Welcome to the Fallout

I guess I’m not quite done with the song “Believe” by The Bravery. Another great thing about Sam Endicott’s lyrics is how the bridge shows up materialism for the enslaving system that it is:

I am hiding from some beast, but the beast was always here,
Watching without eyes, because the beast is just my fear
That I am just nothing–now it’s just what I’ve become.
What am I waiting for? It’s already done.

In one interview, Sam explains the band’s name: “We’re called The Bravery because that’s the mindset I was in when I was writing the songs. Everyone in my age group wants to know what they’re going to do with their lives. They all think that they’re worth nothing and they’re heading nowhere. People are drowning in these thoughts and I just got sick of it. I didn’t want to be like that. The name is also connected with living in New York in this really weird time. People are constantly waiting for something bad to happen. I wrote these songs and formed this band to make sure I didn’t get overcome by that sense of fear. That’s what this band is about–standing tall and not being afraid.”

The fear Endicott sees results from our flirtation with nihilism, a philosophy which holds that meaning is impossible; nothing really matters. And while it’s great that a courageous few will stand against it, most people don’t realize how closely related nihilism is to today’s acceptable Darwinian, materialistic evolution.

“Materialism” means simply the view that nothing but matter exists–no spirit, no soul, no God or devil. Somehow, preexistent matter gave rise to life, which slowly developed into more complex living forms. Eventually we get humanity, but there’s nothing particularly special about man. He’s kind of smart, a good tool user. A collection of chemicals. Nothing more.

The key word is accidental. Everything happens by chance. Logically, then (not that logic means anything in a nihilistic worldview), even the thoughts in our heads would be the accidental by-products of random neuron firings. Ironically, that gives us little reason to trust the materialist’s explanation of the world; as C. S. Lewis pointed out, it’s like upsetting a milk jug and then expecting the shape of the spill to describe how and why the jug was upset. One person happens to think “atheistically” and another might think “theistically,” but the difference is like preferring Pepsi to Coke.

In other words, if humanity is nothing more than an accidental collection of molecules resulting from some previous accidental explosion, there seems little use in trying to explain anything or make something of oneself. To use Endicott’s phrase, the “beast” of fear is inescapable, because it’s housed in our very worldview. The last line has a dual meaning: In one sense, Endicott points to the foolishness of waiting; There’s nothing to wait for. Everything’s over before it begins. The other meaning has to with Endicott’s fear of being a “nothing”–he realizes that the atheistic worldview already makes us nothing anyway. It’s already done.

Humanity’s secret fear is that being human, in the end, really has no meaning. But as Endicott points out, living that fear only feeds the beast.

In my last post I reviewed The Sun and the Moon by The Bravery, and the philosophy nerd in me can’t avoid digging a little deeper into the track “Believe.” Now, of course we’re talking about a song, not a philosophy textbook. A song can have multiple layers of meaning, and I don’t want to be the person who squeezes complex theories out of basic entertainment. Still, Endicott voices powerful doubts about modern man and shows us how empty materialism really is. While he’s no Jon Foreman, Endicott is a capable lyricist: “The faces all around me, they don’t smile; they just crack, / Waiting for our ship to come, but our ship’s not coming back. / We do our time like pennies in a jar–what are we saving for?”

In this blog I’ve mentioned the “apologetics of Ecclesiastes,” meaning that Solomon’s cynical musings are actually a defense of biblical faith. The Preacher’s rough skepticism undermines major non-Christian forms of thought, emphasizing that everything is vanity–lighter than air. As Kansas put it, “Everything is dust in the wind.” Solomon’s sarcastic critique would embarrass many  “positive,” “inspirational” Christian authors.

“Believe” does much of the same thing. Though I don’t know whether Endicott writes from a biblical perspective, his words find fault with modern materialism and reveal man’s need for salvation. When Solomon begins his own quest for salvation, he goes first to false saviors.  He becomes thoughtful and philosophical. “I sought wisdom and knowlege,” he says. “I was the wisest man you ever saw. Then I realized one tragic fact: the wise man and the foolish man both die like dogs. Vanity of vanities; all is vanity.” Next Solomon devoted himself to pleasure. He didn’t withold anything from himself–food or wine or sex or luxury. In the end these too were meaningless. Nor did workaholism help. “I was king in Jerusalem,” he says; “I threw myself into my work. It was all emptiness and chasing the wind.”

