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Second Coming Attractions

St. Martin's Press

The gentleman's name was Buddy Fracas and it was apparent that he had not been saved.

"Let me explain again," said Leviticus Speck, tapping his business card, which lay amid dried coffee rings and doughnut crumbs on the desk. The card said GOOD SAMARITAN FILMS, with the famous logo depicting the Lord, a number of children, and a flock of lambs, all seated in a meadow before a portable movie screen. Leviticus was not being judgmental regarding Buddy's spiritual status, it was just clear that the man was not a regular churchgoer, otherwise he would have heard of Good Samaritan. "I'm vice president of the most widely respected inspirational film company in the world," Leviticus said. "We make uplifting films, good, wholesome films with a message. I don't need stock footage of explosions or car crashes or helicopter gun battles. I'm looking for beautiful sunrises and sunsets, rainbows, cavorting animals, that kind of thing."

"I've got a clip of a grizzly bear maulin' a guy." He chuckled. "Lemme tell you, it's a great shot."

"That's not quite what I had in mind."

"I've got some hurricane footage that you wouldn't believe."

Leviticus spent a moment in thoughtful contemplation. Natural disasters could come in handy, for that wrath-of-God angle. Most of the Good Samaritan library emphasized the positive; even the Sinners Repent! series was pretty upbeat by contemporary standards, both in terms of the sins themselves and the consequences for those who chose the darker path. Perhaps the most daring entry in this series was The Bottle or the Lord.Rance Jericho portrayed an alcoholic insurance salesman whose drinking habits were rending his family apart. Leviticus thought it was Rance's greatest performance, although unfortunately most of his best work ended up in little pieces on the cutting-room floor (most tragically the heebie-jeebies scene). Dad thought Rance's ravings and contortions too intense for his audience, and that the less-than-perfect character wasn't good for Rance's image. In response, Rance threw a chair and took the Lord's name in vain once or twice, but Dad refused to back down. The relationship between them had never been the same, and Rance had since drifted into semiretirement.

Leviticus worried sometimes that they were being too namby-pamby about spiritual battles. In many ways, he thought, we're still locked in the fifties, when Dad founded Good Samaritan. Salvation with a smile, sins washed away with a slap on the back. But the company's still strong and profitable and the films are popular, Leviticus thought, so who am I not to honor him?

"What else do you have in the natural disaster department?" Leviticus asked Buddy.

"Earthquakes, fires; floods. You name it, I got it."

"Any pestilence?"

Buddy achieved a puzzled look.

"Pestilence," Leviticus repeated. "You know, bugs. Clouds of locusts, a march of centipedes, that kind of thing."

"Gotcha." He thumbed through a catalog. "Let's see ... a praying mantis biting the head off its mate." He looked hopefully at Leviticus.

"Hardly."

"An Army documentary on head lice?"

"Maybe we'll just stick with the natural disasters."

"So that's a hurricane, a flood, a fire, an earthquake ... anything else for you today?"

"No, that should do it, I guess."

After the order was written up, Leviticus wished Buddy Godspeed and left the sweltering warehouse in Tarzana for the even hotter streets. He always enjoyed his semiannual pilgrimage to Southern California; it offered him the chance to make contacts in the industry, catch up on gossip, and do a little business. But he was glad in his heart when the plane cut through the smog and returned home to Coon Rapids, Minnesota, worldwide headquarters of Good Samaritan Films.

Leviticus' modest affection for the Los Angeles basin was unique among the Good Samaritan family. Dad wouldn't make the trip anymore, although that was due more to an inner-ear problem than any sort of moral objection. This wasn't the case with Evie, who tended to avoid her brother for several days after he returned from South Central Sodom. Leviticus had tried to convince his sister that in order to walk with the saints, you had to drive the clogged freeways with the sinners, but she wasn't buying it.

On the way back to his motel, Leviticus came upon a small mission-style Methodist church, dwarfed by the neighboring In-N-Out Burger and that triune of car repair, Manny, Moe, and Jack.

The modest church sign, lettered in plain white block characters, said:

YOUTH MOVIE NIGHT — THE GOOD NEIGHBOR — FRIDAY 7 P.M.

One of ours, Leviticus thought with a satisfied smile. The Good Neighbor had been released last year. It told the story of Tommie Kare (Ricky Bible), a teenager just like you, who helps out an elderly neighbor, Mrs. Olson (Lovey Molley) by shoveling her walk, mowing her grass, and sitting on the porch with her and sharing his faith. This faith is put to the test when the gang asks Tommie to go to the movies with them, on the same night that he promised Mrs. Olson to stop in and read the scriptures to her. Tommie gives in to temptation. Mrs. Olson has a seizure. If only Tommie had been there. Fortunately, the seizure was a mild one, and Tommie learns his lesson. The film closes with Tommie sitting with Mrs. Olson on her porch, he reading Psalms 13 (Consider and hear me, O Lord my God forth: Lighten my eyes, lest I sleep the sleep of death and so forth), she with the light of God shining on her wizened yet angelic face.

