The Ten Greatest Comedies of All Time: A Groggy Dundee Special

I am not amused.

Well, it's the end of November and I'm back at Pitt for the last leg of what's been a long and agonizing semester. So before we plunge headlong into our sanity-destroying finals, you, the faithful reader, might as well receive a special treat. And here we deal with that one genre that, our tastes and favorites aside, we all love in some way, shape or form: the comedy genre!

Now, what kind of comedy do I like? This is a question that every cinemagoer or human being has to ask themselves, and I'm afraid I don't have a definite answer. My taste in humor is fairly fluid; I like tart wit and arch wordplay from a Howard Hawks or Aaron Sorkin, but an excess of it, or poorly written excuses for such, tends to grate my nerves (The Lion in Winter and Juno spring instantly to mind). I like bodily function jokes, sex jokes and profanity in certain contexts, but not non-stop parades of shit and semen like American Pie and Harold and Kumar Steal The Public's Money. I like slapstick in the hands of someone like The Three Stooges or John Candy, but I may find the work of Chris Farley and even Charles Laughton annoying as hell. It's all about timing, about context, about presentation, about talent. There's really no way to define comedy, least of all my own taste in it. I laugh at Woody Paige on Around the Horn as readily as I laugh at His Girl Friday, which might implies I'll laugh at anything if done well.

So, what do I find funny? Whatever makes me laugh.

This is restricted to film comedies, as if I were to include TV shows this list would have to be expanded to 500 or so. And although it might make the list under different circumstances, I'm excluding How to Steal a Million because I wrote a full-length review of it not long ago (and Peter O'Toole is already over-represented on this list as it is). So, without further adieu, and add the Silent Night Deadly Night 2's Theatre Douchebag's fanfare for your soundtrack...

Groggy Dundee's Top 10 Comedies of All Time!

Honorable Mentions: The Horse's Mouth, Harvey, And Now For Something Completely Different, Arsenic and Old Lace, Sabrina, The Ladykillers (1955), Blithe Spirit, Meet the Parents (2000), Roman Holiday, The Captain's Paradise, How to Steal a Million

10. Doctor Strangelove, Or: How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Bomb (1964, Stanley Kubrick)

Stanley Kubrick's Doctor Strangelove is one of the best and most timeless satires ever made. It's warnings about nuclear war and the ridiculousness of man's desire for war and one-upsman-ship are as timely as ever, even if our threat is from stateless terrorists rather than a monstrous superpower. Kubrick's bleak, cynical view of humanity serves the material very well; when a discussion of nuclear survival scenario turns into a question of conflict with the other guy, you don't know whether to laugh or wince at the horrific absurdity before you. The quite obvious and pervasive sexual metaphors provide a Freudian subtext (or supertext) to the film, but their primary focus is to highlight the absurdity of what's going on rather than to provide any sort of psychological depth or examination. Kubrick doesn't explain, he merely shows us what is. Given the state of the world - where dirty bombs and suicide bombers have replaced ICBM's and H-Bombs as the terror du jour - and the historical propensity of Mankind to advance for the sake of self-destruction, one can see Kubrick's point.

Peter Sellers' triple performance is oft-praised, and rightfully so as an achievement of acting. RAF officer Mandrake (a parody of Alec Guinness in Bridge on the River Kwai) and the mad title character with the alien hand and absent Nazi mind ("Mein Fuhrer, I can walk!") are entertaining, but Sellers really does a great job in his more understated role as the Adlai Stevenson-esque President Muffley (his phone conversation with the Russianis the definite high point of the film). However blasphemous it may seem, it's fair to say that Sellers is not the greatest performance in the film. That would be George C. Scott, who as Buck Turgidson embodies all of his gung-ho, self-parodying he-man masculinity into a character who would be terrifying if he were not so funny. Scott would only ever approach this performance with his garlanded Patton, where he played a more or less identical character (caricature?). His dark analogue, General Ripper (Sterling Hayden in perhaps his best performance), is simply an extension of his character. Slim Pickens provides a fun role as the gung-ho squadron leader, Keenan Wynn has an amusing cameo as the "prevert"-hating Bat Guano, and James Earl Jones can be briefly spotted as one of Pickens' crewmates.

9. Mystery Science Theater 3000: The Movie (1996, Jim Mallon)

How could I make a list of things that are funny without including the film adaptation of the greatest television achievement in the history of man? MST3K is a show that you either love or don't get (don't know about hate) - it's an acquired taste, but a taste worth acquiring. Although not all fans are satisfied with the movie (for one thing, it's twenty minutes shorter than an episode of the TV show - God knows why), it's a solid enough entry in the series, and a good introductory primer to those not already familiar with the show. Watching the film is enough of a litmus test on whether or not the show is for you.

For those of us who consider ourselves MSTies, there is nothing funnier than Mike Nelson, Crow T. Robot (Trace Beaulieu) and Tom Servo (Kevin Murphy) sitting back and teeing off with reckless, mean-spirited abandon at a steaming pile of cinematic excrement. A lot of people get enjoyment out of the interstitial material involving the mad Dr. Clayton Forrester (Beaulieu), and his strangely-absent sidekick TV's Frank (Frank Coniff), but for me, the purity of the film mockery has always taken precedence over the sporadically amusing "host segments".

The movie - the not-too-bad Universal sci-fi flick This Island Earth, which features impressive-for-it's-time special effects and a wonderfully hammy Jeff Morrow performance - provides fertile ground for riffing. As often as the film is criticized for "dumbing down" the riffs for a mass audience, one has to wonder: Who gives a fuck if there isn't an extra reference to Bootsy Collins or Sophocles? The stuff onhand is funny enough that anyone, be they a die-hard MSTie or an unlearned groundling, could theoretically find funny. Highlights include the "Science, Industry and Technology!" exchange, and of course the Normal View song. Perhaps the best part is when Mike and the Bots riff over their own credits - "Eastman! He came from the East to do battle with the Amazing Rando!" If you like this kind of thing, you'll have a blast and be quoting it for the rest of your life, whenever you're not actually watching it of course. If not, well, move on.

8. Planes, Trains and Automobiles (1987, John Hughes)

This film is a masterful little gem from John Hughes, who found his niche directing such well-regarded teen angst classics as The Breakfast Club and Pretty in Pink. It takes the usual sitcom approach of taking something from everyday life and exaggerating it out of proportion. Who among us HASN'T experienced a horrendous series of inconveniences? Well, Neal Page (Steve Martin) experiences them all, within one twenty-four hour period. I know this film (along with a certain episode of SpongeBob SquarePants) flashes through my mind everytime I get stranded in Homestead or Squirrel Hill waiting for a bus at midnight that's likely to never come while being harrassed by hoboes and vagrants. It's a feature-length bit of observational humor, and great writing and acting manages to give the one-joke premise far more mileage than it has any right to.

What makes the film work more than anything else are its two leads. Steve Martin plays his usual character - the uptight, snappy, sarcastic and mean guy. He's not really likeable, but in this film his exasperated anger is quite understandable - who wouldn't be a jerk in such a situation? The late John Candy is even better, doing a fabulous job at making a potentially silly role - the obnoxious "talker" and goofy comic relief buddy - memorable, fun and sympathetic. The two leads have fantastic chemistry, making what could have been a run of the mill comedy film something special. Even the bit of mawkish sentimentality at the end is done reasonably well, seeming to come from the characters rather than the contrivance of a Hollywood screenwriter.

The film has a number of classic scenes, including Neal and Dell's eventful night in bed together, Neal's race to get a taxi (with an uncredited Kevin Bacon), Dell's efforts to raise money through selling his shower cap rings, an exasperated Neal's excellent, mean-spirited rant to his unwitting colleague ("The next time you tell one of those stories... Have a point!") and Dell's heartfelt rebuttal. It also contains perhaps the funniest exchange in movie history: after Neal's rental car is stolen, he confronts the overly cheery secretary (Edie McClurg) with a vicious, profanity-laced rant, only to be perfectly shut down by the secretary: "You're FUCKED!"

