When Ellie Arroway Makes First Contact in Contact (1997)

Title: Contact
Director: Robert Zemeckis
Language: English
Rating: PG

In Contact, Dr. Ellie Arroway (Jodie Foster), who for years has been involved in a search for extraterrestrial life, gets to make face-to-face contact with an alien.

It's a disorienting sequence of events, with ambiguity as to what happens (and how it happens). It's also the most visually beautiful part of the movie. Arroway, committed to recording what she is seeing as she glimpses new parts of the galaxy, is almost robbed of speech by how magnificent everything is. With tears in her eyes, she talks about how officials should have sent a poet to be the ambassador of humanity. Maybe a poet could have found words, though I think a poet would have been overwhelmed too. I especially liked Foster's performance in this sequence; it was moving.

The moment of first contact itself is part of this resplendence. It's a gentle connection, full of beauty and wonder and humility. The being she encounters assumes the form of her father, who passed away when she was a child, and this image becomes a metaphor of how this alien species views humans. The aliens are more advanced and mentor-like (though not close to all-knowing); the humans are fledglings, not yet prepared to become part of the web of species that have established communication with each other.

I smile thinking about how a movie involving an extraterrestrial experience makes you appreciate humanity more, as brutish and arrogant as we can be. (What's likely the first sign of us that aliens pick up is a broadcast of Hitler's speech at the 1936 Olympics.) The movie celebrates the potential of humanity, and not just our potential for destruction.

I liked the portrayal of science: the enthusiasm, obsessiveness, long hard slogs, and careful thought and preparations. Also the fight for grant money, and the stress of dealing with politics and with other people sliding in to take attention and credit from you. (As in The Silence of the Lambs, Jodie Foster plays a woman in a field dominated by men and fed up with the politics and power plays.)

Contact also discusses faith, the awe and humility in faith. The main proponent of faith and religious belief in the movie is Palmer Joss (Matthew McConaughey). McConaughey's performance is mostly about looking calm and wise, and Palmer's function is mostly to remind Ellie that there are different kinds of "unknown" and "unseen," and that science alone can't provide guidance about developing a meaningful life. (He also isn't "anti-science.") Humility and a sense of wonder are (or should be) a part of faith and a part of scientific discovery; we are questing beings – humble, thoughtful, and courageous at our best.

Worth Watching: Lilies of the Field (1963)

Title: Lilies of the Field
Director: Ralph Nelson
Language: English
Rating: Unrated

Synopsis
When we first see Homer Smith (Sidney Poitier) driving along a lonely desert road, we don't know where he's coming from or where he's going. He's a drifter, skilled at construction work and apparently without a steady home or job. When his car overheats, he pulls into the closest place where he can get water: a small farm worked by a group of nuns who've come to the US from East Germany. Mother Maria (Lilia Skala) asks Homer, whom she calls "Schmidt" instead of "Smith," to help with some odd jobs on their farm. Homer does so in expectation of getting paid, only to find that instead of giving him money, Mother Maria invites him to the nuns' meager meals, offers him a place to stay, and insists that he's an instrument of divine will, sent to build a chapel for the nuns and the parishioners in the surrounding area.


Characters
Homer figures out early on that the nuns can't pay him; they don't have the means, a fact confirmed to Homer by one of the locals, Juan (Stanley Adams), a friendly, business-minded man who isn't big on religion. Aside from Mother Maria, who's dignified and reserved, the other nuns - Sisters Agnes, Gertrude, Albertine, and Elizabeth - are like cheerful light-hearted birds, which almost masks the fact that they're living in poverty, barely able to subsist off their plot of land in the southwest US desert. So why does Homer stick around for a while, instead of immediately cutting his losses and driving off? We see at one point that he has the skill and confidence to land himself a job on the spot, so it's not that he can't find work anywhere. In part he stays out of a grudging sympathy for the nuns and a defensiveness on their behalf, which includes defending their choice to appoint him as a "contractor." It becomes a point of pride for him, especially when others scoff at the fact that the nuns have faith in him. Also, maybe he likes the feeling of being a part of the family, where he gets to break bread at their table and teach them English. They're strange and curious to him.

Furthermore, I think he relishes taking charge of the project and not getting ordered around on a construction site by another contractor. To Homer, building the chapel becomes a personal test and an opportunity. Poitier's strong performance conveys the struggle that Homer is locked into not only with Mother Maria but with himself. Building this chapel could tie him down to one spot for years and burden him with people's expectations, so what's the point? He doesn't want the commitment. On the other hand, he savors the challenge and perhaps the trust that comes with it. And Homer strikes me as someone who's rusty, possessing skills he hasn't used for years because he hasn't found work that's made real demands of his gifts. (Now, if only those nuns had money for him…)

Homer is a kind of everyman figure, and while I wanted to know more about his background, the role of timeless, aimless drifter makes sense for this movie. Lilies of the Field asks general questions about what people can leave behind them in this world, and what they can take with them. It's part of life to claim things as your own knowing you'll have to let go of them. But Homer also values personal recognition; he doesn't want to be seen as an instrument of a larger plan, perhaps interchangeable with others; ultimately, he wants to leave his mark on his terms.


Mother Maria isn't terribly concerned about Homer's indecisiveness. She recognizes it, but acts as if it doesn't exist. As far as she's concerned, he'll build that chapel. Not that she's forcing him to stay; she just acts as if it's a foregone conclusion. Mother Maria has her moments of tiredness or relaxed happiness, conveyed with subtle beauty by Lilia Skala, but what comes across most is her force of will. Maybe she needs to think of herself (and those around her) as instruments of a higher plan simply so that she can keep surviving and seeing something of her hopes realized. She brought her small group of nuns across the Iron Curtain and all the way to the US. The community they serve now, made up mostly of poor laborers, doesn't have a chapel so a chapel is what she'll build. Lack of money and building materials won't stop her, and neither will Homer's reluctance. Contradicting her is difficult, not because she threatens people, but because it's pointless, like telling the wind to stop blowing. At the same time she drives the other nuns, and Homer, to persist.

