Soul on Fire gives us the dramatic real-life story of John O’Leary, an author and speaker who nearly died when he was 9 years old. We see the explosion that nearly took John’s life and his painful path to recovery, and those images can be disturbing. But overall, the film is an inspiring, lesson-filled watch.
The boy would be dead by morning.
You could see it the moment he was wheeled into the hospital. Burns covered his body, leaving him a mass of blood and ash. The fact that the 9-year-old survived this long—to see the inside of a hospital—might look like a miracle to some.
But the miracle’s over now. Time to face facts. Kids don’t live through explosions like that. When you light a 5-gallon can of gasoline on fire, it’s game over.
“I’d say he has a one-percent chance of recovery,” the doctor tells John’s parents. Others give the boy no chance at all. And maybe that’s a blessing, some surely think. If he lives, what sort of life could he have?
But as the hospital staff wheels him away, John’s parents come to him—to tell them they love him. Maybe to see him, to hear him, one last time.
“Am I going to die?” John asks his mother, Susan.
Susan hesitates. “It isn’t up to me,” she says. “It’s up to you. Do you want to die?”
Now it’s John’s turn to hesitate. And finally, through all the pain and trauma and shame, he shakes his head. “Mom, I don’t want to die,” he says. “I want to live.”
“Good,” Susan says. “Then you take the hand of God, and you fight like you’ve never fought before.”
And so the fight begins, a fight unfair for any 9-year-old to face.
And the next morning? He’s still here, ready to fight again.
[Warning: Spoilers are contained in the following sections.]
The real John O’Leary began that fight for life in 1987. Now, nearly 40 years on, he’s still fighting—not for survival, but to show people what a full, rich life can look like.
But he had plenty of help getting to that point.
When I talked with the real John O’Leary before the release of Soul on Fire, he told me he was about the film’s least heroic character. So, who would John consider the film’s heroes?
Let’s begin with John’s parents, Susan and Denny.
John’s stunt with the gas can was, obviously, done on the sly. And underneath all the pain and fear, he might’ve suspected that—given he had burned down the family house—he was in big, big trouble.
But Denny didn’t go there: “I’ve never been so proud of anyone in my life,” Denny said in the hospital. “I love you, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” John will hear that very phrase—I love you, and there’s nothing you can do about it—again and again. And it’s a phrase that perhaps every parent could add to their own lexicon.
Susan’s just as loving, of course. But she refuses to coddle her boy. John loses his fingers in the fire, but when he comes home, Susan insists that he learn how to use silverware with his two clubbed hands. Susan won’t let him get out of piano lessons, either: He’s an O’Leary, after all, and the O’Leary children learn piano. She’s instrumental in pushing John into the process of living a full life again.
That process is painful. But it’s nowhere near as painful as what John endures while learning how to walk again. When John asks at the beginning of the process if it’ll hurt, Nurse Roy is honest: “Every single day.” But Roy proves to be an angelic ogre in the rehabilitation process, convincing John to persevere through the inevitable agony that it’ll entail. “The good news,” Roy adds with a smile, “You get to see me every day.”
John’s brother and sisters also proved to be pretty heroic, helping him survive in the aftermath of the accident. His big brother, Jimmy, pulled him out of the burning house—then dove back in to rescue the dog. His little sister, Susan, threw cups of cold water on his face, saving it from the horrific burns that covered the rest of his body.
But the most unexpected hero would be Jack Buck, the Hall of Fame play-by-play announcer for John’s beloved St. Louis Cardinals.
Their relationship begins the night of the accident: Jack hears about John’s horrific injuries while at a charity gala. Instead of going home after that gala, he goes to the hospital instead, and he sits beside the unconscious, heavily bandaged little boy.
“When you get out of here, we’re gonna celebrate,” he says that night. He mentions John during baseball games. He visits the hospital when he can. And when John finally checks out of the hospital, Jack’s as good as his word, spearheading a “John O’Leary Day” at Busch Memorial Stadium.
As a boy, immediately following the accident, John seems very disinclined to apply himself in school—even though he needs to relearn how to write without fingers. When Susan mentions this dilemma to Jack, he begins sending John autographed baseballs from prominent baseball players. With each ball, Jack includes a letter, saying that the only thing John needs to do to get another signed ball is write a thank-you note—in his own hand. Soon, John has a huge collection of signed baseballs. But more importantly, he learns how to write again.
