Avatar brings together a range of familiar themes, common threads, topics, symbolic references and cultural backgrounds and binds them together into a tight immersive adventure. It challenges our perception of the boundaries of reality and fantasy, and can provide us with a reminder of our purpose right here on Earth. Although there are many themes that are worthy of discussion, this review will mainly focus on Avatar’s use of rites-of-passage, and explore how these rites allow us to connect with a purpose and broaden our relationship with the natural world. Chapters are dived into ’seasons’ and link various threads in Avatar with the natural cycle of birth, growth, decay, death and rebirth. Familiar themes on an unfamiliar world.

Birth – A new world, a fresh start

Avatar opens by introducing the possibility of new beginnings. Through Jake’s narrated introduction, we discover how he came to arrive on Pandora and are likewise introduced to how frustrating his reality of being stuck in a wheelchair is. We also get to know his dreams of being whole again, and this theme of dreams re-occurs throughout the movie, as the boundaries between dream and reality blur once he starts embodying his avatar.

With its oceans, continents, ice and clouds, Pandora looks more like Earth than a land of the terrors and nightmares those familiar with the Greek myth might have been expecting. Perhaps the corporate men were right, this could be Jakes second chance, humanities wet-dream: a fresh planet where we can start-over and this time get things right. Pandora offers Jake the chance to leave the past behind and become someone new, the same way that Spring overcomes Winter and offers the chance for renewal and re-birth. Jake is eager to prove that he is useful, so he enthusiastically takes on the Colonel’s mission of spying on the Na’vi, because, for now, he only sees the benefit to himself. His desire to be whole again overshadows whatever consequences his actions may have on others.

The beauty of Pandora revealed

As Jake tests out his new Na’vi body, we witness the glee on his face as he fully immerses himself in the experience of being free of his chair. Yet, it cannot last. Waking up back in his cocoon, Jake is confronted once again by his useless human legs. While Jake’s human body appears to represent repression and the past, his avatar body symbolizes liberation, the future and freedom. In other words, the past represents childhood and the future symbolizes manhood.

This is stated clearly in the scene when he first meets Neytiri, “You know nothing! You are like a baby…” she points out. Although Jake possesses the body of an adult Na’vi male, to Neytiri he has not yet proven himself worthy of wearing their skin. To do so, he must think and behave accordingly. Neytiri however is not willing to dismiss Jake immediately, as we see. She possesses a deep spiritual connection to the forest and after witnessing a sign from Eywa, she realizes that there is something special about Jake. This spiritual connection is something that we see lacking from most of the humans in the movie, which raises questions about what connections we have perhaps lost to our own world.

Growth –Learning to love and respect our new skin

When Jake is brought before the clan elder Eytukan, he mistrusts Jake and agrees with the feisty young warrior Tsu’tey that Jake should be destroyed. Moat however, takes a more diplomatic approach and although she claims that they have already tried, and failed, to open the minds of the humans to the Na’vi ways, she makes an exception with Jake. As the spiritual leader of the clan, Moat believes that there is something special about him. She gives him the chance to learn the Na’vi way, challenging Jake to immerse himself fully in their culture, and train with an initially reluctant Neytiri in order to assess whether or not he can earn his place as one of them. As Jake takes deeper and deeper sojourns into the Na’vi culture, rites-of-passage are shown to be an integral part of the development of his character. Neytiri gives Jake various challenges, or ‘rites-of-passage’, that demonstrate that he is improving, learning and maturing. Like a snake sheds its skin, their first rite in initiating Jake into their clan is to remove his human-styled clothes. Barefoot and practically naked, his body is exposed to the elements and eyes of others, meaning that the focus is moved to his actions.

It is through Neytiri that Jake is introduced to the various habits, practices, rituals and language of the Na’vi, and it is with her that we witness the initial steps in the evolution of Jake’s character which snowball into the giant strides that he later takes.

To draw parallels with another great movie reviewed here, Neytiri – like Katsumoto in ‘The Last Samurai‘ – takes the role of mentoring Jake in the ways of the heart as much as the ways of the warrior. She teaches him about the deep spiritual connection the Na’vi have with the forest and its other inhabitants. As Jake gradually climbs the ladder of her respect, we are given the chance to reflect on our own lost cultures and traditions and can be reminded of times when men would have provided for the community as hunters, and defended them as warriors if needed. Another example of a tradition we are familiar with can be found in the funeral, a scene in which Neytiri is seen placing one of the sacred seeds in the grave of the Na’vi elder as Jake repeats her words in his diary dialogue, “All energy is only borrowed, and one day you have to give it back…”. This brings us full circle by asking us to compare this funeral scene to the one that Jake’s twin brother received at the beginning of the movie. Once again we see that the Na’vi have a healthy respect for death, which perhaps brings them in closer contact with the life they choose to lead.

