Author: Keith Humphreys

For decades, Hollywood movies that took Christianity seriously were nearly guaranteed to make money and to receive reverent reviews as well (sometimes deservedly so, e.g., Black Narcissus, Song of Bernadette). But in our more secular age, they often divide audiences and critics. Ebert and Siskel exemplified the split when they reviewed the 1991 film The Rapture. The former put it on his 10 best films of the year list, while the latter said he considered it “more preachy than provocative”. I am much more inclined to Ebert’s view of Michael Tolkin’s directorial debut.

The film opens with an evocative shot of a bevy of telephone operators who looked caged in their cubicles as they near-mindlessly answer request after request for directory assistance. One of them is named Sharon (none of the film’s characters have a last name). Sharon’s (Mimi Rogers) dreary daytime existence stands in sharp contrast to her nights, which she spends cruising hotels for group sex with her friend Vic (Patrick Bachau). One of the men she encounters, Randy, (a then little known David Duchovny) takes an enduring interest in her and they start to share their regrets and hopes.

Meanwhile, Sharon becomes aware of coworkers who, unlike her, seem happy, and learns they are involved in a religious community that dreams (literally) of the coming rapture in which the faithful will be raised to heaven. In a superbly executed scene, two door-knocking Christians also begin to shake her lack of faith. Like Augustine, she abandons her sexually wanton ways and begins praying and worshipping until she too is convinced that the end of the world is nigh. This precedes further astounding plot developments that you will turn over in your mind long after the final credits roll.

Tolkin has made a challenging movie that is absolutely not for all tastes, but I admire his courage for unflinchingly following a theme out to its conclusion. This is not an evangelical film: Tolkin portrays what it would it mean if people who believe a certain theology are in fact correct, but he neither endorses nor condemns it. His dialogue is searching and at times even searing as his characters struggle with what life means, whether God exists, and if so what he expects of humanity. His film weakens a bit in its unique concluding act, which was almost inevitable given his limited budget, but overall this is one of the most impressive debuts by a writer-director in recent decades.

Mimi Rogers deservedly received universal acclaim for her no holds barred performance. She is by turns sensual, sad, yearning, inspiring, frightening, damaged, and defiant. Taking the role of Sharon was a big risk and it pays off artistically in an Oscar-caliber performance. Sadly, it did not pay off in terms of box office receipts or wider recognition that she is much more than just another Hollywood sex bomb.

To return to where I began, let me close this review by quoting Roger Ebert: “Movies are often so timid. They try so little, and are content with small achievements. The Rapture is an imperfect and sometimes enraging film, but it challenges us with the biggest idea it can think of, the notion that our individual human lives do have actual meaning on the plane of the infinite.”

p.s. Tolkin also wrote the story and co-wrote the screenplay of another of my recommendations, Deep Cover.

Before Johann Hari, before Jayson Blair, there was a journalistic fraud named Stephen Glass who conned readers and fellow journalists at multiple respected outlets, most notably The New Republic. Buzz Bissinger wrote an sterling account of Glass’ rise and fall for Vanity Fair magazine which writer/director Billy Ray subsequently translated to the screen in 2003: Shattered Glass.

The plot: Stephen Glass (Hayden Christensen) is the hottest staff writer at The New Republic as well as a frequent contributor to many other respected outlets. Glass’ interpersonal manner is humble — even obsequious — as well as ingratiating to the point of seeming desperate to please. His editor Mike Kelly (Hank Azaria) and his fellow writers, including his friend Caitlin Avey (based on journalist Hanna Rosin and played by Chloë Sevingy) are all under his spell, with the exception of another writer, Chuck Lane (Peter Sarsgaard), who becomes the editor when Kelly is fired. Things almost immediately start to come undone as Lane grows suspicious when a rival publication finds holes in Glass’ latest story. Glass scrambles to offer evidence in his defense, while also trying to turn the staff against Lane for not backing him up. Superb journalistic drama ensues.

Of the many things to appreciate in this movie, most people will fixate on Christensen’s tremendously jittery, whiny, scheming portrayal of Glass. But in the less showy leading role, Sarsgaard matches Christensen step for step as an ethical person who is slowly disabused of his expectation that his colleague has anything like the same values. Azaria, Sevigny and Steve Zahn are also solid in supporting roles.

