Marooned

Saturday is traditionally "Take out the Trash" day.

Marooned (John Sturges, 1969) Martin Caidin's book "Marooned" presented the dilemma of an astronaut stranded in Earth orbit in a Mercury capsule whose retro-rockets—designed to slow its speed and have it fall back to Earth—failed to fire. That astronaut was doomed to remain in space—although eventually, in years, its orbit would decay enough that it would re-enter the atmosphere on its own—until his meager supply of oxygen ran out and he suffocated. As a book, it was merely okay, taking into account the logistics of actually spending the money and disrupting testing schedules and safety protocols over one man's life. 

There have been some close calls. The accidents of both the American and Soviet space programs are well-documented, and Apollo 13 came within a cat's whisker of skipping off the atmosphere on its return journey after an explosion disrupted their oxygen and power supply. But, no being—since the days of testing capsules with animals—has ever been stranded in space. Technically, it happened June 2024, when two astronauts, who were supposed to only spend 8 days up at the International Space Station, had to abandon their return, and have been up there ever since. Supposedly, the new "rescue" mission was supposed to launch this week...but it's been postponed.

Now, a movie was made in 1969 based on author Caidin's book, but, by the time of its release, the space program had advanced enough that there had already been one manned landing on the Moon with another scheduled days away. So, they looked at future NASA plans—one of which would be called Skylab, a low-tech space station using a spare third stage rocket casing as the orbiter—and based the fictional "Ironman One" mission of Marooned on that. Three astronauts (Richard Crenna, James Franciscus, and Gene Hackman) go up in their capsule to rendezvous, dock and spend seven months on their ersatz, roomy space station, but when Hackman's character gets a little space-woozy after just five months, everybody decides it's time to come home and *pfft* the retro-rockets don't work. Oh, the little green-light that says they're working is on ("We're gonna decorate it for Christmas!" the commander cracks). 

Now, the easiest solution is to get back to their little crude space-station which has plenty of oxygen—their space capsule having a limited supply—but since their big engine won't work, it makes it a little out of reach, space-wise. They have maneuvering thrusters, but they don't have the oomph to do anything but spin the space-craft around. So, NASA has to figure out a way to get their astro-boys back before the air runs out in 42 hours. And that's where the proverbial pooches really get screwed. Oh, NASA's good at schedules, and launch-windows, and prepping enough Tang™, but when it comes to seat-of-your-pants Hail Mary plays, well...let's have a meeting about that.

Thank God, that Charles Keith (Gregory Peck) is, as he likes to tell everybody "head of Manned Space," and as soon as you say "Houston, we've got a problem" it's his problem, too. The thing is, after looking at all the read-outs and not being able to repeat the problem with a similar retro-rocket on Earth, he's ready to give the "it's a risky business, and we will go on in their name" speech, he's told by Astronaut Lead Ted Dougherty (David Janssen)—who's "head of Space Man," I guess—that they should launch a rescue mission with an unproven booster, an untested vehicle prototype and with a hurricane bearing down on Florida and do it in 42 hours. What could go wrong?

But, before you can say "hand me those frozen "O"-rings, Keith shoots it down as being too risky and could only make a bad situation worse. That's when he gets a call from the President—it was Nixon, at the time—who says "Make a bad situation worse? I'm all for it!" Daugherty starts training for the mission—it should be the remedial lesson to save time—but, God turns the hurricane towards Florida, delaying the launch, which leads to the decision to launch when the eye of the hurricane is over the cape. That's some precise hurricane. But, the delay will mean that the trapped crew's oxygen supply will run out.

That is, the oxygen supply for three astronauts. Two might just make it. So, Keith gets to make one of the most cringe-worthy conversations in the history of space movies:

 

Charles Keith: Jim... how do you uh... how do you evaluate... the oxygen situation? 

Jim Pruett: Um... Well, we have whatever oxygen's left in the spacecraft system. And, there are only, uh... two bottles of emergency oxygen on board, five minutes each, that's uh... ten man-minutes. Um... my backpack, and uh... Lloyd's and Stone's, but um... there's not much oxygen left in them.

Charles Keith: Well, you'll have to save your backpacks for the EVA transfer.

Jim Pruett: Yeah I know that. 

[pause] 

Jim Pruett: 55 minutes, 

[longer pause] 

Jim Pruett: we'll be dead by then. 