7. My Favorite Year (1982, Richard Benjamin)

In case you haven't guessed by now, I think Peter O'Toole is an amazing actor, perhaps even the best ever. In My Favorite Year, he gives one of his lightest yet best performances as Alan Swann, the washed up matinee idol who is signed for a fifties' variety show, only for him to be discovered to be a drunken wastrel. O'Toole has fun with the role, playing off his own persona to make the necessary drunken shenanigan scenes work wonderfully. And yet, there's a poignancy and intelligence to his performance that is beyond most films of this type. His relationship with Benjy Stone (Mark Linn-Baker), the struggling young writer who recommended and idolizes him, is the backbone of the film, forcing to Swann to own up to who he is and the distance between his onscreen persona and his real-life personality. This is yet another example of why the Academy needs to get fucked; O'Toole's eight nominations without a win are a crime, and his layered performance is certainly among his best achievements. Still, it's perhaps understandable why he lost to Ben Kingsley's turn in Gandhi...

Many comedy films have a big chaotic set-piece that serves as the pay-off for the build-up, and this film is no exception. The wonderfully chaotic final duel between the TV crew, the cast and a group of gangsters allows Swann to at last live up to his heroic reputation. The script sparkles with wit and originality, the characters are mostly likeable, and there are fun supporting turns, particularly Joseph Bologna as the obnoxious Sid Caesar-esque TV host, and Suspiria star Jessica Harper as the lovely assistant/love interest. It's a lovely bit of filmmaking all around, and comes highly recommended. O'Toole is the centerpiece, but the whole film is worthwhile.

6. Groundhog Day (1993, Harold Ramis)

Whenever the topic of "film everyone loves/nobody hates" comes up on IMDB or elsewhere, this charming little film is almost always near the top of the list. At my house, it has been a staple seasonal viewing for years, and it's one of those movies that never gets old no matter how many times you see it.

The film's plot is pretty straightforward: grumpy TV weatherman Phil Connors (Bill Murray) arrives in Punxsutawney, PA to cover the annual Groundhog Day ceremonies, only to find himself trapped living the same day over and over again. Phil is predictably flummoxed by his predicament, trying to use it to his advantage, then trying to escape from the nightmare through suicide and other means, but ultimately he learns what's truly important in life, and becomes a better person through his experiences.

There isn't much I could say about this film that hasn't already been said. The film is an incredibly charming and witty movie, making the repetitive, mind-numbing horror show of being a societal cog a literal event, and having a great amount of hay off of it. Murray has never been better, utilizing his charming yet cynical persona to the fullest, Andie McDowell is sweet and charming as his producer/love interest, and the talented supporting cast (Chris Elliot, Brian Doyle-Murray, Stephen Toblowsky) contributes fine work on the edges. The ending is sweet, charming and perfect, showing a man who genuinely grows and changes from his experiences. Sometimes a happy, even sappy ending works, and this is one of those times. Plus, you won't be able to get a certain Sonny and Cher tune out of your head for the rest of your life...

5. The Lavender Hill Mob (1950, Charles Crichton)

It would not be a Groggy Dundee list if I didn't have an Ealing Comedy/Alec Guinness film on here somewhere, now would it? The Cinematic Master of Disguise gives one of his best performances in this film, about Henry Holland, a meek London banker who decides to rob a shipment of gold bullion in order to escape the dreariness of office life. The movie embraces the best of the Ealing Studios' attributes: a depiction of a charming fantasy England, a wonderfully eccentric sense of humor (or humour I suppose), and a whimiscally anarchistic nature. The scene where Holland and his cohort (Stanley Holloway) run up the Eiffel Tower at full, dizzying speed is a cheerfully absurd bit of madness rarely surpassed elsewhere. The film lacks the dark nastiness and social satire of such other Ealing offerings as Kind Hearts and Coronets, The Man in the White Suit and The Ladykillers, but in this instance, it's not necessarily a bad thing; sometimes entertainment is preferable to depth, and such a case is this.

Aside from Guinness, Stanley Holloway does a great job in one of the few films that I don't find him aggravating and punch-worthy in. Sid James and Alfie Bass also turn up in small roles as fellow crooks. Cinephiles may have fun spotting a young Audrey Hepburn and Robert Shaw in small roles; Hepburn's brief pre-stardom bit part is to die for.

4. The American President (1995, Rob Reiner)

This film is the second teaming of Rob Reiner and that masterful screenwriting God Aaron Sorkin. After the dynamite courtroom drama A Few Good Men, they instead turn to a much lighter film, with a movie that, though occasionally treacly, mawkish and predictable, hits on all cylinders. A film need not be cynical to be witty, and mean to be insightful or interesting. Early on the term Capra-esque is used in a conversation, and that definitely applies here.

The movie is a sweet romantic comedy dressed up with a smidgen of political intrigue and depth. Handsome, charming and intelligent liberal President Michael Douglas struggles to balance a Presidential re-election campaign, various world crises and a budding romance with environmental activist Annette Benning. Douglas and Benning are a charming couple, and the supporting cast contains fine performances by Martin Sheen, Michael J. Fox and Richard Dreyfuss. But really, as in most of Sorkin's work, it's the witty, rapid-fire script that does the walking (and talking). Although the political issues aren't covered in any real depth, with Sorkin promoting his views as the only answer and Republicans as hideous demonic Gorgons, the average viewer probably won't give a damn considering the whole. In essence, it's a feature-length pilot for Sorkin's later TV series The West Wing - but in my eyes, there isn't a damned thing wrong with that.

3. Young Frankenstein (1973, Mel Brooks)

Movie spoofs have fallen a long, long way from the likes of Airplane and the best of Mel Brooks. Nowadays, when shit like Scary Movie and its innumerable illegitimate satanic seed pose as "parody" films, it's reasonable to conclude that satire is all but dead.

Mel Brooks' Young Frankenstein is perhaps the high-point of the spoof genre, and of Brooks' career. Brooks had a hit-and-miss career, with great works like The Producers and this film, and drek like History of the World Part 1 and Dracula: Dead and Loving It, struggling to mix zaniness with observational wit and failing as often as he succeeds. Fortunately, in this particular film he succeeds one hundred percent, creating a perfectly crafted, atmospheric and hysterical piece of work.

Brooks takes on a formidable target - the Universal horror pictures of the 1930's, including King Kong, Dracula, The Wolf Man, and particularly (of course) the Frankenstein movies. He does so by replicating the source material, filming on the same sets and utilizing striking, expressive black-and-white photography that rivals even that of their inspirations. The movie stays remarkably close to the plot of these films, particularly Bride of Frankenstein; the Monster (Peter Boyle) escapes, encounters a cute little girl, is fed by a blind (and in this case clumsy) hermit (Gene Hackman), is imprisoned and chased by a mob. This method of spoofery would be aped time and again by its innumerable illegitimate cousins and offsprings, but never as well; they (and "they" know who they are) don't understand that the point is to put a fun twist on a film, not to merely replay it for the sake of recognition.

Gene Wilder gives a marvellously over-the-top performance as Dr. Frahn-ken-steen, who slowly goes mad and reverts to his grandfather's old tradition of digging up corpses. Peter Boyle is equally funny as the Monster, playing the right notes of childlike innocence and naughty silliness. Perhaps the best performance, however, is Marty Feldman as Igor, the impatient and occasionally mean-spirited helper to Frankenstein who is anything but the subservient imbecile he's usually made out to be ("What hump?"). The movie contains a plethora of fun performances: Madeline Kahn as Wilder's impatient wife, Cloris Leachman as the ominous Frau Blucher (Whiney!), Teri Garr as the ditzy assistant Inga, and Kenneth Marrs' posable police inspector (who owes a great deal to Dr. Strangelove). It's truly a treat, and with set-pieces like Frankenstein's opening lecture, the search for the correct brain ("Abby Normal"), and of course the centerpiece "Putting on the Ritz" routine, it's hard to say how you could go wrong.