Endicott, in “Believe,” finds the same emptiness, though (given the band’s name) he tackles the subject from the angle of fear. “There’s a smell of stale fear that’s reeking from our skins; / The drinking never stops because the drinks absolve our sins / We sit and grow our roots into the floor / But what are we waiting for?” Endicott, like Solomon, dismisses both the life of philosophy and the life of pleasure, the pull of tradition and the hope of newness, as vain. Solomon describes human endeavor done “under the sun,” or without reference to God, as a meaningless cycle that never goes anywhere. “Behold,” he says, “there is nothing new under the sun.” Similarly, Endicott points out ironically that “Something’s always coming; you can hear it in the ground / It swells into the air with the rising, rising sound, / And never comes, but shakes the boards and rattles all the doors; / What are we waiting for?”

The promised newness never arrives. In fact, all of our human activities “under the sun” are pointless because we have no end–no goal. Human beings save their time and money–but what are they saving for? Endicott realizes that a central human need is going unfulfilled. In an age of the material, we need souls; in an age of fear, we need courage. In an age of cynicism, we need faith. “So give me something to believe, / ‘Cause I am living just to breathe / And I need something more to keep on breathing for.” Endicott realizes that his only reason for breathing is to take another pointless breath; he lives merely to continue his own existence.

We really do need something more. And getting to that point is a major goal of Christian apologetics.

Be sure to check out The Bravery, a modern rock/alt group that hails from New York but sounds deceptively British. They first hooked me with “Time Won’t Let Me Go,” a well-written single with catchy melodies from their second album, The Sun and the Moon. Their other tracks aren’t far behind; the guitar work is tinged with the sounds of U2 and Switchfoot, two of my favorite bands, and frontman Sam Endicott’s rhymes echo the same thoughtful veins as Bono and Jon Foreman.

The band’s thoughtfulness sets it apart from most mainstream music. Endicott can’t stand pop; in one interview he compares viewing typical MTV fare to listening to an air conditioner. The Bravery–maybe due in part to Endicott’s degree in psychology–breaks out of these shallow musical molds and digs lyrically below life’s surface. Even the band’s name, says Endicott, has to do with young people standing tall when faced with today’s fears of nothingness and meaninglessness.

Expect a progressive blend of guitar, drums, and electronics. The follow-up single “Believe” is every bit as good as “Time Won’t Let Me Go,” and “This Is Not the End” merges sad and thoughtful tones. The band isn’t afraid to dig into a retro feel in “Every Word Is a Knife in My Ear” and “Tragedy Bound,” while “The Ocean” and “Fistful of Sand” rely on captivating melodies.

Now, while the primary role of music is artistic, not philosophical, it’s true that art always expresses a worldview, and we can benefit from Endicott here as well. Sam engages difficult questions far removed from most music, especially in tracks like “Believe” and “This Is Not the End.” Endicott’s lyrics venture into the spiritual; he rejects postmodern meaninglessness, crying out, “I am living just to breathe / And I need something more / To keep on breathing for.” Endicott also questions pseudo-scientific materialism: “Tell me, what does it mean to exist? / I am not a scientist; I must believe in more than this, / And I will not accept that everything that’s real / Is only what our eyes can see and our hands can feel.”

As a rock fan fed up with much of popular music, I can welcome The Bravery’s innovative sound. Maybe there’s a musical (as well a spiritual) side to Endicott’s claim that “Not even Earth can hold us; / Not even life controls us; / Not even the ground can keep us down.” 

[Note: The Sun and the Moon contains occasional strong language.]

I reluctantly watched The Condemned after a friend loaned it to me. “You’ll like it,” I was told, since I have a propensity for action-thrillers. Still, as I looked at the larger-than-life image of Stone-Cold Steve Austin on the cover, I began to play Doubting Thomas toward my friend’s wisdom. What could I enjoy about a film starring a WWE wrestler and centered around a reality show in which ten prisoners fight to the death?

Aside from the whole WWE angle, the premise bugged me. When the trailers started playing earlier this year, they fooled me. I thought America had really gone over the edge. I thought the brilliant minds of reality TV had quit with disgust the dull worlds of dancing, decorating, and fixing motorcycles, and had crafted a new series in which inmates from death row battle it out for a chance at freedom. I was a little relieved to find out it was just a movie. Still, I figured, who’d want to watch it?

