Is "Big Brother" watching you? Do you have control over your own destiny? Eagle Eye asks these questions while taking us on an action-packed journey into cyber-terrorism.
It all starts when Jerry Shaw's (Shia Labeouf) brother dies in a car accident. All of a sudden Jerry finds himself with three quarters of a million dollars in his bank account and he returns home to his apartment to discover it stacked high with weapons and explosives. A poster with the word surveillance is stuck prominently on one wall. Jerry then receives a phone call from a mysterious woman who says, "You've been activated," and then proceeds to give him instructions on how to get out of the situation alive... which includes a stunning escape from the FBI. Meanwhile, single mother Rachel Holloman (Michelle Monaghan) is out on the town with some friends when she too receives a call from the same mysterious woman. She is threatened with the death of her son if she does not comply with the instructions she is given.
Jerry and Rachel are pushed into a series of increasingly dangerous situations, with the technology of everyday life—such as mobile phones, security cameras, satellite imaging—being used to track their every move. But this mysterious caller is not the only person they need to worry about. They are now the country's most-wanted fugitives and the FBI is hot on their heels. In this battle for survival, Jerry and Rachel must work together in order to discover what is really happening—and more importantly, why?
Now, I'm sure most people want to find out the answers to this themselves, so I'll try not to give too much away. But I will say that you do have to suspend your disbelief a bit if you really want to enjoy this film. Otherwise you may find yourself sitting in the cinema saying, "Oh, come on, that can't happen!"... or something to that effect.
I think the reason movies such as Eagle Eye don't really make me uncomfortable is because I'm perfectly aware that there's really no such thing as privacy any more anyway. We're all perfectly happy to make not only our personal information known so we can have greater convenience online, through credit cards that we just have to tap, and with smart phones and so on, but we're also perfectly happy to make our preferences known as well so companies can more accurately cater to our desires. The fact is we're only concerned about an "invasion of privacy" when it's something that might stop us from doing what we want or might inconvenience our lifestyle.
Of course we have the exact same issues with God. We're perfectly happy to let him monitor our lives, or completely ignore the fact that he's monitoring our lives, just so long as he doesn't interfere with our lives. The moment his omniscience starts to have any sort of influence on how we live, that's when we become indignant and frustrated over a God who just won't leave us a alone and "demands" that we follow his own, arbitrary moral code. That's when we start complaining about a controlling, capricious God.
Well, let me again point out that this issue of surveillance, monitoring, and omniscience really depends on something very important: relationship. When you have a good relationship with God, you don't really have anything to worry about when it comes to the fact that he knows and sees everything you do. When you know that Jesus Christ died on the cross to pay the price for your sins and rose from the dead to give you new life, you no longer feel inconvenienced or intimidated by God's surveillance of your life because God's view of you is filtered through the righteousness and holiness of Christ. You now live under grace and forgiveness, and more than that, because of your loving relationship with God, you're not that concerned about him controlling your life because you want to live it to please and honor him anyway... just as you behave for anyone you like or love.
In the same way, if you have a good relationship with the government, if you're a good citizen, just what do we really have to fear from government surveillance, especially considering they aren't getting any information we haven't already shared with wireless companies, credit card companies, online stores, and through the web with MySpace and Youtube? This issue of privacy versus surveillance for national security isn't really an issue; it's one we've already decided with our own high-tech lifestyles.
Okay, so back to the movie. Eagle Eye is certainly a serviceable espionage, action thriller... up to a certain point.
Eagle Eye contains some great action sequences, car chases ,and explosions that really make it one to see on the big screen. All the performances are credible, though there isn't a whole lot of character development—with the exception of Jerry Shaw, who gets most of the screen time in the early part of the film. And once the film's plot kicks into gear and the action gets going, the filmmakers do well to build a lot of suspense, keeping the audience interested and often on the edge of their seats.
Now the thing that struck me while watching this film, as Jerry and Rachel are being controlled by an external source (the mysterious woman), is that this is how so many people in society view God. They see Him as a god who wants to control the way we live, watching our every move and threatening our eternal souls if we don't follow his commands. It is a bleak picture of us having no say in what path we choose to take in life.
But it is a false picture. The truth is that God is not interested in controlling every aspect of our life; He just wants to be involved. He wants to be there with us when we set out on our journey. Sure, He has guidelines of how to live a life pleasing to Him, but we make our own choices. The fact is though, when we do let God enter our lives, when we do have a relationship with Him and involve Him in our journey, more often than not our choices will be pleasing to Him.
Anyway, back to the question I posed at the start: "'Do we have control over our own destiny?" While the film suggests for a while that we don't (as Jerry and Rachel feel they have no choice but to follow every command), when they realise what's actually happening they discover that they do, in fact, have a choice. And in the end it comes down to Jerry. He takes hold of his own destiny and makes his decision.
