The initial wave of faith-based movies – those
medium-to-low budget dramas boosted by evangelical in-church word-of-mouth –
diminished quickly in the wake of 2014’s expert-defying God’s Not Dead (budget: $2m, take: $60m). The studios swiftly
entered the temple, and while that same year’s Heaven is for Real boasted a modicum of cinematic nous, few claims
could be made for last year’s Miracles
from Heaven, or indeed the inevitable God’s
Not Dead 2 (budget: $5m, take: $20m), which existed merely to underline how
its predecessor was box-office lightning in a bottle. Religion and commerce
remained uneasy bedfellows.
With The
Shack (***, 12A, 132 mins), this week’s adaptation of Canadian author
William Young’s bestseller, we find the faith sector seeking salvation. Young’s
tale of a man confronting his demons in a lakeside retreat occupied by a holy
trinity wasn’t originally intended as megaplex fare. Written as a Christmas
gift for the author’s children, it only went into publication when preachers
Wayne Jacobsen and Brad Cummings figured the story’s spiritual struggles might
appeal to churchgoers. They did – and lo, the book became a minor sensation,
logging years on the New York Times
chart and garnering plaudits from no less a storyteller than Stephen King.
As copies passed between pews, The Shack sparked a doctrinal controversy Young surely didn’t
envisage when his offspring first unwrapped his words. Some raised eyebrows at
the depiction of God as a cheery African-American woman (Young: “I was trying
to get as far away from that ‘Gandalf-with-a-bad-attitude’ God as I could”);
others decried the decision to mark her with Christ-like stigmata. Heresy, or
just a novel way of suggesting God’s empathy – that this deity literally feels
their children’s pain? Several fulminating YouTube broadsides insist it’s the
former; one problem with writing this allusive is that it invites unintended
interpretations.
The film, certainly, feels defensive early on. As
our narrator Willie (country star Tim McGraw, a reassuring presence for US
audiences) puts it, “What I’m about to tell you is a little… well, a lot on the fantastic side. But that
doesn’t mean it’s not true.” It is, essentially, a question of belief. For
Young, faith offers the possibility of an escape from hardship: when
protagonist Mack (Avatar’s Sam Worthington) first receives his
invite to the shack – signed, somewhat cryptically, “Papa” – he’s living alone
and stubbly in a frozen-over shell of the home he once shared with his
picture-perfect family.
Director Stuart Hazeldine’s deployment of the snow
machine in this cold, harsh reality makes the Narnia movies look restrained, but then this cycle of movies has
traditionally tacked towards extremes, leaving credibility behind. A flashback
shows the young Mack being beaten by his actual father – more hardship – in a
deluge that might give Noah pause for thought. The film doubles down on this
notion of faith as a shelter from any storm – with some narrative
justification, for it transpires that Mack has endured his youngest child’s
murder, a tragedy that might well drive a man into seclusion.
The commitment is evident throughout the (long)
running time. The Shack boasts better
production values than its predecessors in this field, stretching to
recognisable performers and functional visual effects – always a boon, whenever
a film touches upon the miraculous – but it’s also a far more forgiving and
inclusive endeavour than God’s Not Dead.
Out at the lake, our troubled hero is nudged towards making his peace with the
world by the most diverse Trinity ever assembled: our distaff Papa (The Help’s Octavia Spencer) joined by an
Israeli Jesus (Avraham Aviv Alush) and a Japanese Holy Spirit
(model-turned-actress Sumire Matsubara).
If that sounds strange, it’s exactly that
strangeness that grabs you: rarely can God have moved quite this mysteriously
on screen. For starters, with its themes of infanticide and despair, this is
simply a very odd story for a father to have penned for his children – and even
if you accept it as an introduction to those trials awaiting us in the adult
world, The Shack keeps defying
established cinematic logic. Take the shack itself: a curious albeit vividly
evoked safe space, all abundant scatter cushions, congenial company and
bottomless apple pie. Is it God-given? Or is Mack just undergoing a really
restorative Airbnb experience?
Not even a zealot could deny its flaws. The
dialogue often clunks, and there may be no cutting around Worthington’s air of
balsawood, no matter that this makes him an effective vessel for any teaching.
(When led out onto the lake, he doesn’t walk on water; he floats.) Yet The Shack works in some small, peculiar
way so long as it keeps returning to sights like Spencer kneading the daily
bread while merrily listening to reggae. As images of God go, it’s
unconventional – wasn’t the Devil supposed to have all the best tunes? – but
like much else about The Shack,
phenomenon and film, not altogether uncheering.
The Shack is now playing in selected cinemas.
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