2. His Girl Friday (1940, Howard Hawks)

This film is one of the indisputable greats of its genre, and I might argue of film period. It epitomizes the screwball comedy, the rapid with ridiculous situations and much-too-hip and verbose (yet extremely cool) protagonists. Pretty much TV sitcom finds their origin in these films, with snappy dialogue and a crazy situation building beyond control to a climax. Few if any subsequent films or TV shows, however much they copy the formula, have been able to replicate its success.

The movie has a wonderfully zany and convoluted plot, as smooth-talking editor Walter Burns (Cary Grant) tries to convince his reporter/ex-wife Hildy Johnson (Rosalind Russell) to not retire and settle down with nice but dull Bruce (Ralph Bellamy), while a criminal (John Qualen) escapes from jail on the eve of an election. The film takes shots at all sorts of targets throughout, leaving no one immune from the zingers and barbs of Charles Lederer's acid screenplay. Really, no one in the film comes across as overly sympathetic (except, strangely, killer John Qualen and Helen Mack as his "girlfriend" - with poor Ralph Bellamy as the fall guy); the journalists are conniving sharks, the police inept, the politicians greedy and selfish. In such a situation, where everyone is corrupt, mean-spirited, or spineless and emasculated, the only solution is to side with the cool guys.

Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell are a wonderful couple, with an amazing degree of sexual and onscreen chemistry. Grant, an old hand at this genre (Bringing Up Baby, Arsenic and Old Lace) plays his usual character type - the sly, smooth, deceitful charmer - to the hilt, while Russell is an immensely sexy and tough real woman who struggles to keep up with Grant's endless scheming. The entire supporting cast clicks to a fault, and Hawks' direction keeps things moving at an impossibly brisk pace. It's endless fun to see these characters stabbing each other and spouting out rapid-fire dialogue with reckless abandon, and the deliciously ridiculous denouement is all part of the fun.

1. The Ruling Class (1972, Peter Medak)

Finally, after a list made up largely of "safe", "mainstream", "conventional" choices (some of which are no doubt baffling), I pick a film that embodies anarchism and hateful, mean-spirited disdain for politeness and civility. The Ruling Class is a movie that gives a big fat middle finger to pretty much everything in society, from religion to politics to class structure and socialism. It's so crass, mean, over-the-top and unsubtle, that it makes Monty Python's Flying Circus look like a Noel Coward drawing-room comedy. And yet, it's a masterpiece throughout - one of the few films that is able to go the completely nasty route and get away with it, because it's done with such style and skill that one excuses the meanness of the whole enterprise.

The movie is the broadest satire of possible, chronicling the assumption of the schizophrenic Jack Gurney (Peter O'Toole) to an English peerage, and his "treatment" from belief that he is Christ to belief that he's Jack the Ripper. The movie takes a shot at everything imaginable; not one target emerges unscathed. The humor is not subtle; it is painted in the broadest possible strokes, its targets of politics, class and religion not only poked fun at, but demolished. The movie moves from one gag to the next, never stopping for breath. And not only does it move from gag to gag, but also from genre to genre; the satire evolves at times into a musical, a horror film, a swashbuckler and psychological thriller/film noir. Strangely, however, the movie manages to remain the sum of its parts; its rapid changes in tone create a wonderfully delirious atmosphere.

The movie features a plethora of brilliant performances. Peter O'Toole gives an astonishing turn as Jack, encapsulating both of his disparate personalities - in effect, giving two performances for the price of one - and mixing humor and deadpan seriousness whenever the occasion calls for it. Only his performance in Lawrence of Arabia betters his work here, and even then we're talking neck and neck here; and believe me, prior to this film, I would have thought that nigh-impossible. The supporting cast is a corncuopia of great British actors, from Alastair Sim as the befuddled Bishop, to Arthur Lowe's amusing scene-stealing as a Bolshevik Butler, Kay Walsh and Patsy Byrne's hysterical pair of fuddy-duddy ladies, Michael Bryant's sadistic psychiatrist, and Nigel Greene's indescribable cameo as the Electric Christ.

Concededly, The Ruling Class will offend or not interest many of my readers, as many of the other films on the list will. The rest of us can enjoy the wonderfully over-the-top and head-scratching scenes like Jack and Grace (Carolyn Seymour)'s wedding, the confrontation with the Electric Christ (Nigel Greene), the random insertion of musical numbers into the story, and the alternately chilling and hysterical ending phantasmagoria - revealing the House of Lords to be the rotting ghosts that they are.

We have a Gig at the Albert, Tuesday

Good Evening Brighton, we are The Astonishing and we are going to rock your World, gently and with a deep sense of melancholy. To listen to our unholy dirge, click here.



Mark Glasby, Keyboardist.



Lawrence Elwick, harmonica, looking genuinely astonished.



Ali Tupman, Drums



Me, Laurence England, in my longer haired days, guitar and vocals, propagating something other than the Catholic Faith, another good reason why being in a band is irreligious.

Fishsticks

Just gimme fishsticks!
Just feed me fishsticks!
I’m a fishy misfit!
Gimme gimme fishsticks!

Well I don’t mind if
They fail EU Directives!
Mother flippin’ fishsticks
I need my daily fishstick!

Walk into the kitchen
When noone is in
Grab a pack of fishsticks
They’re gone in two short minutes!

I want my fishsticks!
I need my fishsticks!
I don’t care
I don’t care if they’ve been scraped off the factory floor!
I don’t care
I don’t care if they’ve been scraped off the factory floor!

Someone call the sherrif
Put me on the fish list
Someone should arrrest this
Funky frickin' fishstick terrorist

Top of my Christmas wish list
A delivery of sticks o' fish
But its a risky business
Are these really fresh fish?

I need my fish fix!
This could become an illness
People doubt their freshness
I’ll get fishstick sickness!

I want my fishsticks!
I need my fishsticks!
See I don’t care
I don’t care if they’ve been scraped off the factory floor!
Oh I don’t care
I don’t care if they’ve been scraped off the factory floor!

(Middle Eight, Guitar Solo)

Some people like digestives
The fishstick is detested
A fistful of red fish sticks
Makes them see a red mist!

This fishstick sin is
Spoiling all my dinners!
Ruining my fitness!
I snack on fishstick biscuits!

Lord save me from the fish stick!
The wicked wicked fishstick!
I don’t wanna impale this
Soul upon a fish stick!

Heal my fishstick sickness!
Save me from the fish stick!
Lest I dwell in fishstick hell for forever oh for evermore!
Lest I dwell in fishstick hell for forever oh for evermore!
Lest I dwell in fishstick hell for forever oh for evermore!

(Repeat in outro to fade)

'Fame! I Wanna Live Forever! I Wanna Learn How to Serve! Fame!'

I'm the tall, thin, brown haired man at the back of the row with three servers in it. This is one in a selection of pictures taken by a parishioner called Mele at Mass which are available on Fr Ray Blake's blog. Don't worry I won't let fame go to my head, Father.

All I have to say about Bolt

Well, I had a decent turkey day with my family (watching "Planes, Trains and Automobiles", a film I MAY want to blog about when I get back to Pitt), just about suffered a heart attack when Pitt narrowly beat West Virginia yesterday, and was dragged by my family to see Bolt. I'd like to write an in-depth review of the movie, but my God! I already did a rant about the genericness of modern (American) animation, I don't feel up to it right this moment.

Here are my brief comments. If you, like me, are a dog person and are susceptible to the charms of a puppy face and doggy eccentricities (even an animated one voice by John Travolta), you will probably enjoy Bolt on some level. Susie Essman's wonderfully mean and sarcastic cat Mittens is also loads of fun (although Mark Walton's loud-mouthed hamster is rather annoying). The requisite sentimentality is done reasonably well.

And... that's about it.

I'm getting a lot of great feedback on my Australia review over on IMDB (except by the usual trolls and troglodytes), which I really appreciate. If only those people could become regular readers, that would be great. Try as I may to act humble, I'm an egotist at heart, and I appreciate any and all praise that comes my way. Thanks to any of you who may be reading this.

