Showbits

The Invention of Lying, a recent comedy starring Ricky Gervais and Jennifer Garner, has a unique premise, so it's fitting that it be reviewed from a unique perspective. I am no movie maven — in fact, I likely have less expertise in the genre than most of the American population. But what I am is a theologian (or rather, a theologian-in-training), and that expertise made this movie one I can't resist talking about. [Note: Spoilers follow. –Ed]

Ricky Gervais stars as Mark Bellison, a rather unremarkable man in a remarkable world. The society in which Mark lives is, quite simply, one where no one has ever learned to lie. It's not that they've chosen to always tell the truth — the ability to do otherwise has never been imagined or developed, ever. As a result, a world that looks at first glance just like ours — down to the same technology and brands — is in fact a world with no fiction, no religion, no pretense, no imagination at all. Empathy is, at best, a vague concept, and it stops no one from saying what they think anyway; there is not only no politeness, but also no filter, so a person is just as likely to comment on someone's hideous choice of clothing as to divulge their own erectile dysfunction. This world does require some willing suspension of disbelief, but this comes easily to an audience who find themselves preoccupied with comparing the painfully hilarious conversations between characters to their own nuanced methods of communication.

Mark, through a random and unexpected evolution, suddenly finds himself the only person on earth who can lie — and, as no one else can but take his word as utter truth, he soon realizes that this ability is nothing less than a superpower. Yet in a wrenching attempt to use his powers for good, he paints a poignant, if endearingly childish, idea of heaven for his despairing, dying mother. Though she dies happy, as he'd hoped, the nurses who overhear naturally take his words as dogma (bad theology pun intended) and spread word of the man who knows something new about what happens after death. Mark's unintentional career as a prophet begins as he tries to use his ability to make everyone happy, imagining for them a vague religion based around the "Man in the Sky" who created everything, controls everything, and determines who is worthy of spending eternity in a mansion after they die.

Good intentions + false words = great comedy!

Superheroes have been a hot property for decades, but the last few years have been especially generous to fans of the genre. We've seen everyone from Superman and the X-Men to Constantine and Hellboy transition from comic book to silver screen, many of them successfully. Nonetheless, it was a welcome change of pace to take in Hancock, an original property with its own take on superpowered beings living among us.

Secret identities are a mainstay of the superhero genre, and the same is true for Will Smith's John Hancock, but with a twist: his identity is secret even to himself. Hancock is imbued with flight, super-strength, super-speed, and invulnerability, but like Superboy and unlike Superman, he is always "on" as Hancock. He has no normal childhood to serve as a foundation for his self-identity, nor human persona to retreat to and through which to keep in touch with the non-powered populace he tries to serve. The result is a drunken, reckless "hero" frustrated ostensibly with an ungrateful citizenry, but truly with his own inability to connect to the rest of humanity. The opportunity and struggle to overcome that conflict arises when Hancock saves someone (Jason Bateman) who sees the maligned martyr's potential for greatness, and the two team up to create a new image that rectifies the careless flaws for which Hancock has become infamous.

It's an interesting approach, and one, as another review noted, that's welcome after the fantastic though typical fare of Iron Man and The Incredible Hulk. There's some comedy here, not too much action, and some character introspection — though there could've been more. The film takes an unusual, though not entirely unexpected, turn in the last half-hour. I've heard criticism of this portion of the film, but I found it satisfactorily answered many questions I'd accumulated during the previous hour.

A different script could likely have satisfied both me and the film's critics more uniformly, but that's not the movie we were given. What we got was a character study on the burden of great power — not its inherent responsibility to others, but its ability to elevate above mankind someone who considers himself below it. Some touching and thoughtful sequences make this a superhero film of a different ilk from what we're accustomed to, and I appreciate that diversity.

When I first heard of the film Juno, it was only in the context of it having had a stronger opening weekend than Aliens vs. Predator. A closer look revealed a familiar cast: Jason Bateman and Michael Cera, who so effectively played father-and-son on the abortive television series Arrested Development.

Though these two actors justify seeing Juno, it is the plot and titular character that warrant its box office success. In concept, Juno is very similar to the 2004 film Saved!: a teenage girl with an unplanned pregnancy must live with her decision to have the baby. But the differences between the two films are both subtle and powerful. Saved! is set in a private Catholic school, where perception and judgment are almost physical in their reality and impact. Can a woman who has sex out of wedlock be considered a good person? Is such an act justifiable — not only to her peers, but to herself? Who are her true friends: those who guided her along the path of Christianity, or those who accept her when she strays?

Both Saved! and Juno deal with relationships, but Juno occurs in a more accepting environment. Juno's predicament is almost entirely accepted by her peers and guardians, leaving her to deal with the people it brings her closer to: her parents, the child's adoptive parents, and the child's father. Looking through the classifieds, Juno finds Jennifer Garner and Jason Bateman, an apparently perfect couple unable to have their own children. But the arrival of not only a child, but also its mother, into this couple's life brings to surface issues all three didn't realize were beneath the surface — while Michael Cera, the father of Juno's child, is left on the sidelines, confused by what his role should be to either his offspring or its mother. (As you may know from Arrested Development, "confused" is an emotion Cera plays well.)

Juno is a clever comedy, due primarily to the witty repartee of Ellen Page (X-Men 3) as Juno. She has a casual way of speaking her mind, using unpredictably creative metaphors, making others uncomfortable. Juno handles herself with surprising maturity and decisiveness — but when confronted with the unexpected, the scared 16-year-old peeks out. Her relationships are complex, one that made me fidget in my seat even more than Blue Car did. Juno's fetus is the impetus, not the focus, of the whirlwind of emotions that are bewildering to so many.

Page and Cera as parents-to-be, Garner and Bateman as parents-who-can't, and JK Simmons (Spider-Man) and Allison Janney (The West Wing) as Juno's parents-who-are each turn in lively and nuanced performances, making Juno a film unquestionably better than Aliens vs. Predator. How's that for a recommendation?