Looking Back: Overstreet online in 2000–2001

Looking closer at how it began, after 25 years of writing about adventures in the arts, I revisit the sights and sounds that have been most memorable and meaningful. Here’s Part 1 of many.

The first nine days of October are a holiday season for me and for Anne. We celebrated our anniversary on the 5th (yesterday) with our favorite Seattle breakfast at Wild Mountain Cafe, a ferryboat ride in the October sunshine to Bainbridge Island, a matinee performance of “The Play That Goes Wrong” at the Bainbridge Performing Arts Center (one of my students is in the play!), and then a lovely ride back during magic hour, where we could see, from across the water, the big ballpark screen flashing scenes of the Mariners’ first playoff victory in decades.

Not a bad start.

Today, October 9, is my birthday, and we went back for another amazing Wild Mountain breakfast. Then I headed out to The Vinyl Garage to browse a neighbor’s collection of 90,000 old records. Came home with two Kate Bush records and a Bruce Cockburn classic. That will help me avoid thinking about what happened to the Mariners yesterday. (I mean, as a Seattle sports fan for 35 years, what did I expect?)

I want to keep the good vibes rolling. It’s the perfect time to set some new year’s resolutions — at the start of my own personal new year.

“Be kind to yourself,” my friends and counselors frequently tell me, as I tend to burn myself out trying to save the world — and if not the world, my community; and if not that, my university; and if not that, my students; and if not that, my family. It’s a problem. I was brought up to believe I needed to strive every day to be Jesus. None of us are equipped for that. I need to put on my own oxygen mask before I destroy myself scrambling to put them on others. This is a pride problem. If I’m going to be any good for anybody, I need to acknowledge my human limitations. I need to pay attention to the flipside of Jesus’s teaching: I need to love my neighbor as myself, sure — and I can’t do that if I’m not showing myself some love.

One of the ways I’m going to be kind to myself in the next several months is to look back, revisit, reassess, and celebrate anew — with deep gratitude — the works of cinema and music that have most inspired, influenced, and sustained me over the quarter of a century that I've been publishing reviews on my own website.

Year by year, I’ll name three movies that still enlighten me, and three albums (featuring YouTube links for favorite songs) that are still playing in heavy rotation on the stereo in my mind.

We'll start with a double-header: the years 2000 and 2001.

Flashback to 2000–2001

Anne and I were celebrating our fourth and fifth years of marriage during this span of time — years leading up to and through the most exciting developments in my life as a writer, and the most devastating for us as Americans.

Worse things than the 2001 terrorist attacks on America have happened since then, and are happening right now, as I write this. But something broke in America in September of 2001. Yes, we suffered traumatic violence. But we also responded in kind. Something broke in my love for my country that year, as we failed in our response to those attacks by letting pride and rage blind us, by enabling insidious forces to exploit that woundedness and t0 wreak violence around the world, cultivating prejudice and hatred. We will continue to suffer the consequences of that for generations.

Anyway, still in the first decade of our marriage, Anne and I were living in West Seattle, and somehow surviving in a small apartment with three cats and a rabbit.

We would move out on Memorial Day 2001 after our landlord, rapidly sinking into the quicksand of drug addiction, started showing up on our doorstep and asking for cash.

By the grace of God, we were offered a house in Shoreline for an affordable rental rate, and we’re still renting that house almost 25 years later.

I was working full time for the City of Seattle’s Department of Design, Construction, and Land Use. And I was in my fourth and fifth year of writing first drafts of the four novels in the fantasy epic The Auralia Thread, with no inkling that these books would make my dreams come true and find their way to publication.

In 2001, my life at the intersection of faith and art changed dramatically. I had been publishing reviews on the early versions of my website, Looking Closer with Jeffrey Overstreet.

And, out of the clear blue, I received an invitation from the editors at Christianity Today, via their only film critic Steve Lansingh. They had noticed my work. And, as Steve was stepping down after doing outstanding work for them, he recommended that they call me.

That was one of the most important turning points in my life — to discover that the editors of Christianity Today, the only magazine I ever remember my father subscribing to, and which he revered, wanted me to be their voice on movies, a subject that the churches of my childhood had hoped to discourage me from caring about.

I became a film columnist for them, writing sometimes weekly, sometimes bi-weekly, for almost a decade before I decided to move deeper into variations on creative nonfiction as a film critic for Image.