Jake meets an Ikran for the first time

The Na’vi rites-of-passages are those of a hunter. His first clean kill grants him access to the test of the warrior, and he must climb Mount Iknimaya to make the bond with a banshee (Ikran) – a dangerous exercise where he could either die – or become a true warrior. But the title of ‘warrior’ is not the final step in becoming a man. After passing through the rites of a hunter, then a warrior, Jake’s ultimate challenge is to stand before the Na’vi community and be accepted as one of them. This conclusive action, the ritual of ‘laying of hands’ to form a connection with each clan member proves to each one of the Na’vi present that Jake is being reborn, and that after that moment he is accepted as one of them. This transformation can be witnessed in nature right here on Earth in examples such as the caterpillar becoming a moth or butterfly, or when a juvenile bird gains its adult colours.

Jake is now fit to wear the skin that he has been given. Another way to interpret this scene would be to say that he is now no longer a child. He is a man. The Na’vi use of rites pose other questions: how do our own societies qualify us as men? Are we ‘men’ simply because of our deeper voices, our taller, broader, hairier bodies? How do we actually know that we are now men and not still boys? And how do others know? What types of rites do boys have to pass through to be considered men in contemporary society? Is it the keys to our car? Our shavers? Our 18^th birthday? Our ability to legally buy alcohol? Or is it something much deeper: the knowledge of our purpose in life? These questions are definitely worth taking a moment to think about.

While watching, I also notice that Neytiri is not surrounded by weak male role models. This is no fairy-tale in which the whimsical princess sings to her animal friends while waiting for a handsome prince to whisk her away from the boredom of her claustrophobic room high in the Palace’s Eastern Tower. Neytiri is positive, powerful and very feminine. So when it comes to the question of love and partnership, Jake is intimately aware that it is not just his own personal choice as a man that matters: a life with a partner must be decided together and he states to Neytiri “I have already chosen, but she must also chose me”, another confirmation that Jake has transformed into a wiser man.

Decay – Leaves and trees fall, bodies waste away

While his Na’vi self improves in leaps and bounds, we witness Jake’s human side (especially his body) waste away and he grows increasingly pale and thin and stalls his mission of relocating the Na’vi from Hometree. Jake states that the lines between his old self and his new self are blurred, he is not sure who he is any more. Despite all that he has learned and the commitment that he has made to Neytiri and the Na’vi people, he is still attached to his human body and past. When the yellow bulldozers suddenly arrive and destroy the sacred site that he and Neytiri have just made love in, Jake finally sees what his fellow humans are doing through the eyes of his newly attuned Na’vi self and his true sense of purpose, to defend his home, kicks in. His uncontrolled rage exposes his true allegiance and the following negotiations between Grace, Jake, the Colonel and Selfridge do not go in favour of the Na’vi. Grace puts up an especially well-reasoned fight. She and Jake both display aspects of the KWML ‘Lover (in their fullness)’ during this scene, deeply in tune with Pandora’s beauty and unafraid of protecting it at any cost to themselves. But instead of taking their pleas seriously, Selfridge deflates their arguments by exclaiming “What have you guys been smoking!?!”. He appears completely disconnected from himself by the greed, denial and destruction that his everyday life has become. In KWML terms, Selfridge displays many aspects of the ‘The Tyrant King’ here, blinded by his hunger for richness he is unable to associate with the situation he has created:

The immature Selfridge commands Dr Grace Augustine to produce results with the Na’vi

His degradation of others and all beauty is limitless, as everything good, true, and beautiful reminds him of his own shortcomings. He is extremely sensitive to criticism… responding with rage, when what he feels is fear and vulnerability.

The Colonel too plays a role, the Sadist Warrior who itches for battle, he prefers mass genocide in order to acquire military rule over Pandora. As the military destroy Hometree, he too appears entirely disconnected from the reality that he is creating for the Na’vi: while they die or watch their home being destroyed, he sips coffee and offers to buy everyone a beer. Back at the base, Selfridge and the others watch their television screens passively, somehow connecting and disconnecting them at once. Norm and Trudy are the only ones who feel the need to act: Norm flies into a rage and Trudy simply walks away, wanting no part in the massacre of the people she too connects with. Small, but powerful actions.

Death – Redemption. The making of the king

With Eytukan dead, Tsu’tey steps up to his responsibility as clan leader – but, overwhelmed by the situation that he has been thrust into, he can do nothing more than lead the Na’vi retreat to the Tree of Life. It is finally time for Jake to take the initiative: the people need a leader they can trust to fight back and win against unthinkable odds. Using his training, Jake pulls off the unthinkable – makes the bond with Last Shadow (Toruk) and arrives to the awe of the collected Na’vi. As we watch this scene, we are reminded of what it often takes to make a true leader: as human beings we must pass through many hoops in life – many rites and rituals – but in order to become a true leader, one must often surpass the confines of mere mortals. Jake appears when the Na’vi most need him and as such, represents the 6th incarnation of their messiah, something that was also hinted at earlier when Jake was ‘chosen’ by the sacred seeds.

