Abraham and a Lot of Others

September 11, 2017

(This post is part of an ongoing series on my making the Old Testament into Magic: the Gathering cards.  Best to start at the beginning, which is the Word…press link here.)

Let’s pick up the pace a bit.
Where were we?  Noah.  Right.  10 generations later, Noah’s 3 kids have had an amazing amount of babies and have repopulated the Earth.  “Go forth and multiply” were their only instructions, so they took it and ran with it.  Then we get to Abram.  (His name gets extended to Abraham later.)  He’s living in a pagan city, where his dad literally makes idols for a living.  God speaks to him, Abram is called to pack up and leave, and God promises him that He will make him the Father of Nations, children as plentiful as the dust, and as numerous as the stars.  He will, after all, officially start Judaism, which later add Christianity and (not genetically but by giving them source material) Islam.  So, naturally:

Abraham, Father of Nations

Abraham, Father of Nations {3}{W/G} 3/3 Creature – Human Cleric: {x}: summon X 1/1 Descendant tokens. When an ability targets Abraham, you may also have it target any number of Descendant tokens.
“I will multiply your descendants beyond number, like the stars in the sky and the sand on the seashore. Your descendants will conquer the cities of their enemies.” Genesis 22:17

I skipped the parts that were hard to make into a card- like how he goes to a city, and he’s so sure that people will kill him to take his wife that he tells her to pretend she’s his sister- and the King marries her. And Abram gets rich! But when the King finds out, he feels terrible about it, and lets him leave with everything he earned while the king’s brother-in-law.  A lot of people do morally-questionable stuff in the Bible, and some of them get called out by God and/or killed for it.  It’s a little Game-of-Thrones-y.

And then there’s his son Isaac. He’s in his 80’s, God tells them they’ll get pregnant, and they name him Isaac.  A few years later, God tells him, sacrifice him to me. Abram’s about to, when an angel shows up and tells him not to, because that was a test.  And Isaac never says a word about it again.  I can see the card text now: “Sacrifice a creature. Cancel that sacrifice.” Hindsight makes it a little less dramatic.

Wait a second. I almost forgot there’s this city called Sodom.

City of Sodom

City of Sodom {black}{black}: Enchantment: Target player’s creatures gain Sin. When their abilities would raise each other’s Power or Toughness or place +1/+1 counters on them, those abilities pick new targets if possible, and can now target opponents’ creatures, but now lowers Power and Toughness by the same amounts.
“Sodom’s sins were pride, gluttony and laziness, and the poor suffered outside their doors.” Ezekiel 16:49

(I’ll explain Sin another day.  For now it’s just a label you stick on a card – and some other cards do worse things to cards with Sin.)

It’s actually a little less edgy than you’ve heard.  It turns out 95% of what’s ever written about them had nothing to do with being gay.  Sort of.  There are lots of verses, before and after it blows up, about how terrible these people are and how everything they do is a blight against God.  One of the few specific examples written is “Sodom’s sins were pride, gluttony and laziness, and the poor suffered outside their doors.” Ezekiel 16:49  (And for context, God describes Israel as acting worse than Sodom when His people are doing something terrible, like having temple prostitutes and sacrificing their children to bull-headed fire gods (Leviticus 20), which was very… MtG-black-card-ish.)

The other thing that happened is why the city got blown up.  God announced to Abraham that he was going to destroy it.  (Hold your horsemen, there’s gonna be a card for this.)  A pair of angels in disguise come to warn Lot, who takes them into his house.  And then this mob of rapists shows up – I’d repeat that, but just read it again and imagine it louder.  They demand he send out the men (the angels) for them to gang-bang (the one gay part of this encounter), like a hostage exchange.  Lot’s so desperate to bribe them and save everyone else that he offers them his adult daughters (who hear him say this, by the way).  Don’t you tell us who we can’t do, they say, “now we will treat you worse than them” – now they try to grab Lot and pull him out.  The angels start striking blind people – that came out wrong – striking people blind in the doorway, and warn Lot and his family to escape, because they’re about to destroy it.  Now you see why?

Agent to Sodom (1)

Agent to Sodom (4)(r): 4/4 (Creature – Angel Archer)
Hexproof, Indestructible.  Angels gain Pure and cannot lose it.  
Morph {3}{r}<i>(you may cast this card face-down as a 2/2 creature for {3}.  Turn it face-up at any time for its morph cost.)</i> When Agent of Sodom is turned face-up, all of target player’s tapped creatures gain Sin.  When Agent in Sodom attacks or blocks, put -1/-1 on all creatures with Sin.
“We are about to destroy this place, because their outcry has become so great before the LORD that the LORD has sent us to destroy it.” Genesis 19:13

So they do.  This is where we get the preacher phrase “fire and brimstone.”  Oh, and the angels said not to turn around and look at it, but Lot’s wife looks and turns into salt.  Not sure how to card that one yet.

Who’s next?  Isaac the almost-sacrificed, surprisingly, decided to have a kid anyway.  That was Jacob.  You probably didn’t hear about his brother, Esau.  Kind of a family secret.  Jacob had an older twin brother, but Jacob talked him into signing over his rights as firstborn son.  And when their father was half-blind and dying, Jacob’s own mother played favorites by getting Jacob to pretend to be Esau and have his father sign over the rest of his inheritance.  Then he runs away because he rightfully thinks his brother is gonna kill him for this.  (Jacob, if you’re reading this, you’re a much better brother than Jacob, Jacob.)