Charles Keith: Well, only if you... continue to use oxygen at the present rate...

Jim Pruett: Well, uh, we can't cut down. 

Charles Keith: Let's... think about that... 

Jim Pruett: Do, uh... do you want us to lower the partial pressure again? 

Charles Keith: No, we've examined that, it won't work... 

Jim Pruett: Well we're lyin' here like corpses now... uh... what else can we do?

Charles Keith: You must... think... 

[astronauts exchange glances, realizing the unspoken implication of Keith's statement] 

Jim Pruett: Yeah, we're... thinkin'... 

Charles Keith: Are we talking about the same thing? 

Jim Pruett: Yeah. 

Charles Keith: Why don't you... talk it over. If you could... work out something... it would be of great help... 

Jim Pruett: Yeah we'll talk it over.

Charles Keith: I must point out Jim, that any *effective* action must be taken immediately... 

Jim Pruett: Look, don't tell me what to do! We've been takin' your god damned orders and where the hell are we? From now on WE'RE gonna make all the decisions! Whatever we do, you're OUT OF IT! 

Charles Keith: Oh I uh... appreciate what you're saying Jim... and I agree with you... You're exactly right...

  

MAD Magazine (#138, October, 1970) had a field-day with that dialog:

As a "space-kid" growing up, eyes glued to the television every time a space mission happened, this seemed absolutely ludicrous (we hadn't had a death in space yet, only during training, and NASA's lucky streak on their space-flights was nothing short of amazing, but you couldn't tell me that). I was already sitting in my seat, arms folded tightly across my chest with a scowl on my face as the depictions of the vehicles in orbit around the Earth wouldn't have passed muster as a "simulation" the networks always used when they didn't have "picture" for what was happening during their coverage (and that was pretty dicey, even though it inspired the movie Capricorn One and hundreds of resultant conspiracy theories).

Look, I was 14 and that's an age when "fair" is a foreign concept. But, Marooned was released a full year after 2001: a Space Odyssey, with its pristine special effects, and I considered this movie one giant leap backwards. Nothing looked right, or even realistic. The space hardware was pristine, no wads of aluminum foil hanging off the ships (used to reflect sunlight and heat at the time), no wear-and-tear, and they resembled the older Aurora models I used to cement together, in fact, I could have sworn at the time I saw glue on the obvious seams of the Marooned ships. These days, I'm more charitable, but back then, I considered the movie "a travesty"—big word for 14!—but, I told my Dad I liked it...hey, he took me to the movie. I was a punk but I wasn't an ingrate.

And the thing won an Oscar for special effects. Granted, it's only competition was Krakatoa: East of Java (and, as we all know, Krakatoa was WEST of Java, so those were some pretty special effects!). You think you've got a gripe with your favorite picture not winning an Oscar? I've got you beat. I'm torqued because this one DID win an Oscar.

David Janssen flying out of the eye of a hurricane.

Marooned has one big Legacy feature: it's the most expensive, star-filled movie ever to have been featured on "Mystery Science Theater 3000" (albeit in a truncated form entitled "Space Travelers") as the first episode of their fourth season. This is the version of the movie that I prefer to watch.

So, the stranded astronauts still in orbit dredged up the memory of this movie. And I've read a lot of pearl-clutching and rending of garments over their fate, being stuck in orbit floating around Earth with plenty of food, water, oxygen, and the best view in the Solar System. You want to know how the astronauts who've been marooned on the ISS feel about having to stay when they were only scheduled for 8 days? NPR interviewed another member of the astronaut corps and her reply was telling: "Well, I can tell you what the rest of us astronauts down here feel—we're jealous!"

 

Now, that's The Right Stuff. 

I Never Sang For My Father

I Never Sang for My Father (Gilbert Cates, 1970) Family drama about older kids (Gene Hackman, Estelle Parsons) struggling with what to do with their elderly parents (Melvyn Douglas, Dorothy Stickney) and the way emotional buttresses are formed between generations to prevent "in-home care" for the elderly. 

It's a simple equation: kids want their lives, and parents want their lives back.

Gene Garrison (Hackman) is an author/college professor who's the chief care-taker/"baby-sitter" for his elderly parents, who have just returned to upstate New York from their winter home in Florida. Mom's frail, as is dad (Douglas), but he won't admit it.