During those years, I was riding waves of inspiring, formative music and movies. I was finding more and more examples of music that resonated with, affirmed, and increased my faith, even though it came from — no, because it came from artists working outside the bounds of the heavily policed and propagandistic Christian music industry. And I was growing in my conviction that God was at play in any beauty, any truth, any excellence I might find on big screens.

Here are a few of those that stay with me, that still speak to me, from 2000 and 2001.

And I invite you to recommend, in the Comments below, your own favorites from that span of time, should you feel inspired to share them.

Three Albums: 2000

Here are three albums I discovered during the year 2000 then that I’ve been listening to for a quarter of a century now, and that are still inspiring me today. I'll include YouTube links to a few tracks from each.

16 Horsepower — Secret South

At the end of 2000, I named a U2 record as my favorite of that year. They had been my favorite band for more than a decade, and I loved several tracks on the record. But over time, I came to appreciate albums that felt more fully formed, stronger on a track-for-track basis, more profoundly prophetic and innovative in their imagination.

One record stands above the others for me as the peak of the artists’ work, still searing in the sense that it sounded both ancient and new, and enlivened by — dare I say it? — some Holy Spirit that refused to be ignored or taken lightly?

It’s hard to find writing about 16 Horsepower from the early days of their ferocious live performances and singular recordings that don’t use phrases like “hellfire-and-brimstone preacher” and comparisons to Flannery O’Connor’s apocalypse fiction. But the more I attend to the lyrics, the more I hear a celebration of Jesus’s boundless grace, not righteous anger or any threat of eternal suffering. Something holy and strange was coming through David Eugene Edwards, and the chemistry of that early rock outfit, before he began branching out into more eclectic and international fusions of musical styles under the moniker Woven Hand, made the concerts as riveting as what it must have been like to be in the front row when John the Baptist preached, or when tongues of flame descended upon the apostles and they began to speak in other languages.

By this time, Anne and I had been lucky enough to see them open for The Innocence Mission — twice! Once on August 12, 1995, and then again on January 26th, 1996, both at The Backstage in Seattle’s Ballard neighborhood.

While the records that Radiohead and U2 put out in 2000 remain essential for me, Secret South, the peak of this band’s recording run, is the album that remains, track for track, the one that casts the most powerful spell. Every time I listen, I’m amazed all over again at the depths of Edwards’ vision. I selfishly wish they’d have gone on to record many more records.

More essential highlights from this record: “Cinder Alley,” “Praying Arm Lane.” And let’s throw in both their tremendous Bob Dylan cover: “Nobody ‘Cept You,” and my all-time favorite version of “Wayfaring Stranger.”

Radiohead — Kid A

OK Computer will probably always be my favorite Radiohead record. It’s the one I bought on a hunch, having heard nothing from it, knowing almost nothing about the band. I listened to it on the bus ride home from work, and by the time I got home, the world had changed for me. That record expanded my musical horizons and changed what I realized rock could be capable of.

Radiohead’s run from OK Computer through Hail to the Thief had me convinced I was hearing the present-day equivalent of Biblical prophecy about the trials and tribulations that I was beginning to perceive in a world of unregulated capitalism, lawless billionaires, bottom-line corporate agendas, and hard-hearted Christian nationalism. The fascism, cruelty, destruction of civil rights, and campaigns of hatred we see raging around us today were exactly the possibilities about which Radiohead was feverishly sounding the early alarms.

Kid A took a leap from melodicism and radio-ready singles into the abstract, a sort of Lynchian dream-state, and I was here for it. I still am.

The opening notes of this opening track remain for me the most immediately thrilling of any album I know.

More essential highlights: “Idioteque,” “Optimistic.”

U2 — All That You Can’t Leave Behind

Yeah, I know — it doesn’t stand up with their greatest records. But the band achieved several songs that the world needed in 2000 and 2001 in the days leading up to, through, and after the devastation of the terrorist attacks on America. Their Gospel vision, their searing energy, and the soaring performances of the Elevation tour that would unfold over the next year — which remains the most unforgettably euphoric concertgoing experience of my life — embedded this record in my DNA. Here are the tracks that stick with me most powerfully.