Speaking of Australia: Here's an excellent article where Baz Luhrmann talks about his influences for the film. You should be able to guess most of them, but an interesting read nonetheless.

Top Ten Lies of the Secular World

At 10, a new release, our Blessed Lord had an affair with the penitent St Mary Magdalen and gave her a child the bloodline of whom exists to this day. The whole point of the sinless Lamb of God is not that He had no sexuality, but that he did not act upon it and took upon Himself, in His Blessed Body, all of our sins, our concupiscience and faults when He died on the Cross.

At 9, another new entry, Judas was doing our Blessed Lord a favour and acting in accordance with His Divine Will in betraying our Lord into the hands of His enemies for 30 pieces of silver and our Blessed Lord thanked him for it. The Mystery of Evil is as mysterious as the Mystery of Faith, however, although our Lord we are told, knew all that was to take place, He was not happy with being betrayed by someone He counted as a friend.

At 8, a stalwart contender which seems to hang about secular society eternally, our Lord Jesus Christ was a 'good teacher' but not the Son of God. As far as I am aware, not only did our Lord not do a PGCE course in education, but only the Son of God could rightfully claim to teach us the truth about God and man, suffer and die for mankind's sins and rise again to ascend to the Heavenly Father having established His Holy Church on Earth. A 'good teacher' might say, "Love one another", but only the Son of God could say, "I am the Resurrection and the Life, anybody who believes in Me shall not die, but will have eternal life".

Rolling in at 7, masturbation is not a sin, but is perfectly natural and healthy. Not to do it makes us go insane. Chastity is difficult, and I am guilty. Chastity is more difficult for some than others, but to say masturbation is natural and healthy is a secular lie. Not only is masturbation based on fantasy, given that nobody else is there, but it objectifies the human being and the individual loses sight of the real value of the human person and distorts the notion of love. It isn't natural because in order to make a baby there needs to be one other person present...at least. Similarly, two men have never made a baby, nor two women, nor a heterosexual couple using contraception. Not to give in to these temptations may be terribly annoying for those of us who are sex addicts, but no-one ever got locked up in an asylum for practicing chastity. Some Holy Martyrs were killed for it though...

At 6, a climber, the Crusades were a terrible thing and weren't the Church horrid to those lovely Muslim hoards who were just innocently smoking hookas and playing chess with their mates, when suddenly a bunch of Crusader Knights came along and killed them, their wives and children? The Crusades were launched in response to Islamic aggression and to protect the pilgrims under attack in the Holy Land. If a defence of the Christian realm had not been launched, this country, all of Europe and the West would have been under Sharia Law long ago.

At 5, we shouldn't give money to beggars because they'll only spend it on hard drugs and booze. Helping them is something the council, society or the Government should do. I can't remember the last time someone gave me money when I didn't spend it on fags, alcohol and feeding my inexplicable and unhealthy addiction to fishsticks. Too often this secular lie leads us to do nothing for Christ in the Poor, not even giving our time, energy, love, money, food, possessions and mercy. The poor will indeed be with us always, and to love them, feed them and clothe them and yes, give money to them is to serve Christ and learn that it is in giving that we truly receive.

At 4, when we die there is nothing and nothing happens. Not only is this secular lie depressing but it is terribly damaging to all of us. Life, then becomes a wholly fruitless endeavour of no eternal importance and of no real significance at all. It is also a very convenient way of escaping the simple but profound truth that when we die we will have to answer to someone else other than ourselves, namely, our Maker and Redeemer.

Straight in at number 3, the Church is horrid because it is against contraception and this is the main cause of the spread of AIDS and HIV in the developing world. The main cause of the spread of AIDS, HIV and all sexually transmitted diseases is that people are shagging around without thinking of the consequences. If the Church were to change the Doctrine against contraception, She would be telling big porky pies to all of society, leading us into error and acquiescing with the disturbing, vacuous and meaningless sex that we may enjoy if we do it, but is in no way an objective expression of human love. There is only one sure fire way not to get AIDS. Keep your todger in your trousers until you meet someone you can truly cherish, love and protect in the Sacrament of Marriage, which is eternal and reflective of the beauty of God's Love.

A high climber at 2. Abortion is a 'right' because its 'my body'. Nobody has the right to kill, that is something enshrined in all human hearts and in the rule of law of every country on Earth. The fact that countries abuse this law with capital punishment and abortion laws makes a mockery of every act of human rights legislation ever passed. It may be 'your body', but the baby's body is not an extension of yourself, but another human being alive in your womb. It is a human life, which we should not kill. Hitler thought the lives of the Jews were a great inconvenience. An unwanted pregnancy may be thought of as a great inconvenience, but we have no more right to kill the child in the womb than Hitler had the right to take the lives of innocent Jews. I use Hitler as an example, because the worldwide rate of abortion makes the Holocaust dwindle in comparison. This simple truth extends to the embryos the Government wants to strip and destroy in order to 'save lives' as seen in the Human Embryology and Fertilisation Act'. If you want to 'save lives' Mr Brown, don't kill.

And at 1, Top of the Pops in terms of secular lies, the Church covered up the true teachings of our Lord Jesus Christ, quashed other gnostic 'gospels' and buried the 'real hidden meaning' of our Lord Jesus Christ and the Church is nasty for doing so. Our Blessed Lord built the Church on St Peter and the Apostles when he said, "Peter, thou art the Rock and upon this Rock I shall build My Church and the gates of Hell shall not prevail against it. Whatsover you bind on Earth will be considered bound in Heaven and whatsoever you loosen on earth will be considered loosened in Heaven." The succession of all Apostolic authority from Pope to Bishops to Priests is derived from the authority that Christ gave to St Peter and the Apostles to baptise, teach all nations, absolve sins and offer the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass for the conversion of the World and to strengthen communicants with the Precious Body and Blood of Christ. The main reason that people like 'gnostic' gospels with hidden meaning is that people do not like the Truth and the unalterable fact that the Gospel of Christ as proclaimed by Holy Mother Church is inconvenient, difficult, unpalatable to those who live in falsehood and Holy. Our Blessed Lord was crucified because society rejected the Holy Son of God. The only real reason that the Church is so unpopular is because society perpetually rejects the Holy Teaching of God.

Now, time for Confession...I've fallen into mortal sin this week yet again and committed all kinds of offences against God's unalterable Law of Love of God and neighbour and am in dire need of Absolution, so that I can receive the Precious Body and Blood of Christ tomorrow in a State of Grace.

Obama Skips Church Following Election

Why not come to Mass, Barack? The US could do with a Catholic president since the last one got popped off...you may not be so popular but at least little babies would get a chance to live.

From EWTN

President-elect Barack Obama has skipped church services since his election to the presidency, using Sunday to work out at the gym.

His habits differ from his two immediate predecessors President George W. Bush and President Bill Clinton, who both consistently attended Sunday church services following their election victories.

An Obama aid explained to Politico.com that the Obamas did not wish to disrupt churchgoers with their large entourage.

“Because they have a great deal of respect for places of worship, they do not want to draw unwelcome or inappropriate attention to a church not used to the attention their attendance would draw," the aide reportedly said, adding the family “look[s] forward to finding a church community in Washington, D.C.”

While campaigning, Obama infrequently attended church services aside from a series of appearances in the pews and pulpits of South Carolina churches ahead of its primary.

For two decades, Obama and his family attended Trinity United Church of Christ in Chicago, but resigned his membership following controversies regarding its pastor Rev. Jeremiah Wright.

Dear God, Please Help Me

I always post up a Morrissey song every few days. He is a cradle Irish Catholic. When The Smiths rose to critical acclaim and to general stardom in the 1980s he distanced himself from the Church in the media, largely, I expect, because he felt like an outcast. The song 'Bigmouth Strikes Again' has the superb line, 'And now I know how Joan of Arc felt, now I know how Joan of Arc felt, as the flames rose to her Roman nose and her hearing aid started to melt.'