Gilbert Cates produced the play on Broadway (where it starred Hal Holbrook, Alan Webb, Teresa Wright and Lillian Gish), and directed it (such as he did) for film. It's not great work, hand-held, close-up stuff that basically gets out of the way of the actors, with a bit too much transitory busy-ness—there's a lot of walking out of rooms as if that's going to stop a conversation, but it doesn't. Cates went on to a career of directing mostly TV movies, but became most famous for producing the annual Oscar telecasts.

One hesitates to come down too hard on I Never Sang... because the issues are familiar if limited to the personalities involved and the selfish motivations of such, but the acting, especially by Douglas, Hackman and Parsons is note-perfect and feels real.

It's just that the film is dully presented, and looks like an after-school special for those going through a mid-life crisis, and it ends, never resolving the issues or presenting any ideas or insights. To do that would involve compromise and none of the characters are willing to, while the movie itself does so at every stage.

Gene Hackman has retired from films and acting (he just turned 94, so the following suggestion is a bit impertinent, as he should enjoy his retirement, leaving us grateful for all he's given us), but it would be nice if he would grace audiences with his take on the Douglas role, just to see what he would do with it.

It is interesting to note that the "Death ends a life"* monologue from the play/film is considered one of the most "overdone audition monologues" in theater.

* Death ends a life, but it does not end a relationship, which struggles on in the survivor's mind towards some final resolution, some clear meaning, which it perhaps never finds.

Night Moves (1975)

Night Moves (Arthur Penn, 1975) Harry Moseby (Gene Hackman) is your classic detective as tarnished knight. A lone-wolf ex-jock who plays the cards he's dealt and holds them close to the vest. Nobody gets in, not his wife, not his clients, not even his acquaintances. To accentuate the point, Director Arthur Penn surrounds Harry with glass and view-screens. He's a detective—a peeper—and he's always peering through those wind-shields, portals, and glass-bottomed boats at the world, though a little filtered, a little distorted. They are part of his job, but as they also provide him a view, they are also a hindrance...and a refuge. He can look through these transparent barriers, but he can't touch. And no one can get through to him. Frequently—so frequently you can't miss their use—the windows have one of those distorting fish-eye appliques that bend and distort the world in a round, limited circle—a fish-bowl—appropriate for someone so myopic as Harry.

Harry's a loner, so much so that he won't take a job at an information mill because it's "not for him." And he's got a big mouth but just enough suppression instinct that the one it hurts the most is him, and a snide sense of humor that rubs the wrong way. He's so set in his ways that this old dog that won't learn new tricks has begun to chase his own tail. He's investigating himself, or rather, his wife, who's been stepping out on him. When he exposes the affair, everybody involved throws Harry's history back at him, something he avoids at all costs. He's more comfortable analyzing other people's problems to look at his own.

The screenplay is by Alan Sharp, and Harry is another solitary guy on a "last run," at a cross-roads that he'll turn after he's done one more job. He'll quit while he's ahead. But his timing is a bit off. The movie starts just as this one case begins: a dirt-job for an aging starlet whose slut of a daughter (Melanie Griffith) has run off to the step-father. It's a family in the Chandler-mystery mode, good money can't hide bad blood-lines. Mom wants her back, but not out of some familial bond. She just wants the child-support. So, Moseby takes a long trip to Florida to try and convince the kid to do something neither of them thinks is a good idea: Go back. And, as in Chandler, that case is just the tip of a dangerous ice-berg, one that improves Harry's vision, but only with 20/20 hind-sight.

When I first saw Night Moves—back when it played theaters, I was unimpressed. Now, seeing it at an older age, it looks like a masterpiece, the understated classic that some have said it was. The movie hasn't changed...but I have, and I appreciate the issues in it, and see it with a much better clarity than when I was younger. Getting old does that. I'm just lucky enough to be getting old.

Olde Review: Bonnie and Clyde

This was part of a series of reviews of the ASUW Film series back in the 1970's (I actually think I need to put the century in now). Except for some punctuation, I haven't changed anything from the way it was presented, giving the snarky, opinionated, and woefully inadequate kid I was back in the '70's a break. Any stray thoughts and updates I've included with the inevitable asterisked post-scripts.

