She is a slave to her passions. A hedonist, without any of the joy. She spends her days and nights in assorted assignations, using mindless labor to fund the road to nowhere. At first, we instinctively gravitate to her plight, because it’s rare indeed to find a cinematic woman so free of convention. Sex without consequence, because so few would dare. And then the worm turns. Hopelessness takes over. A desire for more. A way to add depth to the chaos. Naturally, Sharon gets religion. A whole lot of it, in fact. She finds Jesus and, with Him, the need to stabilize. A husband and child follow. She’s found a purpose at last. Trust in God, and all will be well.
Life, as always, says differently. Sharon’s husband is murdered in a workplace shooting, and she’s once again bereft. Drowning in despair. Predictably, she retreats further into her faith. It’s not enough to believe that God has a plan, that plan has to take effect right the fuck now. Yes, friends, she embraces the rapture. The imminent end of the world. The worthy among us ascending to heaven, while the damned sit and suffer. It’s a sadistic worldview, but if you’re among the chosen few, a way to separate the wheat from the chaff. Only one has to wait. Could be today, could be tomorrow. Could be a million fucking years from now. Meanwhile, Sharon suffers. Desperation sets in. And what about her daughter? No sense in her not seeing her departed father and the face of God.
What comes next is so insanely perfect, it’s a wonder the film wasn’t awarded a Nobel Prize. Reducing the maternal instinct to tatters, Sharon lines up her daughter like a praying Lenny from Of Mice and Men and pulls the trigger. Because suicide won’t get you to the promised land, and this is an innocent child. It’s a shocker, but one that had to come. If one believes in this outlandish fairy tale, you’ve got to take it to its logical conclusion. Or, illogical, as the case may be. Faced with a new reality, Sharon turns the gun on herself. Only she can’t do it. Maybe she always knew this about herself: hurting others is a hell of a lot easier than hurting yourself.
And yet, we’re not finished. Writer/director Michael Tolkin, having stepped wisely, continues the path of the sure and true. The Rapture comes. Not figuratively or in a dream, but right there out in the open. It’s a fact, putting truth to belief at last. The suckers were the doubters, and Christianity makes good on its heretofore empty promises. Lest the whole thing sound like religious propaganda, Mr. Tolkin has an additional trick up his sleeve. Only it’s not a trick, so much as a revelation. Seeing into the whole enterprise at last, he decides to hold God accountable. You set the terms, I’ll tear them asunder. You win the battle, I win the war. Sharon sees God’s ante, and goes all in. It’s the bravest act in the history of the cinema.
You see, heaven exists. The afterlife is as real as it gets. Our loved ones await, and we’ll spend eternity catching up. Hugs and kisses forever, with clouds and music and the glory of God. But Sharon has had enough. Fed up with the tests and the games and the bullshit. You let me murder my own child? Kept me on ice until you were good and ready? Casually ignored suffering while demanding allegiance?
Who is this cocksucker, and what have I been worshiping all these years? It’s the infinitely more righteous position. Tougher, even, than atheism itself. God is accepted yet rejected outright. A hundred million lifetimes laid out before me, and all I have to do is accept the deal. His deal. His maddening, ridiculous, mean-spirited deal. No, sir. And you realize this will leave you all alone in purgatory, forever? Banished, without hope of changing your mind? Yes. Firmly, defiantly, heroically yes. At the cost of daughter, husband, friend, and lover? I understand. Sharon may not agree, but here, finally, in the flesh, is someone to revere.
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