This sense of being an outsider has always permeated all of his material, which is why his following is pretty devotional and fanatical. He has always kept his sexuality to himself though he once claimed to have a supernatural grace of being beyond sexuality, almost transcending it. However, his solo material in recent years has revealed a reawakening of his Catholicism as suggested by his comment in an interview, "Those Catholics, they sear you, they do, sear you." He always maintained that whatever you want to know about Morrissey is in his songs, so there was really no need to discuss his private life. His music is an honest outpouring of his heart, from a man who has clearly suffered from a certain amount of rejection, difficulties in forming relationships and his struggles with his sexuality. This song, which is very beautiful, breathtakingly frank, honest and therefore, totally disarming.

I often dream of the singer and I wonder whether he has the spiritual gift of appearing to his fans and giving them some strange sense of consolation. He once came in my dream to listen to my band play. He became very frustrated that we were all sitting around chatting around a table and wanted to listen to our material, but I said, "Later, later, we're having a good time here." He ran off and I ran after him to say, "Morrissey, come back!" The other night he came to me and gave me a big hug, something which his fans seem to hanker after rather a lot. Amazing what the sub-conscious is capable of!

Its perfect Morrissey weather here in Brighton, by the way....it hasn't stopped pissing it down all day. Coastal town too, that they forgot to close down etc...

Tybun Convent & Tyburn Martyrs

The Tyburn Convent in London has a rather flash new website with a lovely pictures section of sacred relics from the 40 martyrs of England and Wales. It also has a tiny description of the lives and ends of the martyrs who shed their blood for Christ and the Catholic Faith. I believe they are called Sisters of Perpetual Adoration which means that at any time, 24 hours a day, at least two sisters are praying before the Blessed Sacrament for the salvation of poor sinners.

Lovely website, click here for more.

Go on Mozzer, my son

The Good Pope

Lovely video on Pope Johannes XXIII

Australia

It's very rare that a newly-released movie has much effect on me. For the most part, despite my best efforts to the contrary, I have a decidedly cynical view about the current state of cinema; I'm willing to watch it, but I find very little to be truly memorable. I might have a fun time with something like Pirates of the Caribbean or Charlie Wilson's War, but only on extremely rare occasions do I encounter a film that has any bearing beyond the two hours I spend in my seat. Where's our Stanley Kubrick, our David Lean, our Alfred Hitchcock? Stuff like The Assassination of Jesse James By the Coward Robert Ford - examples of old-fashioned film-making, avoiding for the most parts the quick-cutting, overlit and washed-out, obviously fake wowzer special effects for the sake of style and tertiary, profunctory story telling method of most modern films - are exceedingly rare, and when one comes along, it's like a puddle of water in Death Valley. Even many of the most acclaimed movies of recent years seemed curiously empty and lacking compared to the work of the masters.

Then comes a movie like Australia. Which is the kind of movie that comes along maybe once in a decade. When they say they don't make them like they used to - usually us crotchety grandpa types - this is the kind of movie they tend to be referring to. You don't see movies like this any more, because. But with Australia, Baz Luhrman has given us an invaluable cinematic gift.

I found it amusing to perview the extraordinarily mixed critical reviews of the movie; many people love it, others despise it, seemingly for the same reason. Indeed, whoever wrote up the IMDB review summary shrewdly notes that critics have been "twist(ing) similar words around" to describe the movie, to alternately praise and damn it. What this points to says more about the viewer: you either like this kind of movie or you don't. As audiences didn't give a shit when Pauline Kael lambasted Doctor Zhivago and Richard Corliss (and a million lifeless Internet geeks and bitter teenaged boys) roasted Titanic, so will those susceptible to this kind of film making disregard the utterances of some overpaid navel-gazing snobs (but look who's talking).

The film's plot takes place in World War II-era Belize - no, wait, Australia. Japan is threatening to enter the war and bring it home to Aussies, while Australia soldiers are shipping off to Europe and Africa to die for England. Much of Australia is uncharted, wild territory, ruled by crooked politicians and cattle barons like King Carney (Bryan Brown). And of course, it's home to an oppressive caste system, where aborigines are treated as subhuman outsiders and half-breeds - "creamies" - are even worse. Nullah (Brandon Walters) is one such boy; the son of an aboriginal woman and Fletcher (David Wenham) a vicious, ruthlessly ambitious cattle herder, he witnesses the murder of Carney's chief rival and tries to flee from arrest. The wife of said cattle baron, Lady Sarah Ashley (Nicole Kidman), arrives in Australia to negotiate the sale of her cattle, only to find her husband dead and her land in desperate need of repair. With the help of a handsome, tough-guy cattle drover (Hugh Jackman), Nullah and the usual assorted sidekicks, she struggles to drive her herd to Darwin, finding Fletcher trying to stop her every step of the way. Afterwards, Drover and Sarah marry but find themselves seemingly incompatible, while Fletcher claws his way to the top and is in a position to topple Sarah's empire. However, World War II interferes, leading to a denouement in the streets of a bombed-out Darwin.

Australia is a sweeping epic; as one of the world's biggest Leaniacs, it's of immense complements for me to say that it bears actual comparison to the works of that master. Not since The English Patient has a movie captured such a wonderful sense of timelessness, a feeling of romance swept up by the tides of history. Some might call it cliched, but I'd opt for the term old-fashioned; it feels like Gone With the Wind or Doctor Zhivago. And it comes pretty close to looking like them too.

The movie seems a bit schizophrenic at first - the first half's cattle drive and civilized girl out "West" (or East, in this instance) story definitely seems like a Western (Drover even gets a tough guy, Clint Eastwood-ian intro scene, and the cattle drive scenes certain recall Howard Hawks' Red River), while the second half, with its romance and personal conflicts with a historical turmoil, is a much more conventional genre picture. But in my view, this is all for the better. It follows the two-act structure of many an epic film of old, and though different at first glance, the two halves complement each other perfectly.

The early scenes are a bit jarring; Nulla's narration is a mite annoying at first, the animated title display seems out of place, and some of Sarah's early scenes are a bit too parodic and overwrought. The angle of the "mystical aborigine" - personified by Nulla's grandfather, the omni-present King George (David Gulpilil) - is a mite overdone as well, although it's satisfactorily dealt with in the conclusion. Still, most of this awkardness is sorted out by the third reel or so.

Technically, the film is a marvel; if nothing else, it's one of the most beautiful, ravishing movies of the last ten years. Luhrman, a director not usually known for subtlety, manages to keep his usual excess in check (with only a few excusable moments of unnecessary flair and wow moments) and delivers us a handsomely mounted, beautiful film. The Outback scenery is ravishing, Mandy Walker's cinematography brilliantly capturing the stark beauty of Australia, both forbidding and gorgeous at the same time. CGI is used quite often, but would you expect otherwise? In the movie's big set-pieces - the Japanese bombing, and more notably the breath-taking cattle stampede - they're gob-smackingly brilliant. If you need convincing that these modern cinematic tools can be put to good use, then look no further.

The cast is flawless. Hugh Jackman gives an excellent performance as Drover, tough, believable, with a romantic side that seems perfectly natural. It's a shame he's not a bigger star, because he's just perfectly for this type of role. Nicole Kidman isn't far behind Jackman here, her frosty beauty perfectly suited for her character. At first her character is rather grating, seeming like an implausibly ditzy and posh refugee from a Merchant-Ivory film, but as her character develops she becomes more and more likeable, and her annoying and awkward early scenes serve to help character development. The two make a dynamite couple, attractive and believable, their conflicts and differences seeming real rather than a plot device.

While Geoffrey Rush and Cate Blanchett are inexplicably absent, the cast is populated with a plethora of brilliant Aussie actors. Old pros like Breaker Morant vets Jack Thompson and Bryan Brown have solid supporting roles; David Wenham handles his gleefully evil rotter with aplomb, and Ben Mendelsohn gives a strong background performance as a dignified Army Captain. Brandon Walters gives an excellent performance as Nulla, occasionally irritating but always convincing as the boy who is really the focus of the story.