The answer is that you will, if you enjoy action but like to ponder what makes human nature tick. While no doubt some folks will watch The Condemned just for the fight scenes (and there are plenty), the film forces us to ask surprisingly deep questions about our own hearts. The stunts, camera work, and acting were also ably handled. And while Steve Austin isn’t exceptional, he pulls off a competent, even nuanced, job as the story’s hero.

Here’s the gist: millionaire producer Ian Breckel, fed up with network TV, streams his own brutal, uncensored (and illegal) reality show live over the Internet. Ten death-row inmates are bribed away from third-world prisons and brought to a deserted island to compete for the grand prize: freedom. Only one will win. Breckel’s goal is 40 million viewers–the same as the Super Bowl.

But if that’s all the movie was about, it would be as cruel as Breckel. What makes the film good is how the characters respond to the cruelty of their situation. Director Scott Wiper gives us three different perspectives: that of the prisoners, that of the producers, and that of the audience. None of the three groups is unanimous; the characters within each group clash with themselves and each other as they struggle to come to terms with the show.

The contestants, for example, range from a bloodthirsty Brit (who uses brutality and deception), to the Columbian husband and wife taken from the same prison (who only care about each other), to Jack Conrad, the mysterious American played by Austin. Wiper makes us question what makes a criminal a criminal, and forces us to conclude that not all of “the condemned” are alike and appearances are deceptive. The movie also raises the issue of mercy. Can human compassion extend even to our enemies?

Breckel’s crew begins on the same page. In Breckel’s mind, it’s okay to watch real human beings kill each other for entertainment because all of these prisoners were condemned to die anyway; he’s being a nice guy by giving one of them a chance to live. His crew buys the same rationale. But as the inherent cruelty of the show unfolds, both Breckel’s girlfriend and his chief technician face pangs of conscience. The girlfriend in particular is adamant: the show’s manipulation of real human lives is wrong and can’t be justified by Breckel’s logic. Both people are forced to take sides.

But the real kicker is the reaction of Breckel’s audience. The world loves the show. “Man’s inhumanity to man” drives the ratings for Breckel’s show. Some object, but the ratings climb higher and higher. And while Wiper’s vision is fictional, humanity’s love of bloodshed is real. From the Roman arena to the ordeals of the Middle Ages to today’s UFC matches, live violence against other human beings has been welcomed. The film’s ominous message seems clear: Such a show as Breckel’s would almost work in today’s reality-crazed TV world. And if it ever does, the problem doesn’t lie with Hollywood, Washington, or some vague “them” out there.

We’re the problem.

“In the village or suburb outside there’s an inn with the sign of St. George and the Dragon. Now suppose I went about telling everybody that this was only a corruption of ‘King George and the Dragoon.’ Scores of people would believe it, without any inquiry, from a vague feeling that it’s probable because it’s prosaic. It turns something romantic and legendary into something recent and ordinary. And that somehow makes it sound rational, though it is unsupported by reason. Of course some people would have the sense to remember having seen St. George in old Italian pictures and French romances, but a good many wouldn’t think about it at all. They would just swallow the skepticism because it was skepticism. Modern intelligence won’t accept anything on authority. But it will accept anything without authority.”

 - from “The Hole in the Wall,” in The Man Who Knew Too Much

St. Peter was the most remarkable failure in history. Raised from being a humble, uneducated Galilean fisherman, he became part of a group of twelve of Jesus’ most trusted followers, and even part of a closer ring of three that witnessed Christ’s Transfiguration (see Matthew 17). He had the amazing blessing of hearing Jesus speak firsthand and the grace to recognize Him as the Son of God, which Jesus said had been revealed to Peter by God Himself (Matthew 16).

But consider how far Peter fell. One late night around a fire, following the arrested Jesus at a distance, he denied that he even knew the man. Three times. In those pre-dawn hours before Jesus’ trial, Peter experienced his own trial. His test. And he failed–miserably. Just like I have during numberless fiery trials of my own.

Humanly speaking, Peter should have been finished at that point. He was washed up; he’d tasted the benefits of his position with Jesus and the knowledge God had given him, and he’d dishonored them. He’d let Jesus and the rest of the disciples down in a way that people would read about for centuries. In today’s world of business and politics, we wouldn’t expect someone with such an enormous failure to rise again. Donald Trump would have fired Peter.