Jake turns to Tsu’tey and, brother to brother, man to man, asks for the new chief’s permission to bring the clans together to form a larger force. The show of respect for Tsu’tey’s position here is a good example of how Jake connects with the Na’vi. The warrior Tsu’tey recognizes a power in Jake that he does not yet possess and agrees to let Jake lead. War follows, and the Na’vi pack a mighty hole in the human forces. Tsu’tey’s heroic fight on the aircraft ramp is particularly noteworthy. But against the bullets and rockets, their fortunes quickly turn and the humans and their machines one-by-one lay waste to the Na’vi forces. But Jake’s call to Eywa for help is answered and various creatures come to the planet’s aid, giving Jake the break he needs to destroy both the airship and the Colonel’s battleship. Although it may appear cliché and obvious to point it out, what this scene does is once again show us that one man can make a huge difference, one man can turn the tide and fight for what he loves despite the fact that he can lose everything.

“How does it feel to betray your own people?” the Colonel asks Jake during the final battle. He doesn’t perceive that Jake’s connection goes far deeper than A) human, or B) Na’vi. Throughout the whole film, the Na’vi have played a very important role in allowing us to connect to the planet Pandora emotionally. The Na’vi have shown us the spirit of Pandora: Eywa, not as dark feminine seduction, but as a positive feminine energy source. One to bathe in, admire and respect. The Colonel’s disconnected analysis is not an uncommon one at all: while the natural world on our own planet is continuously raped, divided up and turned into corporate commodity, humans inherently continue to focus on human-centric issues and conflicts. To Jake – who has fully embraced his Na’vi spiritual side – the connection goes much further than this. He doesn’t even bother to respond to the Colonel’s challenge. He just snarls like a cat and goes in for the kill.

Re-birth – The cycle of life comes full circle

As Neytiri enters the cabin hoping to save the suffocating Jake, she meets Jake in his human body for the first time. They finally ‘see’ one another as their true selves. There is something both strange and wonderful about this scene as the massive battle-painted warrior princess crouches in the tiny steel and plastic lab, cradling Jake’s body like a baby in her huge arms. These two scales, of small and large (child and adult) are also much clearer in the final scene as Jake’s two bodies lie in the fetal position, one symbolizing that of a child and the other that of a grown man. Reborn one final time, the boy becomes a man, permanently.

Conclusion

Avatar takes us half-way cross the galaxy, to the wondrous world of Pandora. But like always, when we transition out of make-believe worlds of great wonder, reality smacks us in the face.

The question to ask yourself is this: ‘What reality do I now see?’ Can Avatar show you how wonderful the world that surrounds you is – outside of your car, your house, your office and even your clothes? For me, Avatar is a call to action, it strikes deeply and asks us one essential question about our lives: what is our core purpose? It hints at the benefits of deepening our current personal connection to people, the natural world around us and the spiritual side of that connection we may have lost touch with. It tells a story that challenges us to analyse the consequences of action versus inaction when we see a cause that is worth fighting for.

It is a story that reminds us that we simply can’t sit around and wait for the future to solve the problems of the present. Deep down this is a story that shows us that we are capable of evolving from boys – through several rites of passage – to the final rite of being reborn as true men, of wearing this skin – this form of the adult male that we have so fortunately grown into – with pride. To take responsibility for our own actions, fight for what is right and protect our mother, ‘Earth’, from those that would harm her.

And most of all, it asks us to do something very simple: to see ourselves through the eyes of others and to stand confidently under their gaze without fear, because we understand who we are and our true purpose right here and now.

Set in the latter part of the 12th century, the movie focuses on the main character Balian–a peasant blacksmith in the south of France. From a life of relative tranquility, his existence is turned upside down when his wife gives birth to a stillborn child, and then proceeds to take her own life, stricken by grief. Soon after these tragic events, a knight of Jerusalem visits Balian, claiming to be Godfrey of Ibelin and Balian’s father. He offers the blacksmith to come with him to Jerusalem, and fight in the Crusades, but Balian–still paralyzed by grief–turns down the offer.

However, as chance would have it, the village priest turns out to be a less than empathetic man, provoking Balian by stating that his wife will burn in hell for killing herself. Overcome by rage, Balian is unable to control his emotions and kills the priest on the spot. Well aware that he will be sentenced to death for this crime, he flees the village on his horse, and joins his father’s party.

Balian is now a man who has hit rock bottom. His wife and child are dead, and he’s a wanted criminal in his native village. Furthermore, he’s proven to be unable to control his emotions and unable to adhere to his own moral code. In this state of internal confusion and emptiness he travels to Jerusalem, in hope of redemption and forgiveness, and perhaps just as importantly: in search of a new purpose in life, a purpose that can also serve as his redemption.