The overriding triumph is Ray’s both for getting such strong performances from his cast and also for maintaining pace and tension in a story largely composed of journalists having conversations with each other. Ray uses each lie, each seeming exposure, and each subsequent lie which starts the cycle again as the engine of the drama, and it works very well, as does the internal dynamic within the magazine’s staff over whom everyone will ultimately believe (the only weakness of the script was that the final scene wrapped that storyline up a bit abruptly, but it’s still a strong close).

Sadly, this fine movie did not do well at the box office. But it deservedly wowed the critics. Having seen it when it came out and again 20 years later, I consider it one of the great films about journalism, as well as an intriguing character study of a creative but destructive person.

p.s. The film leaves open the question of whether Glass was simply a pathetic, needy person who wanted approval so much that he lied compulsively to get it, or, a calculating sociopath who took delight in fooling those around him. If you want more insight into the answer, Glass’s interview years after the scandal is must see.

p.p.s. If you are wondering what happened to Jonathan Chait, Glass’ friend and colleague at TNR, Ray turned him into a female character named Amy Brand (played by Melanie Lynskey) for the movie.

It’s challenging to engage moviegoers in stories in which most of the characters are awful people. Even directorial talents like Mike Nichols and Martin Scorsese can’t consistently pull it off. But it’s a superlative cinematic experience when it works, as evidenced by William Wyler’s 1941 classic The Little Foxes.

The plot: As the 20th century dawns in the Deep South, the Hubbard clan are scheming to entice a Chicago businessman to enrich them by building a cotton mill in their town (“lowest wages in the country!”). But they are already squabbling about the division of their investment and the profits thereof. Brothers Ben (Charles Dingle) and Oscar (Carl Benton Reid) already have money inherited from their father, while their sister Regina (Bette Davis) is financially dependent on her wealthy, ailing, and unloved husband Horace (Herbert Marshall). Oscar is also in a loveless, transactional marriage with his gentle, browbeaten wife Birdie (Patricia Collinge), whom he married solely to gain control of her family’s plantation. And Oscar has more cold-hearted plans, namely to have his wastrel son Leo (Dan Duryea) marry Horace and Regina’s sweet-natured daughter Alexandra (Teresa Wright) to gain control of Horace’s money when he dies. Genteel nastiness and double crosses ensue.

Lillian Hellman’s literary reputation has declined significantly over time, as evidence has mounted that she lied so often that she makes Johann Hari look honest. But her Little Foxes largely holds up today, both as a play and a movie. In addition to some quotable lines (most of them delivered acidly by Davis) Hellman is particularly acute at portraying the different ways that women react to oppression. Birdie responds to her husband’s exploitation and denigration of her by becoming fragile and alcohol-addicted, whereas Regina reacts to being cut out of her father’s will by becoming ruthless and avaricious. The story shows that despite her flaws, Regina’s not unsympathetic in that, had she been male, she would have inherited some of her father’s estate and not need to manipulate and battle men to survive.

On the other hand, the deferent Black servants of the Hubbard family are all flatly drawn. Hellman’s script thus doesn’t extend compassion to those underfoot across racial lines.

Made up as deathly pale, Davis delivers one of her career-defining performances. Most of the movie’s cast came from the stage version, but Tallulah Bankhead was replaced as Regina by Davis due to the latter being seen as a bigger box office draw. Davis’ Regina is tougher and nastier than Bankhead’s apparently was, and is a joy for her many fans. The rest of the cast also sparkle, particularly Dingle and Collinge.

Early in his legendary career, William Wyler had to make movies quickly and on the cheap (He directed 19 films in 1927!), but with growing reputation and budgets he transformed into the meticulous “40-take Wyler”. His actors — certainly including Davis who fought him throughout this production– were sometimes exasperated. But they also knew that their best performances were likely to emerge under his direction.

Wyler’s craft is evident here not only in the sterling performances by the entire cast, but also in the blocking and staging of each scene. Most directors direct the viewers’ gaze to a particularly point, but Wyler was comfortable with audiences choosing where to look. Sometimes the most interesting actor to watch in a Wyler film is the one who isn’t speaking (no wonder an incorrigible scene stealer like Davis put up with him).

Of course all that marvelous blocking and staging and opportunities to choose where to direct your eyes work enormously better because of Gregg Toland being behind the camera. In another of my recommendations, The Bishop’s Wife, I analyzed how deep focus opened up new possibilities in film beginning in the 1940s. That reality is even more on display here. The set is so, well, deep, with Hubbards huddling and repositioning themselves physically just as they are doing so emotionally and tactically throughout this delightfully vicious family drama.