I will concede that Australia isn't for everyone; the current generation of movie-goers may or may not appreciate it (I won't issue a blanket condemnation for the moment), and the usual cranky critics who abhor this sort of film. Let them write what they will, sneer as they like. Those of us who love these movies and can appreciate their beauty and craft will be more than satisfied. During the credits, I found myself on the verge of tears, utterly enthralled, unable to leave until the last frame had spooled off the screen. Now that is a cinematic experience. All that's left to say is: Thank you, Baz Luhrman. And readers: go see this movie right this second.

Rating: 9/10 - Highest Recommendation

Feast of St Leonard of Port Maurice

Saint Leonard of Port Maurice was a most holy Franciscan friar who lived at the monastery of Saint Bonaventure in Rome. He was one of the greatest missioners in the history of the Church. He used to preach to thousands in the open square of every city and town where the churches could not hold his listeners. So brilliant and holy was his eloquence that once when he gave a two weeks' mission in Rome, the Pope and College of Cardinals came to hear him. The Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin, the adoration of the Blessed Sacrament and the veneration of the Sacred Heart of Jesus were his crusades. He was in no small way responsible for the definition of the Immaculate Conception made a little more than a hundred years after his death. He also gave us the Divine Praises, which are said at the end of Benediction. But Saint Leonard's most famous work was his devotion to the Stations of the Cross. He died a most holy death in his seventy-fifth year, after twenty-four years of uninterrupted preaching.

One of Saint Leonard of Port Maurice's most famous sermons was "The Little Number of Those Who Are Saved." It was the one he relied on for the conversion of great sinners. This sermon, like his other writings, was submitted to canonical examination during the process of canonization. In it he reviews the various states of life of Christians and concludes with the little number of those who are saved, in relation to the totality of men.

The reader who meditates on this remarkable text will grasp the soundness of its argumentation, which has earned it the approbation of the Church. Here is the great missionary's vibrant and moving sermon...(Click here for more...)

Today is the Feast of St Catherine of Alexandria

St. Catherine of Alexandria, Virgin and Martyr whose feast day is November 25th. She is the patroness of philosophers and preachers.

St. Catherine is believed to have been born in Alexandria of a noble family. Converted to Christianity through a vision, she denounced Maxentius for persecuting Christians. Fifty of her converts were then burned to death by Maxentius.

Maxentius offered Catherine a royal marriage if she would deny the Faith. Her refusal landed her in prison. While in prison, and while Maxentius was away, Catherine converted Maxentius' wife and two hundred of his soldiers. He had them all put to death.

Catherine was likewise condemned to death. She was put on a spiked wheel, and when the wheel broke, she was beheaded. She is venerated as the patroness of philosophers and preachers. St. Catherine's was one of the voices heard by St. Joan of Arc.

Maxentius' blind fury against St. Catherine is symbolic of the anger of the world in the face of truth and justice. When we live a life of truth and justice, we can expect the forces of evil to oppose us. Our perseverance in good, however, will be everlasting.

Lap Dancing Is Just A Bit of Innocent Fun Chairman of Lap Dancing Association Tells MPs

This story from The Guardian is verging on parody. I scoured google images looking for an unerotic picture of a lap dancer (research purposes only of course, your honour). Strangely I couldn't find one...

I suppose you could measure sexual stimulation by the amount of men paying a visit to the lavatory after the lap-dancing show to jack-off...no, there must be another way of quantifying it. Perhaps, I'm the only man who lacks self-control...I'm no prude, but this guy's argument is hilarious.

Lap dancing "is not sexually stimulating", the chairman of the Lap Dancing Association told a parliamentary committee today.

Simon Warr made the claim, which was greeted with scepticism by MPs, while he was giving evidence to the Commons culture committee as part of an inquiry into the operation of the Licensing Act.

The government is under pressure to change the act so that lap dancing clubs have to be licensed as sex encounter establishments.

At the moment, they are licensed in the same way as pubs and clubs, which has led to complaints from councils who believe that they do not have the power to stop clubs being opened in their areas.

In their evidence to committee, Warr and colleagues from the Lap Dancing Association claimed that their clubs should not be classified as sex encounter establishments because they were providing hospitality, not sexual services.

But Warr astonished the committed when he argued that sexual stimulation was not part of the clubs' attraction.

"One of the biggest problems we face is that not enough people understand the business blueprint of our clubs," he said.

"Actually, our premises are not sexually stimulating. It would be contrary to our business plan if they were."

At this point, Philip Davies, the Tory MP for Shipley who was questioning Warr, said he found that hard to believe.

"You are saying that the purpose of a lap dancing club is not to be sexually stimulating? Most people would find that a rather incredible claim," Davies said.

Warr replied: "Then you need to go to a club, because the purpose of a club is to provide entertainment. It's to provide alcohol, it's a place of leisure.

"All right, the entertainment may be in the form of nude or semi-nude performers, but it's not sexually stimulating." (LMAO, no of course not, how could we think it such!)

Davies responded with even more astonishment.

"So if I did a straw poll of all the customers who came out a lap dancing club and said 'Did you find that in any way sexually stimulating?' I would find a big resounding fat zero? On that basis you would have a lot of dissatisfied customers."

Warr replied by asking: "How do you measure sexual stimulation? What is the definition of sexual stimulation?"

So remember guys, there is nothing erotic about a scantily clad, perfectly formed female writhing around on a dancefloor and then striding over to you and performing suggestive routines in relative close proximity to your crotch. Nothing erotic about that. Its all innocent, harmless entertainment...It's like playing Monopoly or something, just when you have to give money to the banker you put it in the lady's stockings.

For more click here.

US Bishop Tells Catholic LGBT Community What They Do Not Want to Hear

A US Bishop stunned a Catholic Diocesan Lesbian and Gay Ministries Conference 2008 by firmly proclaiming the Gospel. If our Blessed Lord had told people merely what they wanted to hear, in His Earthly Ministry, not only would He have lost the many souls He had won, but He would have been giving them falsehood, rather than Truth. I do not recall an English Bishop saying something so radical for a long time...

If living the Gospel were easy we'd all be Saints in a day or two. The Gospel is not easy at all and God never promised us an easy ride in this life!

Coadjutor Bishop Jaime Soto of Sacramento shocked his unsuspecting audience at the National Association of Catholic Diocesan Lesbian and Gay Ministries conference with a keynote speech that gently but firmly condemned the homosexual lifestyle as sinful, and celebrated extra-marital chastity, according to the California Catholic Daily. "Sexual relations between people of the same sex can be alluring for homosexuals," Bishop Soto told the conference, "but it deviates from the true meaning of the act and distracts them from the true nature of love to which God has called us all. For this reason, it is sinful..."

Click here for more...

Franciscans Telling It Like It Is

Are We Born Believing in God?

Click here for a quite interesting discussion on the Today programme this morning about a Cambridge University lecture this week Dr Justin Barrett, who will argue it is the natural default position of children to believe in God.

This challenges the view of some atheists that religion is learned through family indoctrination. Dr Barrett, from the Institute for Cognitive and Evolutionary Anthropology at Oxford University, discusses whether religion or atheism is learned with scientist and writer Professor Lewis Wolpert.

Looking for a Patron?

I've found a good website which details an A-Z of patron saints.

Abandoned Children: Jerome Emiliani
Academics: Thomas Aquinas
Accountants: Matthew
Actors: Genesius; Vitus
Advertising: Bernardine of Siena
Advocates: Ivo
Agricultural workers: Watstan
AIDS Sufferers: Therese of Lisieux
Air travelers: Joseph of Cupertino
Altar boys:John Berchmans
Altar servers: Tarsicius
Anesthetists: Rene Goupil
Angina sufferers: Swithbert
Animals & birds: Francis of Assisi
Animals (sick): Beuno
Apologists: Justin
Apothecaries: Nicholas
Appendicitis: Elmo
Archaeologists: Jerome
Archers: Sebastian
Architects: Barbara; Thomas the Apostle
Armorers: George; Laurence
Art: Catherine of Bologna
Artists: Luke
Astronauts: Joseph of Cupertino
Astronomers: Dominic
Athletes: Sebastian
Authors: Francis de Sales
Aviators: Joseph of Cupertino; Therese of Lisieux Babies: Zeno of Verona

For B - Z click here.