But Jesus never did operate like a human CEO. In fact, he knew about Peter’s failure before it happened. The devil, he told Peter, wants to sift your soul like wheat. But I have prayed for you, Peter. God isn’t just the God of second chances, but the God who Himself imparts the grace needed to rebuild a failed Christian. God does His own work, even in us.

So read the account of Peter’s denial, and then read the first few chapters of Acts. On three separate occasions, the rough, impulsive, cowardly fisherman returns, and he has no shame. Given the opportunity to address crowds from Israel and beyond, he strategically (and unabashedly) leverages his opportunities to point out just who Jesus really is.

The first takes place on Pentecost, after the Holy Spirt had fallen on the apostles, giving them a supernatural ability to speak other languages. Imagine the shock as international pilgrims entering Jerusalem hear the gospel in their own tongues. Some marvel, while some jackasses jest that the apostles get drunk as early as nine in the morning. In the midst of all this Peter somehow gets a chance to address the crowd–the same Peter who was afraid of a servant girl. This same cowardly failure not only calls them on their ridiculous accusation, but turns the topic to the heart of the matter: “[Jesus], being delivered by the determined purpose and foreknowledge of God, you have taken by lawless hands, have crucified, and put to death, whom God raised up. . . . . Therefore let all the house of Israel know assuredly that God has made this Jesus, whom you crucified, both Lord and Christ” (Acts 2:23-36).

Peter not only takes advantage of the opportunity to preach Christ, but he takes a bold stance on the compliticy of Israel’s religious and political establishment in the death of Jesus. He tells the very people in Jerusalem that they’re the ones who delivered the Son of God to death. Are we talking about the same Peter?

Lest we think this is some kind of fluke, Acts gives us two more examples of Peter’s message. Later, Peter and John heal a paralytic in the Temple. When an amazed crowd gathers, Peter addresses them. “The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the God of our fathers, glorified his Servant Jesus, whom you delivered up and denied in the presence of Pilate, when he was determined to let Him go. But you denied the Holy One and the Just, and asked for a murderer to be granted to you, and killed the Prince of life, whom God raised from the dead, of which we are witnesses” (2:13-15). But even then Peter wasn’t done. After being hauled into jail by the conservative religious authorities, he addresses them, pointing out that they were especially the ones who crucified Jesus–whom, incidentally, God raised from the dead (4:10). The irony is palpable–the same Peter who was ashamed to own up in front of the domestic waitstaff is now in the face of the corrupt religious power of his day.

I don’t think Peter did this in the sense of finger-pointing. He knew all too well his own complicity in the death of Christ, as do all of us with some inkling of our corrupt hearts. Nor do we have the roots of a ridiculous anti-semitism that cloaks racism in bad theology–Peter was, after all, Jewish. What Peter is doing is making clear that the death of Christ was a crime–a crime of which we are all guilty. But, paradoxically, it’s the only crime that itself provides the pardon for the criminals. Peter devoted the rest of his life to this message (and the Lord he’d denied), and one tradition holds that the fisherman was eventually crucified like his Master, only upside-down out of his own sense of unworthiness.

The greatest failure became a true success.

In a piece over at Burnside, I try to sift through the issue of worldliness.

What does the young wizard have to do with logic and critical thinking? To find out, check out my short piece over at the Burnside Writers Collective.

I had to put up with some hate this September. I’m a true Steelers fan, which means I stick with them in plenty and in want, and last year was truly painful. With the approach of this year and the installation of new coach Mike Tomlin, critics were unsure how Big Ben and the offense would perform. Now, three weeks later, the haters are getting quiet. Even granting that Week One’s trouncing of the Browns wasn’t much to boast about, Pittsburgh is off to a great start. Week Two saw a solid spanking of Buffalo (much to the chagrin of one buddy I work with), and now the Steelers have added a 37-16 win over the 49ers.

And as far as Roethlisberger? He’s not quite as flashy as the young rookie who went undefeated on ‘04 or won the Super Bowl in ‘05, but he’s clearly recovered from last year’s disaster. Motorcyle accidents aside, Ben made some bad calls last year and allowed himself to get rattled. This year he’s spreading the ball around and making good decisions; he’s no Brady or Peyton Manning, but then they have more years in the league.

The Steelers’ real offensive star right now is RB Willie Parker. All three games have been 100-yard-plus for him, and his performance really put the hurt on Buffalo last week. But what else would you expect from the league-leading rusher? And with Ward looking as good as ever and Heath Miller stepping it up, things are definitely looking positive.

