I was having a discussion recently with a friend about the representation of metaphysics in pop culture (not to be confused with the representation of pop culture in metaphysics).
During the course of our conversation my mint turned to the 1990 film “Ghost”, probably because I had just seen Sam Raimi’s “Drag me to Hell”. Speaking of the Raimi film, I am now eagerly awaiting the probable sequel: “Drag me from Hell”. Followed of course by the inevitable third leg of the trilogy: “Drag me back to hell again; Army of Darkmen”.
Sorry. Where was I?
RIght. The metaphysics of “Ghost” is positively weird. The basic idea is that the human race is divided into two groups, in some unspecified proportion. The good people find, upon the moment of their demise, that beautiful music starts to play while they walk up a strangely blurry stairway to become one with the Silhouette People – those fortunate souls who have led good and wholesome lives, and will now have the opportunity to spend all eternity as bad special effects, their ectoplasmic selves forever out of focus because somebody ran out money before shooting that scene.
Of course nobody actually ever gets to see this beautiful transfiguration except Demi Moore, and even then only when she has really really short hair.
The bad people have a rather different fate. They are pulled down, screaming, by dark shadowy figures recently escaped from the Nazi-face-melting scene of “Raiders of the Lost Ark”, to spend their souls in eternal torment in what seems to be a part of the New York City sewage disposal system. Although I can’t be sure because the movie is dark in this scene, so it could actually be the New York City subway system, which makes perfect sense if you’ve ever ridden the IRT local during rush hour.
The curious thing is that there is no hint of a middle ground – it’s either the happy blurry Silhouette People or the shadowy Nazi-face-melting subway fiends. Ever since I first saw this film I’ve wondered what happens to people who are right on the edge, their fate teetering in the balance. Maybe they’ve lived a generally good life, but they cheated on a test or two in high school, or lied to their girlfriend once, or found themselves undercharged in a restaurant and didn’t say anything to the waiter.
Is there some critical mass of sins that tip you over the edge into Hell? What if you ran out of coffee one morning, so you were in a really crabby mood, and that’s why you didn’t pick up the wallet somebody dropped on the street that one time, run after them and give it to them just before they got into that taxi?
You would think there would be some sort of board of appeals, maybe an official form you could fill out, with a “didn’t have coffee that morning” checkbox. That would be the civilized way, wouldn’t it?
But apparently that’s not how things work in the “Ghost” universe. Instead the filmmakers opt for something so over-the-top stupid that you can’t actually suspend your disbelief long enough to really enjoy the erotic pottery scene. So I am left wondering, are we supposed to think the movie’s metaphysical premise is as inane as it seems?
Or perhaps the entire enterprise was a clever ploy by director Jerry Zucker and friends to get people annoyed with religion and its underlying assumptions.
Somehow I doubt it.
I think you should watch Truly, Madly, Deeply, Anthony Mingella’s break out film. It’s much more intelligent, funny and an incredibly moving love story, so much more satisfying than the stereo-typical Hollywood film Ghost. I’m sorry to say that I laughed my way through Ghost, especially the part with the evil doers. In TMD you will find some really cool ghosts (in between) or shall we say, the purgatorial ghosts! ;-), only there’s no religion in it, thank God!
I agree Bernadette, wholeheartedly. “Truly, Madly, Deeply” is one of my favorite films of all time.
I remember back in 1990 thinking how strange it was that these two films should come out in the same year – “Ghost” which was so dumb and obvious (the delightful comic performance of Whoopie Goldberg aside), and “TMD” which was brilliant and subtle and genuinely moving – a actual grownup story about letting go. Perhaps that juxtaposition began the long march of the Indies to the Oscars, since it must have been obvious to everyone in the biz who saw those two films that the little independent release, free of studio interference, was a better vehicle for telling quality stories that go deeper than your average Hallmark card.
Of course it’s not a fair comparison. How could a mere Patrick Swayze, as pretty as he was, ever hope to compete with Alan Rickman at his most soulful? Not to mention the fact that the ghosts in “TMG” were far more convincing than those in its big-budget Hollywood cousin, without any use at all of effects shots. In the immortal words of Olivier “It’s called acting.”
It is both refreshing and the source of your great wealth, your ‘mint’.