Vatican Confirms: All You Need is Love

Story courtesy of BBC

A Vatican newspaper has forgiven the late English singer John Lennon for saying four decades ago that The Beatles were more popular than Jesus.

In an article praising The Beatles, L'Osservatore Romano said Lennon had just been showing off.

Lennon told a British newspaper in 1966 - at the height of Beatlemania - that he did not know which would die out first, Christianity or rock and roll. At the time, the comparison sparked controversy in the US. The semi-official Vatican newspaper marked the 40th anniversary of The Beatles' "White Album" with an article praising Lennon and the Fab Four from Liverpool.

The paper dismissed Lennon's much-criticised remark that the Beatles were more famous than Jesus Christ as a youthful joke. The paper described the remark as "showing off, bragging by a young English working-class musician who had grown up in the age of Elvis Presley and rock and roll and had enjoyed unexpected success".

L'Osservatore Romano recently got a new editor and now - apart from chronicling the Pope's daily doings and printing the texts of papal speeches - it sometimes runs articles on entertainment on inside pages, together with extensive reporting on world affairs. In a half-page illustrated article, the paper praised The Beatles for what it called their "unique and strange alchemy of sounds and words".

The newspaper said The Beatles's songs had shown an extraordinary capacity for survival and the White Album album remained a "magical musical anthology". In another article on the same page entitled "Twilight of the gods" the newspaper lamented the passing of the golden days of Hollywood and said the mysterious fascination of the star system of Hollywood in the 1950s had been superseded by the cult of so-called celebrities.

Although Pope Benedict has criticised many aspects of modern pop culture, he now allows the newspaper of the tiny independent Vatican state to reflect the reality of the world outside in a way that would have been unthinkable in the days of Pope Paul VI who reigned during heyday of The Beatles.

Self-Interest Will Destroy World, Says Pope

Zenit reports today that Pope Benedict XVI gave his homily on the words of the Gospel on the Feast of Christ the King.

Do good and the Kingdom of God will be realized in our midst, act according to self-interest and the world will be destroyed, says Benedict XVI.

The Pope said this today, the solemnity of Christ the King, in a reflection on the Final Judgment before praying the Angelus with those gathered in St. Peter's Square.

Referring to the parable of the Final Judgment in Matthew's Gospel -- "I was hungry and you gave me to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me" -- the Holy Father said the passage "has become a part of our civilization."

"The images are simple, the language is popular, but the message is extremely important," he said. "It is the truth about our ultimate destiny and lays down the criteria by which we will be judged."

"Who does not know this passage," the Pontiff asked. "It has marked the history of peoples of Christian culture, their hierarchy of values, their institutions, and their many benevolent and social organizations."

The Kingdom of God, continued Benedict XVI, "is not of this world, but it brings to fulfillment all the good that, thanks to God, exists in man and history. If we put love of our neighbor into practice, according to the Gospel message, then we are making room for the lordship of God, and his Kingdom will realize itself in our midst.

"If instead, each of us thinks only of his own interests, the world cannot but be destroyed."

The Pope also reminded the faithful that the "Kingdom of God is not a question of honors and appearances, but, like St. Paul writes, it is 'justice, peace and joy in the Holy Spirit.'"

"The Lord has our own good at heart, that is, that every man have life, and that especially the 'least' of his children be admitted to his feast, which he has prepared for all," he said. "Because of this he has no use for the hypocritical ones who say 'Lord, Lord,' but have neglected his commandments.

"God will accept into his eternal kingdom those who have made the effort every day to put his word into practice. This is why the Virgin Mary, the most humble of his creatures, is the greatest in his eyes and sits as Queen at the right of Christ the King."

Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament

On Friday I went with my parish priest to the Church of Our Lady of Lourdes, Rottingdean, as he was hearing Confessions and the Community of St John were there giving a talk on the healing nature of the Sacraments. There was Holy Hour for adoration of the Blessed Sacrament. I expect this is one aspect of Catholic worship of which non-Catholics are mostly unaware. That we bow in veneration and adore what to non-Catholics would appear as a large white wafer in a jewelled and golden Mmnstrance must seem absurd. Yet to us Catholics, we believe that what is held in the monstrance is no longer that, but our Blessed Lord Himself.

Many of the Saints now venerated by the Church learned the Love of God in adoration of the Blessed Sacrament. St Teresa of Calcutta, St Joseph Benedict Labre and countless others had an enormous devotion to adoration of the Most Holy Eucharist. It is not surprising. To be before the Blessed Sacrament is to be before God. To gaze upon the Blessed Sacrament is to be gazed upon by God. This is our faith...

So, you see, the Catholic life, even for a poor and lonely singleton such as me, is not without a sense of Romance. Fr Ray Blake in his homily on the Feast of Christ the King, spoke eloquently about the liturgy of the Church, at its best, being the language of lovers. St John of the Cross is one mystic whose writings express in poetic form his love for God, transcending all other loves, rapt in love with Love Itself.

Nobody can see God and live, the Lord said to Moses on Mount Sinai. Yet, now we behold Him on the Altar and He gazes upon us with tender love. How easy it is for us to keep God at arms length in our lives. How easy it is for us to run away from love! However, to gaze upon the Blessed Sacrament is to be gazed upon by God and suddenly there is nowhere else to look. And when Jesus looks at us, He does not look at us in an accusatory way. He is the true Lover, who sees the heart, gazes into it and then when the soul recognises its utter weakness and desperation, yearning for Him, is embraced by Him. The True Lover then takes the soul to Himself and caresses it as if it were the most valuable and precious thing on Earth. His Perfect Love for us teaches us in the interior of our hearts the love that we should have for our neighbour.

To be Catholic should be like a life long love affair. It should be like a marriage. Yet, was any marriage ever easy?! In this World, has any marriage been without trials and difficulties? From Him we can run if we choose and how often does our weak nature seek independence and earthly pursuits for our own pleasure? Ah, but God is the Perfect Husband, ever faithful and ever ready to take us back to Himself until we realise our unfaithfulness and he gently whispers into the ear of our soul, "You have run and now you realise you are poor without Me. Now, let Me love you."

If, in Holy Hour, God's love can penetrate my poor, stubborn heart then I am pretty convinced His love can penetrate anyone's. The one great difference in this marriage is this: The wife is always in the wrong.

How to Steal a Million, Or: Proof That God (Or A God) DOES Exist

Audrey, you can watch me or you can join me. One of them's more fun.

Friday, May 23rd, 2008, 8:00 PM EST. I was a complete idiot who, that afternoon, had decided to satisfy my morbid curiosity and watch the remainder of the Billy Jack trilogy. Five hours later, I emerged completely depressed, almost on the verge of suicide, having watched five straight hours of pretentious, ridiculous, campy, hallucinatory, and painfully boring hippie propaganda. My horrific experience had scarred me for life; never again would I have faith in the ability of cinema to move, challenge, excite and inspire, let alone entertain me. And, at that, my world was at an end… Only thought of my family in the adjoining rooms prevented me from slitting my wrists with a Gillette disposable razor.

Okay, this is a BIT of an exaggeration. But yes, watching The Trial of Billy Jack and Billy Jack Goes to Washington back-to-back was, for lack of a better term, a rather depressing ordeal, since I didn‘t have any hallucinatory mushrooms around the house. Fortunately, my latest movie from Netflix arrived: a quaint, now-obscure little movie called How to Steal a Million. I had no particular expectations, merely a hope that this movie would live up to the fact of it.

