Critics Slam ‘Rambo: Last Blood’ For Making Sex Traffickers Look Bad

A sample of my latest on the new Rambo movie for The Federalist:

The reviews are in, and critics have reached an unsurprising verdict: “Rambo: Last Blood” is not politically correct. Review aggregator Rotten Tomatoes has scored what is presumably the final entry in the Rambo franchise at 27 percent positive based on 100 reviews from critics. In contrast, 85 percent of moviegoers gave it a thumb’s up on Rotten Tomatoes.

The film came in third in its opening weekend, after “Downton Abbey” and “Ad Astra,” with an approximately $19 million take. That’s comparable to the 2008 opening for the last installment of the Rambo franchise, which made $18 million its opening weekend and went on to gross $113 million worldwide, according to USA Today.

Besides voicing general disappointment in the film’s action sequences (which, in fairness, are by no means revolutionary among recent offerings in this genre), an overwhelming proportion of the negative reviews have also been decidedly political. Here is a sampling of headlines:

Going by these headlines, the casual reader could be forgiven for expecting the newest Rambo to be chock-full of xenophobic rants against Mexican immigration into the United States. Unfortunately for overwrought critics, this turns out to be about as far from the truth as the Charlottesville lie. One could argue that the film actually creates sympathy for Mexicans who wish to flee what are often hellish conditions in the more dangerous regions of their home country.

Read it all on The Federalist here:

https://thefederalist.com/2019/09/24/critics-slam-rambo-last-blood-for-making-sex-traffickers-look-bad/

Venom: The fallen-away Catholic who gets possessed by evil

When I was growing up in the early 1990s, American television was going through an animation renaissance. From the art deco-influenced Batman: The Animated Series to Disney’s gothic Gargoyles and Marvel’s dazzling X-Men, the cartoons of the 90s managed to be both wildly entertaining and thematically deep. Unlike the Hanna-Barbera cartoons of yesteryear (delightful though they were), this new batch of animated series were delved eagerly into surprisingly mature themes in the midst of what was otherwise kid-friendly storytelling. One such series was Spider-Man, which premiered in 1994 and introduced the titular wall-crawler and his menagerie of foes to a new generation of fans.

Of all the villains that our hero faced, one fan favorite was Venom, a toothy and muscle-bound villain (and later anti-hero) with a vendetta against Spider-Man that was more personal than the web-slinger’s usual adversaries. In the three-part episode The Alien Costume, a sentient extraterrestrial called a symbiote is brought to earth, where its black goo-like body attaches itself to Peter Parker, who has coincidentally just decided to hang up his costume for good. The symbiote’s biology merges with him, and Spidey awakens dangling from a building in a new black-and-white costume.

Spider-Man soon discovers that this sentient costume has granted him even greater strength than before, which he soon puts to use against some hapless criminal elements. But when he realizes that the alien is slowly trying to take control of his mind and will, Spider-Man retreats into the bell tower of a church, where the ringing of the bells drives the sound-sensitive alien away. Believing the threat to be over at last, Spidey leaves the wounded extraterrestrial writhing within the church.

And this is where the alien finds Eddie Brock.

An unscrupulous journalist for the same newspaper where Peter Parker works, the Daily Bugle, Brock is down on his luck and out of a job after being caught framing Spider-Man for crimes he didn’t commit. When the symbiote comes across Brock in the church, it also finds in him a much more willing — and vengeful — host. The two bond, and the super-villain known as Venom is born.

While the Alien Costume series of episodes is remarkable for many reasons, it unfortunately dials down on some aspects of Venom’s character that Catholic readers would find especially intriguing. In the comic version, for example, Eddie Brock narrates the origins of Venom as follows:

“…And I decided to end it all. But I was raised Catholic, and suicide is a mortal sin. So I wandered from church to shadowed church, praying for forgiveness. Then, at Our Lady of Saints, something . . . odd happened. A shadow moved. Caressed me. I was joined. But this was a shadow filled with light. It clarified my anguish, focused my purpose, its hatred for you [Spider-Man] matched my own. It knew who you were. And it had power. Oh, such power! We found the woman first [i.e., Mary Jane Watson, Peter Parker/Spider-Man’s girlfriend]. Later we found your empty apartment. You were running from us. But this was a shadow filled with light. It clarified my anguish, focused my purpose. Its hatred for you matched my own.” – Source: Tom DeFalco, Spider-Man: The Ultimate Guide, Dorling Kindersley: New York, NY (2001), page 120.

Perhaps deemed too dark for the target audience of the animated series, Brock’s monologue here is arresting in its portrayal of the inner logic of a troubled mind.

