3stars

Cast: Nadine Labaki (Amale), Julian Farhat (Rabih), Leyla Hakim (Afaf), Yvonne Malouf (Yvonne), Ali Haidar (Roukoz)

Outside a small, dusty village in Lebanon, a few teens with an old-fashioned boom box are climbing the hills, trying to find a place where they can get good reception; their home town is so isolated that news from the outside world is an occasional thing. Only a narrow, badly-maintained bridge connects them with the surrounding countryside, and it is surrounded by land mines that were planted long ago and never removed. Yet it’s worth it to take that risk sometimes, if they can find a signal.

Suddenly there’s a blast, and the kids immediately fall to the ground. It’s not one of them, though; we don’t see the victim until a old shepherd later comes through the village with his treasure draped over his shoulders. “Is that Brigitte?” asks Afaf, the widow who runs the village shop. Yes, Abu Ali sadly replies, “It’s Brigitte, the one that never knew love.”

At dusk a few hours later the community is gathered on the hilltop, sitting in rows of chairs borrowed from the Catholic church and eagerly waiting to watch some TV. As the rotund mayor welcomes the crowd he addresses Abu Ali in particular. “We say to him: Brigitte did not die in vain. She sacrificed herself for us. Sacrificed her body! Any one of us here could have met the same fate. And remember, only the goat on the right is halal.” Brigitte is turning on a spit, a nice toasty brown, and Abu Ali mutters to himself, tragically, “All I can say is bon appétit.”

That gives you a taste of the wry humor you’ll find in “Where Do We Go From Here,” an ensemble film in which an assortment of odd and interesting (and often very funny) characters, crammed together in an isolated town, try to find a way to get along without killing each other. Those words should be taken with some literalness, for men have killed each other all too often in Lebanon. The women, in particular, know that; the title sequence shows a couple of dozen village women, all dressed in black, going in procession to the cemetery to clean and adorn the gravestones. There are actually two cemeteries, on either side of the dirt road, with crosses on the left and crescents on the right. Many of the graves are topped with framed photographs of young men. The village is a peaceful spot, mostly; residents have a long tradition of getting along despite their different beliefs, and the mosque is separated from the church by only one building. The priest and imam confer together about the community that unites both flocks; it’s not unusual for the priest to open the curtain in the confessional and find the imam there, with some pastoral situation they need to discuss.

The central character in the story is Amale, a young widow who runs the café where the villagers pass the time. time. She’s a Christian (the only church in town is Maronite Catholic), but can’t help glancing at Rabih, the handsome Muslim she’s hired to sand and paint the room. Muslim and Christian women, sitting and gossiping together, banter with each other about which of them—Amale or Rabih—should convert, so the romance can finally get underway.  

Then Amale’s jerry-rigged radio announces that an altercation in a nearby town got out of hand, and resulted in a Christian-Muslim clash in which handguns were drawn. The women suddenly go silent, and glance around; fortunately, none of the men heard this. That night when the same news is announced over the TV, the women begin jumping up and starting arguments, to drown it out; later that night they sneak out and try to sabotage the TV. But tensions keep rising in the community; the wooden cross at the church is broken, and the men blame the Muslims; the mosque is invaded by goats, and the men blame the Catholics. The women must resort to ever-more-elaborate stunts to divert the men’s attention.

“It would take a miracle,” one says, and then that sounds like a very good idea. So the mayor’s wife, Yvonne, pretends to have a visionary swoon before the statue of the Virgin Mary, and delivers the word that the Virgin is angry with them all for fighting. But she can’t resist the opportunity to get in her own digs. The Virgin, it turns out, is displeased with one person for throwing blackberries at clean laundry, and another for watering his neighbor’s garden in an unseemly way. “Joseph!” she calls out. “She’s seeing St. Joseph!” the villagers exclaim. “Joseph David!” she says, and a man in the back looks up, startled. “He’s a [deleted],” Yvonne says, and cracks a smile. “The Virgin said that?” exclaims the priest.

As tensions escalate, schemes do too, and eventually the women pool their money and hire some Ukrainian exotic dancers to have their bus “break down” outside the village, and seek local hospitality. “You could fit three of them in a pair of my pants!” says one of the Muslim ladies. We see the long-legged Ukrainians’ feet splashing in a dirt-walled swimming pool, then pan to the village women’s chubby legs which don’t reach the water.

As the women go from one plan to the next there is plenty of great humor, but it is leavened with some genuinely heartbreaking scenes. The incipient romance between Amale and Rabih, all longing glances and restraint, contributes a layer of tension (not without its own humor, as when Amale, carrying a tray of dishes but unable to stop watching Rabih, runs into a doorframe). 

What makes this film more successful than most is that the characters—in particular, the mostly-plump, mostly-middleaged, bantering and scheming village women—are original and engaging. It was interesting to learn, from my Lebanese friend Saydeh, that the storyline reflects a cultural expectation that women are the keepers and builders of communities. While there might be differences of taste or opinion among them on little things, they would see the big picture better than men do, and be able to restore peace to a community. “Man gathers and woman builds”—the father brings home money, but the mother builds the family ethically and morally. Quite a shift from the American tradition of seeing men as the visionary leaders and builders, both at home and nationally, and women as focused on small things, hunting and gathering needs and comforts for the home.

The proportion of comedy to tragedy seems just right, delivering a movie that remains thought-provoking for days. The one reservation I would have has to do with the ending. Without giving things away, I think it is one that a non-religious audience would consider very satisfying, but those who are committed to a faith of any sort would not find perplexing and unbelievable. While you won’t have much opportunity to see this film apart from big-city art theaters, look for it on DVD and over streaming services. Brigitte did not die in vain!