Years later, when John graduates from college, Jack stops by once more to give John one final gift. And when John asks Jack why he helped him so much, Jack’s answer is deceptively simple:
“Seemed like you needed it.”
Released by Sony Picture’s faith-based adjunct, Affirm Films, Soul on Fire is what you might call quietly Christian. This movie doesn’t trot out a lot of Bible verses and doesn’t end with an altar call. But the film gently reinforces the importance of faith through almost every scene. And if you look closely, you can find opportunities to use those scenes to think and talk about deeper truths. But this film won’t necessarily draw those lines for you. It gives the faith-based filmgoer more credit than that.
In a promotional video by Affirm, Masey McLain (who plays John’s love interest, Beth, in the film) says this: “It’s not just about physical scars. We all have broken pieces and broken parts that we don’t want anybody to see, that we are ashamed of. And God looks at us in our brokenness and says, ‘I choose you.’ There’s no greater love than that.”
The most powerful testament to the power of faith may be John’s own life, down to the little blessings he sees in the midst of this titanic tragedy. From his sister throwing water on his face to Jack Buck’s mysterious benevolence, John comes to see the explosion as a blessing—a conduit to help him speak to and encourage others.
Susan prays in a hospital chapel during her son’s hospitalization. John gets married in a church. John speaks to a passel of inmates in what appears to be a prison chapel. (A cross hangs on the wall behind where John speaks.) There, a prisoner talks about how grateful he is for prison—knowing that he’d be dead (spiritually or otherwise) had he never gone to jail. Folks pray around the dinner table. We hear references to prayers and miracles. We hear “Amazing Grace” played on the piano. Third Day’s song “Soul on Fire” plays during the closing credits.
Rarely do we classify cinematic sexual content as good in the world of Plugged In. But Soul on Fire gives us an exception.
John and Beth get married and wait until their wedding night for physical intimacy. When John sees Beth come out of the bathroom in a silky (but modest) nightgown, he can barely speak. He reaches for the light switch so that he can turn off the light: He wants to, even at this point, hide his scars. But Beth insists he leave it on: “You’re my husband,” she tells him. He takes off his shirt, and she runs her fingers over his scar-covered shoulders. And shortly after, the camera takes its leave.
The scene’s a beautiful statement of the intimacy—physical, emotional and spiritual—that God intended us to experience in marriage.
The marriage is the culmination of a long-running relationship between Beth and John. The two have a very lovely “date” together the first night they meet. But even though Beth seems ready for a goodnight kiss, John—embarrassed by his scars and deformities—simply says goodnight. They remain good friends throughout school, but when John (goaded by his well-meaning roommate who insists he not resign himself to a lifetime of celibacy) tries to take a second run at a romantic relationship, Beth turns him down. “I love you—as a friend,” she says. (Though obviously, she eventually develops romantic feelings for John.)
When Beth, a physical therapy major, is staring down the barrel of a very tricky, hands-on final exam, John offers himself as a guinea pig. Beth manipulates John’s body in a variety of clinical but intimate stretches. (“Weirdest study group that I’ve ever been a part of,” John jokes.)
The real John and Beth O’Leary are still married and have four children together.
As a child, John sees a few neighborhood kids setting a couple of small fires with the help of a little gasoline. They shoo John away, but the 9-year-old is mesmerized. He goes back to the garage to see if he can replicate what he saw. He finds a can of gasoline, lights a piece of cardboard, leans in close and—
BOOM! The explosion throws John backward. The rest of the scene we see from John’s point of view as he races though the house on fire, setting things alight as he runs. Jimmy (John’s older brother) extinguishes the flames on his brother with a throw rug (burning his own hands and arms in the process) and drags him outside. John begs for someone to bring out a knife: “I want to die,” he begs. “Please kill me.”
We see just how grotesque his injuries are in the immediate aftermath; hospital officials warn John’s parents be prepared, and they wince when they see the boy, covered in blood. Doctors soon cover John head to toe in bandages, which they need to change daily. They warn him it’ll be incredibly painful, and indeed, we hear him screaming off camera as the process begins.
But that’s just the beginning: As John recovers, his body is simply a mass of scar tissue, which tightens and hardens as it heals. To help John walk again, Nurse Roy needs to work those limbs and skin so John won’t lose his mobility. The process is so painful that John, Roy and other hospital helpers begin the exercises in a hospital utility closet—a soundproof room where John can scream as loud as he likes without anyone overhearing him.