This Friday's ASUW Films in 130 Kane may comprise the best double-bill, with one notable exception, in the entire series. They are Arthur Penn's Bonnie and Clyde and Robert Benton's Bad Company.

Bonnie and Clyde (Arthur Penn, 1967) Bonnie and Clyde caused quite a stir when it was released in 1967. It was one of the first gangster movies, at least within most casual movie-goer's memories (which isn't much) to treat these people not as psychopaths, but as ordinary people who were caught in the Depression's whirl-pool and didn't know any other way to fight it. In other words, it attempted to de-mythologize the Barrow Gang. Unfortunately, the film created as many myths as it debunked. But then what else can you expect when you have two "beautiful people" like Warren Beatty (who does a fine impression of Warren Oates*) and Faye Dunaway (whose acting wasn't equaled here until Chinatown in 1974).

William Bayer in his book "The Great Movies"** has said "what is also personal about Bonnie and Clyde, and constitutes its unique flavor is its curious blending of comedy and horror, its romanticization of crime as something that is fun, and that also leads to violent, bloody death. Bonnie and Clyde is both real and abstract, a gangster-movie and a comedy-romance. It is a comedy that turns dark, a romance that ends with death."

Death in Bonnie and Clyde is of an explicit nature. It was the first popular film to use the modern film technology to present a heightened violence that created the trend that is still going on today. Of course, no one forgets the slow-motion slaughter of the two at the end--"the dance of death"--it's dream-like quality, because Death's constant presence in their lives has turned it into a dream. Slo-Mo violence has been used after ad infinitum with no imagination and less effect.***

There are other moments: the first violent death of a clerk;**** the performances of Gene Hackman, Estelle Parsons, Michael Pollard, Denver Pyle and Dub Taylor; Bonnie's escape in a corn field; the death of Gene Hackman; the comedic perfection of Evans Evans and Gene Wilder (in his first movie); and probably, best of all, the reunion with Bonnie's parents before their world falls apart.

Yeah, it is Arthur Penn's finest film. Borrowing from the past, but also using his own sense of cinematic imagery, Penn has made a complete, whole film--something that can't be said of his Little Big Man, Night Moves, or The Missouri Breaks with their only occasional moments of brilliance.

Maybe the reason Penn was so successful with Bonnie and Clyde is the material he had to work with--the script by Robert Benton and David Newman.***** Newman and Benton wrote it hoping that Francois Truffaut or Jean-Luc Godard would direct it. Arthur Penn was extremely lucky that they were unavailable. The two later scripted There was a Crooked Man, and, with Buck Henry, co-scripted What's Up, Doc? In 1972, after writing for others and seeing them reap all the laurels, Benton-Newman wrote a script and Benton got to direct it, It was called Bad Company and in many ways it's a better film than Bonnie and Clyde.

Broacdcast on KCMU-FM January 20th, 1977

* I sense "snark" there. I don't think it was related to Oates playing Dillinger in 1973—a film that owes a lot to Bonnie and Clyde, one should mention—but, rather the hyper roles that Oates played in the early 1960's. If you watch Dillinger (which came out six years after Bonnie and Clyde), with Oates as the titular gangster, you'll notice that he plays his role with more gravitas. It's the difference between Oates changing his intensity from a supporting actor getting himself noticed to a star role where there is more depending on the lead.

** Sadly, out of print, and not to be confused with Roger Ebert's "The Great Movies" series of books. Bayer's book was a fairly non-controversial heavy tome with well-written appreciations and beautiful photographs. I've still got it, and still treasure it. I became acquainted with Ebert's two-book series over a weekend, and found them both very enjoyable in Ebert's typically "personal-relationship-with-the-movies" style. All totaled, before his death, he increased the number of "must-see" movies to 379. You can find the list here. *Sigh* No rest for the wicked.

*** The thing that makes Bonnie and Clyde's death-scene in under-cranked motion so well-done (as opposed to most that came after) can be attributed to the editing of Dede Allen, whose scrupulous work for Penn and Sydney Lumet, raised it above the typical use of slow-motion, which is generally used for exploitation purposes. I might have been harping on Sam Peckinpah at the time I made this point, but, despite his reputation, even he only used flashes of slow-motion amidst a fast edited sequence to highlight a story-point, or prolong a moment of shock. Nowadays, the "dance of death" sequence (as it became known) looks a little tame compared to today's cinema carnage. It's still arresting, though.