Relationships
As two strong-willed people, Homer and Mother Maria share a kind of kinship even as they clash. What Homer mainly wants from her as the movie goes on is a recognition of himself as an individual. Mother Maria has a strong tendency to see people, including herself, as instruments of a larger divine will. What Homer demands is a more personal recognition. Mother Maria's acknowledgement doesn't mean everything to him. It doesn't make him over-joyed or grateful. But it would still be a kind of victory for him if she sees his hand in the chapel-building, a project he comes to regard as his own. It would be a nod of respect given from one formidable person to another.



Memorable sights and sounds
One striking sight is of the five nuns walking along the road in the desert heat to Father Murphy's outdoor services a considerable distance from their farm; they try their best not to show fatigue, especially Mother Maria, who looks like she could survive in the desert by sheer will alone. Father Murphy (Dan Frazer) is the local priest. Burned out and heat-worn, he performs his religious duties without dereliction but also without passion.

The singing in the movie is memorable. The nuns sing a melodious chant that catches at Homer; he drifts closer to listen to them. In turn he starts up a rousing Baptist song, to which they chorus "amen" in response to each line. When the nuns are singing to themselves they pronounce it 'ah-men'; in Homer's song it's 'ay-men.'

I also like the play of emotions on Mother Maria's face during the closing scene as she sits and listens while the other nuns sing obliviously.

Stand-out scenes
There are many strong scenes, including some humorous ones; along with the drama of faith, of being chosen and challenged, there's also the comedy of a Baptist drifter surrounded by European nuns.

When Homer hears the nuns trying to improve their English using recordings that were meant for wealthier people ("Please send the valet up to my room"), he steps in and starts to teach them some phrases as well, having fun with it; a significant phrase, and one that takes Mother Maria rather a while to say, is "thank you." At other times Mother Maria and Homer point out different biblical verses to one another in order to communicate.



As for the construction of the chapel, it goes through several stages, reflecting changes in Homer's outlook. In this way the chapel-building takes on a kind of personality and spirit of its own.

Further thoughts
When the chapel is finished, what comes next? Mother Maria looks ahead at everything else that needs to be done. Homer considers the completed work and what's changed, and what hasn't changed enough, as a result. Satisfaction at a job well done doesn't last for long before restlessness kicks in again. No one rests on their laurels.

*All images link back to their sources (Wikipedia, Rottentomatoes, and Flixster community). [Post edited 2/2015]

Week in Seven Words #33

anger
It washes up my throat, pricks at my eyes, swamps my chest and stomach. My remedy is to go for a walk, to hunch over a book, to gaze out the window at a hard-blue cheerful sky, at gold trees and people, families, children. The anger drains away (some of it was so silly anyway); and I think that it's best to deal with each person in the present moment, particularly if they have changed in important ways from how they used to be. I forgive, and though I can't forget certain things I think that maybe I should live as if I have.

descry
The thick wooden window slats admit glowing fragments of tree and sky.

glean
Sometimes our conversations are hurried and seem perfunctory. But there are other times when, in several short precious minutes, I learn something wonderful and wise that changes a part of me for afterwards.

overflow
The resolve, the strength firming, the sense of hard-won peace and powerful yearning - I hope they flow out from this day to the rest of the year.

stillness
When the plane leaves the ground, I hold my breath. There are what seem to be a few still moments on which everything depends; the plane and the passengers are suspended above earth. Will we keep rising? The odds are tremendously in our favor. Still, I hold my breath and look out the window to make sure.

surprise
I hear them coming down the hall, I hear their whispers, their hushed speculations ("What if she's not in her office?") and I wait patiently with a smile growing on my face, before they burst through the door.

triumphant
I love the energetic melodies best, the ones that resound with strength and joy. There's a particular melody that comes at the conclusion of every service, and just hearing us would you know that we're fasting? We sing long and loud, affirming that we're here, that we're repenting, atoning, rejoicing, living. That we are full of love.

Extracts: "Worship and living are not two separate realms."

Yom Kippur (the Day of Atonement) starts this evening, and I'm reading these words now from Abraham Joshua Heschel's book God in Search of Man:

The problem of living does not begin with the question of how to take care of the rascals, of how to prevent delinquency or hideous crimes. The problem of living begins with the realization that all of us blunder in our dealings with our fellow men. The silent atrocities, the secret scandals... are the true seat of moral infection. The problem of living begins, in fact, in relation to our own selves, in the handling of our emotional functions, in the way we deal with envy, greed, and pride.

Worship and living are not two separate realms. Unless living is a form of worship, our worship has no life. Religion is not a reservation, a tract of time reserved for solemn celebrations on festive days. The spirit withers when confined in splendid isolation. What is decisive is not the climax we reach in rare moments, but how the achievements of rare moments affect the climate of the entire life. The goal of Jewish law is to be the grammar of living, dealing with all relations and functions of living.

Religion is trying to teach us that no act is trite, every moment is an extraordinary occasion.

The highest peak of spiritual living is not necessarily reached in rare moments of ecstasy; the highest peak lies wherever we are and may be ascended in a common deed. There can be as sublime a holiness in performing friendship, in observing dietary laws day by day, as in uttering a prayer on the Day of Atonement.

It is not by the rare act of greatness that character is determined, but by everyday actions, by a constant effort to rend our callousness.