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| Universal Pictures |
Joseph
Kosinski’s Oblivion is a visually
gorgeous science fiction film with a story that pays homage to those that have
come before along with a few good twists of its own. I get why a
large chunk of critics didn't like it, but I found Oblivion
satisfying, especially in its exploration of memory and
identity—and the roles those play in restoring a broken world.
Set in 2077, Earth is in ruins 60 years after an alien
attack. Humans won the war but left the planet to start anew on a colony on
Titan. Jack Harper (Tom Cruise) and his partner Victoria Olsen (Andrea Riseborough) are two of the few humans left on the
planet to manage and secure Earth’s remaining resources for the colony. They
take orders from a colossal space station, the Tet, which carried humanity to
Titan, and have two weeks left before they too can join the rest of humanity on
Titan.
Both Jack and Victoria had their memories wiped before
their assignment in order to protect information about humanity from any
remaining aliens who might capture and interrogate them. The problem is that
Jack is having dreams and memories from before the war—a time period in which
he could not have lived. He’s nagged by questions and doubts and a longing he
doesn’t understand. When Jack rescues a woman (Olga Kurylenko) from a downed space ship, he
recognizes her as the woman he dreams about. Without revealing too much, Jack
and Victoria begin to realize that things may not be what they seem—and they
may not be who they think they are.
But how they respond to all this is very
different. For one, embracing memory and true identity (albeit it complex) restores meaning and
purpose and leads to risky and even sacrificial acts of love. For the other,
however, the cost of accepting memories and true identity means losing
something dear. Fear of that loss keeps them from embracing the truth—and that,
as in our own world, does not bode well.
The restoration and acceptance of identity and purpose
has a profound effect on the earth and humanity in this film—and the role of love,
both being loved and loving others, is a catalyst in that restoration.
I love this story’s themes of love, memory and
identity in restoring a world that isn’t as it should be because it resonates
with so much of our own Story.
Films with broken worlds resonate with me because it
reminds me that I, too, live in a world in ruins. Something isn’t right; the
world isn’t the way it’s supposed to be. It is a broken version of a world yet
to be whole. At one point, Jack reflects, “Is it possible
to miss a place you've never been, to mourn a time you've never lived?” His
words give voice to my own longing.
I also love how Jack’s restoration of identity is inexorably
found within the context of and connected to a larger story, one bigger than himself,
one that compels him to work sacrificially with others to free and restore his
world.
I think of our own Story like that. In Scripture, we
discover a Story that makes sense of this world, how it came to be, why it is
the way it is—and who we are. And we discover One who’s
relentlessly and sacrificially working to free his creation and us so we can be
the people we are created, called and enabled to be. It is a Story that compels
me to join in, to risky and sacrificial acts with others in the work of
restoring this broken world.
I also appreciated
how love—the kind that will put the best interest of another above oneself—is
at the root of Jack’s identity. “If we have souls,” says
Jack, “they're made of the love we share. Undimmed by time, unbound by death.”
Even stripped of his memories, love remains; it stirs and calls him to remember
who he is and the story of which he is a part.
I find love at the core of our
own Story. It is love that beckons us to embrace and accept our true
identity. We discover the One who, as Henry Nouwen puts it, “loves us with an unconditional love and desires our
love, free from all fear, in return.” We discover what we were made
for—to love God and others—and the kind of world we were created for.
And I love how restoration of identity is connected to
others in this film. Jack needed help in his journey—those who knew and accepted him, flaws and all. So do I. “When our memories fail,” writes Lauren
Winner in Mudhouse Sabbath, “it is
our community that can tell us who we are… of our identity in Christ.”
And
remembering a story together again propels us into the larger Story. “As
Kathleen Fischer has explained,” says Winner, “faith communities add ‘an
essential dimension to our remembering. In faith we not only gather our
memories; we recollect our lives before God. Our stories then take on . . .
meaning as a part of a larger story that redeems and embraces them.’”
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| Universal |
That speaks to and confronts my own life in our own
world. I live in an urban suburb, which can be like a bunch of tiny islands isolated
from nature and creation, neighbors, and the ruins of the world. Entering into
the ruins of the world can be uncomfortable and even threatening—but always, it
breaks through illusions and false stories and confronts me with the real world
and Story in which I live. It reminds me of who I am.
These themes aren’t strangers to sci-fi. From classics
like The Matrix to more current
stories like Once Upon a Time,
discovering identity plays an important part in how people perceive the
world and their purpose. Restoration of memory doesn’t take place in isolation
but in relationship with others. And embracing true identity has profound
effects on broken worlds.
Stories like these help me remember who I am and the
Story in which I live. And that brings God-talk into these open spaces.