Doberman ears on it… which means he has four ears on his head? Or am able to completely buy into a man who enlarges many times his strength and size, despite all undeniable, unchangeable physical Newtonian laws to the contrary, all under the rippling gurgling conversion to the delightful green of a newborn froglet. Or swings around New York in disturbingly kinky webbed pj’s, leaving rotting web hanging off every building and criminals wrapped like flies in super-strong super-sticky spidersilk – ever wonder who has to clean that all up?

But in the end the stories are still a little silly. And we love it. And I can totally understand why.

We love heroes. We have their t-shirts, their desktops, their lunchboxes, their Adidas special edition shelltoes. We love that they can do what we wish we could, be totally different. I think deep inside us we all just want to save people. Plus repulsor rays are just so damn cool.

So damn cool in fact, that sometimes I find myself more excited about a billionaire industrialist in a gold and hotrod-red robotic suit than I am about Christ. Not in a ‘oh I’m so bad, guilt guilt guilt’ way. It was just a startling curiosity. Why is that? I mean here are stories about people saving people in all sorts of trouble, right? But they need piles of money and superpowers from radioactive caterpillars or whatever and all sorts of funny suits, gadgets, gadgets and sidekicks just to handle a couple, or maybe a few hundred. And it’s fiction.

Here we have someone real, someone who walked this trusty dusty globe and saved piles of people, in all sorts of ways, starting with the basics of miraculous healings by the truckload and working up through raising the dead to full ‘take me instead’ for billions of people that haven’t even been born yet.

And all while hiking through rough desert land in sandals and a basic clothes. In three years. No props, no toys, no budget.

That’s pretty decently awesome.

Maybe it’s too awesome, so we struggle to digest it. Maybe it’s because it’s so far past awesome we struggle to really, really get how incredible. I mean He was perfect, how can we relate right? Whereas these superheroes are flawed, imperfect, more… human.

And there I find the lie begins.

Do you think to err is human? I did. But I don’t anymore. I think to err is sin. To be as God has always known you to be… is human.

Now first get this in your head. I’m not talking sin as ‘ooh bad things’. I’m talking sin as that state of separation from God. And with Christ in us, that has been washed away. Even when we still do things that separate us from God, it has still been washed away because we are seeking Him, pushing toward Him, desiring Him in our hearts over anything else.

So I think a couple things happen. I think we love superheroes so much cos yes, they break the mould, they are different and awesome and we want to be like them. I think we love them so much because they are flawed, they are ‘just like us’ and we can relate. I mean Wolverine is one of the most popular superheroes and lets face it, he’s got issues.

And I think the movies are done so well, are so much fun they utterly feed our flesh, titillating our hearts and heads with their coolness, sexiness and excitement. It’s easier to just love ‘em.

Funny thing is, Jesus is more of these things than any fictional superhero. And while wearing sandals, mind you. But there is no show, no fancy CG, no big colourful capes. No, to be a fan of this Superhero it takes a little work, it takes a little sacrifice of that same flesh that just wants to be entertained, and damn do we find it hard. And He had no flaws… because He was human, as God intended us to be

But I tell you what, you want to do things that will blow minds? That will make you different? That will save more people than an Xmen-Avengers combo at a supervillain convention? All while wearing flip-flops? You have within you the most powerful force in existence, it makes the phoenix force look like a dying torchlight. Check the word for its’ list of abilities, but get comfortable, there’s quite a bit to go through.

You need no gadgets, no mutations, no CGI and no capes (unless that’s your thing). You just need to seek, follow, hold on, hope, believe, love. You need to remember who is inside of you, who is your awesome.

Jesus is your superpower. And you are His superhero.