I’m Alexander Cheves, and this is LOVE, BEASTLY—a blog about sex, feelings, and manhood. It’s written mostly for men—gay, straight, bi, MSM, or just curious—but some readers are women, and some don’t fit into categories. Everyone’s welcome here.
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This movie is going to cause such a fuss. It's not great, but it's good. But more than the film itself, the real entertainment is watching Christians foam at the mouth.
The job of the critic is to put aside one's private prejudices and recognise when good art is made. Darren Aronofsky's new Bible epic Noah—I can't believe I'm saying this—is good art. Good, not great.
The film is provocative, elegant, bold, gritty, dark, and nicely done. And, as anyone could have predicted, it has caused a stir among those who believe the film is about real events (Christians). I'm not a Christian, so I cannot speak at length or in great detail about its controversy, but after watching it, I have a fair idea of what some of the objections might be. I know the book of Genesis and don't remember any giant rock monsters.
I confess that I went into the theatre biased. I love Aronofsky and his filmmaking (he has directed some of my favourite films), but I wasn't sure why he decided to make a big-budget Bible story. Haven't Bible movies come and gone from popular cinema?
Aronofsky went against form. He decided not to market his new movie as a dark indie but instead as a sweeping, CGI-heavy epic, which was a bit upsetting. The latter approach appeals to conservative audiences, which can't be Aronofsky's base. After years of loyal support from indie snobs who loved Requiem For A Dream, The Wrestler, and Black Swan, it was jolting to see him pander to Christian Hollywood.
But maybe it wasn't pandering at all. Branding Noah as a Christian epic brought audiences who were surprised to see, from the opening credits, that Noah is—thank God—still an Aronofsky movie. A subversive trick: get them in, then piss them off.
The opening sequence shows a fish evolving into an ape. Russell Crowe plays a deeply flawed, brutally human, militantly vegetarian Noah—I can almost hear a chorus of alpha male influencers calling him “woke Noah” to their 500-plus subscribers. In the hands of the gruff, beefed-up, slightly ageing Russell Crowe, this Noah artfully embodies the plight of the angry, obstinate, and ultimately self-destructive zealot with violent faith. His performance is matched in power by Jennifer Connelly, his wife.
The film may be one of Aronofsky's best, so long as you view it and its source material as a fable. If you're looking for an exact rendition of the Biblical story, you'll be disappointed and probably angered. And that’s perhaps the point.
Aronofsky knew his film would cause heat. Good art is meant to provoke, not instruct, but try telling that to Rick Warren and the Bible brigade. To be safe, he added a disclaimer at the end of the theatrical trailer after Christians expressed initial outrage.
Religion is the enemy of art. It stifles its creation and casts out its makers. Millions of people across the world will hate the film because of their religion. They will see Noah, like the material it pays tribute to, as an offering of truth. In doing so, they will fail to see what it is: a thriller led by good performances and lovely cinematography, a fable of human cruelty, a codified animal-rights polemic, and an epic about the complicated and poisonous relationship between god and man.
Love, Beastly