What I Learned at the Movies

We all remember the magic of childhood, a dark theater, and the stories and ideas that poured from the huge screen. Let Darrell Harris take you back to, and far beyond, that enchanting place.

Darrell Harris

My love affair with movies began in 1955. I was six years old, looking up at James Dean on the big screen in East of Eden. I watched his brooding character Cal come to terms with the soiled dove that was his mother, while also destroying the ice that could transport his father’s lettuce crop to market. As the film concludes, we see Cal caring for this aging, ailing, self-righteous patriarch.

A six-year-old could not possibly unpack the complexity of all that. But seventy years later, I still remember the way it made me feel. Is it possible that some shaft of light from God’s nature beamed into my heart through East of Eden?

Then I met Ishmael, along with the eerily tattooed Queequeg, and the revenge-driven Captain Ahab in Moby Dick. The barbaric whaling tale made another indelible imprint on my young soul.

The Searchers came along that same year. I don’t know if there was actually a 3-D release or not, but the Comanche braves’ arrows seemed to zip off the screen right into my chest. John Wayne’s conflicted Ethan taught me that love could overcome racism.

I learned of servant leadership from George Bailey in It’s a Wonderful Life (1946), the glories of adolescent puppy love in 1979’s A Little Romance, of tempestuous and tragically star-crossed young love in 1969’s Romeo and Juliet, and the resilient nature of true love in The Princess Bride (1987).

I learned to cheer for good guys and boo the bad guys. I saw that good guys are capable of some very bad choices and bad guys make surprisingly noble ones. And I learned “the hills are alive with the sound of music.”

The French film Amelie (2001) taught me that childlike wonder is appropriate for grown-ups. The Unforgiven (1992) told me what we “deserve” has nothing to do with living or dying.

I learned from Shakespeare in Love and Anonymous how the Bard’s plays may have been composed. Black Swan taught me where idolatry leads.

I never served in the military. But movies taught me that war is hell. But I also learned that hell can happen right where we live in our families, workplaces, and churches.

I’ve also learned filmmakers can draw characters as richly on the screen as any Dickens, Austen, or Tolkien ever did on the page. Take the way the Cohen brothers did in Fargo (1996). Their grisly tale quietly exalted values that would get a loud amen from the most morally circumspect among us.

Photo by Saad Chaudhry on Unsplash

So, what is the point of my thesis?

Simply this: Everything in creation—sometime, somewhere, somehow—reflects our Creator. As the Apostle Paul wrote, “... since the creation of the world His invisible attributes are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even His eternal power and Godhead,...” Romans (1:20 NKJV):

Just as the Creator constantly discloses his “secrets,” his gifted “re-creating” filmmakers continue the ripples of that grand and glorious disclosure throughout the earth.

King Arthur referenced humans in Camelot by saying they are “... less than a drop in the great blue motion of the sunlit sea. But it seems that some of them do sparkle!”

Some films also sparkle - like droplets of water in that great blue motion of the sunlit sea. And many reflect the glory and craftsmanship of the Maker, Sustainer, and Redeemer of us all. That’s why we must have eyes to see His glory. How else can we see the hills are alive with the sound of music?

So much wisdom. So much truth and so much splendor. So many movies, and so little time!

©2012 & 2025 Darrell A. Harris. Used by Permission. All Rights Reserved.

Darrell Harris co-founded, and led Star Song Records (Petra, Newsboys, Twila Paris, Philips, Craig and Dean, Gaithers) for 20 years. Today, he serves as a trustee of The Gospel Music Trust Fund, as well as Chaplain to the Gospel Music Association and The Robert E. Webber Institute for Worship Studies. Retiring in 2019, Harris lives in Franklin, TN, with his bride of 55+ years, Janet Y. Harris. He now writes poetry, essays, and occasional song lyrics.