More essential highlights: “In a Little While,” “Beautiful Day”

And here are several more songs from 2000 that I still play all the time:

Emmylou Harris: “J’ai Fait Tout,” from Red Dirt Girl

Sinead O’Connor: “Til I Whisper You Something,” from Faith and Courage

The Innocence Mission: “Christ is My Hope” (I can’t find a YouTube link for this one at this time, alas.)

Sting: “A Thousand Years,” from Brand New Day

And this:

Three Films: 2000

Here are three films from the year 2000 that I still think about all the time, films I still revisit and enthusiastically share with friends and students.

In the year 2000, Almost Famous was not my #1 pick, but I was conflicted. I loved the joy of it, the way it understood what it can mean to love a band beyond reason, the way it understood the challenges that journalists face in developing and maintaining integrity. Over time, though, it’s one that I go back to just to live in its world, to cherish its characters (almost all of whom I believe in fully), to adore how Frances McDormand’s character evolves from a typical scold of a mother to a woman who has more wisdom than her children ever guessed. What’s more, it’s one of those films that delivers so many moments of what they call “movie magic,” including a moment I’d include among any decent list of my all-time favorite movie moments: “What kind of beer?”

So, in retrospect, while it may not be the most subtle or innovative or poetic film of that year, this is my favorite film of 2000. It’s the one I love the way I love my favorite bands. Even its fleeting weaknesses become aspects I love.

Yi Yi: A One and a Two — dir. Edward Yang

I want to live in a world in which we have twenty extraordinary films by Edward Yang. Yi Yi is so ambitious, so insightful, so beautiful to watch, so virtuosic in how it weaves multiple narrative threads together into a meaningful whole, it does not have an American equivalent (although Magnolia and some of Robert Altman’s classics are impressive, don’t get me wrong).

Little Yang-Yang, with his camera and his art project of photographing the backs of people’s heads is such a perfect metaphor for what great artists do — showing us the truth of ourselves that we, quite literally, cannot (and probably don’t want to) face.

I’ve loved this since my first encounter with it, and it’s a richer experience every single time.

Beau Travail — dir. Claire Denis

This film was my introduction to Claire Denis, and that journey has been one of the most rewarding in my adventures in moviegoing. It remains, in my opinion, her masterpiece (although Chocolat and 35 Shots of Rum are close competition), and one of those films that rewards viewers more and more the more that they study great filmmaking. And it would be a crime to mention it without acknowledging that its closing scene is one of the strongest contenders in all of cinema for Best Last Shot Ever. Denis Lavant, you are a singular wonder, a madman, and I love you.

Three Albums: 2001

Sam Phillips — Fan Dance

Sam Phillips is the artist who has, in any medium — film, literature, music — most influenced, inspired, and mentored me. I’d have to highlight the band Over the Rhine, the author Thomas Merton, and the poet Scott Cairns as giants standing alongside her. But I grew up listening to Phillips, and the turns that she made in art and in life were formative examples for me, giving me the vocabulary I needed to understand a deep restlessness, a thirst for uncompromising truth, and a need for wild imagination. It is one of the greatest wonders of my life story that I found opportunities to interview her and come to call her a friend and mentor.

And while I would highlight The Turning as the album that, more than any other, changed my life, and while I might argue that either Martinis & Bikinis or A Boot and a Shoe are the biggest cultural landmarks of her career, I increasingly think that Fan Dance is the most timeless and refined of her masterpieces. There are too many tracks that sound like the song where she finally perfected the most essential aspects of her craft. She broke away from the production pyrotechnics, and she escaped the X-acto-knife intensity of her hard-edged vocals to find a softer, more contemplative tone that sounded, for the first time, like her own interior monologue. The songs I’m featuring below are pure poetry. What’s more, they calm my anxieties, they turn me toward prayer and creativity, and they sound like they were written specifically as medicine for my heart.

Also essential: “Fan Dance,” “Five Colors,” “How to Dream”

Gillian Welch — Revelator

Gillian Welch and David Rawlings — that’s the only proper way to identify the headliners on any album with Welch’s name on the cover. They’re a dynamic duo. The singular “Gillian Welch” moniker has just been a marketing ploy over the years, and I’m glad to see that both of their names have been on the front of recent releases.