It also represents a frightening reversal of the proper Catholic response to suffering.

Unlike the triumphant Jungian shadow-self portrayal of Venom in director Ruben Fleischer’s recent film starring Tom Hardy (something I wrote about over at the Catholic Business Journal), the Venom of the original comics reads as something resembling an experience of demonic possession. We can even detect shades of this theme in Topher Grace’s portrayal of Brock in Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man 3, where Brock kneels in a church and tearfully prays to God for the death of Peter Parker.

I’m a big fan the antiheroic portrayal of Venom in his newest film incarnation, but I also wonder if audiences have missed out on an important lesson in the transition away from Eddie Brock’s spiritual sickness. Over and above his immediate hatred for both Spider-Man and Peter Parker, what seems to plague Eddie the most is his belief that he should avoid suffering at all cost. He lies, cheats, plants evidence, and fabricates stories all for the ultimate purpose of maximizing his own comfort — his own sensual pleasure, if you will. While this works out for him in the short term, in the long term it leads him farther and farther down a long road to chaos. In the end, one can argue that he is particularly vulnerable to the symbiote’s “possession” only because he has already made a living Hell of his life.

Furthermore, Brock’s rage at his own suffering and his dishonest attempts to negate it are the opposite of Spider-Man’s famous creed: “With great power comes great responsibility.” We see Peter Parker embrace his cross by committing himself daily to the common good. Time and again he puts himself in danger to protect the innocent in the face of nigh-insurmountable odds, all the while being libeled and scolded by the powers that be. Then, at the end of each day, he humbly returns home to rest before recommitting himself to his tasks, knowing full well that order and peace are possible only when we freely chose to make personal sacrifices.

Perhaps Venom’s popularity can be explained by the familiarity of his temptations. All too often we may find ourselves relating more easily to the selfishness and wrath of Eddie Brock than to the virtuous self-sacrifice of Spider-Man. But when we do, we can meditate on these words from Blessed Sebastian Valfre:

“When it is all over you will not regret having suffered; rather you will regret having suffered so little, and suffered that little so badly.”

Like it? Read this and other posts at Voyage Comics and Culture: https://voyagecomics.com/2019/09/20/venom-the-fallen-away-catholic-who-gets-possessed-by-evil/

Sin and salvation in Netflix’s ‘Stranger Things’

This post contains spoilers for seasons 1-3 of Netflix’s Stranger Things. While full of empowering messages for both families and young people, the series is not suitable for all ages, and contains language, violence, and some sexuality. For more detailed information, read the series overviewby Common Sense Media.

As film studios continue to withdraw their most popular properties from the old guard of digital streaming services (in favor of replacing them on their own platforms, like Disney+), and as our streaming options continue to expand across an ever-growing number of providers, Netflix is confronting a wide range of competition that may soon threaten its once-unquestionable dominance in the industry. In the short term, however, it still commands a handful of properties that have managed to cut through the internet’s noise and to become full-fledged cultural phenomena. Chief among these is Stranger Things, which follows the supernatural adventures of the fictional town of Hawkins, Indiana. The brainchild of 80s pop-culture uberfans Matt and Ross Duffer, it was originally intended as a limited release to be concluded after one season, but those plans were abandoned when both Netflix and the showrunners realized they had something special on their hands.

Among Netflix’s enormous catalogue of original properties, Stranger Things is one of a select few that have already achieved cult classic status. Its popularity can be attributed to a number of creative home runs, including a gaggle of truly lovable three-dimensional characters, a tangible reverence for the unique atmosphere of 1980’s American popular culture, and a balanced comedic tone that elicits laughs without compromising the story’s dramatic elements. It is a series that, per the above overview by Common Sense Media, is not safe for all ages, but is nevertheless broadly enjoyable and just as likely to make most viewers laugh as it is to make them cry — often within the space of a single episode.

Since the beginning, however, Stranger Things has also stood apart for another reason: its uncompromising depiction of supernatural evil.

Season one features a fairly basic setup: a monster (dubbed the Demogorgon by the young lead characters in reference to their Dungeons & Dragons game) slips through a portal from another dimension to devour unassuming suburbanites. Aided by a powerful psychic girl named Eleven (Millie Bobbie Brown, a household name within mere weeks of the series’ release), the youngsters must work together with disgruntled police chief Jim Hopper (the scene-stealing David Harbour) to protect their friends and neighbors and unravel a government conspiracy. The predatory Demogorgon is simply that: a dangerous carnivore from another realm whose only motive is to prey upon those unfortunate enough to cross its path.