Jacob, Traitor Twin

Jacob, Traitor Twin (1)(i) 1/2 Creature – Human Nomad: When Jacob, Traitor Twin enters play, choose a creature. When target creature would be affected by a spell or ability, you may make it affect Jacob, Traitor Twin instead.
“But Jacob said “First swear that your birthright is mine!” So Esau swore an oath, thereby selling all his rights as a firstborn son to his twin, Jacob.” Genesis 25:33

But there’s a happy ending – decades later, Jacob’s made it rich as a shepherd (you’ll understand this if you play Settlers of Catan – it’s useless until everyone needs it).  He sends a message .  When he shows up, he sees Esau’s waiting for him, with an army of 400 people.  So he starts sending servants ahead with his animals as gifts.  Then he camps out a ways away, and hopes that sinks in.

That’s when – do you know the story of a guy in the Bible wrestling an angel?  The church simplified it a bit.  What happens is that in the dead of night, Jacob’s alone, probably remembering how terrible of a brother he was growing up… and a man comes right up to him and starts wrestling him.  No wings here.  Almost no angel is ever said to have wings.  I’m sure there was some context for this.  But then, given the army over the hill, it’s a little less unexpected to be attacked right now.  And they wrestle… the entire… night.  Total metaphorical undertones.  ‘Long, dark night of the soul,’ anyone?  Anyone?  It’s an expression, I’m actually not pretentious enough to quote whoever coined it.

Then it’s coming up on daybreak, and it says that the man knows he won’t win this wrestling match.  So the man touches Jacob’s hip and that knocks it out of place.  The man says, “Let me go, for the dawn is breaking!”  Reading between the lines here – Jacob’s hip’s out of alignment, and he’s still wrestling?  Jacob is ballsy.  He says back to the man, “I will not let you go until you bless me.”  More between-the-lines: I know people gave each other blessings back then, but I think Jacob may know this isn’t one of Esau’s soldiers.  The man asks (probably rhetorically) “What is your name?”  “Jacob,” answers Jacob.

And the man tells him, “Your name shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel; for you have struggled with God and with men, and have prevailed.”

Pause for dramatic effect.

That’s a riddle right there.  Yes, God’s all-powerful and can turn cities into pillars of fire, but you see these moments where He walks as a man.  And for Jacob to accept his challenge and not give up or dismiss it and run, that’s a symbolic gesture.  But here’s the taunt: Jacob asks him again, “Please tell me your name.”  And the man just asks him, “Why do you want to know my name?” and blesses him.  Even the scripture isn’t willing to say that was God.  So was it an angel?  Was it someone sent to play the part in Jacob’s life?  Was it a lucid dream?  No answer.  It says Jacob struggled with God and man, but this person could have been either one.  If this had been a new chapter in a young-adult fantasy series, the forums would be on fire when this came out.

 

Wrestle with God (2)

Wrestle with God {1}{p}: Tap and put a -1/-1 on target creature.  It gains Hexproof, Indestructible and Pure <i>(this creature’s Power & Toughness cannot be lowered.  Pure removes Sin.)</i>
<i>“And the man said, “Your name shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel; for you have struggled with God and with men, and have prevailed.” Genesis 32:28<i>

Well – that’s not the end of the Bible.  There’s actually a lot more.  An insanely lot more.  But let’s make it into blog-sized pieces.  Hint for next week: Jacob has kids.  You’ve heard of one of them.

Advertisements

(This post is part of an ongoing series on my making the Old Testament into Magic: the Gathering cards.  Best to start at the beginning, which is the Word…press link here.)

The Bible is one of those books with literally hundreds of characters.  You know about 20 of them by name.  Try it right now.  No matter where you grew up in America, you know lots of people and you at least sort of know the stories.  What other book show or movie series has that much permeability?  Most non-nerds can’t remember the difference between Saruman & Sauron, let alone what comes between Charmander & Charizard.  (I forgive them.  To be fair I don’t know the brands they wear, I haven’t kept up with the Kardashians, and I don’t know what kids are listening to these days.  We all choose our battles.)

The point being, you will know these cards and might care about them more than if I’d made them up.

I went back to the first person who did anything bigger than eating a fruit.  He may be the 9th Generation of people in the entire Bible – but technically at one point it jumps from son to son to son to Jared, whose dad isn’t named, so there could have been X generations skipped there.  Some intern must’ve dropped that scroll.  Generation 9-ish is…

Noah: God’s first Planeswalker.

Now, here we have a man whose appearance means that God destroys EVERYTHING (some restrictions apply).  Technically, no one in the Bible has powers – God just tells them He’ll do it, as happens here.  God says his creation, Mankind, has gone terrible and evil, so every human but Noah and his 3 married sons dies, every animal except the loving couples on the Ark dies, and all the land on the planet is underwater.  
Now in Magic: the Gathering, this has some potential.  Come on.  You know Planeswalkers are ridiculously overpowered

1) First all the animals are called to him by species in pairs.  They just show up, from everywhere.  Now, every Planeswalker needs an only-slightly-ridiculously-powerful ability which actually gives it more Loyalty points.  It does something good for you AND lets you save up for a finisher move for later.  “Search your deck for any creature and play it”?  With or without costs, that on its own would be incredible.  So much of Magic is spent hoping to get a creature you could really use right now.  

Let’s tame it a bit, though.  Just remember you’ll drown everything later and you’ll feel better about settling here.  

Let’s look into the 2 by 2 thing.  It says 2 of every Creature, not 2 of every specific individually-named card kind of creature.  Let’s work with what you have a bit.  If you have some kind of Bear, or Griffin, can you search your deck for another of that and assume they’re ready for a relationship right now?  Sure!  

[I thought about making a token that’s a duplicate of it, but then I thought about Abilities.  There’s a reason that some cards are rare, and it’s their awesome abilities.  It wouldn’t be impossibly broken, if, say, you had to pay the first creature’s mana cost to play the second, but it feels a bit less like having animals come to you and a bit more like cloning your best monster.]