****Based on a similar shot in Eisenstein's Battleship Potemkin--folks were getting into film-school references at this point, and I think it marks the bifurcation point where directors stopped drawing inspiration from life and, instead, drew inspiration from other movies—to the medium's detriment, I think.

*****Benton-Newman also wrote the book for "It's a Bird, It's a Plane, It's Superman," the short-lived Broadway musical, which paved the way for them working on the re-writes of Mario Puzo's scripts for Superman and Superman II. Benton went on to direct such great films as Kramer vs. Kramer (which won the 1980 Best Picture Oscar), and my favorite of his films, Places in the Heart.

Tomorrow: Bad Company

Superman II: The Richard Donner Cut

Superman II: The Richard Donner Cut (Richard Donner, Richard Lester, Michael Thau, 2006) Perhaps one should call it "The Richard Donner Cut" in name only. This is because Superman's original director, Richard Donner, had very little to do with this restoration, re-assemblage and re-edit,* other than give it his tacit approval—and express amazement that anyone cared so much to find all of the lost footage that he had shot (while simultaneously directing both Superman: the Movie and Superman II as was the plan) and assemble it to make some semblance of the film that he and the film's final script-writer Tom Mankiewicz (after the initial draft by Mario Puzo, the revised script by Robert Benton, and David and Leslie Newman) had in mind from the beginning. Donner has always been appreciative of how his efforts on the film have been appreciated, but moved on after he was fired.

But a lot of fan-boys did care, noting a slight change of tone in the three years between I and II. A lot had happened: the firing of Richard Donner over "creative differences" (those being he spent too much money, he cared too much about the movie to worry about the budget, and he wasn't a toadie to the producers), and the replacement with Richard Lester, no slouch as a director, but who didn't give a rat's ass about superhero movies. Web-sites had for years been acruing sightings of bits and pieces of "Donner" grail from International versions and "Expanded" television showings, and Michael Thau who assembled this thing, created new effects (a bit crude), re-edited John Williams' original score and Ken Thorne's work on II,, and grabbed whatever footage he could (including for one crucial scene only available from Margot Kidder's and Christopher Reeve's auditions) to create this dog's breakfast of a "movie."** It is incomplete with big holes in the narrative, and with only crucial Lester-directed scenes grudgingly included—Donner and Mankiewicz grouse and complain about the changes made to "their" movie in the commentary track but do give Lester (never named) and the re-writers some credit once. It makes a one-on-one comparison dodgy and a bit unfair, in both movies' favors.

The first thing one misses (after goggling over alternate takes and a wealth of new Marlon Brando and Gene Hackman footage--all shot by Donner, he only had them for a limited amount of time) is the cracker-jack/spin-on-a-dime editing of Stuart Baird, who cut the first Chris Reeve "Superman" film. The relative pace of this film, by comparison, is slack, alarmingly so. Donner and Baird in the first were far more brutal in their cutting and it made for a dynamic experience.
But I have to give the nod to the Donner cut, first, because they remained faithful to the source, and, second, because they made a far-more interesting two-movie arc than combining the first with Lester's Version. Let me explain.

Whatever money the Salkinds made, they blew it artistically, because "Superman"/"Superman II" as Donner/Mankiewicz intended, was one of those rare things--a "religious film without Jesus." Yes, there are those direct parallels that Bryan Singer picked up on (and made too much out of in his "Superman Returns") of the Father who bequeaths his Only Son for Mankind. But it goes further. It also makes a direct, dramatic use of that ambiguous phrase Jor-El line "The Son becomes the Father, and The Father, the Son." It brings closure to Superman's ties to his home-planet and abandons him completely to Earth. It also shows why Kal-el deserves the name of "Superman." And it showed a much better performance by Christopher Reeve, than was ever displayed again in the series. The actor in Reeve played Part One, so he could sink his acting chops into Part Two. Not using the Donner segments robbed people of seeing a pretty incredible Reeve performance.