Season two ups the stakes by introducing a significantly more threatening antagonist in the non-corporeal, interdimensional phantom called the Mind Flayer (another Dungeons & Dragons reference), which has the ability to psychically possess a human host. Like the Demogorgon before it, the Mind Flayer is never shown to be anything short of pure evil, and its sheer intelligence and disembodied nature invites comparisons to spiritual warfare in a way that the xenomorph-like Demogorgon did not.

Season three adds another intriguing layer to the proceedings when the Mind Flayer returns to possess Billy Hargrove (Dacre Montgomery), a troubled young man who filled the second season’s “bad boy” slot. Not unlike Dracula’s Renfield, Billy falls under the shadowy creature’s direct control and thereafter spends the majority of his screen time committing all manner of ghastly crimes to provide his master with a steady supply of victims. To the horror of the main cast (especially his sister Maxine, played by Sadie Sink), Billy eventually seeks out Eleven, the only member of the group with sufficient power to foil the Mind Flayer’s plot. But just as Billy moves to deliver a killing blow, Eleven uses her psychic abilities to penetrate into the darkest recesses of Billy’s memories, where she discovers something unexpected: Billy’s dormant memories of his mother.

In one of the show’s most emotionally engaging sequences, Billy’s memories grant him just enough willpower to resist the Mind Flayer’s control, whereupon he defends his sister and her friends against the very horror he helped unleash — laying down his very life in the process.

Though Stranger Things is not known for its spiritual elements, it is of some comfort that the zeitgeist favors a series whose climax can help recall these words by Pope Francis: “Mothers are the strongest antidote to the spread of self-centered individualism.”

Purposefully or not, Stranger Things seems to suggest— and the saints, I’d wager, would agree — that motherhood provides an individual with a window to Truth, Goodness, and especially to Beauty. It is also interesting that Eleven — a character imbued with otherworldly powers, yet whose dominant character traits are benevolence and self-sacrifice — is the one who brings this repressed memory forward, thereby healing Billy’s damaged heart. Viewers with Biblical eyes will of course see the cultural roots of this imagery from a mile away: In our own dark moments, when we are most weighed down by our failures and sins, it is precisely this sort of received, unconditional love that allows us to step back into the light.

Furthermore, ought we not to consider the mysterious role that supernatural Grace has played in our own moments of peril? Watching the once-corrupted Billy turn and defy the demon he served, might we even glimpse something of the divine promise that if we only lay down our lives then we, too, shall be forgiven?

If this seems like a lot to read into a story that owes far more to Steven King and Steven Spielberg than the writers of the Gospels, well… it is. And, to be fair, there are also those who argue that the story does more harm than good (see Patrick Coffin’s review for more on that). But as it continues to be streamed by so many viewers in our Christ-haunted society, perhaps we may yet dare to hope that this small taste of Beauty — of authentic, heart-converting love — can serve to awaken the audience’s desire for Truth and Goodness in turn.

As Dostoevsky said (and many Christians have agreed):

“Beauty will save the world.”

Stranger Things is rated TV-14 and is currently available for streaming on Netflix.

Check out the Excelsior blog here: https://voyagecomics.com/2019/08/02/sin-and-salvation-in-netflixs-stranger-things/

‘Godzilla: King of the Monsters’ – Michael Dougherty’s love letter to the Kaiju genre

Even the most casual moviegoer can detect very early on in Michael Dougherty’s Godzilla: King of the Monsters that this is a very different beast from its grim predecessor, 2014’s Godzilla, directed by Gareth Edwards. Edwards famously — or infamously — favored a gritty, somber tone and sought to portray the titular king of the kaiju (Japanese for “monster” or “strange beast”) in as realistic a light as possible, teasing the audience by hiding Godzilla more often than not, which pleased some moviegoers and left others merely exasperated.

But if Edwards gave us a Godzilla film inspired by the slow burn of Jaws, Michael Dougherty has given us something rather like the giant monster equivalent of a WWE SmackDown event.

Picking up where the 2014 film left off, Godzilla: King of the Monsters finds us in a world still struggling to come to grips with the destruction of San Francisco and the earth-shaking consequences of the existence of Godzilla and his overgrown brethren. Referred to as “titans” this time around (“Massive Unidentified Terrestrial Organisms” was a mouthful, after all), these menacing colossi and their origins are the research focus for Monarch, a covert agency previously introduced in both Godzilla and Kong: Skull Island. Paleobiologist Dr. Emma Russell (Vera Farmiga) and her daughter Madison (Millie Bobby Brown) are living at a secret Monarch facility analyzing one such subject when a villainous group storms the facility and abducts them both, forcing the organization to turn to Emma’s estranged husband, Mark (Kyle Chandler), who is himself still grieving the loss of their son in a previous tragedy.