But wait a minute.  Is this just for animals?  Where do Humanoids and Sentient non-humanoids fit in all this?  If Noah lived with Elves & Goblins, would he have saved them?

Well, luckily, Magic has a meticulous, retroactive answer to that: they call it “the Race/Class model.”  You just have to look it up because the cards only sort of answer this. Years after throwing the word “Human” or “Soldier” or “Cat” on a card as a “Subtype”, they made a list.  Humanoids like Humans & Elves went in one group.  Humanoids who weren’t really human but just look like it, say, “Angel,” got another.  Sentient creatures who don’t look like us, like “Demons” and “Dragons” and a lot of subtypes they made up, get the land.  

Most of these can have jobs, called a Class, like “Wizard” or “Scout”.  This word shows up after the first word, so they have two subtypes, but you have to infer that the first is a Race and the second is a Class based on context.  So, no, just because you have one Wizard doesn’t mean Noah needs a second.  
Everyone I just mentioned is Sentient, no matter what they look like – that’s their distinction.  The rest is Animals like “Snake” and Phantastical Animals like “Hydra,” and plants and everyone’s stopped caring by this sentence, oh you’re reading it? Why thank you.

Long story short – an ark probably needs 2 of every Race.  Just not 2 of every Class.  
2) Then there’s the flood.  Destroy all nonblue creatures without flying?  See that’s what I thought.  (To be fair I put that idea in your head just now.)  Nope, yours had a boat.  That was the point of having an Ark.  But to be fair, they had to be in pairs, or you’d have no more species to play except those, forever.  Wherever summoned creatures come from, let’s assume it’s on this plane, and you have the only ones left.  Can you imagine gameplay after that?  “Create an emblem that reads: “You get an Emblem with: “Creatures with subtypes other than (those on the battlefield when this Emblem was made” cannot be played.”” … “plus Humans.”  I guess we can throw them a bone.
Nah, I don’t hate people enough to do that.  Magic is brutal, but I don’t like frustrating people with technicalities.  A power like that makes them lose hope.  Emblems are forever, and if they don’t have the same Creature types as you, you’ll just attack them til they die, and that’s a bland way to go.

I was gonna come up with very technical ways to make this Biblically accurate, physically comprehensive of what a global flood would do in this setting, and slightly balanced.  The finisher move was gonna be:

-10: Destroy all nonblue creatures which have only one of their creature subtypes in play.  Nonblue creatures cannot be played until the end of your next turn. Flying creatures unaffected.

I know you guys are literate, but that’s a lot of reading.  I settled for this:
2x: destroy all opponents’ nonblue creatures without Flying and with Toughness X or fewer.

As for the other things floods do – covering all the land in water – it was gonna a move that costs X, and turned that many land blue, which is only useful if you tap enough of your opponent’s land that they don’t have enough of their color mana left.  It had a nice flavor to it.  But then, the Noah’s Ark story didn’t really talk about the seafaring peoples anywhere being okay with this. Try this:

“-7: return all nonblue land cards to their players’ hands.”

BAM.  They may be able to rebuild, but they’ll be eking out an existence on meager early-game levels of mana for a while.  And to be fair, if you had a multicolor deck, you may have returned a few too.

There was a lot that wouldn’t make it into this Noah card.  If everything floods, where is your opponent in all this?  Is he floating magically, is he floating in a dinghy, is he stuck on the Ark… in the first two cases, would you be able to attack him directly?  Didn’t the animals become dormant-ish to save energy for the flood, since they couldn’t possibly have packed enough food, and the predators would’ve eaten countless species to extinction before land came back?  Now look, I think I’ve made it clear I care an incredible amount about making the Bible into a card game.  But I’ve spent hours apiece on some of these cards (with ADHD only some of the time is actually spent on that card; most is spent on the others).  The fine, finished product is its own reward.  If there’s a place or forum to lay them out for people, point me in the right direction, ‘cause I am gonna be real busy stockpiling these.

Noah, Prophet of Floods

“Noah, Prophet of Floods”: (blue)(blue)(green)(green)

+1: Search your deck for a creature with the same race (subtype) as one on the battlefield; play it immediately, paying all costs.
2x: Destroy all opponents’ nonblue creatures without Flying and with Toughness X or fewer.  Skip your next Combat Phase.
-7: Return all nonblue land cards to their players’ hands.

Dear Internet,

Seven years ago, this was a blog for a minor in Journalism.  I wasn’t a minor, I was 20, but my degree would have been one.  Since watching the collapse of the news industry that year (not to mention the shades-of-gray war zone it’s become), it’s become more of a place for movie reviews and analyses.

But for the past two weeks, I’ve had something else on my mind…. Magic: the Gathering.
It’s the fantasy franchise that was born trying to be adult. Demigods pitting warriors and energy blasts at each other, leaving the battlefield strewn with each other’s pawns, in a cosmic battle to the death. It wanted to be gritty. Just look at any Black card. Human sacrifices, paying for things with your own lifeforce, and raising the dead is pretty standard fare for them.

I could only think of one thing as dark and steeped in the supernatural:

The Bible.

Somebody’s already left this page after they read that. They don’t want to be evangelized to. It was a trap! But they wouldn’t have run away if I’d said the Norse Gods. Granted, there aren’t too many arguments about Ragnarok and whether Grandpa will get into Valhalla at the dinner table. It’s okay to talk about because it’s not real (sorry to whoever I just offended).

In the Bible’s case, though, religion – not modern wellness-based philosophy, not global consciousness or ethics – but old time religion has a power that we can feel again all the way up to today. Right now, people halfway around the world can lead a coup and rob and enslave their own people, killing hundreds, leaving thousands of refugees – and no one reaches down to crush them. The closest thing we have to that is the American military, and when has that ever been a quick, simple or easy fix to a country? Look back to the early scripture, and you’ll see power you’ll find nowhere else on Earth.

