Kingdom of Heaven

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—Overview
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Why does a Crusader go to Jerusalem? If Ridley Scott’s somewhat fictionalized Balian of Ibelin supplies any answer, it’s this: a Crusader goes to Jerusalem not due to a clear conscience before God, but just the opposite. The protagonist of Kingdom of Heaven goes because he’s a miserable, disillusioned transgressor. He goes to Jerusalem hoping to find forgiveness and the hand of God. But what does he actually find?

Given the subject matter and the tenor of the times, we should all be a little wary of Crusader movies. Even with the best intentions, both on the part of the filmmaker and the audience, any depiction of the carnage that was the Crusades could easily fan the flames of today’s Middle-East conflicts. That being the case, we almost expected that Scott would fictionalize his tale somewhat; but the question remained: to what extent would fiction mix with “fact”? To Scott’s credit, and to my surprise, Kingdom manages a balanced and credible treatment of the historic tensions which led both to the Crusades themselves and to the end of the short-lived and precarious peace which Jerusalem did in fact enjoy under the reign of King Baldwin. And the very real historic person of Balian of Ibelin provides Scott with the perfect opportunity to generalize one man’s experience into Every Man’s familiar and troubling quest.

Kingdom of Heaven is not merely a period action picture; nor is it just a docudrama, nor a tract on Muslim-Christian relations. It’s all those things, but at its heart it transcends them, too; for what the film really portrays is the universal crisis of faith. Who among us, after all, has not at some point doubted either the existence of God or our right standing before Him? Whose conscience has never been troubled? Balian’s own crisis is both tragic and craven: in the midst of despair over his young wife’s death, he angrily and impulsively murders an insensitive and greedy priest. He flees to preserve his life and to join an expedition to the Holy Land, still believing, at least, the promise that the pilgrimage may lead to his redemption.

This fictional framing device leads to Ridley Scott’s period action-docudrama-tract: all of which is entertaining and illuminating. The battle sequences are neither gratuitous nor dull; they are skilfully handled and engaging. The illicit romance between Balian and the principal villain’s wife is simultaneously predictable and surprising. That noble and ignoble characters can be found in the camps of both Saladin and Baldwin is historically accurate, responsibly portrayed and instructive.

And this is all not merely window dressing, but crucial to—and wholly in the service of—Scott’s fictionalized hero. When all is said and done, Balian finds no profit in the knowledge that neither honor nor deceit are the exclusive property of Christianity; his faith is restored neither by high-cost chastity nor through legitimate love; the noble principles that guide King Baldwin, Balian’s father Godfrey or knights in general don’t save the world; even Balian’s own heroics merely delay inevitable carnage.

Balian finds neither faith nor forgiveness in Jerusalem because the city is no magic talisman. No city is. Fallen man is still fallen man, and no earthly city can fix that. Jerusalem, as the Muslim leader Saladin tells Balian, is nothing. Unless, of course, one has at least learned that very lesson from Jerusalem; then, perhaps, as Saladin also observes, Jerusalem may be everything.

At the end of Scott’s story, Balian is still a just a fugitive blacksmith in search of forgiveness and the hand of God: he has not completed his journey of faith; he has simply eliminated one useless and tragic option for its completion. Like Scott himself, Balian remains unsure of his faith.

Given the story and its setting, this is perhaps as it should be. Jerusalem itself, after all, is not the Way, the Truth and the Life—and Jesus never claimed that it was. He claimed that He was all that, and more. And as pop musicians Switchfoot observe in their song “Dare You To Move,” maybe a pilgrimage to Jerusalem is far too distant and unnecessary a journey:

Maybe redemption has stories to tell
Maybe forgiveness is right where you fell
Where can you run to escape from yourself?
Where you gonna go...
Salvation is here

Continue:
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—Trailers, Photos
—Spiritual Connections

Purpose-Driven Cinema: A Talk with Orlando Bloom

KINGDOM OF HEAVEN LINKS
—Overview
—Trailers, Photos
—Spiritual Connections

After Troy, a lot of Orlando Bloom fans were really worried whether the young star had lost his groove. Many critics went a lot further, suggesting that Bloom’s groove was an illusion in the first place. “So he was plucked out of film school to make The Lord of the Rings?” one colleague groused some months ago. “He should have stayed there and learned something.”

Well, Kingdom of Heaven demonstrates that he’s learned at least one thing by working in the real world: how to carry a major film. And don’t think that Bloom wasn’t aware that the stakes for Heaven were high. Naturally, he could have done worse than work with Ridley Scott; so his instincts there are obviously good, too.

In Kingdom of Heaven Bloom plays Balian of Ibelin, an ordinary man who becomes three things: first, a widower; second, a fugitive; and third, a knight. Now anyone who’s ever seen films or read books about knights knows that there’s good ones and bad ones. There’s nothing any more magical about being a knight than there is about being a cowboy; all you’ve got to know is who’s got the white hats on and who’s got the black hats on and you’ve got it all figured out.

But wait a minute... Kingdom of Heaven actually has something pretty old-fashioned to say on that topic. In Ridley Scott’s film, there sure enough are villainous knights: those pesky old Knights Templar; and there sure enough are the White Hats, too: King Baldwin, Balian, Balian’s father Godfrey, and others. But Orlando Bloom is enthusiastic about pointing out that, when the chips are down, Scott’s film makes no bones about the fact that being a knight does make a man better.

First, there’s the fact that you’ve got purpose—that you know what you stand for.

Second, there’s an acknowledgement that everything’s not about you.

Third, there’s a slap in the face to remind you that you’ve taken an oath—and that oaths count for something!

Bloom emphasizes that this frame of mind—a frame of mind based on and cultivated by a distinctly Christian world view—is still relevant in this day and age: that “what you do each day” really matters. And this is Bloom talking, too, not just Balian the Blacksmith, whose forge is overshadowed by the rhetorical question, “What kind of man does not try to make the world a better place?”

Isn’t that romantic? Isn’t that quaint in this cynical age? Perhaps. But Bloom, for just one among many, is apparently not afraid to be romantic or quaint. He really does “hope that people have the capacity” to make the world better. And Buddhism is apparently Bloom's preferred avenue toward that end.

Now, don’t get Bloom wrong: he’s realist enough to know that even knights can go bad. But you wouldn’t get him to agree that there’s no point in trying. Better some purpose than no purpose at all...

Continue:
—Overview
—Trailers, Photos
—Spiritual Connections