Big Fish and Death

Big Fish offers low hanging fruit for theological reflection in two areas: Relativism and Death. Since Ellie already dealt with the relativism, and the reason I chose Big Fish is the recent experience of my wife's grandmother's death, I really don't have a choice.
Big Fish is the story of a man dying. Ed Bloom has told far out tales his whole life, and his son Will feels like he does not know his father because of the stories that the old man has built. Throughout the story, we have to question the reality of what we are seeing, while understanding that this is the life the old man wishes us to think he lived.


Pungente and Williams say that "No one dies alone" in reference to God's comfort during death. Lost, perhaps giving away it's worldview, says Live Together, Die Alone. I would feel that death is too much of a transition to be faced alone. Given the choice, I would move from being with a community of redeemed sinner directly into communion with the Redeemer. In a sense, Ed does die alone, because he is in denial about the way that his death is occurring. In one of his stories, he discovered the way that he would die when he was very young, but has never told anyone. As his death nears, he asks his son to tell him the story of his own death, and that is how he passes, to an embellishment of his own planning and his son's design.


The Christian response to a believers death has always been puzzling to me. Paul says that we are not to grieve as those who have no hope, and that we should comfort one another with the resurrection. For some reason, we take this to mean that we should not grieve. I can'’t count how many times someone told Grandpa "“She'’s in a better place"” or "“She'’s not in pain any more" or "She'’s happy now" or some such banal banter. OK, Grandpa knows she'’s in heaven, and he'’s not crying because he'’ll never see her again. He'’s crying because they were married for 57 years and he's going to MISS HER! A good friend of mind told me once that the best thing he heard from believers after his grandfather'’s death was "“I'’m praying for you"” and a close second was "If there is anything you need, please call me."” He felt cheated of his grief when told about the better condition his grandfather was in. I would hope that we are comfortable enough with pain that we can allow the grieving to grieve, and not minimize it with truths that sound trite in the face of pain.
In Letters from a Skeptic, an unsaved father asks his son "“Why didn'’t God spare your mother?"” On a macro level, the answer is sin in the world, that does not help us deal with pain. My only response to intense grief at the death of a believer is "“God understands."” In the words of Stuart Townend; How great the pain of searing loss, The Father turns His face away.
One of the things that repeatedly struck me in viewing this film is Ed Bloom'sfearlessnesss in the face of danger, because he knew how he died. It was a decision he had made young, and took full advantage of it. At the circus, lots of dangerous jobs. In the army,volunteeringg for the most dangerousascensions. He knew that he wouldn't die till he was old, and the end took a "strange twist." In this way, he was a perfect example for a believer. We may not know the day or way of our passing, but our confidence in the finished work of Christ, and our security in him gives us a pretty good understanding of how we really end up.
The closing lines of the film are: The man tells his stories so many times that he becomes the stories. They live on after him. And in that way, he becomes immortal. Immortality in manÂ’s memory is a fickle thing. One can never predict what will bring it on. Great kings become historical footnotes; storytellers cannot hope to be remembered after a thousand generations. On the other hand, if one really does live forever, why tell the stories? Our desire to impact the world, to make a difference, was placed there for a reason. Christ told us how to fill this void, drafting us into His task force for kingdom building. We must not strive to be remembered because of how we told our stories, or who heard them. Instead, we should be remembered because our stories made an eternal difference.

Briefly on the film itself: The film was popular, but not amazingly so with the critics. Fans of fairy tales will appreciate it. Tim Burton's work here foreshadows his brilliance in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, which also featured Philippe Rousselet's cinematography. In contrast to his normally dark overtones, this may be Burton'’s most colorful work. Only Mars Attacks! (and later Charlie) has come close to the vibrancy that inhabits Big Fish. A nod to sansclyde, as Eddie Vedder performed the vaguely religious Man of the Hour.