We have a good shot at the AFC North, but the real problem will be facing Indy and/or New England in the postseason. Both of these teams look unstoppable. Maybe they are. At any rate, as much as I hate the Pats (even more so given recent revelations of cheating), I have to admit that they are a talent-loaded, powerful team–and that the Brady-Moss combination (403 yrds so far) is probably the NFL’s deadliest.

So how does a Steelers fan come off Week Three? Impressed, but still worried about the two AFC giants. Time will tell what hopes a Pittsburgh fan has for another ring.

But either way, I’ll still be here.

Chris Alexion

MIDEAST–In response to critics, Pentagon officials, and those he calls “Western hatas,” Osama Bin Laden recently released his new video “Boo-Laden” (feat. T-Pain and Lil’ Wayne). The video, shot largely in unidentified cavernous locations, features the famed Islamic extremist busting both rhymes and moves in his latest electronic jihad against Jews, Christians, and the West. Osama “spits Islamic fire” while rap/R&B icons T-Pain and Weezy get their groove on with burqa-clad females of undisclosed shapeliness.

“These [expletive deleted] hate on me and [expletive deleted] rave, yo / Say I’m holed up in some Muslim cave, yo,” raps Bin Laden in the track’s first verse. “They actin’ like I been laid in grave / Like that [expletive deleted] Bush just saved the day; / But just like Ocean Spray, you gon’ taste the wave; / I’m in yo court, homey; I ain’t afraid to play.”

But critics question whether Bin Laden, whose location is unknown, is really in anyone’s court. The response from the White House went even further. “We’re ready to ball,” said a confident President Bush in yesterday’s press conference. “We’re really getting close. At this rate, we hope to have a guess at his whereabouts sometime before I leave office.”

Yet Bush himself is among the targets of Osama’s lyrics. Bin Laden’s more printable lines refer to “that dirty Texan” and “you Western playa-hating monogamist [expletive deleted],” and wonder whether “you could find me if I hid in New Orleans.” Bush hotly asserted that he was “pretty sure” Osama was not in New Orleans, and questioned why the terrorist was hiding in the first place. “I’m in yo hood; if you a gangsta, what you hid for?” asked Bush.

A source within Al-Qaeda said that Bin Laden is experimenting with the new rap video format due to the stifling and boring nature of his previous releases. “Osama wants to spice things up,” said the source. “He’s all about innovation and technology.” Asked whether the video could expect to win any awards, the source replied that it’s too early to tell. “But if we spent two million and had Pam Anderson in it, then maybe,” he said.

Also, according to the source, Bin Laden has promised to quit his rap career if he is outsold by Kanye West.

I’ve been reading some of Daniel Silva’s spy novels recently, and have found them entertaining and ably written. But Silva’s latest book, The Messenger, actually indulges in some interesting philosophical speculation. In the following scene, Israeli master spy Gabriel Allon is speaking with the fictional Pope Paul VII about the threat of radical Islam. Silva raises some critical questions.

The Pope begins by denouncing the American war in Iraq, reminding Gabriel that he’d warned the US President against it. The Pope had warned that “war would be seen by the Muslim world as a new Crusade by white Christians. That terrorism could not be defeated by more terrorism, but only through social and economic justice.”

Gabriel responds that “the forces of radical Islam have declared war on us–America, the West, Christianity, Israel. Under God’s law and the laws of man, we have the right, indeed the moral duty, to resist.”

“Resist the terrorists with justice and opportunity rather than violence and bloodshed. When statesmen resort to violence, it is humanity that suffers.”

“You seem to believe that the problem of terrorism and radical Islam can be swept away if they were more like us–that if poverty, illiteracy, and tyranny weren’t so prevalent in the Muslim world, there would be no young men willing to sacrifice their lives in order to maim and kill others. But they’ve seen the way we live and they want nothing of it. They’ve seen our democracy, and they reject it. They view democracy as a religion that runs counter to the central tenets of Islam, and therefore they will resist it with a sacred rage. How do we deliver justice and prosperity to these men of Islam who believe only in death?”

“It certainly cannot be imposed on them by the barrel of a white man’s gun.”

“I agree, Holiness. Only when Islam reforms itself will there be social justice and true prosperity within the Arab world. But in the meantime we cannot sit idly by and do nothing while the jihadists plot our destruction. That, Holiness, is immoral, too. . . .”

