**½/**** Image A- Sound B+ Extras B
directed by Heidi Ewing & Rachel Grady
by Travis Mackenzie Hoover It's hard to not be moved by the horrors of Jesus Camp. A record of one Pastor Becky Fischer's far-right Christian summer camp, it's loaded with stuff any compassionate person would decry–usually the cruelty and intimidation of adults, who are often seen scaring children shitless. But even as we may despise these guileless sadists as they reveal themselves to the camera, at some point it all begins to ring hollow. The film has nothing beyond the image of children being bullied while their parents natter on about hateful fundamentalism; perhaps most regrettably, there's no discussion as to why, in the 21st century, 80 million Americans willingly believe in such corrosive nonsense.
Still, the emotional impact of what's caught by Heidi Ewing and Rachel Grady's camera is undeniable. The early scenes are easy enough: Fischer proves to be a humourless true believer who has decided that you have to start recruiting early, thus allowing for a variety of juvenile, "visual" faith metaphors that are more hilarious than horrifying. But though a bit with two Barbie dolls and a balloon must be seen to be believed, the indoctrination sessions are the main event, with an array of speakers putting their young charges on the spot by leading them into confessing their sins–real or imagined–against God. Some parrot back what they're told without thinking; some, like the poor kid who has to admit that he doesn't feel the presence of the Lord, just go along with it; and some weep in terror as the music swells and the orders to witness reach a crescendo.
I started out laughing (and, remembering my Lutheran past, wincing in embarrassment), but by the end I was crawling out of my skin. At my most reactively atheistic, I've never experienced anything like the monstrous pro-life rally in which the kids have duct tape scrawled with the word "LIFE" placed over their mouths, as if to silence everything within them. (So the message will take?) The casual disregard for the feelings of these children, who in interviews clearly have no idea what's happening (including the adolescent preacher who's under constant pressure for a sermon), is appalling, and after a while even YOU feel beaten down. The idea of an existence with these vile parents–who encourage their young to scream out "This Means War!" over and over again to the Devil and predictably espouse anti-evolution rhetoric–is intolerable, and will make you grateful if you managed to escape such a fate.
And yet, the film is as evasive as it is effective. Nobody bothers to ask the irritable Fischer what led her to her downbeat view of humanity and the need to seize upon children–in fact, nobody is terribly well-drawn in the Ewing/Grady universe. There's little sense of inner life for any of the film's subjects–they are viewed from afar, be they the crazed evangelists offering horrifying spectacle or the confused children offering exquisite suffering. When Jesus Camp tries to feebly stave off accusations of Christian-bashing with a more levelheaded Christian radio host who decries the evangelicals, the viewpoint that emerges is almost as unsophisticated as (albeit a lot less brutal than) that of the simpleminded Christian crazies. If this Oscar-nominated documentary is useful in defining the extent of the damage caused by certain religious groups, it has no ideas on how to act on it; you're left in the middle of the highway with the fear of a semi bearing down on you. In that sense, the film's exploitation of the kids' panic is not so different from Fischer's.
Mongrel Media's Canadian import DVD presents Jesus Camp in a detailed and vivid fullscreen transfer–those numerous shots of pink faces streaked with tears exhibit great DV colour. Any digital artifacts (grain in underlit shots, occasional softness) seem endemic to the source, though I have to wonder whether 1.33:1 is the intended aspect ratio. The Dolby 2.0 stereo audio is good enough for a doc, reproducing every foul sentiment from the grownups' mouths with aplomb. Extras begin with an unfortunately sparse feature-length commentary from co-directors Ewing and Grady. The two provide a distinction between the Pentecostal charismatic subjects (and their reliance on speaking in tongues and other physical manifestations) and other, less demonstrative evangelicals, but it's mainly idle chatter rather than background on their chosen "characters." A moderate amount of aesthetic information is also imparted, for instance that they didn't want Force Theory's ominous, spooky score to be "too judgmental" (are they kidding?), or the framing device of the radio host to break up the flow.
Fifteen deleted scenes shed more light on the backgrounds of various participants: there's the non-Christian friend of a deeply religious girl; an Iraq enlistee's belief that the war is a missionary effort; and said soldier's wife's belief that their offspring's loss of their earthly father will bring them closer to their heavenly one. Other than that, more balderdash from the parents, the highlight a meeting to create a "gameplan" for dealing with demonic presences. Plus, Ted Haggard (who was defrocked only after the film's completion and who recently declared himself "cured" of his homosexuality) does more of his vaguely-malicious mugging, becoming fascinated during a sermon with the filmmakers' Steadicam.
84 minutes; NR; 1.33:1; English DD 2.0 (Stereo); DVD-5; Region One; Mongrel