So- I decided to put it in cards.

Why? One, because like I was saying, being in the presence of power feels nice. People play war games to feel strong, to feel close to something forceful and big.

Two, if you take any of the Old Testament as true, you’re playing with something real. These are all pictures and descriptors of what God did, and what people did. It’s extreme, it’s dynamic, it’s horrible, it’s incredible.

Three, you probably don’t know it all. Even the former Sunday school kids out there read either the censored version or the simple one. And some details have been passed down to us wrong. Did you notice how many times God meets people IN PERSON in Genesis and Exodus? He shows up – as a human – and wrestles Jacob, and walks with Moses. It has a few elements of what the other mythologies toyed with – brothers’ treachery, infidelity, contracts and wagers –

– and then something else. It has a far less cuddly side of God. Rewind to when pacifism and second chances were barely even concepts yet, anywhere in civilization. (Mind you I’ll stay right here and now where it’s safe.) But when someone enslaved tens of thousands of people and worked their entire race for generations, and no people on Earth was going to save them, the supernatural world collided with the Egyptian empire to pry the slaves free. Yes, thousands probably died, but in context, it feels less worrisome to hear about and more righteous.

So if you want something extreme, if you want clashes of good and evil, if you want power more real than any fantasy you’ve ever loved…

Follow this channel.

https://mtgcardsmith.com/user/AbeClabby/cards

In the study of film – really, in the study of anything – there is content and there is process.  Content is what is said.  Process is what it means.  So what are America’s most popular movies really about?

After the bar had been set so high by Frozen (highest-grossing animated movie of all time at $1.27 billion),  it would take something dynamic for Moana to follow in its footsteps.  Frozen tapped into the dynamic elements of polar-opposite sisters, an introvert and an extrovert, social isolation (for both of them), and the way it affected them each: impulsivity and naivete in Anna, and fear, shame and social anxiety in Elsa.  Throw in a two-faced sociopath boyfriend (to warn girls not to rush into relationships), and the message that true love can come from family and not just relationships, and Disney had created something truly unique.  They had changed their timeless formula just enough to let something else grow.

te_fiti_moana

IN THE BEGINNING…

But let’s see if we can dig a little deeper into the messages of Disney’s newest hit, Moana.  The story starts, not with a little girl, but at the beginning of time.  The creation myth of the Polynesian islands says a lot about the whole movie’s worldview.  “In the beginning,” there is only ocean.  Not darkness and void, like the Biblical worldview, nor the oceans of chaos found in Egyptian lore, but endless sea.  The sea is the most romanticized, and the most culturally essential part of the story – and in the beginning, it was there.

Then from the sea springs Te Fiti, goddess of life.  She is clothed in endless green, a classical goddess of fertility and nature, and she becomes the first island.  Now rather than offering another take on whether this is progressive or heresy, this story decision was made thousands of years before Christ or Disney.

Now, the biggest change from most myths of creation is the Fall of Man.  There’s often a covenant that is broken, an act that separates Gods and men.  Maui, the warrior and trickster demigod, goes seeking the Heart of Te Fiti.  It is said to give its bearer the power of creation.  This makes him a bit of a Lucifer, wanting to be like God for his own selfish ends.  Yet it also makes him like Adam.  In trying to become “like God,” and taking from God what it forbidden, he destroys Man’s place in Eden.  The moment he touches it, the island begins to decay into ash, ruining the effortless Garden the humans could have lived in if they had respected God.  In a moment that almost never happens in any theology, Man has wounded God.  As Maui escapes with the treasure, the great volcano spirit Te Ka rises up, reaches for it and strikes him down, and the narrator says that Maui has not been seen since.

Then the story rolls back, and Moana’s grandmother is telling the creation story to her and her friends.  She hears all the talk of the unleashed monsters and the spreading decay that will consume the world, but gawks in excitement and awe.  Her only reassurance at the end is that one day, someone will find the Heart of Te Fiti, find Maui and return Te Fiti’s heart, in a way healing the covenant with God and restoring Eden.  This was never an option for Man in Christianity.  Man could be saved through grace, following God’s ways and knowing Him spirit, but Eden would be restored by God after the end of the world, not by Man while the world was preserved.  Reconciliation was never this tangible.  What’s more, the original sinner had to do it – Adam / Lucifer had to return the Apple to Eden.

Now, Moana’s father detests the legend.  He tries to silence it as it’s being told.  Its darkness disturbs him, its grim pronunciation about human nature and the state of the world.  This idyllic, thriving island of Motonui is so peaceful, and nothing like the world of the myths.  And yet, he still insists his people never sail beyond the reefs, and his daughter, he won’t even let her touch the sea.  Why be against legends of a dangerous outside world and then fear a dangerous outside world?  His reason is secular and personal – as a boy he loved the sea, but one night, he and his friend went out sailing and his friend was lost in a storm.  An atheist draws the same conclusions as a mystic.

The story ends up centering around Moana’s lifelong attraction to the sea.  But right after the legend is told, little Moana wanders off to the ocean, and the shore comes alive.  The tide bends to give her a shell, reaches up and plays with her hair.  Like so many cultures have done less literally before, the ocean becomes a character.  And for a moment, it holds up the Heart of Te Fiti, the little emerald stone, promisingly.  Then her father comes to pull her away from the sea and the sea hides from him, turning back into waves on the shore.  Like both religion and fairy tales, magic and the divine only happen to those who believe – and often only for the young.

