We finally got to watch Gran Torino last night.   While I won't say that it's a great film (poor performances by the supporting cast, and some issues in terms of pacing), it had some great elements to it. 

Warning:  This will contain some spoiler material, so if you have yet to see the film, you may want to bookmark this and read it after you've watched.

Be forewarned that the film is chock full of objectionable material.  While the violence is rather light, the profanity and racial epithets are not.  While this is intentional (as opposed to the usual incidental use of profanity simply to get a higher rating or because it's expected), it still can be more than a little off-putting.

I was most interested in the theological elements of the film, with major themes of guilt, mercy, grace, and forgiveness woven in and out of the otherwise meandering story of a Korean Conflict veteran, Walt Kowalski, being forced to deal with his ethnic neighbors after the death of his wife.  Though Walt is nearly 80 years old, this is really a coming of age story, as he seeks to finally deal with the ghosts of his past, the failures of his life, and the unceasingly pressures of living in the moment. 

As a pastor, I found the role of the young Catholic priest - Father Janovich - to be an interesting one.  He aptly portrays some of the missteps of a young pastor/priest in a first call (ignoring parishioner preferences such as how they are addressed, assuming that they will immediately accept him as their spiritual father despite his lack of years, etc.), while still modeling some very admirable qualities in his role as spiritual shepherd (tenacity, an unwillingness to be put off, an ability to speak clearly and bluntly when necessary).  That being said, the character is also somewhat shallow.  Walt pins Father Janovich on his lackadaisical waxings on the nature of life and death when he knows very little about either.  Janovich seems to be guilty of a certain level of duplicity, attempting to avoid ordering an alcoholic drink at one point, while later in the film admitting that he'd love a beer. 

Father Janovich seems to be a mini bildungsroman, coming of age from his early bluster of authority and competence, to a maturity that demonstrates that he is human as well.  He feels anger.  He understands the desire for revenge.  Janovich's willingness to reveal that he is human, and not simply a robot or a caricature of a priest ultimately make him respectable to Kowalski, enabling them to bond.   And Janovich's acknowledgment that he's interested functions as just another of the many metaphors or props for maturation that the film engages, and the one most appropriate to Janovich, since modes of transportation, racial slurs and profanity seem well beyond his role as priest. 

Being Lutheran, I of course found the references to the Lutherans near the mid-point of the film to be funny, particularly the classic line "Everybody blames the Lutherans".  A good and surprising insight into our theological psyche that I wouldn't have expected from a film like this.

The role of confession and forgiveness in the film is also interesting.  Kowalski refuses Father Janovich's repeated attempts to get him to come to confession, despite it being one of his deceased wife's final wishes.   It isn't that Kowalski doesn't feel guilt.  But he is unwilling to bare his soul to a faith and a Father who are unwilling to search their own and be honest with themselves - and with him.  It doesn't appear that the issue is whether or not Kowalski has faith, but rather, how that faith interacts with the Church.  Apparently for Kowalski, his experience and exposure to Church has shown him a significant lacking in what it can offer him.  A priest who can't understand his sins is not the sort of intercessor Kowalski needs and wants.  He wants something more - an intercessor who understands intimately what he has suffered with, what he has gone through, what he has overcome.  He wants an intercessor who can hear his confession not disinterestedly, but as one keenly bound up with him.

In short, Kowalski needs and wants a priest who is Christ-like.  Ironically enough, this issue is highlighted in the lectionary reading for yesterday - Hebrews 2:1-18.  Paul emphasizes in this passage how important it is that the Son of God came to be one of us, to be one with us.  He took on our nature, and experienced firsthand the crushing pressures of sinfulness.  Their allure.  Their delight.  Who understands what it means to be afraid, to ask that the cup pass from his hands - yet is willing to accept the cup when it comes to him.  In short, Kowalski knows what he needs in an intercessor, and it isn't until close to the end of the film that Father Janovich demonstrates that he can fulfill that, albeit imperfectly. 

More still, Kowalski is right to deride the pathetic platitudes that so often pass for expressions of faith.  His interchange with Father Janovich after his first altercation with the Hmong gang members is glorious:

Father Janovich: Why didn't you call the police?
Kowalski: Well you know, I prayed for them to come, but nobody answered.

You can feel the contempt dripping from Kowalski.  Contempt not for the faith itself, but for the weak, intellectually and experientially bereft and downright dishonest drivel that often times passes for faith in popular Christian media (and marketplace).

Of course, the final scene and Kowalski's final position are hugely telling.  Not as some sort of Jim Morrison shock factor, but as a perfect expression for what Kowalski has finally found for himself, and provided for his vulnerable neighbors.  Redemption.  Peace.  Victory. 

And frankly, the whole execution of Kowalski's final plan is beautiful.  We think we know what's coming.  We know what is expected in this sort of movie - and particularly in an Eastwood movie.  We expect the payback.  The blood.  The determinism in the face of evil that deservedly needs a smiting.  And in Christ-like fashion, that victory comes.  But it comes not with the sword, but with light.  


In him was the life, and that life was the light of men.  The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not understood it.  
            John 1:4-5

Again, this wasn't probably a great film, but it had to deal with some great theological themes.  Eastwood is a pleasure to watch as he has matured beyond his earlier days as a cardboard macho-figure.  It was a pleasure to watch his character mature during this film.  Not smoothly or uniformly, but in startling lurches and lunges.