The question of what maketh a man is perhaps just as old as humanity itself. I do not pretend to have anything that even approaches a complete answer, but I think Balian’s story can give us an important hint. What is it that he loses to become a broken man? His wife and his child may be what comes to mind at first, but as tragic as these losses are, they do not necessarily represent our hero losing touch with his manhood or masculinity. Instead, the telltale signs that Balian is out of touch with his own core, is that he acts impulsively (i.e. cannot control his emotions), and that he breaks his own basic moral code. How can he trust himself, or expect the world to trust him, when falling short in these regards?

But even the fact that Balian loses touch with a couple of core masculine qualities, is nothing but the end result of a deeper dynamic. Healthy masculinity is first and foremost associated with a clear direction in life, and the fact that our hero’s family has been wiped out, has likely led to an absence of purpose or direction in his life. This lack of direction can in itself be enough for a man to let go of the other values that he cherishes in his life, such as his moral code and his composure.

Moving on in the story, Godfrey (the father) is lethally wounded in a battle with a group of soldiers that want to capture Balian and have him punished for killing the priest. As sad as this event is, it also represents a much needed turning point for our main character. The impending death of his father, leads Balian to experience something that is rare in our modern times: an initiation from his father. The word-by-word oath goes like this:

Godfrey of Ibelin: Be without fear in the face of your enemies. Be brave and upright that God may love thee. Speak the truth always, even if it leads to your death. Safeguard the helpless and do no wrong. That is your oath. Godfrey of Ibelin: [strikes Balian with the back of his hand] And that’s so you remember it. Hopitalier: Arise a knight and Baron of Ibelin.

Now, not everyone can be turned into a knight in a modern society, but every man could be formally or informally initiated into manhood, as well as have his father pass on some crucial insights or words of inspiration to him. Spiritual traditions have lineages and transmissions, and in many ways I believe that healthy masculinity and manhood are variables that can and should be transmitted from father to son, if at all possible. Needless to say, some fathers are dead, drunk or absent, but in that case a mentor can fill the shoes of the father in this respect.

Once in place in Jerusalem, Balian travels to the Ibelin estate, which turns out to be a less than glamorous remote desert oasis. Instead of cursing his fate, the newly instated Baron starts irrigating and cultivating the lands, side by side with his people. This humility, and this obvious connection to the earth that we all spring from, inform us that Balian is reconnecting to his core, and to a very healthy masculinity. All too often in our modern times do we associate men and men’s projects with a disregard for mother earth and the interconnectedness of all things. However, as far as I’m concerned this is a pathological expression of masculinity, whereas a more constructive expression of manhood wants to serve as a steward of the earth, and as a servant and steward of the feminine principle.

Step by step we thus see Balian coming into his own, and paying off his karmic debt of being a murderer. This personal growth that he goes through, turns out to be crucial in the huge challenge that awaits him.

After the newly crowned King of Jerusalem makes a fatal tactical error and marches his whole army into the desert, only to be overcome by heat and dehydration, and then slaughtered by the muslims–Balian is left with the overwhelming task of defending Jerusalem with few troops and a large civilian population. The reasonable response may seem to be to immediatly surrender, however, that may lead to the slaughtering of every last man, woman and child. Furthermore, Balian has been initiated into manhood, and he now has the opportunity to transmit this initiation to a large group of people.

In one of the strongest scenes in the movie, Balian orders a large group of civilians to kneel before him. He then proceeds to initiate them in a similar fashion to how he was initiated, and then orders them to rise as Knights of Jerusalem. The change in body language and facial expression is palpable in these men, after someone they admire has seen the potential in them, and expressed a conviction that they can be bigger men than they have ever imagined.

Using nothing but intelligent warfare and a small army of civilians, Balian is able to defend Jerusalem until the attackers agree to give all of them safe passage out of Jerusalem, none of which could have been achieved had he not been initiated himself.

If you are interested in a movie about pain, redemption, masculinity, initiation and humility, then I highly recommend you check out Kingdom of Heaven.

An old associate pops up and talks of great opportunities: Mr. Omura, a wealthy and powerful Japanese entrepreneur, has arrived in America to seek Nathan’s expertise in high-tech warfare. Omura is in charge of the modernization of Japan and needs help to quell a brewing Samurai uprising which is holding back the tide of change.

Japan is at this point in history at a crossroads where age-old feudal tradition is challenged by the unstoppable force of modernization. For a thousand years, the feudal system has existed under the watchful gaze of the Samurai, the elite warriors who served their lords with their life. The Japan that greets Nathan, however, has already been heavily westernized: Japanese in bowler hats walk side by side with westerners, Samurai are eyed with suspicion and angst, and American guns have found their way into the the emperor’s Imperial Army.