As she grows up, she does what every Disney princess is meant to do – run away from home and her family to go on an adventure.  Like Belle and Ariel before her, she dreams of adventuring beyond her homeland (with her father being a regular King Triton about it).  Her grandmother nurtures this idea – not only because she could fulfill the prophecy and save the world  (the black, ashen decay has just started to infect the fruit of the island), but because she has seen Moana’s love of the sea, and tells her that if something is put on your heart, that is what you are meant to do.  Now that is debatable.  Not everyone has good intentions on their heart, after all.  But if God is the one who puts it there (though God is not the name used for it), then it is supposed to happen.

The ocean becomes a symbol of freedom, and she has been drawn to it all her life.  If the ocean weren’t literally alive, this could be a straightforward, literal symbol.  But as time goes on, the ocean becomes more physically active in her life.  The ocean returns the Heart of Te Fiti to her.  Under the commotion of her grandmother’s passing, she leaves on her journey, battling the harsh waves beyond the reef.  She has never sailed in her life, and statistically, would probably have died.  But time and time again, the Ocean reaches up and throws her back on the boat.  She has the help of more of these divine interventions than any prophet or mythical hero in history.  It almost becomes like a video game – the game knows where you’re supposed to go, and if you go anywhere else, it shoves you back to where you’re supposed to be.  It won’t force her or fight her, but as long as she’s going with the plan, it helps keep her safe…. not completely out of harm’s way, but safe enough to survive.

MAUI

When she finds Maui, powerless and stranded on an island for 1000 years, the old trickster god is revealed – at least, his first layer is.  There is always another layer to Maui.  At first, he thinks she must be a fan, because he is the most popular hero in Polynesian legend.  He literally shaped the universe as much as God – fish-hooking up the islands out of the sea, inventing the coconut tree, bringing the mortals fire – and expects an eternal gratitude from every human indefinitely.  Like most mythology’s gods – the Greeks, the Norse, the Mayans – the creator of the universe would like to live like a king.  At least he isn’t a tyrant and doesn’t demand sacrifice, or even prayer, as he says in his song.  He’s content to live as a glorified human.  Somewhere between a god and a man, he settles for the title of “demigod.”  Since his powers depend on his missing enchanted fish-hook, his only gift is his immortality, but he hasn’t proven his worth much since.

Another thing distinguishes him from most myths – most people who made the world turn are still making it turn forever.  Apollo still rides the sun across the sky, Hades still runs the underworld, etc.  Maui is just a Deist – he made the world, but isn’t shaping it anymore.  This god is retired.

But Moana will not put up with him.  After one song of being overcome by his charisma, he steals her boat, and the sparkles fall from her eyes and never come back.  She chases him down and tackles him and commands him to return the Te Fiti’s heart.  That’s when Maui’s next layer is reached: defensiveness.  Since he stole the forbidden gift from God, it’s brought him (and the world) nothing but chaos.  Now that Moana has it, he’s afraid to even be near it.  He takes the attention off of this being his fault, and he focuses it on this being God’s fault.  A pastor could have a field day with describing that kind of denial.  It’s easier to blame someone else – easier to blame the life problems and broken relationships than to admit how you caused them, and easier to blame the one who you hurt for their anger rather than reconcile.

Then she remembers Maui’s old weakness – his pride.  He was a hero, and she reminds him that, in spite of his ego’s great wall of denial, he’s no one’s hero anymore.  In fact, he’s the villain.  This bring him to a halt.  If he’d had to sit with this for long he might’ve pushed back with denial or cracked.  But she flips it around by saying, if he returns the Heart, he could be the hero again, cheering crowds and all.  If you’re cynical you’d say she played his ego; if you’re sentimental, she gave him a chance at redemption.  For whichever reason, he accepts – and them promptly throws her into the water to get rid of her and ditch the plan.  The ocean tosses her back on board, and he shrugs, and accepts her plan, hopefully without any more betrayals.

A note on Hei Hei the Chicken – he is not noteworthy.  Don’t try to read into him for a hidden message.  He has literally nothing to contribute.

Now here come their first fantasy fights on their adventure.  The coconut gremlins it’s hard to read into.  Maybe they’re a perversion of something good, the coconut, the treat Maui created which sustains the islanders for food and fibers.  Maybe they’re just fun, disposable bad guys.

The second one goes a lot deeper.  They dive into the Realm of Monsters, something of an underworld deep under the water, so deep that it turns into air and land again.  In is center is a cave with a pile of gold in the middle, and crowning the top is Maui’s long-long weapon and source of his powers – the sword-like three-foot fish hook.  Maui was proud even without it and his powers, but with it again, the audience is left to speculate how that would go to his head again.  Expecting a trap, however, the warrior sends Moana in first as bait – and sneaks around the other side.

TAMATOA

That is where the film’s purest villain makes his debut: Tamatoa.  The thirty-foot crab has adorned himself with riches, until the gold coins and treasures became a part of his shell.  He identifies so much with his wealth that he *is* his wealth.  The creature scoops up Moana, but Maui has told her the crab’s weakness – getting him to talk about himself.  That was Maui’s weakness too, something she pointed out to him before.  When she asks to hear this great, legendary creature’s story (to stall him), he gladly obliges her.

He reveals himself to be a powerful symbol of ego and greed.  He knows he can be happy, he says, because he’s beautiful.  His emotional hunger turns physical when he lures a school of fish into his mouth with his shine.  He calls them stupid for being drawn to his wealth – which he himself was obsessed with – but because he’s the bigger (shell)fish, he swallows them whole.  The metaphor here could be a con artist, but it could also be a wealthy man, or a cruel business – making promises to the penniless poor and then taking everything they have.