 Daniel Silva, The Messenger (New York: Putnam, 2006), pp. 28-29.

Ocean’s Eleven was the kingpin of heist movies–nearly unmatched for plot, fun, and sheer coolness. The sequel, which boasted that “twelve is the new eleven,” was really more like a group of actors trying to relive the fun. The coolness was there, to be sure, but the magic wasn’t. It was a stretch and we knew it.

So think of Ocean’s Thirteen as redemption. It’s Soderbergh, Clooney, Pitt, and co. letting us know that they can still make a good con film. Thirteen doesn’t top the roguish audacity and ingenuity of the first, but definitely comes close in originality and pure humor.

The hilarity of Thirteen is surprising, given its darker premise. Reuben Tishkoff, businessman and well-loved member of the original eleven, gets double-crossed by ruthless Willy Bank (Al Pacino) in a new casino project. The betrayal leaves Reuben heartbroken both emotionally and physically, and as he recovers from his heart attack, Danny and crew make plans to go after Bank. Their attack is twofold: make Bank lose big on opening night, and ensure that his hotel gets bad reviews. They face a lack of funds, a lack of manpower, and an automated security system that knows how to think. But when did odds ever bother Danny Ocean?

The acting returns to the level we’ve come to expect. Clooney and Pitt are calm and collected as Danny and Rusty. Pacino is superb in his bad guy role. Matt Damon, like his character Linus Caldwell, gets the “more central role” joked about in Ocean’s Twelve and handles it well–fake nose and all. One nice thing about the Ocean films is that the supporting actors really do support, and Casey Affleck in particular does a nice job this time as Virgil, who gets sent to inflitrate a Mexican dice manufacturer and ends up starting a worker’s revolution.

Soderbergh begins with some alarmingly choppy flashbacks, but eventually settles into a nice rhythm that allows the plot to take us on its twists and turns. The plot forces the boys to con as hard as ever and continually solve problems on the fly. Some of Soderbergh’s twists are a stretch, but the ride is fun enough that they’re easily forgiveable.

And speaking of fun, Thirteen, as I mentioned above, is at times hilarious. There’s the running gag about Linus’s fake nose, the Mexican workers’ protest, and the hotel critic that Danny and Rusty are set on making miserable. Plus Yen upgrades from grease man to con man, debuting as a high-roller who owns “all the air south of Bejing.” When Bank’s lieutenant (Ellen Barkin) questions this claim, Linus challenges her to “try building something larger than three stories in the Tianjin province, and see if his name comes up in your database then.”

Beneath the surface, the theme of loyalty helps carry the story. Ocean’s original eleven stick close, and an offense to one of them is an offense to all. And while the movie seems like a revenge story, it’s really more about justice than payback–Danny makes it clear early in the film that the point is not to get back at Bank but to do what’s right for Reuben.

In the end, Ocean’s Thirteen can be taken as a heist movie, a story of friendship, or just a fun ride. But however you take it, the odds that you’ll enjoy it look pretty good.

I realize that movie trailers almost invariably make the films look better than they really are, but I thought Fracture–with Anthony Hopkins and Ryan Gosling–was going to live up to the hype. Sadly, it didn’t happen.

Don’t get me wrong; Fracture wasn’t that bad. It’s one of those films that seeks to capture its audience by–gasp–telling an engaging story, and for that director Gregory Hoblit deserves props. Hoblit’s film contains no explosions, formula villians, bad car chases, or cliched gunfights occurring every ten minutes. Instead Hoblit relies on such rarities as plot tension, moral dilemmas, intense acting, and characterization. The nerve.

Anthony Hopkins stars as Ted Crawford, a wealthy engineer whose success is based on his ability to find minute flaws in mechanical systems. When Crawford discovers that his younger wife is having an affair, he shoots her in the head, then surrenders calmly to police. He even dictates and signs a confession. (His wife is critically wounded and sinks into a coma.) Gosling plays Willy Beachum, an up-and-coming prosecutor who takes the case as his last trial before moving on to his ritzy new private-sector job. The lovely Rosamund Pike (Pride & Prejudice) enters as his new boss, a materialistic siren luring Willy to the “dark side” of the legal profession.

