"Chasing Amy" is told from the heart

I NEVER REALLY intended to see Chasing Amy. Its boy-meets-lesbian premise sounded like a lame attempt to capitalize on the current popularity of homosexuals in movies (The Birdcage, My Best Friend's Wedding, In & Out). And I didn't think much of writer/director/potty-mouth Kevin Smith, whose first film, Clerks, was occasionally funny but unremarkable. I'd read enough reviews of his sophomore effort, Mallrats, to know to stay away.

But Amy played strong in the theaters for several months, and I kept hearing good reviews (it's popping up on many critics' "Top 10" lists now), so I took a chance and bought my ticket. Chasing Amy, I discovered, is mesmerizing. I left the theater oblivious to what was going on around me; my emotions had been given such a workout that I was busy trying to place all my feelings back on their proper shelves.

I should warn you ahead of time that Smith's reputation as a potty-mouth wasn't gained by accident; the film has excessive profanity and some graphic sexual discussions. If you approach Chasing Amy as entertainment, it might be disturbing -- I am recommending the film, but with reservations. Approach it the same way you would Braveheart, which contains scenes of violence that disturbs the viewer but serve the overall purpose of the film.

The story revolves around Holden McNeil (Ben Affleck) and his best friend, Banky Edwards (Jason Lee), two comic book artists who are chasing success with their popular "Bluntman and Chronic" series. Their misadventures at comic book conventions are hilarious to any pop-culture enthusiast. Especially funny is the gay African-American artist, Hooper (Dwight Ewell), who has to act like a Black Panther in order to sell copies of his comic. (Banky baits him by insisting that Lando Calrissian was a positive black character in science fiction.)

Holden meets a friend of Hooper's, Alyssa Jones (Joey Lauren Adams), another artist struggling with a far-less-successful comic, and falls for her. He does the typical male pick-up routine on her, only to discover (with embarrassment) that she's a lesbian. She still wants to be friends with him, though, and he can't turn her down -- he'd either have to admit that his interest in her was just a hunger for sex, or that he's intolerant of gays.

An interesting thing happens, though, once sex is taken out of the picture for Holden. He begins to care about Alyssa, and he might even -- gulp -- love her. The scene where he finally admits his love for Alyssa sounds like it was ripped from the diary of every high-school geek who ever loved his best friend the prom queen. Kevin Smith certainly has an ear for dialogue, and this scene is written so forcefully that it will just tear your heart out.

Alyssa is caught off guard, because she hasn't been looking for love from a guy for a long time. (She wasn't always a lesbian, it turns out.) Now that she's found the devotion and affection that had been missing in all of her sexual relationships, she painfully lets her lesbian friends know that she's seeing a man, turning her entire world inside out for a chance at true love.

"Sex is easy. Love is hard," read the posters for Chasing Amy. Holden has a difficult time learning that lesson. (Neither he nor Banky is particularly mature in any part of his life -- they write juvenile entertainment because that's how they think.) Holden begins to take his eyes off the relationship and becomes more concerned with what other people think of it. He begins to feel inadequate because he's relatively sexually inexperienced (his pick-up act really was an act), and Alyssa has been bed-hopping for a decade. His problems with her past threaten to put a wall between them.

It should be noted that Kevin Smith wrote this movie to get over the exact same roadblock he was facing with his girlfriend, Joey Lauren Adams -- she was much more sexually experienced that he was, and he felt inferior in the relationship. That's why this film is so much better than his first two: It doesn't just try to entertain, it tries to wrestle with issues and emotions. It's told from the heart. More than anything else, Chasing Amy is a love letter.

Now, the knee-jerk Christian response to Holden and Alyssa's problems is: "Don't have sex! Wait for marriage!" And then we stop thinking about the issue. But I believe Smith's dilemma has a universal application in brand-new relationships. There are all kinds of inequalities between people that have to be recognized and worked out, particularly sexual ones, and often we have no idea how to begin. It's a tragedy when a relationship with real potential falls apart because of petty differences that lead to a breaking of trust.

These problems often trip up new relationships, not necessarily because they're big issues, but because people don't know how to deal with them. The first sign of trouble will lead some people to abandon ship. Chasing Amy is the first film I've seen that pinpoints these stumbling blocks (albeit in a very sex-saturated environment). It asks viewers to pay close attention to their relationships, urging them to mature in their self-awareness, and to downplay their need to live up to relationship idealism and equality at the expense of simply loving their significant other, full stop.

"Amistad"

In 1993, Steven Spielberg delivered Jurassic Park, which made more money than any other film in history, and Schindler's List, which gave him Oscars for Best Picture and Best Director.

In 1997, Spielberg has released their sequels, The Lost World and Amistad.