While John eventually does learn how to walk again, we hear that his fingers had to be amputated: When told, the baseball-loving John is beside himself with grief.
Later in life, John and some friends get into a scary car crash on a dark, icy road. (Everyone escapes unharmed, but their SUV suffers some damage.) When John starts up his own construction company with a friend, he takes some pals through a construction site—and they’re all a little alarmed when a pile of debris falls right in front of them.
None, though we do hear Jack Buck’s wife say “good Lord” when she hears about John’s accident. And a couple of characters say “Jeez.” The word “freaking” also makes an appearance.
When John’s in college, someone points him out to a friend, calling John a “legend.” When asked what John’s major is, the guy replies, “drinking.”
John chugs beer at what appears to be a frat party. His pals say that he drinks more often, and can imbibe more in one sitting, than anyone they know. The film suggests here that John is lost and unmoored: Despite being a walking miracle, he’s guzzling his life away. But Beth, as she gets to know John, can see through his party-hearty façade. “You don’t even like drinking,” she tells him. “I can tell. It’s just so you can be known for something.”
When John comes by Beth’s dorm room to help her study, he brings a small keg strapped around his neck—meant to be purposely reminiscent of how life-saving St. Bernards would carry brandy with them in Switzerland to help stranded skiers. Beth tells John that she’s not going to be drinking; she’s got to study. John tells her that the keg is actually filled with a highly caffeinated soft drink.
Much earlier in his story, when John comes home from the hospital, John’s parents and friends throw a party. John asks if he might have some champagne, just like the adult guests. “Would you like a cigarette, too?” his dad asks sarcastically, before telling him that, no, he doesn’t get a glass of the bubbly.
Jack Buck snuffs out a cigarette when a young John walks into the Cardinals’ broadcast booth.
John’s nerves get the better of him, and he vomits in the street before speaking at an event.
“You can’t always choose the life you walk,” John’s father tells him. “But you can choose how to walk it.”
The real John O’Leary spent months just learning how to walk again. He spent years learning how to truly live. The irony? If his life hadn’t been so drastically changed that afternoon in 1987, he might never have understood the sacred power of choice: The choice to live each day in gratitude, in joy, in love.
Choice. The longer I live, and the deeper my oh-so-still-shallow roots sink into the soil of Christian faith, the more I realize the power and importance of choice. We choose to love, even when it’s hard. We choose to commit to our marital partners forever, even when they can be jerks. We choose to believe in God even when He’s hard to see. We choose to live, and live for Him.
Every day, every minute … we choose. We choose.
Soul on Fire is about John O’Leary, of course. It tells us about the self-inflicted (though accidental) fire that nearly took his life. It documents some of his other self-inflicted (though less accidental) wounds, too—but all with an eye toward teaching and redemption.
Director Sean McNamara—famous for such inspirational, faith-tinged movies as Soul Surfer and The Miracle Season—does fine work here. He gives us an inspirational story and lets that story speak: He doesn’t preach or ratchet up the melodrama. And while Soul on Fire may not set a new bar for Christian filmmaking, it doesn’t need to. The story draws you along.
Most of the cautionary elements we see in this film are a direct product of John’s own sometimes poor choices. He loses himself in alcohol for a time. He makes some bad relational decisions. And, of course, he nearly blows himself up—leading to some grotesque and troubling scenes. But John uses those poor choices as opportunities to learn and grow. And it reminds us that we, too, can learn and grow from our own mistakes.
Too often we can let our own wounds fester. We can let our own scar tissue harden. We can let our poor choices define us. But Soul on Fire reminds us it need not be that way. It may be hard. It may be painful. But the poor choices of our own pasts? We can use them to build on and, with God’s help, craft a much better future.
Paul Asay has been part of the Plugged In staff since 2007, watching and reviewing roughly 15 quintillion movies and television shows. He’s written for a number of other publications, too, including Time, The Washington Post and Christianity Today. The author of several books, Paul loves to find spirituality in unexpected places, including popular entertainment, and he loves all things superhero. His vices include James Bond films, Mountain Dew and terrible B-grade movies. He’s married, has two children and a neurotic dog, runs marathons on occasion and hopes to someday own his own tuxedo. Feel free to follow him on Twitter @AsayPaul.