Willy is young, cocky, and sure he can put the would-be murderer behind bars. But Willy’s advantage quickly evaporates. Crawford–who believes every person and system to have a hidden weak spot–has found a minute crack in the law. The confession Ted glibly signed is inadmissible (the hostage negotiator who took it was the one sleeping with his wife), and the alleged weapon has never been fired. Unless Beachum can find new evidence, Crawford will be off the hook and protected by the double jeopardy rule.

Not a bad plot line, and the trailer really plays this up. Yet Fracture doesn’t really sustain the right level of tension throughout, causing more fidgeting than nail-biting. Too, the film’s twists and turns aren’t what we were promised, and even the final revelation lacks the arresting cleverness we were hoping for. Rosamund Pike’s plot line doesn’t click with the rest of the film, making us suspect that it–especially Willy’s meaningless affair with his boss–was added to spice up the ads and help the film compete in today’s skin-conscious Hollywood.

That said, Hopkins was phenomenal. He saved the film. Hopkins has the air of an old pro; he tackles the role with an effortless–almost lazy–confidence. In its better moments, Fracture lets us take a glimpse into the subtleties of human nature, and it’s here that Hopkins shines. We learn about greed, conscience, love and hate. Yet through it all Hopkins remains enigmatic, flashing a chilling half-smile that implies that maybe he (not just his character) enjoys the game of cat-and-mouse. Gosling, though not at Hopkins’s level, isn’t bad either. He’s likeable while being unlikeable and has a knack for dry humor–which Hoblit employs, though perhaps a bit too much, in the film.

As I mentioned, the movie has its better moments, such as when Willy is caught in a poignant moral dilemma over falsifying evidence. And the dialogue is above-average; Hopkins and Gosling have some great scenes and some memorable lines. Also worth remembering is a comment from Willy’s new boss’s father. When discussing the trade-offs of “low pay public service work,” the older man remarks that every now and then one gets the satisfaction of “putting a…stake in a bad guy’s heart.” In many ways this is a turning point for Willy, who’d previously pursued the Crawford case out of arrogance. Willy begins to see the deep-seated evil in Ted Crawford and wants to bring him down.

In the end, Fracture is a renter, but it offers a good time and some surprisingly astute glimpses into human nature. The primary theme here is pride. If Crawford is right about every person having a hidden flaw or breaking point, then vanity would have to rank as one of the most deadly. It’s Willy’s vanity that enables Crawford to toy with Willy, luring him into his game. Arrogance is such a powerful blinder, the film reminds us. Vanity also plays a vital role in the film’s later twists, reminding us of ancient wisdom: Pride goes before a fall.

Given director Antoine Fuqua’s brilliant Training Day, you’d expect his latest film Shooter at least to compare. Yet Shooter largely misses the target–it’s not so much a thoughtful thriller as an action movie packaged as one.

The film stars Mark Wahlberg as Bob Lee Swagger, an expert Marine sniper who renounces the military after he and his best friend are left behind on a mission that ends up costing the latter his life. Three years later, a bitter Wahlberg is recruited by Danny Glover to prevent a presidential assassination attempt. Glover wants him to plan the perfect long-range sniper attack so that they can (purportedly) prevent it from happening. In true torn-between-grudge-and-duty fashion, Wahlberg predictably agrees, scoping out D.C., Baltimore, and Philadelphia from the perspective of a sniper and settling on Philadelphia as the only city in which a shot from beyond a mile could be successful.

But when the operation goes horribly wrong, Wahlberg realizes that he’s been played. Glover’s group wanted to use his skills to plan the attempt themselves and leave him holding the bag. Wahlberg then has to go on the run from every law enforcement agency in the country to find out what’s going on. With the help of his friend’s widow (Kate Mara) and an unlikely FBI ally (Michael Pena), Wahlberg takes the offensive, gunning for the men who framed him and the secret they hold.

The basic premise is decent, though it smells a bit too much like The Sentinel. But apart from Wahlberg–a top-notch actor who’s one of the few good things in Shooter–the acting is so poorly done that we don’t even care. And Glover puts so little verve into his villain that we wonder whether he does either. The awkward dialogue doesn’t help, landing somewhere between attempts at wit and half-finished musings on patriotism. One such tongue twister: “There’s always some poor deluded soul that believes one man can make a difference, and you have to kill him to convince him otherwise. That’s the hassle of democracy.” Huh? Also puzzling is the film’s plot, which twists and turns with all the purpose and finesse of a lawn tractor on ice. By the end, you just learn to accept the story and not to ask questions.