It is this army that Nathan is charged with training. He is only, he claims, there for the money – 500 dollars a month – for which, he says cynically to Colonel Bagley “I will kill whoever you want.” Understand and absorb that this is true for Nathan only from his place of confusion. Deep inside, at a core place that the darkness of his conscience has blocked off, he doesn’t feel this way at all. There is a hidden message here for us: When our minds are clouded by the weight of our actions, we make decisions based solely on superficial gain. Equipped with an untrained mind ravaged by guilt, we are unable to see the greater implications of our decisions. This peripheral vision is required to comply with the golden rule for the mature man: Make sure all of your actions flow within the context of serving others.

Training the Imperial Army

The Imperial Army that Nathan discovers is a ragtag bunch of conscripts. They aren’t skilled with firearms and they aren’t psychologically prepared for battle with the Samurai. Colonel Bagley happily ignores this due to his naïve arrogance and wants them to attack. The Colonel is an emotionally shut down soldier, a man with no sense of honor, ill-equipped to understand the heart of a true Warrior. Like anyone with little understanding of the inner realms, he puts way too much emphasis on external circumstances – rifles and howitzers over swords and arrows – and disregards the primal force that can exist deep in a man whose actions are in alignment with his higher calling.

Nathan is wiser and reminds Colonel Bagley that while the Samurai may not have modern weaponry, they are elite warriors whose “sole occupation for a thousand years has been war”. Wishing to prove Col Bagley wrong, Nathan challenges one of the imperial soldiers to shoot at him, informing him that lest he complies, his life is forfeit. Nathan has no love for his life and is willing to risk it to prove a point to the man who has caused him so much anguish.

The showdown which ensues ends in slaughter. In a beautifully shot scene, shadows appear from the mist before Nathan’s fidgeting and undisciplined troops. Horses emerge in full gallop, swirling fog in their hoof steps, and the Samurai barrel through the panicking conscripts. After dropping several Samurai, Nathan is captured by Katsumoto, the Samurai Lord he was sent to defeat.

Healing the wounds of the past

Nathan is brought to a mountain village, where he ends up in the care of Katsumoto’s sister Taka, a woman he has just widowed. I am left to wonder why Nathan ends up in the household where they have most reason to hate him, but I think that the wise Katsumoto is lucidly aware of the healing potential in pairing Nathan with the widowed family. It’s also clearly used as a vehicle for the film-makers to show another way of relating to death, one steeped in acceptance, honor, and emotional restraint instead of wild hatred and uncontrolled grief.

Nathan’s recovery from the wounds he has been inflicted by the Samurai is interspersed with scenes from the atrocities he committed against the Cheyenne. The healing process described in these short movie minutes is particularly significant and universally applicable. Consider that in every man’s life, there is an accumulation of a burden of ignorantly or maliciously committed actions. For the more sensitive, truth-seeking souls (such as Nathan) this burden results in terrible inner conflicts, depression, self-loathing, perhaps even suicidal tendencies. For the more hardened, truth-denying souls, such as Colonel Bagley, the burden is hidden under a hard shell of self-protection, there to be discovered in the unlikely event that the shell is cracked.

It is the man who is experiencing the pain of this burden openly who is ready to be taught, ready to be transformed by life’s lessons. The lances that pierced Nathan’s flesh are the psychological wounds made manifest in his physical body. He has been given these wounds in honorable conflict as a direct consequence of his own actions. Karmically speaking, the actions Nathan took against the Cheyenne were of such a malicious nature that his own soul has demanded his punishment ever since. This feeling of deserving punishment is, I believe, why he turned to drinking. Only now that the Samurai have blessed him with truthful and honorable wounds does his karma from the Cheyenne start untangling. He can begin to heal.

It is important to extract from this the following insight: When pain and suffering arise in our lives, it is not something that “just happens” to us. Rather, these painful feelings are based on our (un)involvement in past events, and must not to be viewed merely as the burden of life. On the contrary, they are a sacred offering to us, exactly – EXACTLY – the raw material by which our own transformation is forged. This understanding, when integrated in any man, creates a sense of spaciousness around the pain (which remains) for it is now an ally, the Great Alchemist. This should be a cause of great joy. I ask you, what would this principle mean in your personal life? For Nathan, it means the beginning of his rebirth.

Surrendering to Ujio’s sword

Nathan is not only a prisoner, but a subject of study for Katsumoto and his men. One of these men is Katsumoto’s Lieutenant Ujio. Ujio is a master of the sword with contempt for the newly arrived American prisoner. He harbors a desire to break him and is left frustrated that he cannot do it. There is a scene in which Ujio commands Nathan to put down his sword. Nathan is standing solemnly in the middle of a village street, clasping onto a wooden sword. The sky has opened wide with rain. Nathan does not comply. I feel here that this scene communicates not just a clash of men but of cultures. Nathan’s culture is one he has come to know as dishonorable, yet it is his culture. And he will not embrace a foreign one, neither as a man nor as a citizen, without a fight.