Leviticus wasn't happy with the script when he originally read it. The film seemed to suggest that moviegoing was somehow responsible for Mrs. Olson's troubles. It placed movies in a poor, non-Christian light. It seemed counterproductive. Why couldn't the gang invite Tommie to an amusement park or a rock concert? Leviticus talked to the director and explained the situation. However, Elijah Winds was his usual stubborn, the-power-of-God-is-working-within-me-so-take-a-hike self. He would not compromise his vision, and besides, it was cheap and logistically easy to film someone going to the movies.

Although the vision thing didn't convince Leviticus, a look at the budget for the film did. So Tommie went to the movies.

Even with Elijah's vision, however, the film did not generate as much business as anticipated. This was surprising. They weren't expecting The Good Neighbor to be a blockbuster, but it was projected to do reasonably well because of its star, Ricky Bible. Ricky was very popular with the young people, especially the girls, what with his curly black hair and dimples, his irresistible combination of boyish mischievousness and genuine God-fearing faith. Unfortunately, the real Ricky Bible possessed too much of the former quality, and too little of the latter. But he was a solid performer, and Leviticus thought he had done some really fine work in The Good Neighbor.

So this would be an excellent opportunity to gauge reaction to the film by an audience that wasn't in Good Samaritan's backyard. Leviticus had been pushing his dad for years to do market research, but his elder believed more in praying for guidance than conducting scientific opinion polling.

On Friday night Leviticus headed back to Tarzana and the Home of the Savior Methodist Church. He didn't identify himself to the minister, who gave Leviticus a strong handshake and kind smile at the door.

"I'm from out of town," said Leviticus. "Mind if I sit in on the movie?"

"Please, feel right at home," the portly red-haired pastor told him, spreading his hands apart in a welcoming gesture. Then he said in a low voice, "Don't get your expectations too high. We kind of run things on a shoestring here, I'm afraid. Low-budget movies like this are all we can afford. We're having cookies and lemonade afterward, if that's any comfort."

"Thanks. I may stick around."

Leviticus waited in the lobby, still smarting from the pastor's comments, while groups of tanned young people in blue jeans and T-shirts wandered by, greeting friends and chatting briefly before going downstairs. Leviticus followed them, hoping to pick up a snatch of conversation about the film or Ricky Bible, but all he caught were weekend plans (the beach, sports, a benefit car wash) and the usual Christian tomfoolery. A screen and a few rows of folding chairs had been set up in the front of a large, low-ceilinged room that was used for Sunday school. The teenagers crowded down front, while Leviticus remained standing in the back of the room.

"Have a seat," the pastor said to Leviticus, flipping on the projector. "Jonah, could you get the lights, please."

"I'm okay," said Leviticus, feeling unexpectedly jittery. "Been sitting all day."

The room went dark.

The Good Samaritan logo flashed on the screen.

THE GOOD NEIGHBOR

Ricky Bible

Leviticus had expected a reaction, maybe a spiritually based squeal or two from the female contingent, but they sat silently.

Lovey Molley
Written & Directed by Elijah Winds
Executive Producer Noah Foster Speck

The film opened with a montage of summer scenes: horseshoes, picnics, parades, followed by a jump cut to the dim interior of an old house. Close-ups of Hummel figurines, family photographs in metal frames, flies trapped in dusty windows. An older woman, white-haired, lonely-faced, sitting on a lace-covered chair. Fade to the same woman outside, futilely trying to maneuver her push mower across her lawn. In the background, a boy is strolling down the sidewalk. He sees the woman, stops, and walks toward her. A face with a set of great, God-given dimples suddenly fills the screen — Ricky Bible, as Tommie Kare.

"Can I help you with that, ma'am?"

Ricky's appearance provoked a response in the audience, but it was not the gushy reaction that Leviticus had anticipated.

They laughed.

Not all of them laughed, but it was more than just the one or two wiseacres that are found in every gathering, Christian or not. It was enough.

The film kept playing, and the laughter kept coming. Not continuous, certainly, but a steady combination of titters, giggles, and hoots. Even the pastor, stationed near the projector, guffawed at times, his body shaking.

What is so funny? Leviticus wondered in a confused panic, his face growing hot. There aren't any jokes in The Good Neighbor. A lot of warm moments and important lessons, but no comedy.

Maybe once they get settled in and involved in the story, Leviticus thought, they'll sober up.

"Oh, Tommie, thank you for mowing my lawn. I don't know what I would have done without you. I'm afraid I'm not much good for anything these days."

"Glad to be of help, Mrs. Olson. Did you know that God has a plan for each of us?"

Mrs. Olson's reply was drowned out by the howls.

Leviticus didn't wait around for Mrs. Olson to have her seizure.

* * *

On the flight home, the laughter still rattled in Leviticus' mind. Footage of earthquakes and fires were forgotten (he had taken the head lice documentary after all, thinking that if they tacked on a religious-oriented introduction it would be appropriate for Bible camps and youth retreats). It could have been a fluke, of course. On any given night, an audience could react in an infinite number of ways. But why this audience, why this film? He had no clue.

When Leviticus arrived back in Minnesota, he picked up his car and drove a zigzag pattern through the Gemini Industrial Park, past the small office with attached warehouse that housed Good Samaritan Films, to an old two-story farmhouse set on the edge of the park, a relic from a bygone era.

