I’m having a great week at the biblical storytelling workshop. The premise is that scripture emerged out of an oral culture, and as such, the stories should be told and not read. That means learning them by heart whenever possible. The workshop leader does not use the m-word, memorizing. It is not about rote memory, it is about living with the texts and letting them seep into your body, mind, and heart. It is also not about dazzling one’s listeners with your presentation skills—although people do respond positively most of the time to an enlivened telling of the text—rather, it is a spiritual discipline. Even the act of reading the text aloud to yourself is a rich experience—you miss a lot of details by reading silently (they were never meant to be read that way, and your eyes skip over stuff).
We actually did a lot of this in seminary, and when I preached at the youth conference this summer, I learned each of the texts. For me, telling the story (as opposed to reading the story, with nose down in the book, and in that preacher voice) conveys that ours is a living tradition. There is also a vaguely subversive, anti-literalist streak in the idea of our sacred text being comprised primarily of stories handed down over generations. In that sense, at the core of our faith is a living, breathing narrative, not a set of rules or doctrinal statements.
Last night the group watched the movie Big Fish. I had seen it before and didn’t want to be out late so I skipped it, but the film sort of fits with the crux of the workshop. Most people who watch it through a particular kind of literalist lens don’t like the movie. The dad is a blowhard. He recycles stories. His tall tales serve to keep everyone at arm’s length from the “real” Edward Bloom. Yes, in one sense. But I think a slavish attention to separating fact from fiction, while important and worthwhile in certain situations, misses the point here. Rather, the movie is meant to be seen as a parable. I think the movie illustrates the ways in which stories convey meaning and truth, in ways that can transcend what we would call “just the facts.”
Did Edward Bloom really work in a circus with a werewolf ringmaster? Um, no. And that’s the kind of question that his son keeps asking—just level with me, dad—but in the end he discovers, that’s not the right kind of question. The question is, what do the stories convey about my father that is true and right? They convey, among other things, that Edward Bloom is a man of passion, vitality, and magnetism. And that’s all true.
At the same time, stories are untamable; they reveal things we wish to hide. Edward tells his stories to appear impressive and charming, but they expose his shadow side in spite of himself. His tall tales of adventure convey his deep contempt for the idea of being “ordinary,” but they call further attention to the fact that, really, he was a man like every other man. Sure, you could glance at the man’s resume and get some sense of all this, but in a much more superficial way. I’ve said it before: “Myths are often truer than journalism.” –Beth Johnson
And I’ll close with a Homer:
“Facts, schmacts—you can use facts to prove anything that’s even remotely true.” –Homer Simpson
8 Responses to “big fish, tall tales”
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» A note to readers who are looking at the new blog: you’ll notice some “greatest hits” from reverendmother there, especially as I ramp up my writing in that space. Sorry for the déjà vu!
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» “The very least you can do in your life is to figure out what you hope for. And the most you can do is live inside that hope.” -Barbara Kingsolver
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“Myths are often truer than journalism.”
[gasp!]
heresy!
guards! arrest that woman!
Most people who watch it through a particular kind of literalist lens don’t like the movie.
Yep, I guess that would be me. I really didn’t like it at all.
And that’s the kind of question that his son keeps asking—just level with me, dad—but in the end he discovers, that’s not the right kind of question. The question is, what do the stories convey about my father that is true and right? They convey, among other things, that Edward Bloom is a man of passion, vitality, and magnetism. And that’s all true.
Okay, but when one person in a relationship is asking, pleading, for honesty and openness, and the other refuses to give it, perhaps is pathologically incapable of giving it, isn’t that a bit dysfunctional?
We do know that the dad had relationships, but they were often quite different from the idealized versions of his tall tales. For example, it seemed quite clear that he cheated on his wife. Is this kind of deception to be excused on the basis that he was just “a man like every other man”? Would you tolerate this sort of behavior in a friend or spouse?
Wife: “Why are you so late getting home, honey?”
Husband: “You wouldn’t believe it, my dear. A rhino escaped from the local zoo, and I had to leap on its back and ride it back into its cage!”
You could think this was quaint and cute, but I’d file divorce from his lame, boorish ass.
Okay, but when one person in a relationship is asking, pleading, for honesty and openness, and the other refuses to give it, perhaps is pathologically incapable of giving it, isn’t that a bit dysfunctional?
When you speak in elusive parables, you’re not necessarily being dishonest - as RM points out in her “are we really asking the right questions” discourse.
And sure, if yarn-spinning’s all you do then that’s pathological - much the same as if you see the world/express yourself through an exclusively literal lens.
But that shortcoming/defense mech. doesn’t make Albert Finney/Ewan McGregor’s character any less magnetic. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.
C’mon DJ, jump on the bandwagon. It’s not a bad flick.
“We shouldn’t ask ‘is this true?’ but rather ‘what does it mean?’”
- Exactly what my HS theology teacher used to say whenever one of us raised our hands with a Bible-related question.
No offense to DC for the comment on his chosen profession, which is an admirable one…? used to be an admirable one? will be again? I’m sure you’ll bring some much-needed gravitas. BTW, picked up Broadcast News from Netflix recently. That 20-year-old movie is quite prescient.
DJ, your questions/comments illustrate my point precisely. The movie is not a realistic portrayal of interpersonal relationships, nor is it intended to be. I’ve heard it put into the genre of magical realism; I’m not sure, but it’s definitely not a morality tale. It’s something else entirely. I claim the film is a parable, if not an allegory. (I think allegory is going a little far.)