OK, OK, so maybe it's not that crass. But Amistad, which revolves around a group of kidnapped Africans who kill their captors and go before the Supreme Court facing a death sentence, certainly feels like a Schindler's List sequel: It champions human rights, it has the obligatory nude-prisoners scene and plenty of brutal murders, and it's a compelling true story that has largely gone unremembered until now.

The film has trouble getting its feet underneath itself because it calls so many other movies to mind. Not only do we have the parallels to Schindler's List, but Spielberg made the error of casting Matthew McConaughey as the Africans' first lawyer, when McConaughey had just last year played a young lawyer who defended a black man for murder in A Time to Kill. And Morgan Freeman pops up in the fictional role of an ex-slave abolitionist, calling to mind his recent "let's invent a character to add ethnic diversity" role in Moll Flanders. But even worse is that they've invented this character and then given Freeman nothing to do with it, unlike his small roles in the Oscar-nominated Unforgiven and Glory. And you'll have fun picking out all the other Oscar-nominees that pop up: Look, there's Anna Paquin! David Paymer! Pete Postlethwaite! Nigel Hawthorne!

But just when you think the film is going to remain an indistinctive sob story, Anthony Hopkins enters and steals the show. His performance as ex-president John Quincy Adams, who defends the Africans before the Supreme Court, is mesmerizing. The man is a chameleon, I tell you -- who else could play John Quincy Adams, Nixon, Hannibal Lecter, Picasso, and C.S. Lewis? Here, he commands center stage, chewing scenery with reckless abandon and wheezing out words of wit and wisdom through his liver-spotted lips. You could watch him all day. If the real John Quincy Adams had an ounce of the charisma that Hopkins plays him with, then it's not surprising that six southern Justices voted to set the Africans free when the threat of civil war and an unhappy President Van Buren loomed in the background.

Djimon Hounsou matches Hopkins stride for stride in his role as Cinque, the leader of the Africans' rebellion against their Cuban captors. His transformation from coward to leader is an impressive journey, and, despite the fact that he speaks only three words of English throughout the film, just the way he carries himself is enough to convey to the audience his changing attitude about how he perceives himself.

In the end, the story proves itself as one that needed to be told, not only because Americans rarely give thought to the atrocities of slavery, but because it illuminates a moment in American history we have glossed over. We remember presidents like Washington, Jefferson, and Lincoln, but we rarely hear of Adams or Van Buren or study the decades that preceded civil war. Adams talks about how he'll always be remembered as John Adams' son, and for more than a century he's been correct. But now, I imagine, we'll remember him as a man who spoke out for the side of righteousness and goodness after sitting on the fence for far too long.

My last comment is mostly unrelated to the focus of the film, but there's a scene in Amistad where one of the Africans has been studying the pictures in a Bible and has pieced together the basic redemptive narrative. He explains to Cinque, through pictures, how Jesus' life and death on earth redeemed humanity. Cinque dismisses it as a mere story, but the one who's studied the pictures isn't so sure. Facing death, he hopes to be in the clouds with Jesus, as seen in the last picture in the series.

While I doubt anyone will walk out of Amistad a new believer, I was encouraged to see the entire gospel explained in a mainstream film, something that great films about Christianity like Chariots of Fire, Dead Man Walking, and The Mission never do. I think that many people in our society have skewed ideas about Jesus merely because the bits and pieces of his story that they have picked up have been distorted, so they have little idea what we actually believe. Amistad, perhaps, could change those misconceptions in at least a few viewers. It was a refreshing scene to discover, at least for me, because sometimes it's easy to forget that Jesus Christ is for the entire world, and that someone can believe by seeing a mere dozen drawings from an entirely different culture.

Super "Powers": ["Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery"]

Yeah, baby! Austin Powers is definitely my bag! Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery was last spring's grooviest surprise. While the previews made Mike Myers' swingin' '60s secret agent look like a bad Saturday Night Live skit that just wouldn't end, the movie itself had enough charm -- and enough heart -- to leave you begging for more.

Austin Powers, sex symbol and British spy, volunteers to have himself cryogenically frozen in 1967 after his nemesis, Dr. Evil (also Myers), freezes himself and vows to come back when evil rules again. Hence, Dr. Evil chooses 1997 to thaw out and resume his reign of terror, and the British government reanimates their only weapon against this madman.

The movie is essentially a James Bond parody, and it never fails to hit the mark in spoofing the films' absurdity: "Begin the unnecessarily slow-moving dipping mechanism," Dr. Evil commands when he has Austin Powers in his trap. "Not a good time to lose one's head," Powers quips after a villain has been dispatched at the neck. "That's not the way to get ahead in life. He'll never be the head of a major corporation."

