Two Hours In Cinematic Sunday School

by Thomas M. Pender

Which is better?  To be beaten over the head with a golf club, or to be beaten over the head with a Bible?

Answer: They both hurt and irritate you.

I don’t have cable, so I missed any and all ad campaigns for the film Seven Days In Utopia.  I don’t know if it’s a big film or a little one in terms of release.  I first saw the title while searching local theatres online for something I hadn’t seen.  Upon investigating, it looked like a decent show to see: the cast is filled with actors I enjoy (Lucas Black of Friday Night Lights and Sling Blade, Robert Duvall of The Godfather, and Kathy Baker of TV’s Picket Fences), and the story seemed harmless, although a bit used: Golfer loses a big match, goes angry-driving through Texas, skids off road, damages car, has to spend a week in a small town no one’s ever heard of, and his life is forever changed for the better.

I could name five or six films that already did this, except for the golfer aspect.  Still, it seemed worth a look.  Sadly, it’s a poorly conceived two-hour sermon that just happens to have a great cast in it.  I checked to make sure this wasn’t a true story, as that would negate my criticisms of the storyline.  It’s fiction, so here are said criticisms of the storyline:

First off, when the very first thing you see on the screen is a Bible passage, you can be sure you’re in for a soul-pokin’!  Then, a golfer who goes driving with no destination (or “no direction” as the Christian uber-message would probably word it) ends up in a town of just over 300 people that happens to have a makeshift golf course in the cemetery?  Puh-leeze!  And the architect of this course happens to be a former golf pro who everybody wonders where he disappeared to?  Puh-leeze times two.  The senior pro convinces the junior pro to stay in town for a week, during which the senior will help the junior “find his game.”  Now, we begin the Karate Kid portion of the movie, where the junior pro is told to perform all manners of crazy seemingly-unrelated chores (catch a fish, paint a picture), but as we know ahead of time, each chore will help him on his path to greatness.

It would have helped my irritation level greatly if the junior pro had simply heard of this crazy golf course, and chose to drive there to see it, to get away from it all.  That’s believable.  But crashing his car across the street from it?  And the mysterious senior pro happens to find him?  I’m already sorry I bought the ticket.

Add to this the anvil-heavy Christian message.  Now, I’ve been a Christian all my life, and I’m proud of it.  I think stories that put Jesus into people’s lives are wonderful, but there is something to be said for subtlety.  Jesus himself told parables, which were cute little non-head-beating stories that led people to understand God’s message.  It wouldn’t have taken much to change the script into a pleasant, featherweight story that got viewers to think about God’s work in our lives.  Instead, the creators went for the Crusades-level teaching style, and lost me altogether.  I don’t think God would want to be an irritant to those He’s trying to win over.

Halfway through the film, I’m hoping it’s a short movie.  Three-quarters through, I’m checking the time.  At the end of the film, when they opt not to show you the end of the story, but instead guide you to a website in order to find out . . . I was livid!  The nerve of some salesmen.  I decided it was my duty (and, admittedly, my revenge upon the filmmakers) to report this on a public weblog, and wave people off from seeing it.

I’ll even go a step further: The golfer wins in the end.  In the meantime, read your Bible if you want to learn about God.  Now, you don’t have to see the movie.  There!  Take that, Seven Days!

Wes of the Rio Grande

by Thomas M. Pender

A great friend of mine just got married.  He’s a very good guy, and I wish him and his new bride all the happiness in the world.  This news also inspired me: I want to take this opportunity to tell about how we met.  His name is Wes Patterson, and he was my very first friend in Georgia.

The good news about my move to Georgia from the Library Park section of Kenosha, Wisconsin was that I had a job waiting for me.  The bad news, I came to learn, was that the job paid twice a month, with time accumulating on one pay cycle, and pay being delivered at the end of the second pay cycle.  In other words, I was going to have to wait a full month before I saw a dime.

This was going to take some creative budgeting!

The first thing you learn while sleeping in your car in Georgia in June is that it’s really hot and humid out there.  At about 1:00 in the morning, I walked over to Rio Grande, a local bar/restaurant, because it was the only thing in sight that was open that I thought might have drinkable running water.  Inside, patrons were patronizing, fun was being had, and I sat at the centrally located bar with nothing more in mind that a little hydrogen-oxygen compound in a glass.

The bartender was a friendly guy with close-cut hair and a goatee.  I also learned that subtle Southern accents sound friendly to Yankee ears.  “What can I get you?”

“A water would be good.”

My first surprise that night came when a nice waitress put a full bowl of tortilla chips and a smaller bowl of salsa in front of me.  Free appetizers = actual food in the belly!  When he wasn’t mixing drinks, the bartender asked me if I wanted something more substantial to eat.  At some point after I told him my pay cycle dilemma, he disappeared into the kitchen.  I was shocked again when he reappeared with a much more substantial dip, consisting of melted cheese, hamburger and salsa.  That tasted and felt great!  During my second visit, as I ate the dip he prepared and served without my even asking for it, Wes shared with me that not only was there no charge for the dip, it wasn't even on the menu.  It was just something he slapped together in the kitchen to feed his temporarily penniless customer.

Favors like this I don’t forget.

I learned when Wes was working, and over the next month, I stopped in a few times to shoot the breeze.  The “special” dip was always prepared by Wes without even asking for it.  Weeks later, when I finally did receive and cash my first check, I headed straight for Rio Grande.  It was a busy Wednesday night with a live band, and the joint was jumping.  I had no intention of staying, though.  I went there just to carry out one mission.  Making my way to the bar, I flagged Wes over.

“Do you remember me?” I asked without preamble.

“Yeah, sure!”

I put a ten-dollar bill in his hand. “Thank you,” I said, and left.

With an actual income, I returned to the Rio Grande now and again.  I paid for and got filling meals, and until the place closed several months later, I got to shoot more breezes with Wes.  We kept in touch over the years, and in 2008, my fiancé and I stopped in to visit with him and his daughters.

Wes will probably say what he did was no big deal, cost the bar nothing, and was the right thing to do.  That’s his way.  From my side of the bar, however, it was an incredibly generous favor that deserves to be publicly recognized.

Thanks again, Wes!  You’re a Christian and a gentleman, and I’m truly grateful.