Blazing Apostles

There's something about watching The Apostle that just somehow puts my fretful little soul at ease. Maybe because it helps put my own life into perspective. Maybe because it helps me reaffirm my own hopelessly naive optimism in humanity when things don't otherwise point in that direction. Probably more than anything, I'm amazed by the fantastic, almost seamlessly pitch-perfect performances in this picture, from Farrah Fawcett to John Beasley, Miranda Richardson to Billy Bob Thorton. There's hardly a flawed performance in the bunch, even and especially the actors in minor roles that really help solidify this town, this place and this time in the realms of the real.

Robert Duvall is Sonny, a charismatic Texas preacher. His faith runs deep, and his talent at the pulpit goes back to his childhood, as well as his many late-night, obstreperous conversations with God that keep the neighbors up nightly. He loves his mother (played by June Carter Cash), his congregation, and his two angelic beautiful young children. But Sonny is also a troubled man, and a sinner; his womanizing destroyed his marriage, and his easy temper gets him into one too many fisticuffs, but when his violent rage provokes him into committing one of the most severe sins against God's law, Sonny evades the police and runs away to a rural town in Louisiana so small and with such racial and economic disparity that he decides that it his is calling to build the community's first church, and through his actions, his attempts to bring God and fellowship and a sense of connection to a poor community with nothing much but themselves to offer each other, redeem him spiritually -- if not by the laws of man, then quite possibly in the eyes of God. When the inevitable moment comes, Sonny is ready to accept his punishment, but he has at least given something back to the world that which he had taken away by his own sinful hand.

And that's what I find so fascinating about this picture. Sonny is a sinner. He is capable of doing terrible things, things that most men couldn't bring themselves to do no matter how much their anger and sense of helplessness forces them to take leave of their senses. But Sonny is also capable of doing good things. He will go that extra mile to see something positive come out of his actions, and oftentimes not even bother to take credit for it. Through church bake sales and collections Sonny is able to buy groceries for the poor local families, but he leaves the bags on the front step and runs away before he is discovered, creating the illusion of a miracle from God. But to Sonny it isn't an illusion -- he sees himself only as God's instrument, carrying out God's good will. Sonny's faith and convictions are so infectious that he inspires the entire community to stand in front of a bulldozer bent on destroying their church, the symbol of their fellowship and spiritual connection to one another.

Whether or not you believe in God is irrelevant to the denouement of this film. It's a film about humanity. In other words, Sonny is human. And probably one of the most realistically human characters I've seen on film in quite a long time. A film like this helps remind me that, as much as I struggle with the notion, I really am far from perfect. I've done things that I deeply regret, and chances are I will probably do more things I'll regret in the future. But at the same time I try my best to mine the depths of my own positive potential, and I can only hope that at times I've given back positively to the world after I've occasionally taken away from it selfishly. I can only hope that when I die people will remember me as a relatively good person who in the end always only meant well, always wanting to help out, and always only wanting to make people happy. My hope isn't to die knowing this for myself, but hoping that I've genuinely left something positive in the people I've left behind.

Eghad, that's sobering. I think I need to go watch Bachelor Party now.