And this, while it may not be the easiest or most accessible of their records, is the peak of their artistic accomplishments. An American all-timer, so literary, so joyous, so profound in how and what it is grieving — if it came out today, it would fit right into our dismaying landscape like a cathartic work of truth-telling.

Also essential: “Everything is Free,” “I Want to Sing That Rock and Roll,” “I Dream a Highway”

Over the Rhine — Films for Radio

And speaking of duos who have changed my life...

For a while there, it looked like Over the Rhine might break out and become pop stars. I’m glad they didn’t, frankly, because I think they tapped into deeper reservoirs of beauty and wisdom as they meandered into quieter territory, with a stronger focus on harmonies as a duo, and a rewarding exploration of folk and Americana.

But still, I treasure my memories of this tour, where they aimed for heavy rock transcendence, playing with heavy guitars and Radiohead-style electronic effects. This was the only chapter in their multifaceted catalog that deserves to be described as “trippy.” Just as I’m still a big fan of U2’s Pop, I’m still a big fan of this record. Their cover of Dido’s “Give Me Strength” was epic, completing one of the great three-track opening acts of any rock album I know. But that first track, “The World Can Wait,” stands strong alongside the band’s best songs over more than 35 years of recording. It’s one of the songs I take most personally, a sort of mission statement for my life, a commitment to humility in the face of beauty and mystery.

“And like all true believers / I am truly skeptical of all that I have said” — that's one of maybe two or three lyrics that I’ve ever considered wearing as a tattoo.

Also essential: “I Radio Heaven,” “When I Go”

Three Movies: 2001

The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring — dir. Peter Jackson

In 2001, I found myself in a state of sheer disbelief: Not only was I reviewing movies for Christianity Today, their massive cultural megaphone introducing me to an massive audience that I had never dreamed of reaching, but I was there for the moment when Peter Jackson took the epic fantasy series that had been foundational to my imagination and made a better first movie than I would have believed possible.

My love for The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring is much greater than for any of Jackson’s follow-ups. (I admire the sequels, with some reservations. I cannot stomach his adaptation of The Hobbit.) While I discussed the film in various editions of my Film Forum column, my full review was published on a site called The Phantom Tollbooth. That review is still accessible, a quarter of a century later, right here.

Since then, it has never been my top pick for that year. But in retrospect, I have to admit that it’s the film from 2001 that I’ve returned to the most, been moved by the most, and, as I saw just how disappointing Jackson’s other Tolkien adaptations became, I marvel even more at how miraculous almost every minute of this movie seems to me. I still think it’s the greatest fantasy film ever made.

Today, in imitation of Sauron and Saruman joining forces, a ferocious fascism is sweeping across the West: a conspiracy of compulsive liars, bloodthirsty racists, and vicious misogynists. They’ve made a mockery of Christianity by seducing American evangelicalism with all of the Satanic temptations that Jesus famously rejected. So, today, Tolkien’s series shines as bright as ever, if not brighter, with profound prophecy. It has all happened before. It is happening again.

Neither Anne nor I can hear the strains of Howard Shore’s score without tearing up — for all that we’ve lost and are about to lose, for all of those in the Fellowship who are still striving and still refusing to give up hope.

The Gleaners and I — dir. Agnes Varda

Varda made nothing less than my favorite documentary of all time here, investing her extraordinary curiosity and passion in order to show us how to love the poor, how to demonstrate and discover God’s glory at work among them, and how to make magic by treasure-hunting where the rich and powerful would never think to look.

My write-up on the film, originally published at Image, is here.

Code Unknown — dir. Michael Haneke

For many years, this was my #1 film of 2001. And in some ways, it still is. I think it’s the most artistically innovative, the most directly prophetic in its diagnosis of the weaknesses of multiculturalism and globalism, and the most consistently astonishing in every technical aspect of filmmaking art.

It’s also yet another demonstration that Juliette Binoche is the greatest to ever do this. (No disrespect, Meryl Streep.)

When I watch this again, I’m probably going to revise my list and put it back at #1 for the year 2001.

For some stupid reason, I cannot find a good English-language version of the trailer. If you find one, let me know.

The Criterion Collection’s edition of this is outstanding. Accept no substitutes.

Are you enjoying this series? I’ve got so many more posts like this on the way!

Make sure you’ve got access to all of them, so you don’t miss any of these recommendations.