When Maui emerges and snatches up his weapon, he seems poised to put Tamatoa in his place.  But when he tries to activate his powers, he shapeshifts into… everything but what he wants to.  Tamatoa turns and knocks him against the wall.  The fight becomes painfully one-sided.  The battle of egos, even more so.  He picks Maui apart, saying he doesn’t fight like he used to.  It’s true; Maui’s been living in the past for 1000 years, and now, he’s not able to act in the present.  He even stabs deep into his childhood, taunting him:

“Far from the ones who abandoned you,
Chasing the love of these humans
Who make you feel wanted
You tried to be tough
But your armor’s just not hard enough!”

Tamatoa’s mingled imagery of beauty, emotion and power show just how symbolic this battle is.  With his dominating ego and the armor of apathy, he doesn’t have the weaknesses of Maui’s aching heart.  He may love talking about himself, but he’s too tough to chase love from anyone.  He aspires to have no needs that would leave him vulnerable.  Tamatoa does not care, and therefore cannot be hurt.  It’s what’s outside that matters, not what’s inside – he’ll pick apart anyone’s heart but make no mention of his own.

And yet, when Moana offers the Heart of Te Fiti and throws a fake one away as a diversion, Tamatoa chases it ravenously, shouting about “the power of Creation.”  Even the most proud, calloused, heartless creature wants the heart of God – but it’s a perverted, possessive kind of love.

As Moana and Maui flee the cave, Tamatoa spots the stone as a fake, and catches up in seconds.  It’s only by stumbling into a geyser that the duo escapes from the underworld.  Once again, water is always looking out for Moana.

Back on the surface, the adventure comes to a sober standstill.  Maui’s confidence is shattered.  When she had first met him, he felt indomitable.  Now the greatest man in Creation – even reunited with his weapon and its powers – feels powerless.  In a way, this is quickly addressed with Moana’s insistent motivational speech, not so much saying that he can but that he *has* to be strong again to save her island and the world.  She is very direct for a Disney princess.  When she is assertive and even angry, it’s shown not as a sign of immaturity, but as empowering.  She uses it to drive herself in spite of her insecurities, or to push Maui in the right direction.

It’s only later, after a Maui re-training montage, that Moana asks about what Tamatoa said in the cave – about being abandoned.  As it turns out, he was an unwanted child.  As a baby his parents threw him into the sea.  The modern world has adoption and abortion, and the survivors of both carry this stigma heavily.  Somehow being born human has always made gods seem more relatable and vulnerable, starting with Christ.  But the Ocean carried him away (i.e. he was saved by an act of God), adopted by the gods, and granted him his powers.  Like Moses cast in the river, he was saved by the water (God), adopted by gods (the Pharaoh in Moses’ case), and yet went back to help his people who left him for dead.

Maui doesn’t voice all of it, but Tamatoa revealed a very different Maui – “chasing the love of these humans, who make [him] feel wanted.”  Instead of a powerful, confident pioneer, shaping the early Earth, we see a man haunted by his abandonment, desperate for approval.  The psychologist Alfred Adler was right – often a superiority complex is there to cover up an inferiority complex.  The roaring crowds he once had, who until recently serenaded him in his head (and his tattoos), were what he felt like he needed, to compensate for something.  He’d gained the whole world but still thirsted for something more.  It’s no wonder he stole the Heart of God – to fill his own.

Grateful for helping him process a millennium of feelings, Maui teaches her sailing and navigation.  Now that his facades are gone, he finds a way to take her under his wing.  He has a lot of experience to share with the next generation.  It’s the beginning of him rediscovering his place in the world.

TE KA

The next test comes when they see Eden on the horizon.  The island of Te Fiti is just glimpsed briefly, over the wall of barrier islands that surround it.  There lies the proverbial angel with a flaming sword, guarding the garden – Te Ka, the titan of smoke and lava that defeated Maui so many years ago.  Only Moana was able to talk Maui up to this – to risk losing everything again, and to trust that returning the Heart would be worth that risk.

As Maui approach Te Ka, its burning pits of eyes and long gaping mouth stretch wide with anger.   Gone are the grins and narrowed eyes, the malicious glee and evil laughs of past Disney villains, though they almost always come with clouds of smoke.  The legend said that Te Ka wanted the Heart for itself.  But the look in its face is not greed, like Tamatoa’s, but fury. Te Ka flings fireballs, lava bleeding from its thin fingertips.  Maui lops off its hand, leaving it in shock with pain, but the hand only grows back.  It strikes at the water, and its hand sizzles and crusts over, again stinging the beast – for it cannot bear to touch the water of God.

And yet, in a single hit, Te Ka smites Maui’s hook and sends him a kilometer back across the sea.  His hook is cracked, and cleft nearly in two.  His confidence is fallen again, and Moana can do nothing to stop it.  She says what she always has – that the Ocean chose her,  and that they has to deliver the Heart.  Maui’s words strike her theology: if the Ocean’s so great, why didn’t It deliver the Heart itself?   If the Ocean chose her, it must have chosen wrong.  He shapeshifts into a hawk and flies away, leaving her to face the thought of going back alone.

Moana is heartbroken.  The man on her journey may not have been a love interest (a rare exception for Disney), but he was Maui, full of potential, and without him in the story, she felt once again very small.  She finds herself in the position of many prophets: feeling unworthy.  She feels not strong enough or wise enough, the task seems to big, and the obstacles too powerful.  She speaks to the Ocean about this.  In a lighter film, this would have been the moment her confidence came back, and she sailed off to her destiny in song.  Not this time.  She asks the Ocean to take back the stone, and let someone else save her people.  The ocean reaches out, and pulls it to the bottom of the ocean.