But what makes Austin Powers more than just a diversionary few hours is that Powers has a soul, in a way that Maxwell Smart and Wallace Ritchie -- or even legitimate spies Ethan Hunt and James Bond himself -- never did. In transplanting Powers into the '90s, the film treats its hero as a celebrity who has suddenly lost his fame, a hipster who's lost his touch, a man who's used to "having promiscuous sex with many anonymous partners without protection, while at the same time experimenting with mind-expanding drugs in a consequence-free environment" who has run smack dab into 1997. After continuously disappointing his love interest, Vanessa (Elizabeth Hurley), Powers learns to conform to the one-woman man that the movie says is the '90s ideal. (Isn't that refreshing -- a Hollywood movie that says it's better to wait until marriage for sex?)

Dr. Evil faces his own dilemmas in the '90s. He keeps coming up with plans to embarrass Prince Charles, punch a hole in the ozone layer, or hold the world hostage for a very '60s ransom of one million dollars. Even more humorous is the introduction of Dr. Evil's son, who his henchmen have bioengineered from some of his DNA. Dr. Evil now has to deal with an insolent teenager who would rather be a veterinarian than take over the family business. "I was partially frozen his whole life," Dr. Evil tells a counselor when they enter group therapy. "How great that you can admit that," she encourages.

All that, plus a dozen great lines to quote, like "No, this is me in a nutshell: Help! I'm in a nutshell!" and "That was a preemptive 'shh!'" Don't just rent this gem; you'll want to buy it.

Human "Contact"

THIS SUMMER, Contact struck a blow for thoughtful, intelligent mainstream cinema, and, not surprisingly, many people stayed away. It's a shame, because not only is this adaptation of Carl Sagan's novel pulled off with stunning visual kineticism, it also manages a involving dialogue about the relationship between science and faith.

The film's opening shot, which reveals the vastness of the universe to us, sums up the film. It shows us, in Ellie's words, "how tiny and insignificant and how rare and precious we all are."

Ellie Arroway (Jodie Foster) is our scientist, a woman who rejects God because there's no proof of him. Yet at the same time, she believes in the possibility of extraterrestrial life -- in fact, she puts her career and her life on the line just hoping that other civilizations might exist. In efforts to raise funds, she pleads with investors to have the tiniest bit of vision, and ends up using arguments that we would use for having faith: believing in something we can't know to exist.

Palmer Joss (Matthew McConaughey) is Ellie's love interest, a respected religious scholar who serves as a verbal sparring partner. He believes that science and faith both have the same goal: the pursuit of truth. (Yet he's wary of technology because of "the men who deify it at the expense of human truth.") He attempts to convince Ellie that some things you know to be true without proof: "Did you love your father?" he asks her. "Very much," she says. "Prove it."

Palmer talks of his conversion as an experience of God that his intellect just couldn't touch. Ellie doesn't understand what he means -- she assumes that it's something his mind subconsciously constructed -- until she has her own "experience" that she can't understand or explain. "But everything that I know as a human being, everything that I am," she says, "tells me that it was real." Now, she begins to comprehend belief without evidence.

I particularly liked the character of Palmer, although I seem to be the only Christian who did. He never proscribes, never tells his audience what to think, instead he questions: "Are we happier as a human race because of science and technology? We shop at home, we surf the web, but at the same time, we feel emptier, lonelier, and more cut off from each other than at any other time in human history."

True, he sleeps with Ellie on their first date, and in one key moment, he puts his own wishes ahead of hers and hurts her deeply. His character reminds me of when humorist/columnist/novelist Anne Lamott described herself as "a bad Christian." Really, is there another kind?

Now, I do think his character is underwritten; we are never really allowed to see what attracts Palmer and Ellie, considering their vastly different philosophies. But I think that his character is among the most human Christian on the silver screen this year, in many ways because of this line: Ellie tells him, "I'm really confused," and he answers, "So am I." Imagine that: A Christian who tells an atheist that he doesn't have all the answers, that he still struggles with what course of action to take. How rarely we let our guard down like that, making ourselves vulnerable.

"Til There Was You" and the second greatest commandment

YOU'VE PROBABLY NEVER heard of 'Til There Was You, and if you have, you probably know it as a sort of Sleepless in Seattle ripoff about magnetism between soulmates. Blame the marketing departments of Hollywood for that. Neither the studio nor the audiences of 1997 quite knew what they had on their hands.

'Til There Was You is indeed about two people destined for love who don't meet until the end of the film, but unlike its predecessor, its aim is to deconstruct Hollywood romanticism rather than embody it. It is about two young people who, should they have met at the beginning of the film, wouldn't have been right for each other; it is about the process of growing into love.

Falling into love is more typical of Hollywood stories; the notion of "love at first sight" is reinforced countless times by the simple fact that audiences know who will end up together (even before the characters on screen know it) based on who the stars of the film are. This might feed the idea that we're expected to be bowled over the first time we encounter our future spouse, leaving little room for love to grow naturally or unexpectedly.