The outcome is predestined. Nathan gets beaten to the ground, and rises to be beaten yet again. And again. His resilience is the American resilience, but his desire to be beaten is his alone. It is in this painful encounter with Ujio that Nathan begins the surrender of himself to a culture that is not his own. A culture, he may hope, contains promise of redemption.

Perfection in a cherry blossom

“The perfect blossom is a rare thing, you could spend your whole life looking for one, and it would not be a wasted life,” Katsumoto tells Nathan with deep appreciation in his voice as he arrives at the ancestral temple. The previous night, during a theatre play in the village, masked ninjas appeared on the rooftops. Nathan and Katsumoto now have each other to thank for their lives, and their bond as brothers in arms has been firmly established.

By this point in the movie, we have seen the many facets of Katsumoto. Not only is he an elite Warrior, he is a meditating mystic (Magician archetype), a Samurai lord (King archetype), a poet and a clown (Lover archetype). He is all of the four archetypes of the KWML system rolled into one character. He is a true master, a template of masculine potential.

“To know life in every breath, every cup of tea, every life we take. The Way of the Warrior. That is Bushido!, ” Katsumoto insists with fierce intensity and heartfelt devotion as he looks at Nathan. It is precisely this emphasis on life mastery and disciplined observation of the miracle – a cherry blossom – of life, that is missing from the contemporary Western soldier. It takes no training to kill a man with a gun, but a lifetime of training to deal with the psychological and spiritual consequences. The Samurai believed rifles and other Western arms were dishonorable, because they believed in looking the man you were about to slay straight in the eyes. I agree and have touched on this in my treatment of Lord Of War.

The end of the Samurai, the last Warriors

Inevitably the Imperial Army under the command of Colonel Bagley and Omura faces off with the Samurai on the battlefield. By now, Nathan has taken his rightful place among them and has reclaimed his honor. In spite of his close relationship with Katsumoto, Emperor Meiji has not found the strength in himself to take a stand in the conflict, and Omura has called the shots. Katsumoto grieves deeply for this, and believes that he is serving the Emperor even as he is preparing to go to war against him. From this I learn that the Warrior archetype is in relationship with only the deepest potential in his fellow man and that he may choose to ignore the words or deeds of his surface meandering. This, I believe, is what honor looks like.

The Samurai put up a spectacular and valiant fight, sending Omura into panic and Colonal Bagley into eternity. But in the end, they are vanquished by gatling guns. Centuries of tradition, lifetimes of discipline and spiritual searching, destroyed in one day by peasants with guns. As Nathan aids Katsumoto in performing his Seppuku, he looks in wonderment at the cherry blossoms, tears in his eyes. His training and honorable ways have paid off and the last words to cross his lips are the words of a Lover, “Perfect, they are all perfect.”

The Imperial Army, understanding what they have done and witnessed, prostrate themselves before the fallen Samurai. This is a very moving scene that is symbolic of the time in history when the Warrior drew his last breath and the soldier emerged as the dominant force on the battlefield. It was the time in history when we buried the discipline of life mastery in favour of dishonorable but efficient technology.

Conclusion

The Last Samurai is no doubt a heavily romanticized portrayal of the Samurai. Yet it does a terrific job of describing a way of life based on a set of core principles, Bushido, that should serve as a foundation for any mature man, even today. It also reminds me of Robert Bly’s insistance on how important it is to give the Warrior the sensibilities of the Lover. The Warrior and the Lover rolled into one: Europe had Chivalry, Japan had Samurai. Now we have soldiers who end up psychologically traumatized due to the dishonor of modern warfare. Yet, in each of us, the spirit of Bushido lives on, if only as a potential. Nathan’s journey has valuable lessons for the man who is prepared to reclaim what is rightfully his.

There is a Celtic saying that goes something like this “Do not give a man a sword before he has learned to dance.” I have a new saying for you: “Do not give a man a gun before he has found perfection in a cherry blossom.” You can quote me on that if you want.

Enter Michael Clayton, the company “fixer” – or the janitor as he likes to refer to himself – who moves silently in shadows, helping things “go away” when the rich and reckless fuck up. Michael’s world is one where ethics is the first sacrifice on the way to power for those lustful enough to reach for it. It is a dark realm where standing responsible for your actions is an inconvenience that can be solved, as long as the retainer is of the right magnitude.

