Weekend at the Movies – Noah

Darren Aronofsky, auteur filmmaker of such unnerving fare as Requiem for a Dream, The Fountain, and Black Swan, recently turned his attention to the familiar Biblical story of Noah. The result, aptly titled Noah, opens in theaters this weekend.

Noah’s plot should be familiar to most moviegoers. Set in the wayback of Christian mythology, long after the time of Adam and Eve and their troubled progeny Abel (murdered), Cain (cursed), and Seth, but long before the rise of Rome, mankind had turned to wickedness. When the Creator decides that the only solution is to cleanse the world with a great flood, he chooses Noah, last of Seth’s line, to build an Ark to shelter the whole of beastkind and birdkind. Aronofsky spices the tale with some unorthodox elements, but make no mistake: this is still the story of the Great Flood, and it begins and ends just as you’d expect.

The Savage Take

The film I saw was not at all the one I expected to see, and that was a good thing.

Man’s biggest failing in the eyes of Noah’s Creator is his poor stewardship of the earth. Humanity has spoiled the world by plundering its resources and feasting on its animals, all in the pursuit of power and strength. Noah (Russell Crowe), by contrast, is an isolationist vegetarian with a strict “take only what you need” philosophy (as he reminds his greedy middle son in the film’s opening).

Therefore, when the Creator presents the total annihilation of humanity as the only way to save his beautiful creation, Noah is easily inclined to agree, and we can hardly blame him. He is a good man, the lone saint in a world full of sinners.

But is Noah a good man? That is the central question of his character, as presented by the film, and as questioned by Noah himself. When the burden of faith comes to bear, he claims to have been chosen not for his goodness, but for his unwavering commitment to his duty.

This is contrasted against his wife, Naameh (Jennifer Connelly), who values the happiness of her children above all else, even her Creator’s will. Inevitably, their desires come into conflict, as Noah must choose between what he believes he should and what he believes he must do.

This conflict of faith drives Noah swiftly from a relatable character with a difficult task to an unrelatable monster whom we rail against as much as those trapped on the ark with him. But whether we love Noah or hate Noah, it’s cool to finally see him treated like a real character, not just a figurehead for the Great Flood. He is strong, and brooding, and quite possibly misguided—making Russell Crowe the perfect casting choice—but ultimately and inescapably human.

But despite its dark character beats and its fantastical special effects show, at its end Noah is a film about compassion, forgiveness, and the hope that we can find a little more kindness in the world.

The Courteous Rejoinder

I suspect that Noah will be accused of many things throughout its box office run, but I doubt that being an easy film is among them. Although it holds many pitfalls for viewers of certain persuasions, I unequivocally adored the film’s first half. It is full of grand mythology and high spectacle and speaks directly to why myths resonate with all of us, no matter our held beliefs.

Russell Crowe’s transition from warm father to cold taskmaster is persuasive, even as he wades through sweeping moments of miracles and monsters, both human and heavenly. But then the flood bursts forth, and the texture of the film is changed as seemingly irrevocably as Noah’s own soul.

I can’t say I enjoyed the second half of Noah, sitting there in the theater, but the more I sit and think, the more I respect it.

Aronofsky, like any who wish to put the Good Book on the big screen, faced the central dichotomy of modern Christianity, namely that there is a disconnect between the theologies of the Old Testament and the New, a dichotomy compounded if one wishes to acknowledge the discoveries of scientific observation in the years since Methuselah’s passing.

But Aronofsky, being Aronofsky, decided to square the circle. In Noah, he throws out the New Testament—there is nothing of the Christ in this movie, only the Abrahamic Creator—and instead presents to us a much older dichotomy, that between the codified Christianity of the Pentateuch, and the mystic Christianity of the Book of Enoch and its brethren.

While the first half is grounded in mystic sources, even as it advances the basic plot of the Great Flood story, the second half steers unflinchingly into the dark waters of the Old Testament: Brother versus brother. Father versus son. The rigors of envy and pride. The burdens of duty and faith.

Admittedly, even in the second half Aronofsky nods away from the world of a jealous and vengeful Creator. My favorite sequence in the film comes when Noah tells the story of creation and the fall to his family, huddled within the lightless hull of the ark. It is so good that I refuse to describe it here, if only to tempt you, serpentlike, into the theater.

But even if he hints at matters beyond the scope of Genesis, he never conceals the cycle of revenge that we create for ourselves, or the unsettling implications of one family ordered by their Creator to be fruitful and multiply. Make no bones about it, the second half is much, much less fun than the first. But maybe that’s the point.

Where Do We Go From Here?

Haven't had your fill of Bible stories? Here are some recommendations from Courteous and Savage.

S: The Prince of Egypt (1998) is a gorgeous animated movie that delves into the brotherly relationship between Moses and Ramses in the story of Exodus. It’s an intensely emotional film that will make your heart ache as the two realize their clashing destinies while longing for the closeness they shared in their youth.

C: I'm going to break the model here a little and recommend not a film but a game. El Shaddai: Ascension of the Metatron (2011, for Xbox 360 and Playstation 3 consoles) is an adaptation of the Book of Enoch that offers more than enough weird and wild mystic Christianity, filtered through a lens no less distinct than Aronofsky's.