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Contents © 2006
by Jim Holman.
All rights reserved.

CONFESSIONS
January 2006

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TIME TO PUT AWAY THE JAM

The website Godspy.com recently excerpted a chapter from Behind the Screen: Hollywood Insiders on Faith, Film, and Culture. The excerpt, by Dr. Thom Parham, opened with an account of Places in the Heart, and argued that the film's story served as an elegant metaphor for the kingdom of heaven. But, Parham writes, "Nowhere is this notion communicated overtly. It is suggested through the film's system of metaphors and reinforced by its enigmatic ending. This is yet another reason non-Christians make the best Christian films: they understand that cinema is an art form of symbol and metaphor."

And they know what Jesus knew about making things stick. "Jesus," continues Parham, "began many of his parables with the phrase, 'The kingdom of God is like....' (He used this construct twelve times in the Gospel of Matthew alone."

Parham has Places in the Heart; I have Gosford Park, a dark comedy/mystery that includes one scene which has for me that strength of parable -- that is, it has lodged in me deeply enough to actually inform. I recall it and I and say to myself, "Well there it is -- the Christian life." Or something close to it.

In some ways, it's a throwaway scene: it involves two minor characters. The film could probably survive without it. But that's part of its beauty -- it gets to surprise you, this scene of deep, almost unheard of intimacy between a ruined gentleman and a reserved maid. You don't see it coming, and so you don't get to steel yourself against it. All along, it's been deliciously poisonous backbiting both upstairs and down, with the good seemingly doomed to be smothered by evils both large and small. And then....

Dorothy surprises Anthony in the pantry. He's just been questioned by the inspector regarding the murder of Anthony's wealthy father-in-law, who recently decided not to fund his business venture. Anthony is drowning his sorrows in jam.

Dorothy: I'm so sorry, sir; I didn't mean to disturb you.

Anthony: I'm trying some of your jam. I must be in your way.

Dorothy: No, no, no -- no bother. What one is that sir?

Anthony: Um, this is raspberry October of '31.

Dorothy: You might like to try the strawberry.

Anthony: Oh, is there strawberry?

It's more than deference -- Dorothy is showing solicitude, kindness to the beaten stranger on the roadside. She instinctively meets him where he is -- you're taking comfort from jam? Try this one. Only after that does she look into the cause of his hurt.

Dorothy: Are you all right, sir?

Anthony: I've just been with the inspector, feel a little bruised...

But of course, it's more than that. The inspector has only re-opened the wound -- the fact that he is a failure. Anthony lays himself out, and my heart goes out to him.

Anthony: Why is it, would you say, that some people seem to get whatever they want in life, everything they touch turns to gold, whereas others can strive and strive and have nothing? I wonder, do you believe in luck? Think some men are lucky and some men just aren't, and nothing they can do about it?

This is the world talking, chance talking, despair talking, and boy howdy is it tempting to hear it. The question is, do you ever feel that some people are blessed by God, but not you? Luck, after all, can be seen as a kind of grace -- an unearned, seemingly random good. But Dorothy will have none of it. She remains as kind as ever, but she rebukes him:

Dorothy: I believe in love; not just getting it, giving it. I think as long as you can love somebody, whether or not they love you, then it's worth it.

She catches herself; she stops. She's forgotten herself. But she's made her point. Luck is irrelevant. Success is irrelevant. Anthony, who had my sympathy a moment ago, is shown to be self-pitying and childish. And so I am rebuked as well. I know the love she speaks of has a romantic sheen to it -- she has an unspoken affection for the head servant. But romantic love is not wholly other than charity. That's why the metaphor works. If you can love somebody, it's worth it.

Anthony puts the jam down. No more comfort in childish things. (Or, more generally, sensual things -- easy pleasures to distract you from attending to more serious pains. Again, I am rebuked.) Time to grow up.

Anthony: That's a good answer.

He rises to leave.

Anthony: I think I'd better go; they must have finished dinner by now. Thank you.

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