Talk About It

1. For those who aren’t convinced of the truth of any one religion, it looks easy for people of faith to get along by putting aside their differing beliefs. Viewed from a perspective of committed faith, however, is it the beliefs that are the problem? Is there any reason differing beliefs would lead neighbors inevitably to conflict? What makes it possible for people of different faiths to live in peace, and what changes in circumstances might provoke conflict? Is it ever necessary to take up arms against those of other faiths?

2.  Though the film is about people who are separated by their faith, the movie almost never draws on elements within those faiths to cause characters to make peace with their opponents. What Scriptures would you have quoted to the Christian characters? Do you know any verses from the Koran to recommend to the Muslim characters?

3. How did you feel about the scene where Hamoudi is talking to Nassim through the door? Did it strike you as funny, or sad? Can a movie scene be both at the same time? Can moments in real life?

The Family Corner

There is a good bit of bad language in the subtitles, which a Lebanese friend tells me translators often render more raw than the original. The violence is not extreme, and the sexy Ukrainians do not disrobe, but there is a longish sequence celebrating hashish.

I felt like cheering, because I decided to do that back in 2003. I don’t own any makeup or beauty creams, no uncomfortable clothing, no high heels. I had been going back and forth on it, but it was around that time I decided definitely to quit, telling myself, “I’m a writer, and I can get away with it. People will just think, ‘Oh, she’s an artist, they’re weird.’”

About that time I decided the most comfortable clothing for me was knit-fabric dresses and skirts, with stretchy places, so that’s all I wear. I might look more “dressy” than someone in slacks—but I bet I’m more comfortable.

My one exception would be that I do wear earrings, sometimes, because I think it would be unpleasant to look at the empty holes in my ears. My aim in getting dressed in the morning is to be pleasant and appealing to look at, like a flower. I look for attractive colors, and try to combine them well. Other people are going to have to look at me, so I want to be at least a restful sight.

There’s a difference between being beautiful. Not many people can be beautiful, and even then, not for long. But anyone can be attractive—attract, like a magnet does, because people can tell you are kind and inviting.

The unusual thing about this for me is that I do so much public speaking and even some TV appearances, yet I haven’t reverted to makeup. I’d like to think “If I can do this, any woman can,” but I know some women are in work situations where they have to dress the part. I’m glad that this is an option for me.

Here’s a photo I took today at my desk.

I’m no glamour girl, but I look like a nice grandma, don’t I? That’s all I want, at this point. I just want to be myself.

That reminds me of something my daughter Megan said when she was about 5. She said “My friend Patty always wants to be someone else. Whoever she sees, that’s who she wants to be. But I just want to be me. And I am me! I don’t want to be anyone else.” [Pause] “I just want their clothes.”

Here’s me on PBS a few months ago, filmed in my dining room, with no makeup. (I think we might have dusted on some powder to get rid of nose shine.) I counted recently and I’ve been interviewed in the media about 680 times, now, and given 500 speeches. And I don’t need makeup to do it.

            Don’t listen with your ears alone; use your eyes, as well, to gather clues from the person’s expression, stance, and overall demeanor. The body can reveal the soul. In writing about Eastern Orthodox spirituality, Metropolitan Anthony Bloom (1914-2003) said that the body is like a Geiger counter;[i] it can disclose what is going on in the soul. He was making the point that it is not necessary for a monk to continually plumb the psyche, because his own body will disclose his inner spiritual and emotional processes. We can use that insight as well. By paying attention to what the other person’s body communicates as we listen to them, we can discern what is going on inside the heart, soul, and understanding. 

Until now. The Adventures of Tintin is superb. Grandparents everywhere will babble tearful thanks: it’s so much better than it had to be, given the industry’s steadily decreasing quality (everywhere but Pixar-land). Credit must go to both the stars at the helm, Peter Jackson (of The Lord of the Rings) and Steven Spielberg (of too many hits to mention), and the new technologies (motion-capture animation, improved 3-D process) deserve a toast as well. However, none of this would be here without the hero himself. 

It’s this unintentional resonance that threatens to turn In Time from a nifty thriller into an unintentionally obtuse message-movie, one that seems to say that an international financial disaster would be the best thing that ever happened to the poor. There may have been eras in the last few decades when a saucy statement along those lines might have been relished. Now is not one of those times.

Here’s a link to my interview on the PBS show, “Religion and Ethics Newsweekly,” about the movie Higher Ground:

http://www.pbs.org/wnet/religionandethics/episodes/october-7-2011/higher-ground/9668/

But the person being interviewed has a different perspective. There are certain points they want to get across, regardless of which questions you ask. They may have been reiterating these same points into different microphones a dozen times a day for many days.

Carolyn Briggs’ 2002 memoir, This Dark World: A Memoir of Salvation Found and Lost hit a number of those notes. When their church leaders counsel her not to get a college degree, when they counsel her husband to forgo a plum job opportunity because they need instead the headship of the church leaders, when she refused medication during a complicated pregnancy and scoffed at taking shelter during a tornado, well, it sounds to many evangelicals like a pretty kooky church, if not a cult. But don’t expect members of the general public to make that distinction. Christianity Today’s review commented, “Unfortunately, this book is likely to win plaudits for its savaging of evangelical Christianity as the source of one woman’s oppression, and her abandonment of that faith as a fount of liberation.”