To Believe, or Not to Believe
Bill Maher’s Religulous is funny, gutsy and often profound
By: Amy Nicholson
“I’m preaching doubt,” proclaims Bill Maher in a documentary that’s firebranding and funny-as-hell, if you believe in that place. To religious conservatives of all denominations, it’s a punch in the nose. (Except for when Maher’s bashing the other zealots, those wackjobs.) To atheists and agnostics, its 101 minutes of catharsis, a welcome affront to the devout who have always claimed to be victims anyways.
Maher, like 16% of Americans (a silent, sizable chunk bigger than blacks, Jews, and gays combined), worships reason over faith. In a series of brash interviews, he questions evangelical preachers, truck stop missionaries, Hassidic Israelites, Holy Land Muslims, Jesus impersonators and excommunicated Mormons about their beliefs. “How can smart people believe in a talking snake?” he asks. To an ex-Satanist recounting his days of drugs and women, Maher grins, “And your problem was?” And when a miracle-touting bible gift shop owner (charging $2,700 for a coffee table statue of the Madonna and child, Maher notes) insists that his reward is in Heaven, Maher doesn’t blink before asking why he doesn’t kill himself.
Maher’s questions in Religulous traffic in amusement, not answers. They’re notable for three things: First, that Maher has balls of steel. To an Israeli inventor seeking to outsmart the restraints of the Sabbath with an air-powered wheelchair, Maher hits him with, “Why am I going to these lengths for a god who took away my legs?” Second, that bluffing is the first (and worst) response. When an evangelical scientist—a rare breed—postures that the New Testament is science because it was recorded by eyewitnesses, Maher pshaws “No it wasn’t,” forcing him to backpedal with “Well, within a couple decades of eyewitnesses.” If Maher can’t get a word in edgewise, like when a blinged-out minister (and former doo-wop star) assures him that despite everything we’ve heard, the Jesus of the Bible liked rich people, Maher lets him run his mouth off while counter-acting his nonsense with pithy subtitles.
But the third and best outcome of Maher’s inquisitions is the surprising number of them that end in sincere handshakes. Maher is heretical but respectful—his tone is candor, not disdain. Unlike director Larry Charles’ last project—the riotous sneak attack HYPERLINK "http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0443453/" \o "blocked::http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0443453/" Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan—his interview subjects know Maher and the rules of the game. (At a mosque in Jerusalem, a Muslim bystander insists Maher be removed because “His show sucks.”) Few are under the delusion they’ll be able to change Maher’s mind. Even when they’re stripped of the delusion they can merely hold their own, they ultimately fall sway to his infectious teasing—though when an ex-gay minister leans in for a hug, Maher can’t resist asking if he’s got a hard-on.
A lot of what’s ridiculous about massive organized religions doesn’t need Maher’s help to seem silly. Not just Lord Xenu or Joseph P. Smith who, points out, aren’t the most ludicrous, just the most recent. He also digs up footage of living room heartthrob and evangelical Baptist Kirk Cameron instructing that the best way to convert non-believers is to “circumvent their intellect.” But in a closing montage that's both jarring and utterly earnest, Maher argues that despite everything we’ve just seen his crusade against blind faith isn’t just a laughing matter. Maher sees a world helmed by zealots pointing weapons at each other in His name. And they don’t fear death—Armageddon means ascension to the land of clouds, virgins, and harps. For us bystanders—moderates, atheists, and agnostics alike—simply trying to make a life on Planet Earth, their eternal peace could mean our nightmare.
Maher, like 16% of Americans (a silent, sizable chunk bigger than blacks, Jews, and gays combined), worships reason over faith. In a series of brash interviews, he questions evangelical preachers, truck stop missionaries, Hassidic Israelites, Holy Land Muslims, Jesus impersonators and excommunicated Mormons about their beliefs. “How can smart people believe in a talking snake?” he asks. To an ex-Satanist recounting his days of drugs and women, Maher grins, “And your problem was?” And when a miracle-touting bible gift shop owner (charging $2,700 for a coffee table statue of the Madonna and child, Maher notes) insists that his reward is in Heaven, Maher doesn’t blink before asking why he doesn’t kill himself.
Maher’s questions in Religulous traffic in amusement, not answers. They’re notable for three things: First, that Maher has balls of steel. To an Israeli inventor seeking to outsmart the restraints of the Sabbath with an air-powered wheelchair, Maher hits him with, “Why am I going to these lengths for a god who took away my legs?” Second, that bluffing is the first (and worst) response. When an evangelical scientist—a rare breed—postures that the New Testament is science because it was recorded by eyewitnesses, Maher pshaws “No it wasn’t,” forcing him to backpedal with “Well, within a couple decades of eyewitnesses.” If Maher can’t get a word in edgewise, like when a blinged-out minister (and former doo-wop star) assures him that despite everything we’ve heard, the Jesus of the Bible liked rich people, Maher lets him run his mouth off while counter-acting his nonsense with pithy subtitles.
But the third and best outcome of Maher’s inquisitions is the surprising number of them that end in sincere handshakes. Maher is heretical but respectful—his tone is candor, not disdain. Unlike director Larry Charles’ last project—the riotous sneak attack HYPERLINK "http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0443453/" \o "blocked::http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0443453/" Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan—his interview subjects know Maher and the rules of the game. (At a mosque in Jerusalem, a Muslim bystander insists Maher be removed because “His show sucks.”) Few are under the delusion they’ll be able to change Maher’s mind. Even when they’re stripped of the delusion they can merely hold their own, they ultimately fall sway to his infectious teasing—though when an ex-gay minister leans in for a hug, Maher can’t resist asking if he’s got a hard-on.
A lot of what’s ridiculous about massive organized religions doesn’t need Maher’s help to seem silly. Not just Lord Xenu or Joseph P. Smith who, points out, aren’t the most ludicrous, just the most recent. He also digs up footage of living room heartthrob and evangelical Baptist Kirk Cameron instructing that the best way to convert non-believers is to “circumvent their intellect.” But in a closing montage that's both jarring and utterly earnest, Maher argues that despite everything we’ve just seen his crusade against blind faith isn’t just a laughing matter. Maher sees a world helmed by zealots pointing weapons at each other in His name. And they don’t fear death—Armageddon means ascension to the land of clouds, virgins, and harps. For us bystanders—moderates, atheists, and agnostics alike—simply trying to make a life on Planet Earth, their eternal peace could mean our nightmare.
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