The kidnappers, as it turns out, need Emma in order to enact a nefarious plot involving an especially powerful kaiju code-named “Monster Zero” (if you’re a Godzilla fan, you’re already cheering). Buried deep beneath the Antarctic ice, this three-headed demon is also called by another name: Ghidorah. According to Monarch scientist Ishiro Serizawa (Ken Watanabe), this ancient serpent shares an “ancient and unique” rivalry with Godzilla himself — and Godzilla responds accordingly. Throw in a couple of guest stars like Rodan and Mothra — a giant pterodactyl and insect, respectively — and you have the makings of a world-shattering monster mash. (I’ll stop revealing plot points here to avoid spoilers, but if you don’t know where all this is going, you probably haven’t seen enough of these movies.)

Let’s start with what King of the Monsters gets unequivocally right: The monsters themselves. Every creature’s design — their roars and screeches, their thunderous movements, their distinct personalities and powers — represents a worthy addition to the franchise’s history. Any kaiju purists worried that CGI creations might lack the personality of the original “suitmation” style will be pleasantly surprised by the painstaking care given to the core group of star monsters. It’s abundantly clear that the filmmakers truly love these characters, and they’ve pulled out all the stops to bring them to life in a manner befitting their venerable origins.

Bear McCreary’s (The Walking Dead, Battlestar Galactica) soundtrack features plenty of drums and tribal chanting, the intended effect being that audiences see the monsters as much as ancient deities (or, in Ghidorah’s case, as the Devil himself) as animals. Apart from his original tracks, McCreary also pays tribute to the classic themes by original series composer Akira Ifukube. Ifukube’s Godzilla theme — sorely missed in the 2014 film — is updated perfectly, and in a moment that took far too long to be realized in this series, even a remix of Blue Oyster Cult’s Godzilla makes a showing.

The film’s overall plot and themes will be relatively familiar: ecological concerns of apocalyptic proportions are measured against the duty to protect humanity, and a fittingly Luciferian Ghidorah is pitted against the earth’s natural order and its chief guardian, Godzilla (Christian audiences will appreciate the symbolism, which I won’t discuss or spoil beyond what I’ve written here in the past). “Easter eggs” abound for the more committed franchise stalwarts, although I doubt the references will mean much to the majority of audience members. The monster-against-monster brawls are a joy to behold, and the human cast does everything they can with what they’ve been given.

…But here we reach a bit of a problem.

In short, the human characters do precious little besides spouting expository dialogue and pseudo-scientific babble. On top of that, the cast is huge, the consequence of this being that our supposed main protagonists get very little time to breathe amidst the parade of supporting cast members. They never really have the opportunity to grow into full-fledged characters, more or less remaining as cardboard cutouts that exist only to service the plot. Madison’s character, I think, suffers the most for this, especially given Millie Bobby Brown’s current popularity. In hindsight, she doesn’t have many lines in the film’s promotional material either, but audiences will naturally expect her to be given more to do.

Then there’s the problem of the humor, which repeatedly — and, apparently, intentionally — deflates dramatic tension at every turn, similar to the comedy of Kong: Skull Island. I enjoy these comedic actors in their roles, but how am I supposed to care about the fate of the world when characters are cracking off-brand MCU jokes the whole time? (I realized belatedly that one of these characters is actually meant to be a tribute to the character Rick Sanchez from the cult animated comedy series Rick and Morty, which at least explains some odd one-liners).

Really, it all just seems too much, too fast, especially for newcomers to the series. Anyone not already familiar with the basics of the Godzilla franchise may be left asking questions like “Mothra who? Rodan what?” This odd package of conflicting tones and half-baked subplots just doesn’t help the film measure up to the best examples the franchise has to offer. That King of the Monsters finally ends up being much closer in tone to the semi-comedic Kong: Skull Islandthan Gareth Edwards’ 2014 film is less than a pleasant surprise, and it leaves little doubt that Godzilla Vs Kong will follow suit when it hits theaters in 2020.

This wouldn’t be a problem, of course, if the marketing campaign hadn’t emphatically promised something much grander by comparison.

Still, the necessary elements are here to please diehard kaiju fans, and judging by the relatively high audience score (in comparison to the dismal critics score, anyway), it hasn’t been unsuccessful on this front. I could add in this film’s defense that there are plenty of movies in the franchise’s history that are fairly close in tone and style (see Destroy All Monsters or Godzilla: Final Wars for more on that).

