On the Tube
I'm about half-way through the ten hours of Krzysztof Kieślowski's "Dekalog" (1989), considered by many to be one of the greatest cinematic achievements of all time. Really ten separate but interrelated short films, they were produced for Polish television in the last days of Communism. The films are an examination of the Ten Commandments in our lives, and could have only been produced in a Catholic cultural context. With sin as their topic, they are not cheery pieces, but rather glimpses into dark nights of the soul.
The first one, for example, is the story of a professor father and his boy genius son. The boy's Catholic aunt explains that her brother lost faith in God when he realized as a young man that some things could be measured, and took that to mean that all things could be measured. Father and son later use a computer to calculate that a nearby lake would be frozen solidly enough to skate upon. The feature ends with a seemingly weeping image of Our Lady of Czestochowa in a church under construction.
There is little moralizing in the films; the viewer is instead drawn to meditate on sin. It is clear that we are all sinners. None of the protagonists are simple black-and-white characterizations. A false oath is sworn, for example, to save a baby from an abortion, but neither the blashpemer nor the baby's adulterous mother are portrayed as unambiguously good or evil. In another episode, we come to empathize with another adulterous woman when we learn how much she has suffered for her sin.
There is a recurring character in each of the films, billed as "The Young Man." He has no lines, and appears at key moments when some moral choice is being made. He is usually a worker of some sort, carrying something heavy, and looks on with sadness.
I'm about half-way through the ten hours of Krzysztof Kieślowski's "Dekalog" (1989), considered by many to be one of the greatest cinematic achievements of all time. Really ten separate but interrelated short films, they were produced for Polish television in the last days of Communism. The films are an examination of the Ten Commandments in our lives, and could have only been produced in a Catholic cultural context. With sin as their topic, they are not cheery pieces, but rather glimpses into dark nights of the soul.
The first one, for example, is the story of a professor father and his boy genius son. The boy's Catholic aunt explains that her brother lost faith in God when he realized as a young man that some things could be measured, and took that to mean that all things could be measured. Father and son later use a computer to calculate that a nearby lake would be frozen solidly enough to skate upon. The feature ends with a seemingly weeping image of Our Lady of Czestochowa in a church under construction.
There is little moralizing in the films; the viewer is instead drawn to meditate on sin. It is clear that we are all sinners. None of the protagonists are simple black-and-white characterizations. A false oath is sworn, for example, to save a baby from an abortion, but neither the blashpemer nor the baby's adulterous mother are portrayed as unambiguously good or evil. In another episode, we come to empathize with another adulterous woman when we learn how much she has suffered for her sin.
There is a recurring character in each of the films, billed as "The Young Man." He has no lines, and appears at key moments when some moral choice is being made. He is usually a worker of some sort, carrying something heavy, and looks on with sadness.
Redeemed by Our Savior, I work out my salvation with fear and trembling in Pohang, South Korea, where I live with my wife, daughter, and son and teach English at a science and technology university. Baptized a Methodist and raised a Missouri Synod Lutheran in Buffalo, NY, I spent six years as a guest of the Anglican Communion before being received by the Grace of God into the One Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church on the Feast of Saint Andrew, my patron, anno domini 2002.
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