What makes a person great?

This week’s film Gandhi clearly promotes its title character as a great man—but what is it that makes Gandhi unique and worthy of being recognized by multitudes as seen in the film? Well, I think his greatness stems from a few things. First, he is willing to stand up for a cause he believes in. We see this over and over in the movie. In the opening scene, British conductors throw Gandhi off a train in South Africa for insisting that as an Indian man he is also a British citizen with the rights of any other subject of the Crown—this mistreatment launches Gandhi’s peaceful campaign to earn better rights (and ideally, equality) for Indians in South Africa. Although the British respond to his policy of non-violent protest with brutality, Gandhi and his followers stand firm for their cause and are rewarded with increased rights for Indians.

Gandhi and supporters marching for Indian rights in South Africa.

Gandhi returns to his native India as a hero, where he is asked to take up another fight—that of Indian independence from Britain. Again, Gandhi passionately dedicates himself to his cause and believes he is doing what is right. However, as he tells the Indian leaders who ask him for his support, he must discover whom exactly he is working for—in other words, he needs to come to know the people of India, the real people, not just those of the upper echelons. I think the effort Gandhi and his friends and family make to learn about the land and its inhabitants, to truly come to know how the people think and feel and what they want for their country, is another thing that makes Gandhi great. He understands that political power originates with the people and that leading a nation is really all about knowing what the people need. Moreover, Gandhi begins to live as the Indian people do, adopting their dress and learning how to make his own cloth. He truly becomes one of those for whom he is fighting. And, in this fight for Indian independence, Gandhi again emphasizes non-violence and passive action—making speeches and leading demonstrations—even when British tactics involve massacre and further oppression.

Gandhi as a leader in India.

After the British grant India its independence following World War II, Gandhi faces a challenge of another kind. Whereas before he had been attempting to gain rights for his people and then separate them from a foreign power, in his later years he must figure out how to unite a country composed of individuals whose religious convictions vary. Gandhi’s solution to this dilemma is to grant concessions to different groups—oh, and he goes on hunger strikes when violence erupts, believing that the people love and honor him enough that the threat of his death (which would then be blamed on their inability to get along with each other) is enough to quell the uprisings. But while his toleration of other’s belief choices is admirable (even if his self-starvation seems childish and unwise), it also (spoiler alert) leads to his assassination by a young man who is displeased with Gandhi’s policy of peace. At the end of his life, then, Gandhi is both loved and hated, a wise man and a foolish one, an advocate of peace perhaps at war with himself over the unrest in his beloved country.

For Me Then…

It’s easy to make comparisons between Gandhi and Martin Luther King, Jr. Both men fought non-violent campaigns for people they loved and causes they believed in; and although their dreams were realized, their work and dedication cost them their lives. But in addition to their moral, social, and political achievements, Gandhi and King are also still remembered and honored today in large part because they advocated policies of love over hatred.

One particular statement about love that Gandhi makes in the film (and said in real life) really resonated with me this week: “When I despair, I remember that all through history the way of truth and love has always won. There have been tyrants, and murderers, and for a time they can seem invincible, but, in the end, they always fall. Think of it. Always.” Honestly, it’s been a rather rough day for me today, and Gandhi’s statement of confidence and hope that good always wins out in the end reminded me of the greatest Man, One who also spoke words of peace and love: Jesus. And in I Corinthians 13:8, Jesus’ message of love is presented by the Apostle Paul: “Love never fails.” People may fail. They might mistreat us or disappoint us, but violence and retaliation are not the solution. The only real way to solve the world’s problems—as well as our own personal ones—is through unconditional love. I think Gandhi’s message of love is what most made him a great person.

Thank you all for your continued support of FlicksChick.com! I will be taking a bit of a break from the blog to spend time with family (and to hopefully finish this never-ending thesis!). See you in a few weeks!

Remember cute, little Dr. Hammond, the elderly developer of one of the most famous parks in cinematic history? Here’s a hint if you can’t recall him: his park had dinosaurs in it. It’s name was Jurassic Park, of course; and what a great vision he had for it (though there were a few kinks to work out…). Idealistic to the end, though, Hammond shares with a horrified Dr. Ellie Sattler, “Creation is an act of sheer will. Next time it’ll be flawless.” This is after dinosaur rampages have killed several people. Anyway, the point in bringing up dear Dr. Hammond and his desire to achieve a seemingly impossible dream is that the actor who played the great innovator/dreamer (Richard Attenborough) was in real life a pretty spectacular creator himself—and the director of this week’s Best Picture winner, Gandhi (1982, Indo-British Film Production; Columbia).