All in all. Eagle Eye didn't offer enough to keep me entertained. All it did was remind me of the fact that the movies it so liberally borrowed from were far superior and much more entertaining. Yes, there are a few entertaining chase sequences and a couple emotional moments, but the rest of Eagle Eye is so contrived, so unoriginal, and just all-around mediocre that even though this movie wants to convince you that there's somebody always watching, that person watching shouldn't be you... at least for this movie
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Saturday, October 4, 2008
The Parable of the Prodigal Son - I HATE IT!
Jesus’ parable of the Prodigal Son is one of the best-loved stories in the entire Bible. Throughout the ages, Christians have viewed the tale as a profound allegory of god’s longsuffering and ever-compassionate nature, so willing to forgive an errant child who squanders life and resources in pursuit of selfish pleasures. It is such a beautiful story, so rich in theological meaning, so reassuring to all who have ever sought divine forgiveness. The parable of the Prodigal Son—I HATE IT.
Most people like this story because they identify with the prodigal. I guess they regard themselves as squanderers and sinners like the young man. Not me. As a hyper-responsible oldest child, I identify with the elder son. Remember him? Most commentaries and sermons pay scant attention to his role in the narrative. Even though the Bible itself does not give the story a title, tradition calls it the parable of the Prodigal Son, not the parable of the Dutiful Son or even the parable of the Two Brothers. Yet the younger son’s antics constitute only the first half of the tale. The rest of the story is about the older son, the one who stays on the farm with his father, tending the cows and threshing wheat while his no-good brother is off whoring god-knows-where. The elder brother has always done what he was supposed to do. He has played by the rules, obeyed his father, and worked himself to the bone.
No wonder he raises hell when the reprobate shows up one day seeking to get back into the father’s good graces. We dutiful older sons/daughters know it’s just not fair. What’s the point of always doing what you’re supposed to do if it doesn’t earn you a few advantages?
When the prodigal’s father decides to throw a homecoming bash for his lost son, my heart goes out to the elder brother. I am furious with his father. The older son gets no party, no fatted calves, no ruby rings. Instead, dad comes outside with a few words for his sulking son: “You are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found” (Luke 15: 31-32). And that’s where the story ends. Jesus doesn’t tell us what happens next. It might be nice to imagine that the father’s words console the elder brother and convince him to join the party, but I don’t think so. The little speech is pretty lame. It reflects a father’s point of view, not that of a dutiful son. Do our parents really expect us to love our siblings as much as they do? It is easy for me to imagine the elder’s anguish stretching into weeks, months, and maybe years, renewed every time he sees his worthless brother strutting around in his new robe and flashing his fancy ring.
As I said, commentators usually focus on the father’s graciousness towards his younger son, making the story a theological allegory. That’s fine. But forgiveness of a child comes fairly easy for a parent. What loving father would not forgive a wayward son who returns home penitential and humble, no matter how wasteful he has been? There is nothing remarkable in that. The real story of forgiveness in the parable comes into focus when we consider the older son. He too must forgive the younger son, and it will be far harder for him than for the father. And, what’s more, he may also have to forgive his father.
That contention may make little sense if we only think of forgiveness as receiving pardon for violating a rule or a precept. The younger brother did nothing to harm his elder sibling. His recklessness did not diminish the older one’s life in the least. Nor did the father’s joy and spontaneous merry-making at his lost son’s reappearance mean he loved the elder any less. No laws were broken, no commandments were violated, no boundaries transgressed. So what’s to forgive?
Some years ago I came across an idea that helped clarify and deepen my understanding of forgiveness. Forgiveness means relinquishment. It’s that simple. To relinquish something is to release whatever power it holds over us. If I forgive someone for a wrong done to me, I no longer allow that event to determine how I treat the other person. I may remember the wrong or I may forget it, but either way I have disarmed it. It no longer determines my actions, thoughts, or words. Forgiveness in this sense is rarely easy or quick. How often do we say, we “forgive” another person, but still hold a secret grudge? Because of its difficulty, forgiveness has to be practiced. It is less an act than a way of living, a discipline, a cultivated skill. I think this is why Jesus told his students to forgive “seventy times seven” (Matthew 18:21). True forgiveness often comes only at the end of an inner struggle.
If we view forgiveness in this light, perhaps we can see why it is necessary for the elder brother to forgive and why it will be so difficult. As long as he regards himself as slighted, that notion will worm its way into his soul and embitter him and make his life a living hell. It hardly matters whether the injustices he suffers were real or imagined. Either way, his struggle is with his own thoughts. The Buddha, a kindred spirit with Jesus on this matter, says it poetically:
“I have been insulted!” “I have been hurt!” “I have been beaten!” “I have been robbed!” Anger and hatred never cease for those who dwell on such thoughts (Dhammapada 1:3).