It is a moment of unbearable darkness for the film.  It is only fitting that someone come along to brighten it.  She is visited by her grandmother’s spirit, who seems as warm as ever in death.  She reassures Moana, not so much about the Ocean’s choice of her, but about her identity.  Where most Disney films focus on the self as the identity, doing things in spite of the world’s ways, her grandmother’s song is thick with ties back with her family, her island and her culture.

She also pulls up a thread in the story about the voice inside her.  It could be her conscience, her intuition, her authentic self, Christ in her heart (though this story was probably B.C.), or the voice of God.  She calls it “the quiet voice still inside you;” the Old Testament called God’s the “still, small voice.”  Whatever the origin, it has called her to the sea all her life, and that led her to want to return the Heart in the first place.  That was only possible with the help of the Ocean, and her grandmother’s guidance as a faith leader, village elder and family member.  These three forces made the story possible: The Ocean, the Voice, and her Grandmother.  Te Fiti herself, however, is silent.  She still creates and sustains all life in the world, but never says a word.

What can be said about this almost-Trinity?  The comparisons to the Holy Trinity are present, but not perfect.  It is unclear whether any of the writers intended it to be a clear symbol.  Even Aslan compared to Jesus would not make a perfect comparison.  But let us attempt it.  Her grandmother may not be a higher power, but she is a spiritual guide.  The Voice, with its internal guidance, could represent Christ.  The Ocean, manifesting as the tangible will of God in the physical world, could be the Holy Spirit.  Te Fiti may be God the Father mostly as seen in the Old Testament – author of Creation, but not personally accessible to each person, singling out a few prophets instead.  No hierarchy in Moana’s Trinity is ever established – the Voice and the Ocean both want to restore Te Fiti’s Heart, so it can at least be said that they agree.  The Ocean just has the most physical power.

With her grandmother’s assurance, she dives down to the bottom of the ocean, picks up the Heart of Te Fiti, and sets sail for her island again.  She does not fight Te Ka to get there; she steers tight to avoid it instead.  She makes it past the barrier islands, but is still in Te Ka’s reach when it swings at her boat – and is stopped by Maui.  He spars with the monster to keep it at bay, fighting a losing battle.  He does it knowing that his hook, the source the powers that made most of his legendary triumphs possible, could be destroyed in the process.  And just as Moana reaches the center island, he defends her one last time – and his hook is destroyed.  The film doesn’t lighten the importance of a willing sacrifice the way gentler films would, by showing they were ready to lose but sparing them the loss.  Yet Maui, sobered though he is, wears a strange smile on his face.  This could be his last legend, but even though he lost, he did it for someone else.  In a way all his miracles were for someone else – making the world better for people – but in another, they were also to win people’s approval.  Now, this was a final selfless act.

But as Moana steps foot on the island, she finds it is much smaller than she expected.  She rushes to the top of it, looks down over the edge… and finds only a crater beneath the water, shaped like an island-sized woman’s body.  Te Fiti was gone.  If this moment had been drawn out, it would have been a literal moment of “there is no God,” a crisis of faith.  The notion of “God is dead,” though theologically unsound (for nothing is strong enough), haunts people.  It would mean that the world is broken, gone from good to bad, and there is no one big enough left to fix it.  It is a metaphor for the crash an optimist feels when they turn pessimist.  When the bad suddenly seems to outweigh the good, and it seems naive to believe in a benevolent God in the face of such damning evidence.  Suddenly the belief in a cosmic parent can feel childish, and it can feel more adult to say they have moved on from that belief.

TE FITI

Then she turns around and sees Te Ka.  She looks at the spiral on the Heart of Te Fiti.  She remembers the spiral on the drawings of Te Fiti herself she grew up with.  Te Ka has that same spiral on its chest.  That’s when, without a word, it sinks in.  Te Fiti Is Te Ka.  Steal the Heart of God, break the covenant between God and Man, and God will treat humanity and Earth differently forever.  With sin comes the wrath – here, literal fire and brimstone.  From Eden to the Flood, when Man breaks with God, God too breaks with Man.  Here, the rift is deeper than the Abrahamic faiths have ever gone – God is broken, literally heartless, consumed by anger at the loss, and reduced to a shell of Her former glory.  While the Greeks and the Norse gods killed their Creator Gods,  this role of a wounded Creator is unique.

The question from earlier about Ocean’s relationship with Te Fiti is answered here: the sea parts, Biblically, between Moana and Te Ka, inviting them to meet.  When Te Fiti is too hurt to know what’s best for Her, the Ocean does what’s best for her; the Ocean is the Higher Power here after all.  Moana realizes now that restoring the Heart may mean facing a Heartless God.  In the face of a monster that just crippled a demigod, she has nothing but compassion for a crippled God.  She sees past the anger and sees where it really comes from – pain.  She holds out the Heart.  Te Ka comes not walking, but crawling, across the parted sea floor, charging across the sands, its burning eyes able to be read as ravenous or as desperate.  As she reaches Moana, she seems ready to consume her in a molten wave, to consume her for all that Man has done wrong to Her… but instead she rests her head against Moana’s.  A relationship like this between a human and God is unparalleled.

With Te Fiti’s heart restored, her calloused lava rock crumbles away, and the vivid green of her lichen skin flourishes back.  The outside – bright, hard, dangerous and in conflict with the world – falls away so what’s inside could come out.  Tamatoa was obsessed with his outside too, with some of the same traits, except his emotions were suppressed and internalized – not caring about others.  He even strived to be heartless, and mocked Moana for listening to hers, or for caring about her voice on the inside.  Te Ka’s bled out in anger, lashing at anyone who tried to get close to her.  Yet on the inside, Tamatoa would not have looked better without his shell.