Nevertheless, in a world where Gareth Edwards’ Godzilla and Hideaki Anno’s Shin Godzilla(2016) have shown that it’s possible to make a Godzilla film that is both entertaining and artistically respectable, there is no escaping the conclusion that Godzilla: King of the Monsters is a little bit of a letdown.

All this being said, I’ll add a final personal note: It occurred to me as I sat down to my screening in Prague — a complementary Czech-language Godzilla poster in hand — that, in a way, I’ve been waiting to see this movie since childhood.

Like Michael Dougherty, deep down I’m really just a kid from Ohio who loves monster movies. Seeing Mothra, Rodan, and King Ghidorah up on the big screen at last — characters who I spent my formative years drawing and coloring in notebook after notebook as I rewrote their classic storylines to include my own twists — was an experience that was something less like watching a movie for me and more like having an unexpected visit from a group of old friends.

Even as I ponder its flaws, there’s still an inner part of me that halts as I reflect onthe overall experience of King of the Monsters and what it meant to me as a fan. If I’m being honest, I’ll probably go out and see it again on the biggest screen possible, if only to revive my boyhood self one more time.

I’ll always love you, big guy. See you in 2020.

“Long live the king.”

Read it on Voyage Comics and Publishing’s Excelsior blog here: https://voyagecomics.com/2019/06/04/godzilla-king-of-the-monsters-michael-doughertys-love-letter-to-the-kaiju-genre/

Remembering Netflix’s very Catholic ‘Daredevil’: A man without fear, but not without faith

Let’s be honest for a second: For some of us who have kept up with the genre since Iron Man and The Dark Knight changed the game a decade ago, superhero movies sometimes feel like they’re getting a little old.

There are a variety of reasons for this encroaching fatigue (which, it must be noted, has yet to manifest itself in the form of lower box office revenues), but the ubiquitous Marvel Studios storytelling formula is a key suspect. To quote director James Cameron in his docuseries AMC Visionaries: James Cameron’s Story of Science Fiction:

“Not that I don’t love the movies. It’s just, come on, guys, there are other stories to tell besides hyper-gonadal males without families doing death-defying things for two hours and wrecking cities in the process.”

Of particular interest, perhaps, is Cameron’s observation that typical superheroes are men (or women) without families. (To be fair, Marvel seems to have noticed this gap and tried to fill it via a key subplot in recent Avengers films.)

To this complaint, one might add that the typical superhero lacks another deeply human characteristic: The struggle with God and faith, an identification of the divine reality as a point of reference for the standards of good and evil. Batman has his famous rule against murder in the service of justice, but Christopher Nolan’s strikingly un-Gothic portrayal of the Caped Crusader avoids overt spiritual references, opting instead for a political/philosophical lens. Turning again to Marvel, apart from one throwaway line by Captain America in Joss Whedon’s first Avengers film (“There’s only one God, ma’am, and I’m pretty sure He doesn’t dress like that.”), any mentions of God in the Biblical sense are few and far between in these blockbusters.

So, it was with some surprise in 2015 that Netflix subscribers discovered a comic-accurate superhero series featuring a protagonist whose defining characteristic — over and above his horned costume, martial arts, and superhuman hearing — was a deeply human struggle with his own faith.

That series, of course, was the much-acclaimed Daredevil, Marvel’s most popular project in partnership with the online streaming giant from 2015-2018.

The very first scene in the series finds the hero, Matt Murdock (Charlie Cox), in the confessional, and it’s clear from his exchange with his confessor that he’s a little out of practice:

Matt Murdock: I’m not asking for forgiveness for what I’ve done, Father. I’m asking for forgiveness for what I’m about to do.
Father Lantom: That’s not how this works.

Matt’s motives for protecting his home of Hell’s Kitchen, NYC are noble, but he isn’t what you’d call a Catholic role model. He keeps to his own Batman-like code of “no killing,” but he’s strongly tempted to cross this line throughout the series. “Big bads” like Wilson Fisk (Vincent Donofrio) and the terrorist/ninja cult known as The Hand hatch an endless stream of nefarious plots that Matt has little power to stop. Often enough, he’s reduced to looking on powerlessly as the forces of darkness snuff out one innocent life after another in pursuit of their own savage utopianism.

One of the series’ many strokes of genius is granting the main antagonist Wilson Fisk (or “the Kingpin”, as he is known in the comics) an arguably benevolent motive. Although money and power are useful tools of his trade, Fisk isn’t after material rewards. Every murder he commits is in service of his ultimate goal: remaking the city in his own image, which he views as the only path to lasting order. Blinded by the paradise he believes will result from his monstrous acts, Fisk sees everyone standing in his way as the true villains.

