Reflections on Finch (2021)

It has been a long time since Finch Weinberg has seen another human being.

After the solar flare, nothing on earth has been able to survive the deadly UV-boosted sunlight, and for those that manage to pull a living by hiding in the shadows, human corruption becomes the biggest danger. So Finch has been alone, except for his loyal pup, Goodyear. The two of them, shielded from the harsh terror of Earth, have found a good home in an empty industrial facility. Not a great situation, of course, but Finch--gleaning from abandoned grocery stores-- provides enough food to keep himself and Goodyear alive. Also, the brilliant mind of Finch has found sanity in the ocean of books and mechanical gadgets during the seemingly endless months of isolation.

Time is running out for the survivors, however. Finch realizes that he is slowly dying from radiation exposure. What will happen to Goodyear when he's gone?

The answer comes in the newly "born" robot, Jeff, who Finch hastily finishes building as they flee an oncoming solar storm. But Jeff still needs to learn all about taking care of Goodyear, a task that will require the robot to learn to trust, connect, and form a deep relationship with the loyal canine. Those kinds of lessons, these uniquely human lessons, are ones that Finch himself never fully mastered. Trusting? That wasn't exactly his forte before the world was thrown into chaos, but it's a skill he'll have to teach Jeff if he doesn't want his best four-legged friend to be left all alone.

And being alone, Finch knows, is not a fate he'd wish for anyone.

Finding Sunshine

When my family and I sat down to watch Finch, we were all expecting it to be a delightful hybrid of Will Smith's zombie movie I am Legend, Pixar's dystopian classic Wall-E, and a splash of Matt Damon's performance in The Martian.

In short? We expected a mildly-gritty, high-octane adventure of apocalyptic proportions, maybe with a zombie or two and some good Tom Hank's depth. What we weren't prepared for was just how deep Finch was able to go. What had seemed like a pretty-good family-friendly thriller had turned out to be a richly-produced commentary on the stinging pain of grief, sickness, and isolation. So don't break out the popcorn if you're expecting a heart-pounder from the action-adventure genre (although there is action and adventure in this movie). Instead, Finch feels more like a fable about the affliction of suffering alone.

What Finch had once counted on for comfort--warm sunshine--has become a white-hot branding iron that evaporates anything it touches, like grease in a scalding pan. Somehow, through the imagery of hot and cold, sunlight and darkness, Finch is able to communicate with sharp clarity the raw, tender, vulnerable nature of souls who travel through dark valleys of suffering. Night seems endless, but sunshine also seems to hurt. Simple gifts like friendship, food, and laughter, suddenly feel like unbearable burdens, burning the skin and leaving the sufferer standing in the shadows, holding on to survival.

These, the hardest parts of Finch, are also the root of its beauty. While this movie isn't perfect, it demonstrates through Finch's battle to connect and relate, that connection is not only essential to survival, but to growth and life. At the end of the movie, as Finch's journey draws to a close, he isn't alone. Like the small slice of habitable, warming, life-giving sunshine they stumble across in a Californian wasteland, Finch has had small gestures move into his life, providing friendship, hope, and trust to his last breaths. The importance of connection becomes clear.

Finch isn't what you expect and it's difficult to watch--but it also provides a story that is important to remember. Friends and family, even the simple gesture of a stranger, are gifts from God that bring healing into our very fractured and broken lives. Sometimes that looks like someone to talk to, and other times someone just needs the good, listening ear and warm presence of a friend like Goodyear and Jeff. Whether you are the one walking through dark valleys, or such a traveler is someone you love, Finch reminds us of the God-given, rich value of connection. We might throw that word around casually, but it is heavy with worth in Heaven's economy.

Conclusion

Before this adventure--exciting, sad, and deep--draws to a close, there is something else to learn from the journey of man, robot, and dog. At the end of his life, Finch wanted hope. Hope that one day Earth would be more than a scalding hot land of survival. Hope that his best friend, Goodyear, would be able to survive without him. Hope that Finch Weinberg had purpose beyond just getting through, holding out, holding on. Finch stirs those feelings in all of us to, joining in with those whispered shadows of connection and sunlight and trust. This moving story may prove not only to lead us gently closer to others, but to remind us that, should all else fail, should everything else be forsaken or lost, Christ is the deepest, fullest, never-failing connection. It's a heart to heart in the deepest way, light that will never scorch, a sunshine that illuminates and conquers the darkness.

Finch looks like an apocalyptic thriller, and it is exciting. Car chases, fight-for-survival stakes, robots, dogs, and Tom Hanks make this movie (while perhaps not for everyone) a good watch for many. In a world that doesn't know why it exists, that self-destructively seeks isolation, that hides from daybreak, maybe Finch can, in a small way, remind us that our hearts were fashioned for so much more. Our hearts at their core, in the context of life-giving community, were created to love God and to be loved by Him. There is no connection deeper; there is no story richer; there is no journey more worthy.

Finch Weinberg learned a lot from his travels. And we could learn a lot, too.

". . . neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord." ---Romans 8:39

Image credit: 9to5Mac.com