The world resolves itself from there how anyone would expect.  With God’s power restored, the black decay of the islands is replaced by luscious blooms, and even Maui’s broken hook is restored.  Te Fiti does all this without saying a word, though she rests her head against Moana’s again, affectionately.  This God is not a king who rules from afar, not formal or cerebral; God is tender, intimate, and personal.

Maui has two endings here.  At first, Moana invites him back to her village, to be renowned as a hero again.  He turns it down, however, to stay on the island of Te Fiti with God.  And so Adam returns to Eden, which, with his symbolic death with the destruction of his hook, could symbolize Heaven, an afterlife rewarding him for his efforts.  Yet in the final scene of the movie, he appears for a cameo with the rest of her village.  He must have changed his mind about life on Te Fiti.  With the restoration of his hook, the symbol of his potency and divinity, perhaps this symbolized a second chance at life – taken further, sacrificing his life for others in the service of God showed he was worthy of a return from the dead.  He may not have talked or lived like Christ, but his end does mirror Jesus’ end in that way at least.

The last scenes of the movie fade into the nonverbal for several minutes, showing instead of telling what happens for “ever after.”  Her family sees her setting an example by setting out to sea, as their ancestors did, and they follow suit.  Her ancestors had once sailed across the seas, island to island, but once they got settled, her father’s generation had hidden away the boats behind the waterfall.  Now he brings them out again until their entire village fit upon them.  Why leave their idyllic village if the black plague is gone?

The reasons may not be literal, but – you guessed it – symbolic.  Moana was chosen as the Ocean’s prophet.  Her father had disbanded the faith, for the entire island, because he had loved the Ocean but the Ocean took someone he loved.  Moana’s voyage was a literal act of faith, trusting it even when no one she knew had been out upon it in her lifetime.  Faith in the sea had waned for their whole people, and it took the Ocean and a follower to bring about a revival.  What symbolized trust in the Ocean more than leaving the land and living on it?  Replace the words “the Ocean” with “God,” and the parallel is unmistakable.  After all, who calmed the storm and walked on it?

The content in Moana is inspiring enough on its own – it is moving, witty, and beautiful.  The process goes far deeper.

 

star-wars-force-awakens-r2d2It’s a tricky art, building on a classic.  Star Wars, the original, was unique.  So, when Disney asked J.J. Abrams to make another one, he felt every fan in the world breathing down his neck.  Under such duress, what could he do but this?

If you’ve seen it, or want to talk as if you have, all you have to do is watch Star Wars IV: A New Hope again, and fuzz out the details.

Picture this.  A giant triangle in space – a ship called a Star Destroyer – is investigating a humble little group of innocent-looking people, people the dictatorship expects are rebels.  The dictatorship invades the camp, its stormtroopers open fire, and they were right – these people were rebels.  In fact, one of them had a secret hologram with some data that had to get to the rebel base, and would determine the fate of the movie.  The rebel stores it in a dome-headed idiosyncratic droid and tells it to escape into the desert.  That’s when a sinister black-caped helmeted man appears, an evil space psychic called a Sith.  The man speaks in a mask-modified baritone voice filter as he tries to get secrets from one of the rebels, but the man resists, so he kills him.  That’s when the defiant rebel who had the hologram is captured, smack-talks the black-caped man to the face, and is taken back to the dictators to be tortured in a diagonal chair for interrogation.  The dictatorship is now searching for this important droid.

Now, cut away to that desert planet, and we’ll find the soon-to-be main character, a beige-ragged youngster scraping a living from scrap technology.  They were orphaned by their parents as a child, and they look to the stars like a kid in a musical, hoping to find their salvation there one day.  It’s through sheer luck (or fate) that they find the dome-headed droid, and start coaxing answers from it.  They discover it’s a rebel’s droid looking for its master and delivering an important message.  This excites them, because even though they know next-to-nothing about the rebellion, it sounds good.  The youngster feels obligated to help the droid complete its quest.

In the market that day, the kid meets leather-jacketed ruffian, who says he can get them off-world to a rebel-friendly planet.  He wouldn’t mind getting off this planet himself, with the powerful people he’s upset around here.  Locals are already picking fights with them.  When someone spots the droid and alerts the dictatorship, stormtroopers attack.  The kid and the ruffian are forced to leave in a hurry in some trashy-looking ship called the Millennium Falcon.

The next few scenes happen at slightly different times in each movie, if you want to split hairs over it.

  • One of the escapees has little idea what they’re doing when they’re manning the Millennium Falcon’s guns, but they manage to shoot down a few Tie Fighter ships the dictatorship sent after them.
  • There’s a meeting in a space cantina full of eccentric aliens.  The middle of the movie has a soft-voiced old mystic with a lightsaber who teaches the main characters about The Force, telling them that closing your eyes will help you think clearer, even while fighting for your life.
  • Fortunately, the small band of runaways makes it to the rebel base.

The dictatorship lives on a giant ball-ship that can destroy an entire planet but which no one noticed they were building.  They test it and destroy the old government to make room for the dictatorship (though New Hope does these separately with some dialogue about the dissolution of the Senate).  The escaped rebels sneak onboard the giant ship to disable its super-weapon, sneaking around the giant mechanical columns and hallways where they are radically outnumbered.

The black-caped villain senses an important older main character’s presence on the ship and finds them there.  The elder man practically raised him and said he saw good in him.  The dialogue is one of the richest in the movie, but ends with the elder accepting their death at the hands of the younger.  Screams, shootouts and escape ensues.  The rebels fly X-wing starships over the ball-ship to attack its weaknesses, but draw fire from TIE fighters and anti-aircraft turret guns.  The heroes and main character villains narrowly escape when the giant ball-ship explodes.  There’s a little mourning, but mostly the rebels stand in a crowd of solidarity and triumph.

THE END