But Fuqua is too good a director to leave us utterly empty-handed. The camera work is superb, as are the scenes in which Wahlberg can really cut loose. The first of these scenes is Wahlberg’s escape from Philadelphia after the shooting. Wahlberg outruns the Philly PD and the FBI, driving his stolen FBI vehicle into the Delaware River. Fuqua also nails a later scene in which Wahlberg and Pena attack a heavily-guarded house, brandishing sniper rifles, pipe bombs, and napalm. And despite the bad dialogue, a few good lines emerge, such as when Pena points out to an FBI coworker that they’re not that good at their job. “We do work for the federal government….” Also ironic is the comment of an old-timer Tennessee gunsmith Wahlberg consults. When the old-timer mentions that “they say” the attempt on the president was made by Bob Lee Swagger, he adds that of course “they also said WMDs was in Iraq.”

In the end, though, Shooter is problematic philosophically. [Spoiler warning.] When Wahlberg is eventually exonerated in a special meeting with the Attorney-General, Glover goes free because his crimes were committed outside US jurisdiction. The A-G laments that this country isn’t the Old West. You can’t clean up the streets with a gun, however much it’s needed. Wahlberg silently agrees, and in the next scene proceeds to shoot up his enemies in cold blood, laying down Bob Lee Swagger-style street justice.

The problem is that this isn’t justice, and it isn’t what Fuqua defended in Training Day. Training Day made the point that law is crucial, and no one is above the law–especially the government. When Hawke tells Denzel in one scene that Denzel just committed murder and armed robbery, he shows that he grasps this point, even though Denzel justifies his actions with his own bizarre logic. Street justice is essentially about revenge. Though rationalized by complex arguments, it ultimately hurts the cause of true justice.

Tyranny, after all, doesn’t come from the state alone.

Think of Spider-Man 3 as one heck of an action movie sandwiched between two doubtful cinematic elements. Back for part three, Tobey Maguire, Kirsten Dunst, James Franco, and director Sam Raimi largely deliver what they promise, leaving only slight room for criticism. In this installment, things finally start going right for Peter Parker, until his relationship with Mary-Jane begins to suffer and three new villains–brimming with personal hatred for Spider-Man–emerge.

The first part of the film veers dangerously close to chick-flick territory, including some awkward acting and a few head-scratching scenes. This early part, with the exception of a spectacular aerial dogfight, moves a little slowly and could have been trimmed down. Once the action gets going, though, the ride is amazing. Raimi hasn’t gotten complacent since Spider-Man 2. He includes breathtaking fight scenes and camera work that makes you feel like you’re swinging alongside Spidey. The villains of Spider-Man 3 are satisfyingly chilling, requiring the wall crawler to bust out all the brain-and-brawn combat tactics we love him for.

The other dubious element of the movie was its moralizing tone. Any story has a message or worldview, of course; but the trick of good literature and film is expressing this message tastefully, artistically, and–above all–inconspicuously. For the most part installments 1 and 2 did this nicely. But the lecture-room atmosphere of Spidey 3 is pushing it. Peter gets lectured twice by Aunt May and gives one of his own to M.J. Then, at the end, the fighting ends and the whole thing slides toward sentimentalism.

Yet if Spider-Man 3 pushes the edges of moralism, at least the message is worthwhile. If part 1’s theme was the conflicting pulls of power and responsibility, and part 2 brought out the need for sacrifice in doing what you know is right, then part 3 highlights the enemy within and the power of bitterness. When police reveal that Uncle Ben’s killer wasn’t who they thought–and has recently escaped from prison, revenge nearly overcomes Peter, allowing the symbiotic black suit to bond to his body, amplifying Peter’s anger and aggression until he–like those around him–hardly knows who he is.

The point is clear. Bitterness isn’t a private matter; it always hurts those around us. But forgiveness and redemption are powerful, too, as the surprising symbol of the cross near the film’s climax reminds us. And though circumstances push us, they don’t control us, leaving us with the weight of choice and the responsibility for our own actions.

In the end, the film’s problems do only minor damage. Lectures and all, the lessons are well-needed. And despite the sentimentalism, we really do care about these characters–the story fleshes out the film, making it more than simply an action flick. Spidey is, well, Spidey, and his latest battle is definitely worth the price of admission.

As Spidey’s creator Stan Lee would put it, ’nuff said.