As CS Lewis reminds us, “those who torment us for our own good will torment us without end for they do so with the approval of their own conscience.”

Read it all here: https://voyagecomics.com/2019/06/01/remembering-netflixs-very-catholic-daredevil-a-man-without-fear-but-not-without-faith/

MY GRANDMA, THE HOBBIT

“If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.” — Thorin Oakenshield

Like many in my generation, I am frequently guilty of misusing the term “Hobbit” in connection with going on an adventure: launching out into the world on some exciting quest of discovery, engaging in some daring trip, or acting to expand my horizons in an otherwise impressive manner. Given Bilbo Baggins’ famous journey, this tendency is perhaps only natural. However, while I may not be so well versed in Tolkien lore as some of my peers, my (admittedly cursory) reading indicates that Bilbo and his nephew Frodo’s characteristic adventurousness is anomalous for their kind — at least where Shire Hobbits are concerned.

What, then, is an ordinary Hobbit like?

According to Tolkien Gateway, Hobbits are “of gentle disposition, neither cruel nor vindictive.” Especially in the Shire, they live “with a closed and comfort-loving lifestyle” and are fond of “socializing and talking about genealogies.” They are elsewhere described as enjoying food, parties, and the giving and receiving of presents. While friendly, they are somewhat suspicious of people from other places, and they value the peacefulness of a normal life above adventure and excitement.

These traits, which Tolkien observed in common English folk (including himself), are more than a little familiar to me despite my Americanism. For 29 years, I have had the privilege of knowing a typical Hobbit by each of these standards.

I am, in fact, a Hobbit’s grandson.

When I first shared my dream of living abroad with my grandmother Doreen (‘Grandma Mimi,’ as we affectionately called her after a cat she once owned), her response, as per her English upbringing and disposition, was politely dismissive:

“There’s no reason for you to move away when everything is perfectly good here at home!”

I found this reaction a little ironic, given that I was speaking to an Englishwoman who had married an American and consequently uprooted herself from her native London, thereafter making a home in the comparatively unexciting outpost of Ohio. Only when I assured her that I would be living in Europe, as opposed to East Asia, did she manage to calm herself, if only slightly.

Hailing from east London and descending on one side from the Scottish Clan Macpherson, my grandmother would have known an unremarkable youth, were it not for the fateful events of World War II. After spending a lifetime in America, her final home as a self-sufficient citizen was a small apartment in a quiet neighborhood close to the rest of the family (most being local), and it was a “Hobbit hole” in every sense of the phrase: cozy, warm, and usually — with the exception of those occasions on which her great-grandchildren ran rampant — reasonably clean and orderly. Pictures of the family were displayed proudly on every wall and countertop, each with its own elaborate story to tell (and tell them she did).

She was fond of baking — chocolate cake, white cake, cream puffs and brownies covered in powdered sugar, little yellow cupcakes with chocolate frosting topped with foil-wrapped chocolates specially prepared for Christmas gatherings. Most of all, she was a pro at making her specialty cheesebread, a culinary masterpiece so utterly delicious that it nearly brought her more rambunctious guests (my sisters and I, for instance) to blows over the last piece. In the event that she lacked the time or energy to do her own baking, she would alternatively provide a store-bought Marie Callender’s Chocolate Satin Pie. For as long as I knew her, she rarely failed to keep a box of Hostess Ho-Hos in the freezer.

Breakfast or brunch at her apartment typically included a large plate of lightly browned toast with generously applied butter, fried eggs (always a little crispy on the outer edges of the white), an enormous portion of crispy bacon, and, of course, mimosas. Afternoon visits included English black tea with milk (“or coffee and Half-and-Half, if you’d like”), and she was incurably anxious that her brew was too weak to be really enjoyable — an imagined shortcoming that she made up for by offering an assortment of cookies too numerous for her guests to handle. When her sister and fellow ex-Londoner Daphne visited from Tennessee, my grandma might occasionally have let herself go by indulging in too much Sherry.

She was a legendary hostess, and entertained many of my friends over the years. On one such occasion, one of her well-timed comedic observations caused one of them to collapse in a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

It wasn’t the first time, but it’s an image I’ll surely carry with me for the rest of my life.

On Mother’s Day, 2019, after several painful months, this delightful, irreplaceable woman passed peacefully from the earth. Our family shared many more happy memories with my grandma than can be mentioned in this space. It may be some time before we can truly make sense of our lives without her.

