You Can't Possibly Understand What's Going On Here!

Rod Steiger plays a priest in End of Days who ominously informs our hero Jericho Cane (Arnold Schwarzenegger) that "There are forces at work here you couldn't possibly comprehend!" What the audience knows, and the backslidden Cane doesn't, is that the forces at work are none other than Beelzebub himself (Gabriel Byrne). Steiger's line would be the cue for an intriguing primer on the origin and nature of Satan—if this were an intelligent film, that is. Alas, we are treated instead to the priest following up with more obscurantisms like "You have no idea what you're up against!" and "You can't possibly understand what's going on here!"

Audiences, however, will wise up to what's going on here: simple milking of millennial fear for box-office dollars. The Devil in End of Days is only a stock villain, owing more to the T-1000 in Terminator 2 than to anything in Genesis or Job. The thoroughly formulaic action film discards biblical law as conveniently and proudly as it does the laws of physics. In fact, the only reason the film has any redeeming value is that religious leaders suggested script changes, correcting the filmmakers' assumption that machine guns and missiles could defeat Satan and suggesting instead that Cane trust God to win the battle. Yet even these mildly moving scenes of renewed belief reek of jumbled theology; judging by Steiger's odd proclamation that "God wants us to save ourselves," it is Cane's faith, not God's power, that combats Satan. And of course the movie features plenty of missiles and machine guns anyway, since audiences aren't likely to flock to see Arnold in a prayer circle.

Just because a movie is rudimentary, though, doesn't mean we can't learn from it. Take, for instance, the Vatican's reaction to Christine York (Robin Tunney), a 20-year-old New Yorker who's been marked as the mother of the Antichrist if Satan can impregnate her just before the end of the millennium. Several of the clergy try to kill Christine in order to prevent the union, even though the pope calls for her to be protected and loved by God's people. Although it's easy to condemn the renegades' fanaticism in this film, I wonder how often we as American Christians suffer from the same twisted logic, allowing us to denounce homosexuals, condemn Democrats, and hate moviemakers instead of reaching out to them in love. Perhaps the lesson in the mess that is End of Days comes from the religious leaders who consulted on the movie, who chose to talk and interact with the filmmakers rather than simply campaigning against the movie's violence. In light of the angry, damning criticism that's been leveled at Kevin Smith for his movie Dogma, clear love and communication from Christians is not necessarily the norm.

Dogma and End of Days are actually quite alike, placed side by side. Both movies introduce some level of spirituality to an audience unaccustomed to seeing any. Both feature a wide range of theological missteps. Both protagonists are lapsed Catholics in God's care, trying to prevent the end of the world. Yet Dogma is endlessly more satisfying than End of Days—partly because it's a personal wrestling with faith rather than a shameless capitalist opportunity, partly because it's a sharp comedy rather than a weak thriller, but mostly it's because Dogma offers a glimpse of God, and End of Days doesn't.

The God of Dogma (played by Alanis Morissette) might not be totally accurate, but she's played with the right amount of mystery and decency, righteousness and playfulness, to be larger than our preconceived notions of who God is, opening our eyes to the possibilities. The God of End of Days is silent, hands-off, and distant. Cane turns to this God more out of despair than out of faith. This film, like so many others, gives the impression that one should turn to God at the last minute, which is hardly what Christianity is about. Dogma also touts this misleading idea—Loki and Bartleby repeat "no harm, no foul" in reference to their bloody murders because they believe they will be absolved of all wrongdoing—but at least there it's the bad guys saying it, giving the idea little credence.

While Dogma chooses to incarnate God, End of Days incarnates Satan, which is much more dangerous ground. The movie struggles to remove itself from the cliché of the red-pajamaed imp who sits on your shoulder and whispers blatantly evil suggestions. In reality, of course, Satan is much more crafty and endearing. Also, fighting a physical Satan makes it easy to believe that he can be done away with in one fell swoop, whereas in reality moral choices are made in the business of everyday living. Worse, a readily identifiable Satan allows the stalwart hero to "fight evil" even if he's not in a relationship with God. In real life, Satan probably wouldn't even need to tempt Cane because he'd already own the guy.

The other big difference between Dogma and End of Days is the way the end of the earth is threatened. Dogma's world will end if God is proved fallible, which is a natural thing to fight against. But the reign of the Antichrist that looms large in End of Days is straight out of Revelation, raising the question whether it's God's will that we do what we can to postpone the Second Coming. Christians pray "come quickly, Lord," so it would make sense that we hope to usher in the last days. But I suppose that screenwriter Andrew W. Marlowe never intended the script to work on any deeper level than pure action; to paraphrase his dialogue, there are theological concerns here that he couldn't possibly comprehend.

Steve Lansingh, who writes the weekly Film Forum department for ChristianityToday.com, is editor of thefilmforum.com, a weekly Internet magazine devoted to Christianity and the cinema.

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