One never really thinks about bad acting until they see it. Indigo: The Movie is a great example of this. Riding the new wave of “spiritual cinema,” (for the 60 million Americans who consider themselves “spiritual,” but not necessarily “religious,”) this is a movie that purports to bring spirituality to the masses, via entertainment channels. The best example of spiritual cinema, What the Bleep Do We Know?!, handled the job deftly and successfully: they provided a solid message the audience can take with them and apply to their lives, they enjoyed prolonged engagements, and had repeat attendees in spades. Indigo, however, fails on almost all counts. It’s a movie based on the idea of a recent book suggesting that a new generation of psychically-gifted children with indigo auras exists among us, and that they’re here to teach us a better way to live.
With a marketing campaign to beat most indie-films, the movie premiere sold out 95% two weeks prior to showing. Director/Producer Stephen Simon, Screenwriter James Twyman and Writer/Lead actor Neale Donald Walsch open the movie with an overly-long conversation about how the movie came together and their hopes for spiritual cinema. Far more interesting would have been some of the real-life “Indigo” children that have supposedly been featured on Oprah and written about.
With the right actors, the story line, setting and scenery could have been decent, and maybe even emotionally moving. Still, the idea of Indigo is silly at best and a bummer at worst. I mean, are we supposed to believe that only this generation is gifted and clued in, and the rest of us are hosed? And are we supposed to put our blind faith into people who claim to see auras, labeling one child Indigo and another somehow less valuable? This writer would rather believe that we all have the chance to do our part and bring the world toward peace, auras or not.