She may have possessed the lifestyle and temperament of one of Tolkien’s halflings, but to us she was nothing less than royalty.

My aforementioned adventures abroad will hopefully continue for some time yet, but I know that I’ll continue to feel the impact of this particular English Hobbit deep in my heart — in my memories of overnight visits complete with movies and oven-ready pizza, of the pampered comfort that only she could give, and of family, cheer and joyous holiday feasts.

Against these happy recollections, no dragon of chaos stands a chance — Smaug or otherwise.

Rest in peace, Grandma Mimi. I’m going to miss you.

“We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when,

But I know we’ll meet again, some sunny day.”

The real villain is the devil in ‘Godzilla: King of the Monsters’

Images from the most recent trailers for Godzilla: King of the Monsters seem to suggest that director Michael Dougherty has more on his mind than giant monsters.

A key image shows the film’s main antagonist, the three-headed King Ghidorah, perched upon a volcano, his enormous bat-like wings spread wide and the mountain beneath his colossal feet spewing magma and sulfur as lightning erupts ominously all around him. So far, this is par for the course in the Godzilla franchise, for which Ghidorah has long been a popular antagonist.

But it is the cross in the scene’s foreground — framing the creature in an apparently demonic light — that has garnered the most interest. While this isn’t the first time that the film’s marketing campaign has suggested a Biblical theme for Ghidorah’s villainy, it is certainly the most straightforward to date.

One of the first plot details released in Legendary Studio’s viral marketing campaign described a creature buried in the Antarctic ice, concluding with the cryptic message that “the Devil has three heads.” As many of our readers will recall, Dante’s Inferno depicts a tri-faced Lucifer frozen in ice at the lowest level of Hell, an imprisonment following his rebellious fall from Heaven. If the new version of Ghidorah is confirmed to be a space monster as most previous versions of the character have been, then the parallel will become even clearer.

Read the rest at Voyage Comics’ Excelsior blog: https://voyagecomics.com/2019/05/01/the-real-villain-is-the-devil-in-godzilla-king-of-the-monsters/

‘Hellboy’ will spend some time in Purgatory after mediocre reboot

Dripping with unnecessary gore and bereft of cigars and Catholic themes, Neil Marshall’s Hellboy is unlikely to hit home either with Chestertonians or devotees of the original franchise. But while it may be a demonic disappointment, some fans will be happy to know that guilty pleasures such as this can still be made in the “Age of Marvel.”

Back in 2015, when actor Ron Perlman — aka the original Hellboy — was still actively campaigning to attract studio money to finish Guillermo Del Toro’s much-loved Hellboy trilogy, he offered a simple explanation as to why the third film had yet to receive the green light in an interview with Digital Spy:

“I think one of the things that’s holding it back is that we didn’t have enough fan support for the first two. If you look at the numbers we did, we’re not a blockbuster – we’re not Iron Man, we’re not the Marvel movies, we’re not one of these movies that made half a billion dollars worldwide. That’s a mandate. We don’t have a mandate to do Hellboy 3. All we have is a modest amount of enthusiasm and that’s just not enough in today’s marketplace.”

True, Perlman and Del Toro managed to attract a significant cult following with Hellboy and Hellboy II: The Golden Army, but as Perlman’s quote implies, the big-budget superhero movie market was already locked down by Marvel in 2015 (with its closest competitor, DC, taking up most of what remained of that market). In the years since, the studio’s dominance only grew, and ultimately Del Toro’s Hellboy III was deemed too risky to produce. While this broke the heart of many a Hellboy fan (myself included), a sliver of hope remained that the reboot would at least provide an interesting alternate view of our beloved Brother Red.

Alas, it was not meant to be.

Read the rest at Voyage Comics and Publishing: https://voyagecomics.com/2019/04/12/hellboy-will-spend-some-time-in-purgatory-after-mediocre-reboot/

Hellboy, true manhood and the power of the Rosary

*Author’s Note: This is a retrospective post on Guillermo Del Toro’s Hellboy (2004). It is not to be confused with Neil Marshall’s upcoming reboot of the same name.

About a year ago, I attended a talk in Cleveland by the famous Canadian clinical psychologist Dr. Jordan B. Peterson, who was there to speak about his bestselling book 12 Rules for Life: An Antidote to Chaos. His lengthy, engaging lectures about religion, hierarchy, and the western Judeo-Christian patrimony are so popular that he has even merited the attention of Bishop Robert Barron in some of the bishop’s video commentaries on YouTube.

Peterson’s lectures span a wide spectrum of topics, but a central theme that he repeatedly returns to is one that has earned him the attention of the largest segment of his audience: the question of manhood — that, and the apparent inability of secular “moderns” to define the term.