Meltdown in the wake of immorality

This world has taken its toll. Michael is a weary man, with a drawn and haggard face. His best days are in the past, and there is a subtle feeling of despair spreading its clammy fingers around his increasingly fragile existence. His escape plan of starting a restaurant with his brother Tim has fallen apart due to Tim’s alcoholism, and now he is faced with the undesirable task of setting things right with a dangerous loan shark whom the failed business owns $75.000. Michael wants out of this world, this cesspit of immorality on the shadow side of existence, but given his circumstances, he has been forced even closer to the heart of darkness.

Arthur Edens’ sudden revelation, his flash of insight into the error of his ways, is an inconvenience. The case is drawing to a close as U-North is preparing for a settlement, but now that Arthur is proclaiming his own rebirth, free at last from the world of sin which he has spent 30 years of his precious life wallowing in, Kenner, Bach & Ledeen is in one heck of a bind. With his friend and colleague flipping out, senior partner Marty needs Michael’s expertise to somehow bring the problem under control. And Michael is his best bet, make no mistake, but this time his challenge is of a different magnitude.

Arthur is a depressing case study in what happens to a man who bases his life – his livelihood – on deeply immoral activities, as is the case for so many of the other fractured human souls the film shows haunting the office tombs of Manhattan. The world which Arthur has spent 30 years of his life mastering is a cold and brutal place, where truth can be bought at the right price, and compassion has been given early retirement. But Arthur’s shell has cracked, the armor which has protected him from himself finally dissolved:

…I realized Michael, that I had emerged not from the doors of Kenner, Bach, and Ledeen, not through the portals of our vast and powerful law firm, but from the asshole of an organism whose sole function is to excrete the… the-the-the poison, the ammo, the defoliant necessary for other, larger, more powerful organisms to destroy the miracle of humanity. And that I had been coated in this patina of shit for the best part of my life. The stench of it and the stain of it would in all likelihood take the rest of my life to undo.

Reborn in innocence

Arthur’s epiphany is feverish in intensity and akin to spiritual revelation. He feels that he has had a vision, that he has been summoned to do greater things with his life. And the ramifications on the U-North case are tremendous; it turns out that his hard-won insight has lead him to switch sides, to start building a rock solid case against his former corporate client.

Arthur pleads with Michael again and again not to brush him off as a madman. He seems to be trying, from the depths of his rediscovered heart, to bring across a message from a different state of being. And it is here that the film forces us to pose a question that has perhaps become – through repeat use – somewhat trite: Who is really the insane one here? Is it the man who claims with obvious zest and enthusiasm that he is Shiva, the God of Death? Is it the henchmen that will soon kill him for Karen Crowder’s dirty money? Is it Marty Bach, the man who has dedicated his life to a business he himself admits is fucked up? Is it Don Jeffries – the head of U-North who willingly sacrificed the lives of hundreds of farmers for his own personal gain and the progress of his company? Or is it Michael Clayton, a man who deep down is decent, but who has become so numb and shut down – pain etched across his face – after having sidelined his humanity one too many times?

These are questions worthy of contemplation, but there is, at this moment, perhaps something of even greater interest to investigate. We’d do well to look closer at the source of Arthur’s descent into madness – or ascent into spiritual revelation: Anna. Anna is a young farm girl – orphaned by U-North – one among the 400-something plaintiffs, who captures Arthur’s heart by virtue of her innocence. Arthur sees the world anew through her – she is the prism through which the light comes alive in myriad colors of magnificent beauty, gently striking Arthur’s hurting heart with grace. All of a sudden, and with great impact, Arthur is born again through the eyes of pure innocence.

To the adult mind which has been defiled through years of bad conduct and unethical choices, there is something extremely potent about innocence. Witnessing innocence in another can remind us of our basic, inherent humanity, which is a gift far more powerful than money could every buy. Arthur goes mad with passion and regret in her presence – throws off his clothes and proclaims his undying love, seeking his redemption with single-pointed determination. Worse things happen when the defiled adult mind wants to own the innocence, especially when children are involved, but that – thankfully – is not the subject of this movie.

It’s important to acknowledge that while innocence is normally attributed to children, it is more of a state of mind, one that which can be attained through being transparent to the world. The individual who does not hide inside a shell of make-believe is indeed innocent. This type of innocence is a way of looking at the world – every moment – with fresh eyes. This is truly is what schools of spirituality call Enlightenment. Much of our world functions in ways that completely corrupt our innocence, and we are cut off from ourselves, every moment, others, the world. You will notice that in the movie, everyone is guilty but Anna, and in reality the entire drama that inevitably brings down U-North is sourced in her.