If we need a reason to forgive, this is a good one. We forgive to be free, to be liberated from the destructive power of anger and hatred. Of course, it’s a lot easier to nourish the thoughts of indignation. It’s hard to surrender the delicious feeling that we’ve suffered unfairly. But ultimately that sense does us no good. The elder brother might wallow in his hurt feelings, but what’s the point of that? How much better for him to let them go, to follow the discipline of relinquishment. Sure, it’s the harder path, but in the end the rewards are worth it.
I’d like to think the older brother realized that.
Most people like this story because they identify with the prodigal. I guess they regard themselves as squanderers and sinners like the young man. Not me. As a hyper-responsible oldest child, I identify with the elder son. Remember him? Most commentaries and sermons pay scant attention to his role in the narrative. Even though the Bible itself does not give the story a title, tradition calls it the parable of the Prodigal Son, not the parable of the Dutiful Son or even the parable of the Two Brothers. Yet the younger son’s antics constitute only the first half of the tale. The rest of the story is about the older son, the one who stays on the farm with his father, tending the cows and threshing wheat while his no-good brother is off whoring god-knows-where. The elder brother has always done what he was supposed to do. He has played by the rules, obeyed his father, and worked himself to the bone.
No wonder he raises hell when the reprobate shows up one day seeking to get back into the father’s good graces. We dutiful older sons/daughters know it’s just not fair. What’s the point of always doing what you’re supposed to do if it doesn’t earn you a few advantages?
When the prodigal’s father decides to throw a homecoming bash for his lost son, my heart goes out to the elder brother. I am furious with his father. The older son gets no party, no fatted calves, no ruby rings. Instead, dad comes outside with a few words for his sulking son: “You are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found” (Luke 15: 31-32). And that’s where the story ends. Jesus doesn’t tell us what happens next. It might be nice to imagine that the father’s words console the elder brother and convince him to join the party, but I don’t think so. The little speech is pretty lame. It reflects a father’s point of view, not that of a dutiful son. Do our parents really expect us to love our siblings as much as they do? It is easy for me to imagine the elder’s anguish stretching into weeks, months, and maybe years, renewed every time he sees his worthless brother strutting around in his new robe and flashing his fancy ring.
As I said, commentators usually focus on the father’s graciousness towards his younger son, making the story a theological allegory. That’s fine. But forgiveness of a child comes fairly easy for a parent. What loving father would not forgive a wayward son who returns home penitential and humble, no matter how wasteful he has been? There is nothing remarkable in that. The real story of forgiveness in the parable comes into focus when we consider the older son. He too must forgive the younger son, and it will be far harder for him than for the father. And, what’s more, he may also have to forgive his father.
That contention may make little sense if we only think of forgiveness as receiving pardon for violating a rule or a precept. The younger brother did nothing to harm his elder sibling. His recklessness did not diminish the older one’s life in the least. Nor did the father’s joy and spontaneous merry-making at his lost son’s reappearance mean he loved the elder any less. No laws were broken, no commandments were violated, no boundaries transgressed. So what’s to forgive?
Some years ago I came across an idea that helped clarify and deepen my understanding of forgiveness. Forgiveness means relinquishment. It’s that simple. To relinquish something is to release whatever power it holds over us. If I forgive someone for a wrong done to me, I no longer allow that event to determine how I treat the other person. I may remember the wrong or I may forget it, but either way I have disarmed it. It no longer determines my actions, thoughts, or words. Forgiveness in this sense is rarely easy or quick. How often do we say, we “forgive” another person, but still hold a secret grudge? Because of its difficulty, forgiveness has to be practiced. It is less an act than a way of living, a discipline, a cultivated skill. I think this is why Jesus told his students to forgive “seventy times seven” (Matthew 18:21). True forgiveness often comes only at the end of an inner struggle.
If we view forgiveness in this light, perhaps we can see why it is necessary for the elder brother to forgive and why it will be so difficult. As long as he regards himself as slighted, that notion will worm its way into his soul and embitter him and make his life a living hell. It hardly matters whether the injustices he suffers were real or imagined. Either way, his struggle is with his own thoughts. The Buddha, a kindred spirit with Jesus on this matter, says it poetically:
“I have been insulted!” “I have been hurt!” “I have been beaten!” “I have been robbed!” Anger and hatred never cease for those who dwell on such thoughts (Dhammapada 1:3).
If we need a reason to forgive, this is a good one. We forgive to be free, to be liberated from the destructive power of anger and hatred. Of course, it’s a lot easier to nourish the thoughts of indignation. It’s hard to surrender the delicious feeling that we’ve suffered unfairly. But ultimately that sense does us no good. The elder brother might wallow in his hurt feelings, but what’s the point of that? How much better for him to let them go, to follow the discipline of relinquishment. Sure, it’s the harder path, but in the end the rewards are worth it.
I’d like to think the older brother realized that.
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