“What makes a man a man?”

It’s a distressingly common question to hear in our embattled twenty-first century landscape, and modern philosophers, commentators, and religious thinkers have all rushed to offer up their answers. Meanwhile, others insist that the question itself is pointless, a contrivance of antiquated traditionalism whose usefulness is long past its expiration date. Yet modern men — young men especially, perhaps — often feel adrift, aimless, and they flock to figures who seem capable of articulating meaning and structure for their lives. In their anxiety over their ultimate purpose, they are searching not only for an identity as men, but for a mission.

So, what does any of this have to do with Guillermo Del Toro’s endlessly charming superhero movie, Hellboy?

In a word: everything.

The film opens on a stormy night in WWII Scotland, with a group of Allied soldiers accompanying a young British professor of the paranormal, Trevor Broom, on a mission to stop a Nazi battalion and their leader — the mad monk Rasputin (Karel Roden) — from opening a portal to the realm of the Ogdru Jahad, the seven “gods of chaos.” The Allies engage the Nazis and, after a battle replete with gunfire and swordplay, the portal is closed — but not before a small, horned creature manages to slip through the opening. Before his comrades open fire, Professor Broom swaddles the imp-like critter in a blanket and announces with relief, “It’s a boy!”

Decades pass, and we find ourselves in the modern era with junior FBI agent John Myers (Rupert Evans), reporting for duty at a mysterious facility in New Jersey. Agent Myers is introduced to Hellboy (Ron Perlman) — now a dumbbell-lifting, cigar-chomping adult in the service of the secretive Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense (BPRD). The BPRD is headed by the now-elderly Professor Broom (John Hurt), who in the years since the war has become Hellboy’s adoptive father. Professor Broom also introduces agent Myers to Abe Sapien (Doug Jones), an aquatic human with psychic abilities and the personality of a less-anxious C3PO. Informed that he will henceforth be serving as Hellboy’s liaison, Agent Myers accompanies the team on one of their missions, the guiding purpose of which is summed up by the professor:

“In the absence of light, darkness prevails. There are things that go bump in the night, Agent Myers. Make no mistake about that. And we are the ones who bump back.”

Read the rest at Voyage Comics and Publishing:

https://voyagecomics.com/2019/04/01/hellboy-true-manhood-and-the-power-of-the-rosary/

Interview: Michael Walsh on “The Fiery Angel” and the link between cultural and political crisis in the West

Michael Saltis with the Catholic Business Journal, caught up with author Michael Walsh by phone regarding Walsh’s compelling book, The Fiery Angel: Art, Culture, Sex, Politics and the Struggle for the Soul of the West.

As a journalist, author and screenwriter whose works include six novels, seven works of nonfiction, and the hit Disney movie “Cadet Kelly,” Mr. Walsh delivered an exceptional interview.

Not surprising.

Walsh is also the former classical music critic for Time Magazine, and he regularly contributes to PJ Media, National Review and the New York Post. Michael Walsh’s awards include the ASCAP-Deems Taylor Award for Distinguished Music Criticism (1979) and the American Books Awards prize for fiction for his gangster novel, And All the Saints (2004).

Following Walsh’s previous hit, The Devil’s Pleasure Palace: The Cult of Critical Theory and the Subversion of the West (2015), his newer book release, The Fiery Angel, is aimed squarely at the connection between the twin crises of the Western world’s artistic and political spheres. The book’s official description sets the tone, as follows:

In Western Civilization, the arts embody the eternal battle between good and evil, and through understanding the arts, we can address the political issues that plague us. Far from being museum pieces, simple recreation, or tales and artifacts from the past, the arts should be seen at the wellspring of our politics, and in particular in public policy debates. They are actually the reason we have public and foreign policy in the first place. In an age that prizes specialization, it’s a mistake to think of public/foreign policy as a discipline onto itself. The Fiery Angel is an historical survey showing significant ways the arts both reflect and affect the course of history, and outlines the way forward, arguing for the restoration of the Heroic Narrative which forms the basis of all Western cultural and religious traditions.

Fyodor Dostoyevsky, in Demons, notes that, ”Man can live without science, he can live without bread, but without beauty, he could no longer live, because there would no longer be anything to do to the world. The whole secret is here, the whole of history is here.” The quote captures something of the essence of Walsh’s book.

Read the rest at the Catholic Business Journal:

https://www.catholicbusinessjournal.com/news/faith-at-work/books-and-book-reviews/non-fiction/catholic-business-profile-michael-walsh-on-his-book-the-fiery-angel/