Jor-El, Superman's father--played by Marlon Brando, plays a critical role in Part II. When Lois Lane's movie-length attempt to unmask Clark Kent as Superman comes to fruition, they whisk away to his Fortress of Solitude for some alone-time, and Dad does not approve, chastising Kal-el for hubris and selfishness, telling him his reward is the happiness his good works provides. But Kal wants Lois ("this human," Jor-El dismisses her), and to do that, he must live as one of them, and have his powers removed permanently by a "red-sun generator,"*** which will make him an ordinary man. Kal-El steps into the chamber and as the process strips him of his powers, Jor-El casts a disapproving look at Lois Lane.
The human couple, Clark and Lois, leave the Fortress, the diner scene happens where Clark gets beat up, and learns about the Kryptonian villains taking over the U.S. government. Realizing what he's done, and there's no one but him who could stop them. he treks back to the empty Fortress, the crystal controls he used to communicate with Jor-El obliterated. Kal-El breaks down, acknowledges his weakness and mistake and hears nothing in reply. Finally, he cries out "Father!"Donner (and Thau) cuts to a far-shot as the cry echoes in the crossed beams of the Fortress. And one recalls the words of Christ on the Cross: "My God, My God, why have you abandoned me?"

But there is a shred of hope. Or a shard. Amidst the rubble, the original green, glowing crystal that Kal found in his Exodus-ship is still glowing, and with it, he is able to contact Jor-El one last time.

Jor-El admonishes Kal for his transgression, and tells him that there is only one way to get his powers back, and that is to transfer the final energies that allows them contact; for Superman to regain his powers will destroy the last vestiges of energy that is the Jor-El "program." Kal-El is reluctant, but Jor-El begins the process, appearing to him corporeally to touch as they say goodbye and to transfer his power to his son, destroying himself: The Son becomes the Father, and the Father becomes the Son.
Kal is knocked unconscious, the other crystal conduits are destroyed. There's the battle with the Kryptonian villains (but without the expanding sticky "S"-shields and simulacrum tricks, per Newman and Lester--what? Superman's powers aren't enough?), Luthor is carted away, and then the coda: Superman flies Lois out of the Fortress, turns, gives it one last look, opens his eyes...wide, and destroys the Empty Fortress with his heat-vision. Here are frames from that sequence, without any further explanation--but one more Bible quote:
"When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I felt as a child, I thought as a child. Now that I have become a man, I have put away childish things."
1 Corinthians 13:11

Yeah, I wouldn't call it "The Richard Donner Cut." I'd call it "The Last Temptation of Superman."

For all its patchwork quality, for its holes and inconsistent effects, I'd still have to say I prefer "The Donner Cut," as it maintains the consistent vision of the first movie and brings the story proper to a conclusion. The Lester Version let go of the internal logic for thirty pieces of silver, and undermined the biblical implications to replace it with slapstick and inconsistencies from out of left-field. One is left unsatisfied with both, and pining for what would have been the greatest super-hero film ever made.

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* Donner was much more involved with "The Extended Cut" that Warner Brothers commissioned after Christopher Reeve's death, where Donner was able to go in and add some sequences that the producers and Warner Brothers wanted removed to cut down the length of the film—and in that way squeeze in a couple more showings per night at your local theater.

** Okay, some history: Between the first and second films, Donner was "let go" (probably because he was carefully doing his directing chores and running over budget—to the point where filming of the second film was cut short) and Lester (a "fast" director who usually "printed" his first take) was hired. For financial reasons (the producers didn't want to pay him his full salary), all of Marlon Brando's scenes for the second film were scrapped and Susannah York brought back in to play Lara, Kal-el's mother (who never appeared post-Krypton explosion in the first film) from beyond the grave. Gene Hackman's footage was used, but cut way down. Why? In order for Lester to receive the director credit, he must have directed at least 50% of the movie, and so a lot of Donner footage was edited out to bring about that mathematical percentage, thus, Hackman's role of Lex Luthor was greatly reduced. A pity as Hackman is terrific in the movie (in Lester's scenes, Lex Luthor is usually facing AWAY from the camera so as not to see that a stand-in was used).

*** Okay, non-comic-book nerds bear with me: See, Krypton, Superman's home planet, had a red sun, so bathing him in "red solar energy" takes away all the powers that Earth's "yellow sun" gives him, and at this point everything breaks down because once Kal-el goes outside, he should get his powers back, but let's just GO with it, because by the movie's internal logic, he should still have a "dense molecular structure" that makes him invulnerable, and he could still put up a fight with that. But why bring all this up, really? It's all dogma, which, I guess, is appropriate. Comic books, like a religion, require the faith of a child, willing to believe.