Gimme that new-time religion, prays DONALD CLARKE
‘We are the Martians now!” Such is the greeting of my co-religionists. Read this week’s sermon and quiver.
The most diverting spurt of news twaddle in recent days concerned the conflict between
a Welsh branch of Tesco and a self-declared member of the Jedi religion. It seems that the store, concerned at the antics of blood- sucking hoodies, demanded that Daniel Jones, the Jedi in question, lower his cowl while buying his Yummy Cola and Rocket-ship Cornosnacks.
Mr Jones, clearly a devout sort of maniac, then came over all Martin Luther and declared that his Star Wars-based belief system required him to keep the hood aloft at all times.
So far, so silly season. Where it gets interesting is in Tesco’s response. Wryly aware that Mr Jones was never likely to become this century’s Rosa Parks, Tesco’s representative (tongue firmly in cheek, no doubt) sought to approach the argument from a theological perspective.
“Obi-Wan Kenobi, Yoda and Luke Skywalker all appeared hoodless without ever going over to the Dark Side,” Tesco’s spokesperson declared. “And we are only aware of the Emperor as one who never removed his hood. If Jedi walk around our stores with their hoods on, they’ll miss lots of special offers.”
Well done, sir or madam. It’s time to abandon retail grocery for a place at the School of Comparative Religion in your local former polytechnic. After all, the Jedi faith reveals about as many truths as do the more established creeds.
What’s my point? Oh yeah. If we are going to base religions on films, then why must we keep returning to George Lucas’s inexplicably durable sci-fi epics?
At the conclusion of Hammer's Quatermass and the Pit(1967), it transpires that our notion of evil emerged during encounters with an extinct species of Martian. There is, here, enormous scope for all the usual sanctimonious nut-jobbery that characterises religious discourse. We are the Martians now!
Then again, it might be more fun to construct a creed around something a little less apocalyptic. The Church of Groundhog Day demands that its adherents live each day as if no action will carry any long-term consequences. The followers of Forrest Gumpism believe that a gormless, unquestioning acceptance of all life’s vicissitudes will bring uncomplicated transcendence. The Temple of Mrs Doubtfire welcomes celebrants dressed in huge flowery pinafores and invites them to speak in something very unlike a Scottish accent.
My current inspiration for a cinema-based belief system is, however, The Invention of Lying. Ricky Gervais's comedy, released here next week, suggests that all religions are extravagant, invidious – though sometimes convenient – lies constructed to distract us from earthly sufferings and the coming oblivion of death. "The Man in the Sky" is nothing more than a manifestation of our own dangerous cowardice.
No. That's far too preposterous a notion to catch on. All hail Quatermass and his Holy Pit. We are the Martians now.