Michael’s journey of self-discovery

Arthur takes Michael along with him for quite a psychological ride. Along the way, Michael is forced to take some long overdue looks at himself. “Was this what you wanted?”, Arthur asks Michael half asleep from his hotel bed, “be a janitor? Live like this? All this? Do what you do? It can’t be! It’s a burden is what I’m trying to tell you. I know, we have been summoned!” Arthur is calling on Michael to join him on the crusade for good that he has just discovered. Michael does not take him seriously at first, but it sneaks up on him, and he is stuck with the feeling that he has sacrificed his integrity for success and has become a despicable man. He is absolutely disgusted with himself. And when Arthur is murdered in a feigned suicide by the aforementioned henchmen, two lost souls haunting this movie’s spiritual wasteland, Michael is unable to let the case go. The gravity of Arthur’s passion and the magnitude of his realization has got under Michaels’s skin. He is the only person who can carry Arthur’s torch forwards. To redeem himself, Michael has no choice.

But he has a $75.000 debt to settle, and when Marty back offers him a “bonus” of $80.000 as long as he shuts up about Arthur’s findings, he is faced with the ultimate dilemma: Does he respect his dead friend and his own personal honor or does he take the easy way out? In effect, does he choose to be a man, in the truest sense of the word? He takes the money, effectively ending his soul.

Redemption

But it is not the end. In a mysterious event, graced as if by the hand of God, he discovers – as he tries to outrun his inner demons by driving recklessly and randomly through the countryside – something familiar on a hill. In front of him are three horses, in a scene exactly like one depicted in the strange fantasy book Realm and Conquest that linked Arthur with Harry, Michael’s very special son and Arthur’s second source of innocence. Something comes together for Michael in this scene; he looks infinitely vulnerable where he stands exhaling deep relief into the cool dawn air, liberated by the innocence of three horses on a hill in a countryside unspoiled by humanity. His inner demons leave him alone there and something in him reconnects with its source. There is the sense here – ever so strong – of the incredible tragedies that have befallen human civilization. We have created such pain for ourselves. All this angst and paranoia, this stress and hurt, this separation, fear, loneliness. And for the sake of what? For the illusion that happiness can be found after whacking off a guy in a hit job, after putting an early end to hundreds of farmers’ lives and covering up the fact to defend your own wealth and power, after climbing the career ladder to success, sacrificing your entire life in the process, after spending a lifetime defending the guilty. This is the darkest shadow of modernity, and it is truly a heartbreaking, awful realization – for this is no mere fantasy. These are real people living real lives where you live. If this doesn’t send chills up your spine and fill your heart with tremendous sadness and regret, you’re not thinking about it in the way I want you to.

Michael has chased happiness for a lifetime, but has got only pain out of it. Standing there with those three magnificent creatures of nature, he seems to be broken open to the understanding that all he will ever need in the form of happiness is encapsulated in that moment of utter simplicity. He is free at last, in the open embrace of nature.

Michael reclaims his humanity on that hill, and goes back to bring U-North down, after an attempt has been made on his life  by the same men who killed his divinely inspired friend. He carries with him Arthur’s document that proves the heinous nature of U-North (despite all their feigned goodness) and so the cleansing fires of Arthur, or is it Shiva, are carried forth through the fixers rejuvenated conscience. The pathetic Karen Crowder breaks down when she realizes that all her work trying to cover up the horrific acts of her employer are in vain. She is a ghost of a woman, shaking in spasms on the floor. She has no friends, no love, nothing. Without her job, her life is over. She was not among the lucky ones to go crazy.

And so the movie comes to an end in a way that leaves me speechless. Michael, this shell of a man, has just reclaimed some of his innocence, integrity, human beauty and goodness, and we understand that things will never be the same again. In a symbolic scene, he takes the escalators out, in a shot where the cameras turn for the first time in the movie (steadycam and framed scenes drive the movie) as if to imply a change of perspective. He sits down in a cab, gives the driver $50 and tells him “just drive”. He doesn’t know where to, just that he wants to investigate the feeling of having done right and being in good standing with the forces of truth yet again.

Conclusion

Michael Clayton is a tragic movie about people who find themselves swept away by circumstances  – the stress and toils of modern life  – until one day they wake up and realize their souls are dead and their lives have turned evil. It is a portrait of human weakness, folly, and fragility, and paints a painfully realistic picture of a world where people consistenly act outside of their own conscience and basic humanity. Michael is a fixer, but fixing a human soul that has willfully destroyed itself is beyond his capacity.

The movie brings to light issues of male integrity and the price of truth. If living life in accordance with Truth required us to let go of absolutely everything, would we do it? Would you?

More than anything, though, Michael Clayton is a reminder that we must never let go of our innocence – our basic human goodness – no matter how old and experienced we grow. The day we lose the ability to see our loved ones and the world anew every time we open our eyes is the day our life becomes a parade of horrors.

Love and truth are the ultimate priorities. Arthur is right, we have been summoned. This is no mere fantasy. This is the reason we live and why most writers on masculinity will tell you that life starts only when we find a calling to serve the world through. Until that moment, we are vulnerable to the dark side, easily swayed by the temptations of immorality and the promise of an easy way out.