Dr. Hammond in his Jurassic Park (i.e. Gandhi’s director, Richard Attenborough).

Gandhi (the film) became Richard Attenborough’s dream project after he was contacted by a former follower of Mahatma Ghandi and had read Louis Fischer’s Life of Mahatma Gandhi (1950). “I just love biography,” Attenborough once confessed, “and I’m fascinated by people who have shifted our destinies or our points of view.” However, only after a series of setbacks delayed film production for 18 years, was Attenborough finally able to raise the money and assemble the cast and crew needed to complete the massive project. For just a taste of the challenges involved in making the film, here’s a fun fact: the funeral scene alone features more than 300,000 extras. Incredible!

Attenborough faced another challenge that had nothing to do with money or with human participants in the making of the film. He had to figure out how to deal with the legacy of a man whom many in India viewed as a deity. Years before the film actually went into production, then Indian prime minister Jawaharlal Nehru warned Attenborough to be careful not to “deify” Gandhi because he was too great a man to be given such treatment in film (sounds a bit like circular reasoning to me…). However, the Indian government funded one third of the film, and popular opinion is always a strong influence…Suffice it to say, the debate continues about whether the film portrays Gandhi in a truly historical way or whether it shows him to be more than human. But such is the struggle when making a film about a larger-than-life personality from the past (Exhibit A: Braveheart (1995), a lovely but inaccurate historical account of the life of Scotland’s William Wallace).

A shot from the funeral scene in Gandhi. Yes, those little dots are all real people.

Years later, Attenborough himself commented on the challenges of creating a film like Gandhi: “Those movies are very difficult to make, and if you’re not prepared or interested in science fiction, which in terms of movies I’m not, if you’re not interested in terms of all the CGI stuff that you can now do in the cinema which is quite remarkable compared to the time that I was making movies, 30, 40, 50 years ago, then if you’re not prepared to indulge in the pornography of violence or overt sexual matter, it’s very, very difficult. It is hard to raise the money…And if you don’t have something which they believe will reach an enormous audience, then they won’t go for it. And so you fall out.”

Despite the years of struggle, Attenborough and Gandhi were dynamically successful, garnering eleven Academy Award nominations and taking home eight Oscar statuettes for Art Direction, Cinematography, Film Editing, Costume Design, Writing (Screenplay Written Directly for the Screen), Actor in a Leading Role for Ben Kingsley as Mahatma Gandhi, Director for Richard Attenborough, and Best Picture. It did not win for Sound, Makeup, and Music (Original Score). The loss in the Music category was probably expected, for who can really compete with John Williams and the score from E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial? Ironically, Attenborough was absolutely convinced that E.T. was a better film than his own Gandhi and greatly deserving of the BP win it didn’t get. So a little over a decade later, when Steven Spielberg (E.T.’s director) requested that Attenborough return to acting after a 14-year hiatus to play the deluded, optimistic Dr. Hammond in Jurassic Park (1993), Attenborough was more than honored to work with his former competition—and the rest is cinematic history.

Steven Spielberg and Richard Attenborough at the premiere of Jurassic Park.

For more thoughts on Gandhi and its significance, please check out the full post this weekend!

“And where does the power come from, to see the race to its end? From within…If you commit yourself to the love of Christ, then that is how you run a straight race.”

~ Eric Liddell in Chariots of Fire

Chariots of Fire is essentially the story of two men and their religions: Harold Abrahams, a Jew, and Eric Liddell, a Christian. Both men see their running as an extension of those religious convictions. For Abrahams, being Jewish is a trial that he did not choose and cannot avoid, and he is convinced that success on the track is a way that he can prove his worth to non-Jews, whom he perceives as critical of his every move. In answer to his soon-to-be girlfriend Sybil’s query about whether he loves running, Abrahams replies, “I’m more of an addict. It’s a compulsion with me, a weapon I can use…[against] being Jewish.” Abrahams’ running style mirrors his goal: he attacks his races and views his competitors as if they are enemies.

On the flip side, Eric Liddell doesn’t really see himself as solely a runner. Instead, he is foremost a missionary, a preacher, and an example to those around him of a life completely dedicated to God. When his sister Jennie expresses concern that his running is interfering with his work for God, he tells her, “I believe God made me for a purpose, for China, but He also made me fast. And when I run, I feel His pleasure. To give it up would be to hold Him in contempt.” Like Abrahams, Liddell’s running style reflects his philosophy about the sport: he runs as fast as he can for the whole race, his arms flailing wildly and his head thrown back with an expression of awe and utter delight—like he is communing with God during the race.

