Love, Faith and Dry Ice: The Afterlife on
Screen
EAVEN, sang Fred Astaire, is dancing cheek to
cheek, which for Jean-Paul Sartre pretty much sums up hell. What
does this curious dissonance suggest? That the afterlife is not only
subjective but highly dependent on one's mood. That, in the realm of
filmmaking (and in the absence of reliable eyewitnesses), directors
may depict heaven, hell and limbo any way they please based on their
religion, political leanings, aesthetic temperament, self-image and,
not incidentally, budget. That one man's Victoria Abril is another's
Pen´lope Cruz.
That last point refers to
The original title, "Sin Noticias de Dios," was more aptly translated in its British release as "No News From God": the Almighty, we are told, is "tired, depressed, and wants to drop everything." The movie's heaven has the financial wherewithal of California, while its hell is in the throes of a revolution. In keeping with Mr. Yanes's left-wing agenda, the rich are sentenced to the most humiliating punishment (the famous are forced to live as nobodies, the corporate titans as illegal aliens). But they want nothing less than to rewrite hell's constitution to favor themselves — much as they have in this world.
"Don't Tempt Me" is whimsical, but also surprisingly violent for the afterlife genre: the major characters are slapped around and shot, and one of the leads gets bludgeoned to death on-screen. Yet there's something reassuring about it. If modern tragedy begins with Nietzsche's declaration that God is dead, then just about any depiction of an orderly afterlife — no matter how harsh or rich in bureaucratic red tape — has to belong in the "feel-good" category.
Afterlife pictures have been making moviegoers feel less cosmically insignificant since the earliest days of the medium. Filmmakers have positively reveled in the opportunity to conjure up visions of the sweet or sour hereafter. Some directors have a straightforward Biblical agenda, while others use heaven and hell to lend their political or cultural observations a more earth-shattering context. Surprisingly, most afterlife movies seek to affirm the supreme and enduring power of love after the soul leaves the body — in sharp contrast to the real world, where love often can't survive a 10-minute walk around the block with the dog.
'Biblical' Takes
FAUST (1926, F. W. Murnau). Premise: An archangel and Satan bet the earth on which way Faust will go when plague strikes. Heaven: Archangels with beatific faces and wide-screen wingspans. Hell: Cackling, troll-like Mephisto (Emil Jannings) with greasy hair and a skull-cap. Metaphysical Consolation: The wonderful world's "greatest wonder is man's freedom to choose between Good and Evil." A Love Supreme?: The German word for love, "liebe," appears climactically in the air in a glowing nimbus. Final Judgment: An Expressionist masterpiece for believers in the power of cinema.
HERE COMES MR. JORDAN (1941, Alexander Hall)
Premise: The heavenly messenger Edward Everett Horton goofs up and
pulls Robert Montgomery's soul out of his body when he's supposed to
survive a plane crash. Heaven: Dry ice, people strolling around in
knee-deep fog. A Love Supreme? No matter which body his soul
occupies, our hero's love for Evelyn Keyes endures. Final Judgment:
The best of the dry-ice heaven comedies, remade as
CABIN IN THE SKY (1942, Vincent Minnelli). Premise: A weak gambler, Eddie (Rochester) Anderson, goes to hell, then thanks to the prayers of his wife (Ethel Waters) gets to come home — albeit with the son of Lucifer on his tail. Heaven: Pork Chop Orchard, Possum Pie Grove, other settings too embarrassing to name. Hell: Any place with booze, cards and fine women. A Love Supreme? Yazzum. Final Judgment: The movie's dual agenda is to warn the blacks against gambling, womanizing and idleness, and also to show off some of the greatest jazz and blues talent of the 20th century. Only the second results in a religious experience, but not always in the way that was intended.
