Of course beauty won’t save the world. That’s preposterous. Except, when we hear Dostoevsky initially dropped the phrase, then we’re not so sure. Like obedient lab rats, we’ve been trained to always agree with Dostoevsky. Even when we don’t know what he’s talking about.

Greg Wolfe—the founder of Image Journal and one of the preeminent thinkers on religion and art—doesn’t bandy about the title for marketing purposes (though, let’s be honest, it’s great for that, too). BWSTW explores the dotted line between art and ideology, and seeks out those places where beauty—whether in a book or a painting (sorry, film buffs)—makes us pause, catch our collective breath, and wonder.

Art, he writes, is especially important in our world, because where truth claims are weakened, images and atmosphere shape how we think.

Naturally, any piece of art does carry with it a certain *gasp* ideology, because it comes from a woman or a man with certain opinions, a certain message they wish to convey—even if that message can only be conveyed in a story or image. Wolfe rightly insists, however, that a good piece of art is more than its message; it presents a human understanding that breaks apart a tidy ideology. These deep things that make us human (like connection with place, suffering, or living in paradox) are not just entertaining, but spiritual in a sense. All good art, whether about romance or alienation, reminds us of who we really are and who we really can be. In this sense, like a fervent prayer or holy writ or even a good conversation, this spiritual side of art—of beauty—might just be what we need to be saved.

How do you deal with your Old Man?

Cool Hand Luke is a film filled with the presence and absence of Old Men. Luke [Paul Newman] is an aging man who is searching for purpose. Bored with his life he makes choices that land him opposite of the law and thus locked up. It is within a community of inmates and wardens [pretty much all old men] that the story unfolds.

Despite the fact they never appear on screen, the two most important old men in Luke’s life are the ones that fill this movie: His Dad and God.

Maybe if God weren’t so often referred to as “Heavenly Father” people wouldn’t so deeply connect his nature to their earthly fathers. But whether you are a baptized-born-again believer, an agnostic wondering and wavering between faith and doubt or an atheist who is sure there is nothing up there other than blue sky, your sense of who God is [or isn’t] is likely a reflection of your relationship with your Old Man.

Loving. Absent. Wrathful. Patient. Will never let you borrow some cash. Gracious. Buzz killer.

Who is your Old Man?

Cool Hand Luke takes the Old Man cards that are dealt to every human and plays them masterfully on the screen in a story filled with symbolism and significance.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=l3CPz21NzUc

Are our stories separate or one?

My eldest daughter (an avid reader and advocate of good story) continues to offer “free” commentary during my weekend television viewings. “Why are you always watching Football? Golf? What’s the point? There’s no story in sports!”

After realizing I had utterly failed as a father, we sat down to talk and I forced her to watch Sunday night football with me.

Now, much to her credit, unless you happen to catch an event where Bob Costas has produced one of his let’s-see-if-I-can-make-you-cry spots, you may or may not get glimpses of the hidden stories within the game. Of course, Hollywood has figured out how to take a few to the big screen. We’ve seen great sport films such as Blind Side, Hoosiers, Rudy, and Chariots of Fire (to name a few) capitalize on the magic of the “one-shining-moments” that convert even the haters.

But aside from Hoop Dreams, there have been few (great) sports documentaries to make it to the theaters (or even DVD).

Enter ESPN’s 30 for 30project.

While each of the 30 for 30 are worthy of viewing, the storytelling found in The Two Escobars is some of the best I’ve seen. Directors (and brothers)  Jeff and Michael Zimbalist not only tell the story of the murder of soccer great Andres Escobar after his own-goal in the 1994 World Cup, but its connection to Pablo Escobar, the renown Colombian drug lord. (And interestingly enough, the connection is not what you might think.)

In fact, there is so much “story” here, that the sport tends to take a back seat. It’s humanized. It’s complex. It’s connected.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=-5nWc7Btc6I

Is there reconciliation in the story?

We live in an era where Pixar rules the animated box office. In many ways, rightly so. However, Pixar’s look, style, and integrated stories have left American culture with a (not-so) new standard, or expectation, in animation. L’ Illusionniste, an British-French film based on a 1956 unproduced script from French mime Jacques Tati, is an appropriate alternative to the Pixar formula.

As we continue to explore the nature of wonder through art and film (on this site and rednow.com), we continue to recognize the deep connection between art and personal expression. L’Illusionniste is a prime example. This story is so contrary to the new norm, it hints towards a familiar reality. What at first might appear to be a plot surrounding a bizarre romance and a dying profession, turns out to be a story of relational complexity -- rooted in hopes, needs, and misconceptions.

To enhance the tension (and wonder) of the film, director Sylvain Chomet tells the story with very little dialogue. We feel the complexity versus understand them. There’s humor. There’s brokennes. Much like life. In fact, much like Jacques Tati’s own life. While there is some debate surrounding the script’s inspiration, it’s widely believed to be a love letter from Tati to his estranged eldest daughter.

This is the beauty of (great) art. It’s based in experience. We believe it because it’s true. We connect with it because it’s familiar.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=mPdLrxxo4mg