Liddell (right) defeats a stunned Abrahams in their first competitive meeting.

By the end of the film (spoiler alert!), both men have become gold medalists at the 1924 Olympic Games, but how they approach those races on the world’s biggest stage—as well as how they react to their victories—could not be more different. Abrahams, true to his conviction that everyone is against him, hires a professional trainer, Sam Mussabini, in his desperation to defeat the stiff competition he’s been scouting. But their sessions and preparations become more secretive when the University of Cambridge, Abrahams’ school, objects to him (as an amateur) being trained by a paid coach. Oh, and Mussabini is also half Italian, and the recent termination of WWI didn’t leave the Italians in the most friendliest of relationships with the British…which, of course, Abrahams picks up on. Anyhow, Mussabini’s methods work for Abrahams, and he is victorious over his “enemies” in the 100-meter sprint. Yet rather than elation, Abrahams sinks into depression after his race, uncertain what to do with his life now that his one goal, his way of “justify[ing]” his “whole existence,” is over.

For Liddell, the Olympics, which were supposed to be a culminating achievement before his return to the mission field in China, turn into a test of his faith and commitment to God. Discovering that his qualifying heat for the 100-meter sprint is scheduled to be held on Sunday, a day which Liddell believes should be completely set aside for God and not for sports, Liddell is faced with the tough choice of whether to run and break what he sees as God’s law or to withdraw and lose the opportunity of a lifetime. Liddell pulls out of the race despite intense pressure from the British Olympic Committee, which includes the Prince of Wales. Liddell’s faithfulness is rewarded when Lord Lindsay, already having won a silver medal, sacrifices his place in the 400-meter race in order for Liddell to have a chance to compete. Even though the 400 meters isn’t Liddell’s strength, he wins the gold medal and is carried off the field in triumph by his teammates—including Abrahams. Liddell’s victory on the track mirrors the excerpt of the biblical verse Jackson Scholz, one of the American runners, hands him prior to the race: “He who honors Me, I will honor” (I Samuel 2:30). For Liddell, there are no regrets, no doubts about the future, no qualms that achieving a dream has crushed all the meaning out of his life. His win is simply God’s reward to a humble man who stood up for what he believed.

Liddell and his teammates rejoice over his victory in the 400.

For Me Then…

I used to believe that, in the case of athletic competitions, God would reward those who honored Him by providing them with victories. In other words, the success of a team depended on the level of their godliness. At least, that was what I had been taught when I was younger. However, as I got older, I learned from some rather difficult losses that sports victories are not necessarily the guaranteed result of living a godly life. In fact, one might even be able to say that Eric Liddell’s winning a gold medal in a race that wasn’t his forte might be in the minority of occurrences in which acts of faith resulted in (specifically) athletic victory.

But in watching Chariots of Fire again this week, I was re-contemplating this idea. Certainly, in Liddell’s case God honored someone who honored Him, but the honor Liddell received was not limited to his Olympic victory. In addition to the gold medal he won, Liddell was also honored by the attention he received by taking a stand for what he believed in. His story and his beliefs were placed before the entire world—allowing him a platform to speak the truth to those who might not otherwise pay attention. Furthermore, after his win, the notoriety of what he had said and done permitted the good news of Christianity to spread further than it would have otherwise. In short, Liddell definitely received more from God than simply a gold medal.

A gold medal is still pretty spectacular, though, I must admit! But to comment on Abrahams before this post closes, let me quote another fabulous sports movie, Cool Runnings (1993), the story of the 1988 Jamaican bobsled team: “A gold medal is a wonderful thing. But if you’re not enough without it, you’ll never be enough with it.” For Abrahams—especially in contrast with Liddell—winning is personal in the sense that he needs to prove his equality as a Jew in a prejudiced society. But in protesting his need to “stick it to” everyone who is against him, Abrahams fools himself, for the person he really needs to convince about his worth is himself. He is incorrect that winning defines him; he still has value even when he loses. Plus, when his competitive running days are over and there is no more winning, where will his self-worth (and method of proving it) come from? Such is Abrahams’ crisis at the end of the film. His inability to love himself—despite what others think or say about him—prevents him from finding peace during his competitions (regardless of their outcomes) and hope after he is victorious.

To the contrary, Eric Liddell’s identity doesn’t rest on his running ability or number of victories—and he undoubtedly knows this. Win or lose, Liddell finds rest and peace before, during, and after every competition because he is a Christian. His hope is in Christ for his present and his future, and his purpose is God’s purpose. He is not without trials and difficulties, but he knows from whence comes his strength to finish each race—for the races involving running and for the race of life.