Jesus, Bono and the Apocalypse examined in a new film

The Rapture was supposed to happen on May 21, 2011. It didn't, of course — unless it was just really, really subtle — but that's not stopping biblical number-cruncher and Boulder native Harold Camping, who had predicted that apocalypse (and another one back in 1994), from trying again: He now predicts the world is going to end on October 21, 2011. And this time it's not just going to be some wishy-washy rapture: It's going to be full-on destruction.

PeaceJam founder and local filmmaker Ivan Suvanjieff is hoping that at least some of the world will emerge unscathed, because he's just now wrapping up production on Jesus vs. Bono, the documentary he shot on the day the Rapture was first supposed to hit, and it's something he feels the world needs to see. "It's probably the greatest documentary ever made," he declares of the film, which he made the day that Jesus Christ was supposed to return — and Bono actually came to town with U2. The approximately ten-minute flick approaches its material from an angle obviously based on Apocalypse Now; in fact, its first line of dialogue is this: "Arvada. Shit." From there, it follows the travails of a nameless protagonist played by Brett Engle as he sojourns down to Colorado Springs, that holiest of towns, to find Jesus and, failing to find him there, back up to Denver to find Bono. Along the way, he talks to a variety of characters — some real people on the street, some fictional — about the film's central and incredibly serious question: If Jesus and Bono arm-wrestled, who would win?

"When I started research on this, which was about May 20, 2011," recalls Suvanjieff, "I had no idea what I was going to find when I went on location. As it turned out, what I found was pretty thin. There wasn't much going on in the Springs. I was hoping there'd be proselytizing, doomsday prophesying, raving in the streets. But it was pretty quiet. I guess most of the doomsday billboards and stuff had been taken down the night prior. So basically, we just had to fill it out." At Mile High later that day, though, "a surprising number of people thought Bono could take Jesus at arm-wrestling," he notes.

While no definite release date has been set for the doc, which Suvanjieff made for a total of about $650, he's taking it to a few film festivals. And in the meantime, his more serious apocalypse documentary, 2012: The True Mayan Prophecy, is still making the rounds: It screens at Naropa University on October 18, and then it will be shown four times on Colorado Public Television, from October 22 through 27. If all goes well, that is. "If the world blows up on October 21, then no one will be around to see 2012: The True Mayan Prophecy on Colorado Public Television," Suvanjieff notes. "This concerns me."

Watch the trailer for Jesus vs. Bono


Alphabet snoop: On Monday, Mayor Michael Hancock held the first of his brown-bag lunch gabfests open to all city employees — though it's unlikely that many of them with last names starting with the letters G through M showed up. That's because from Sunday, October 2, until Wednesday, October 5, 750 of the City of Denver's 9,000 e-mail users — most with last names that started with G, H, I, J, K, L and M — lost their e-mail service.

"There were people just wandering around doing pretty much nothing," says an employee whose name begins with one of those cursed letters. "I called the help desk, and they have absolutely no idea when it will be fixed."

Good news: It was fixed by last Wednesday, according to Chuck Fredrick, chief information officer for the city. "Technology Services applied resources to this problem immediately," he reports. "We set up 24/7 shifts during the outage to restore service as quickly as possible and engaged Microsoft Support to help us solve the problem.... As with any system outage, we take this very seriously, and are reconstructing the events that led up to the outage as much as possible in an effort to understand the root cause and prevent it from happening in the future."

But apparently the help desk — whose name begins with H, after all — didn't get the memo about the repairs. And our tipster was still cut off from the rest of the electronic world as of Monday morning.

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