"You're not going to be able to avoid me for long this time, Evie," Leviticus said to his sister, who gave him a curt wave and hurried down the hallway as he came through the front door.

He found the elder Speck at the kitchen table, hunched over a legal pad, a pot of coffee at his elbow. He was dressed in a black coat and tie, his wavy gray hair combed back neatly.

"Welcome home, son. How was your trip?"

"Fine, Dad," said Leviticus. "I ordered some stock footage. Talked to a couple of distributors. You know, the usual."

"Good, good."

Leviticus hesitated, then said, "We've got to have a meeting, Dad. Right away."

"You're going to have to make it quick," said Noah. "I'm on my way to give a talk to the Presbyterians. Supposed to be on 'Stories of Faith and Inspiration by a Christian Filmmaker,' but they'll probably end up asking me what Ricky Bible is really like."

"Yes," Leviticus said, nodding, "that's what I wanted to talk about."

"Faith and inspiration?"

"No, Ricky Bible."

The elder Speck gave his son a long look, then called for Evie. The trio sat around the kitchen table, and Leviticus outlined the problem. "I just can't figure out what they found so funny," he concluded.

"Let's remember that people are a little different in California," said Noah. "Even the churches are strange out there. We make our films for everyday people."

"They seemed perfectly normal to me," Leviticus said. "You know, they always say trends start in California."

"Well, I wouldn't worry about it," said Noah. "It was just one church. Maybe the kids got into the sacramental grape juice."

"Could be," Leviticus said. "But I was thinking on the way back, What if Ricky Bible is the problem? What if he doesn't connect with the youth anymore?"

"Do you know how many autograph and photo requests we've handled for Ricky this month?" said Evie. "Literally six or seven. He gets more fan mail than Rance Jericho ever did."

"Maybe he isn't believable," Leviticus said. "Kids can see through that sort of thing. I know he's a talented actor, but frankly his lifestyle leaves something to be desired."

"I think he's grown up a lot the past couple of years."

"I agree with that," Dad said. "He's been a good kid."

Leviticus shrugged. "I'm just reporting what I saw. The laughter began as soon as Ricky appeared on the screen and spoke his first word of dialogue."

"We should get better writers, then," Evie said.

Dad looked bemused. "Listen, I think we're blowing things out of proportion here. It was one incident. One. We all agree that Elijah is a first-rate writer and director, right? He's done a lot of quality work for us, hasn't he? We all liked The Good Neighbor when it came out, didn't we? Leviticus, I believe you said it was some of his best work ever."

"Yes, but ..."

"But nothing. You weren't laughing at the film, were you?"

"No, I wasn't, but ..."

"So who's judgment are you going to trust, yours or some flaky church in L.A.?"

Leviticus was going to say that he wondered if Good Samaritan was making films that didn't ring true with modern audiences, that maybe they should try to update their image. But he didn't say these things. He was afraid. He was afraid that Dad would be hurt and feel less than honored by his only son. And besides, Leviticus wasn't even sure if he believed it himself.

But all that night, and in bed after he said his prayers, he wondered if he was right. He asked God for guidance and direction. He asked to be allowed to see the truth about the laughter The Good Neighbor had inspired.

Life was busy in a blessed way in the days following Leviticus' return from California. His column for Christian Bus Driver magazine was a week late. No topic even. He called the editor and asked for forgiveness.

"I'm very sorry I'm tardy," Leviticus told Bob Countenance, the publisher and editor in chief. "I just got back from a trip out West. Should be able to send it out to you tomorrow at the latest."

"No problem, Leviticus. I know I can always count on you. How's your dad been?"

"He's great. He sends his love. How are things with you?"

"God's been guiding me down some interesting paths. This month we're doing a special feature on railroad-crossing accidents. Did you know there were three hundred and ninety-seven incidents just last year involving buses and locomotives?"

"That must be something to drive a bus, to have so many lives under your care," said Leviticus. "I could never be a bus driver, that's for sure. You're doing good work, Bob. God's work."

"We're also featuring an interview with a driver by the name of Elroy Huggins, who's operated a bus for an evangelical school in Kansas for thirty years without an accident or a ticket. A very inspiring story."

"Sounds wonderful."

"Oh, there's something else I was going to tell you," Bob said. "I hired a new assistant last week."

"What happened to Rosemary?"

"She went back to the seminary."

"She's a good person."

"Yes, she is. I think her replacement will work out fine, though. His name's Nicholas Puckett. He just graduated from Iowa State. A sharp kid, with a real love for the Word. Doesn't know much about bus driving, but he'll learn."

"You've really been blessed with quality people."

"I certainly have. It's always a tough decision. There were so many qualified candidates. But Nicholas had a strong spiritual sense about him, and he's a fine writer, too."

"Well, I should get going and finish the column. I'll pass all the news on to Dad. He'll probably give you a call."

"Take care, Leviticus, and God bless you."

"God bless you and your work, Bob. Talk to you later."

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Excerpted from Second Coming Attractions by David Prill, Gordon Van Gelder. Copyright © 1998 David Prill. Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
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