Both Edward Bloom and his son are types, representative of extremely divergent worldviews. So to ask me whether I would tolerate their behavior in real life is not the point, in my mind. They aren’t the least bit realistic, which is OK within the universe of the movie. They are drawn broadly in order to convey something: not that people who tell tall tales are noble/evil/good/lame/boorish, but rather, that our stories–even our fictions–serve to illuminate who we are, for good and for ill, intentionally and not. In the act of telling the stories that he did, as outrageous as they were, Edward Bloom did, in fact, reveal himself to his son in a way that seems on the surface more elusive, but is in fact deeper and truer in some ways than “just the facts.” And that’s what his son realizes at the end of the movie.
Exactly RM….
The son’s demands of the father are “be who *I* want you to be”, which is really off-putting to me.
They are drawn broadly in order to convey something: not that people who tell tall tales are noble/evil/good/lame/boorish, but rather, that our stories–even our fictions–serve to illuminate who we are, for good and for ill, intentionally and not.
Well, I don’t know about the theatre you were in, but many of the people in the audience I was in were teared up by the ending. I think to many people the movie wasn’t centrally about a message about stories, but about the relationship between a father and a son, and how they connected at the end. You make it sound like they were cartoons, and that we weren’t supposed to take their relationship seriously. I think this is wrong.
Look, of course stories are important, and of course the stories we tell and like to hear, from a personal or cultural standpoint, reveal a great deal about who we are. I love fiction. I read incessantly. I write fiction, for cryin’ out loud. But it’s not my primary mode of communication with those I care about.
In the act of telling the stories that he did, as outrageous as they were, Edward Bloom did, in fact, reveal himself to his son in a way that seems on the surface more elusive, but is in fact deeper and truer in some ways than “just the facts.”
No, I think the stories didn’t seem more elusive, they were more elusive. Again, I’d mention the affair his father had. The tall tales were mostly bullshit, but with some buried truths, but by the end of the movie, I honestly had no idea to what extent those truths revealed something meaningful about the character. I know that many people showed up to his funeral, so he obviously touched many people’s lives. But other than that, I didn’t really have a sense of the person. He cheated on his wife. Did he really love her? Did he really love his son? If so, what did he ever do to demonstrate this? What did any of his stories reveal in this respect? He seemed much more like an egomaniac than anything else, and yet the movie treated him very sympathetically.
I hear you loud and clear DJ–wasn’t your cup of tea for many reasons. Well, I’ve attempted to explain myself twice. I’m just not smart enough to find a third way to say the same thing.
So you get to have the last word on this.
I think the cheating thing could be taken up in debate, because that’s not how I initially saw that relationship. I’ve only seen the movie once though, so maybe that’d become more clear on a second watch.
but….
What did Edward Bloom do to show his love for his son??? Are you kidding me Derek??? He loved his son SOOO much that he chose to turn the mundane stories of everyday life into something more than what they were. And he did it mostly for his son. For most of the movie, the son was such a tightwad that he didn’t realize just how great stories can be. I mean, I don’t see how you can go through that movie with all those great lines and not see that.
a few gems:
Josephine: I talked to your father last night. He told me about how he and your mother met.
Will Bloom: Most of that never happened.
Josephine: But it’s romantic.
Senior Ed Bloom: Most men, they’ll tell you a story straight true. It won’t be complicated, but it won’t be interesting either
Senior Dr. Bennett: Do you want to know what really happened on the day you were born?
Will Bloom: Sure.
Senior Dr. Bennett: You were born early, without any problems, and your dad was away on a salesman trip and was upset that he couldn’t be there. But, men weren’t allowed in during the delivery, so I don’t see how it could be much different. I guess its not as exciting as your fathers version…
Will Bloom: I kind of liked your version.
The movie spoke to those of us who still believe that there is more to life that what exists in the black and white print. Did Jonah really get swallowed by a whale? No. Did a small man named David really slay a large giant named Goliath? No. But because we keep telling those stories, the message is passed on and passed on. What kind of world would this be if everything had to be literal? Would stories get passed on from person to person in the same way? Would we still read “The Illiad” and “The Odyssey?” Would the Bible be relevant at all? How would we watch a movie like “Goodfellas” and “The Godfather” with the same eyes, if everything was meant to be take literal? The stories we have mean something, and that when its all said and done, the stories are what keeps us alive forever.
Take the very last line of the movie:
Will Bloom: A man tells so many stories, that he becomes the stories. They live on after him, and in that way he becomes immortal.
The stories, whether good or bad, are sometimes all that we have to keep someone’s memory alive. If I ever have children, they will never know their grandfather. But I can translate the memories I have of him into stories, and yes, many of those stories WILL be heavily embellished.
I don’t think that “Big Fish” is a movie (like the stories Edward Bloom told) that can be taken literally. The point of the movie was Edward Bloom teaching his son Will that stories are important. And that through telling stories, someone can live forever. And Will finally learns this lesson at the end of the movie. He tells the story of his father’s death, to his dying dad. And that story that he told is a lot more interesting than just hearing, “Oh, he died in his sleep.”
Its important to note that Edward Bloom and his Will Bloom are complete opposites. Edward is a storyteller who embellishes everything. Will is a journalist who embellishes nothing. The movie is about finding that happy middle ground. And at the end of the movie, this is achieved. And that’s why this isn’t a movie that can be taken 100% literally.