What's more, nearly every romance makes the assumption that falling in love will somehow improve your personality and solve your problems. Gawky girls lose their glasses and begin looking more like models; ulcer-bound businessmen learn to slow down their lives; people grow happier, funnier, wiser, and more confident as soon as that special someone enters their lives. The idea is that love begets instant emotional growth, but in 'Til There Was You we find that the long process of growing serves as a precursor for selfless love.

The stereotypes of Hollywood love haunt Gwen Moss (Jeanne Tripplehorn) and Nick Dawkan (Dylan McDermott) from childhood. During the opening credits, the two are shown growing up in their respective households -- Gwen's is a Donna Reed heaven, while Nick's is emotionally abusive -- while watching the same TV show, the chipper One Big Happy Family, learning an idealistic version of love. By the time they're grown, Gwen's idyllic life has led her to expect her shining knight in armor, and Nick's oppressive one has him hoping for a beauty to charm away his hardened exterior.

As adults, Gwen is a shy ghost writer and Nick is a budding architect, and their paths begin to swirl near each other as Gwen is hired to write the "autobiography" of Francesca Lanfield (Sarah Jessica Parker), the former child star of One Big Happy Family, and Nick is hired to build a superstructure on some of her property. The three become further entangled as Gwen moves into the apartment complex that is supposed to be torn down for the new project, and Nick starts dating Francesca.

Gwen and Nick just miss seeing each other a dozen times as their lives begin to cross, and each time elicts a sigh of relief because we know the characters aren't yet right for each other. They're still too selfish, too caught in their own world, and they haven't begun looking outside themselves to know what it means to love a neighbor as themselves.

The apartment building that Gwen is trying to save and Nick is trying to tear down embodies the idea of community in their lives. Gwen, who always wanted her perfect castle in the air, collides with the reality of neighbors in need around her. Nick, who has yet to learn to call a place home and invest in his surroundings, begins to discover the beauty and rootedness of the old apartments. It is not finding each other that changes them, but the change in them that lets them find each other.

'Til There Was You acknowledges that these types of changes don't happen with sheer will, but take place over time, with help from strong, supportive friends. Their meeting at the end is not meant to rob us of what happens after, but is designed to let us dwell in their process of becoming. It involves failing, learning, stretching, hoping. By the time the two meet, they no longer are looking for someone else to fill a role in their own lives -- they are seeking to fill a role in another's, to give of themselves. This perspective on love exhibits a beauty and a maturity I rarely find at the movies. It should be treasured.

"Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil"

AS A DIRECTOR, Clint Eastwood has carved out an interesting niche for himself. He's an amoralist, intent on muddying the waters of conventional thought. In recent years he's given us a convict who becomes a father figure (A Perfect World), a former outlaw who returns to killing in order to combat a corrupted lawman (Unforgiven), and a woman who struggles between following her heart or her conscience (The Bridges of Madison County).

Now, in Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, he gives us another blurry conundrum (based on a true story this time): In Savannah, Ga., wealthy antiques dealer Jim Williams (Kevin Spacey) shoots his younger, white-trash lover -- he claims self-defense, but the revelation that he's gay could turn the jury against him. The story is told through the eyes of John Kelso (John Cusack), a stand-in for real author John Berendt, who plans to pen a book about the case and about the Savannah culture that fascinates the New York writer.

The garden of good and evil that the title refers to is a nearby graveyard; the half-hour before midnight is used for white magic, the half-hour afterward for black magic. (Irma P. Hall plays a town sorceress who tries to reconcile Jim's soul and his victim's.) The title refers either to an even split between good and evil or a moment that turns good to evil. In either case, it represents the split-second decision-making that Williams did by turning a gun on his lover. While a courtroom must decide which side of the law Williams was on at that second -- was he truly fearing for his life or did he seize the opportunity to rid himself of the troublemaker? -- the truth is perhaps a combination of the two.

Eastwood is asking us how often our motives are pure -- or if we're ever completely aware of our true intentions. We can selflessly serve in a soup kitchen, but we still get the satisfaction from it, so it can be a selfish act, too. We might forgive somebody, releasing him or her from guilt, but we're also releasing ourselves from a grudge. Even in retrospect, can we ever know why we've acted the way we have?

Spacey and Cusack give excellent performances in well-written roles, creating an affecting relationship. Unfortunately, the film meanders when it turns from the pair and focuses on the residents of the town. It tries desperately to make the eccentric behavior of the Georgians endearingly quirky, but instead it comes across as a bizarre spectacle. Eastwood has always had trouble with subplots (witness the "tater tot" scene in Perfect World), but fortunately, this time he's created a central character who is vibrant enough to withstand such distractions.