What do I mean by that? Namely, that the two greatest movie stars in film history, Peter O’Toole and Audrey Hepburn, were in the film. Together. In the same scenes. As the leads. Who were love interests. For me, this was my idea of cinematic heaven, missing only a “Directed by David Lean” over the opening credits...

"Now, hang on Billy... Who is Groggy Dundee and why are we filming his fantasy?"

Even if the movie was utter crap, I would get mere enjoyment out of the mere fact that Audrey and Peter were in a film together! *SQUEAL!* So, racing the clock against my parentally-enforced bed time, I popped the movie into my laptop, grabbed my tattered old headphones, and prepared for the voyeuristic whimsy which would hopefully follow.

Wow, wow, wow! This movie was just what I needed after watching five hours of ham-fisted drek from the Tom Laughlin shit machine. Watching this movie after viewing two Billy Jack movies back to back was like going on a nice, quiet stroll through the countryside after spending five hours trapped in an elevator with two obese elephants who had chili for lunch and burritos for dinner. (Yeah… I really need to work on my analogies, and my attempts to sound profound and insightful.)

Anyway…

The plot concerns a Parisian artist (Hugh Griffith, with Lenin beard and bulging Jack Elam eyes) who makes a living off of forging famous artworks. His daughter Nicole (Audrey) disapproves of his profession, which lands them into trouble after they sell a prized statue to an art museum. Nicole hires the suave but inept cat burglar Simon Dermott (O’Toole) to help her retrieve the work of art before it is discovered as a fake. Naturally, there is much banter and squabbling between our two leads, which quickly blossoms into love as they achieve their goal.

While I’d like to write a lengthy, pretentious and insightful review, this really isn’t the kind of film that warrants it. Simply put, How to Steal a Million is a load of unpretentious fun. It takes a previous Hepburn vehicle, Charade, takes out the best elements (the Hitchcock-lite plot, our protagonist of dubious identity, the Paris locations, and uber-chic Audrey) and enhances them to the nth degree. This is a fun, breezy off-the-cuff performance by Hepburn, who uses her beauty, class, sophistication, and a truckload of Givenchy’s best costumes (which O’Toole’s character pokes fun at) to full effect. Opposite Audrey, O‘Toole showcases his fine comic talent, which he would get to hone in later years (The Ruling Class, My Favorite Year). He bites off his quips with reckless, infectious abandon, and just the sight of his mischievous grin causes a smile. It goes without saying that this couple absolutely lights up the screen. Never mind that the mere sight of them in a frame together is enough to induce orgasm; O’Toole and Hepburn have genuine chemistry together, and it‘s nice to see Audrey for once not having to romance a guy twice her age!

The film is directed stylishly if not spectacularly by William Wyler (Roman Holiday, Ben-Hur), utilizing a lot of bright, shiny colors as befits our delicious decadent duo and the cartoonish fun of the plot. (Note also that the musical score is by one "Johnny Williams.") The supporting cast is fun, with Eli Wallach and Hugh Griffith contributing their share of laughs, while Jacques Marin (another Charade veteran, also a resistance fighter in The Train) appears as a Clouseau-esque security guard.

Yes, for me, How to Steal a Million is just what the doctor ordered. It’s a bit too slight, perhaps, for me to give it a perfect rating, but after a day of suffering through two of cinema’s greatest atrocities… it was a great release, and a perfect antidote. Thank you again, Peter and Audrey. I love you both. As always, Groggy Dundee.

Rating: 9/10 - Highest Recommendation

Happy St Cecilia's Day

Angel to St Cecilia: "No, you don't tune it like that. Oh, go on with you, pass it here."

From The Lives of the Saints by the Rev. S. Baring-Gould, M.A., published in 1914 in Edinburgh.

The story of S. Cecilia is not without beauty and merit. There was in the city of Rome a virgin named Cecilia, who was given in marriage to a youth named Valerian. She wore sackcloth next to her skin, and fasted, and invoked the saints and angels and virgins, beseeching them to guard her virginity. And she said to her husband, "I will tell you a secret if you will swear not to reveal it to anyone." And when he swore, she added, "There is an angel who watches me, and wards off from me any who would touch me." He said, "Dearest, if this be true, show me the angel." "That can only be if you will believe in one God, and be baptized."

She sent him to Pope S. Urban (223-230), who baptized him; and when he returned, he saw Cecilia praying in her chamber, and an angel by her with flaming wings, holding two crowns of roses and lilies, which he placed on their heads, and then vanished. Shortly after, Tibertius, the brother of Valerian, entered, and wondered at the fragrance and beauty of the flowers at that season of the year.

When he heard the story of how they had obtained these crowns, he also consented to be baptized. After their baptism the two brothers devoted themselves to burying the martyrs slain daily by the prefect of the city, Turcius Almachius. [There was no prefect of that name.] They were arrested and brought before the prefect, and when they refused to sacrifice to the gods were executed with the sword.

In the meantime, S. Cecilia, by preaching had converted four hundred persons, whom Pope Urban forthwith baptized. Then Cecilia was arrested, and condemned to be suffocated in the baths. She was shut in for a night and a day, and the fires were heaped up, and made to glow and roar their utmost, but Cecilia did not even break out into perspiration through the heat. When Almachius heard this he sent an executioner to cut off her head in the bath. The man struck thrice without being able to sever the head from the trunk. He left her bleeding, and she lived three days. Crowds came to her, and collected her blood with napkins and sponges, whilst she preached to them or prayed. At the end of that period she died, and was buried by Pope Urban and his deacons.

Alexander Severus, who was emperor when Urban was Pope, did not persecute the Church, though it is possible some Christians may have suffered in his reign. Herodian says that no person was condemned during the reign of Alexander, except according to the usual course of the law and by judges of the strictest integrity. A few Christians may have suffered, but there can have been no furious persecutions, such as is described in the Acts as waged by the apocryphal prefect, Turcius Almachius.

Urbanus was the prefect of the city, and Ulpian, who had much influence at the beginning of Alexander's reign as principal secretary of the emperor and commander of the Pretorian Guards, is thought to have encouraged persecution. Usuardus makes Cecilia suffer under Commodus. Molanus transfers the martyrdom to the reign of Marcus Aurelius. But it is idle to expect to extract history from romance.

In 1599 Cardinal Paul Emilius Sfondrati, nephew of Pope Gregory XIV, rebuilt the church of S. Cecilia.

St. Cecilia is regarded as the patroness of music because of the story that she heard heavenly music in her heart when she was married, and is represented in art with an organ or organ-pipes in her hand.

Quantum of Solace

Ah, so another midnight showing in Squirrel Hill, this time on a night when it dips below 20 and I'm lacking gloves. Smart move, Groggy.

Tonight's viewing was Quantum of Solace (an incredibly stupid title culled from an unrelated Fleming short story that has nothing to do with the film question), the latest James Bond offering. While it was an improvement over the disappointing Casino Royale, it still maintains many of the same basic flaws - namely that it doesn't seem like the real thing.

I can't claim to be the world's biggest Bond afficionado. I've seen barely half the films, if that, and there are only a few I'd rate as truly great films. Nonetheless, I think I know what a Bond film is through what experience I have. Fast cars, dialogue that is both lame and cool at the same time, menacing comic book villains, sexy fantasy women, fun if implausible action sequences, and maybe if we're lucky, a hint of darkness that complements the silliness of the story. And so far, Daniel Craig's tenure has been a huge let-down in that regard; both of his efforts have been too solemn and self-important to really work in the fun world of Bond.

This installment, in a rare bit of continuity, picks up shortly after the end of Casino Royale. Still mourning the death of Vesper Lynde (Eva Green), Bond (Daniel Craig) continues to try and unravel the now-deceased Le Chiffre (Mads Mikkelsen)'s criminal network, discovering it to be far larger. One of the more interesting business contacts is Dominick Green (Matthieu Almaric), the CEO of an environmentally-based corporation who is secretly operating as a player in an international crime cartel. Needless to say, Bond quickly finds something sinister is afoot, and tracks Green first to Haiti, where he meets up with sultry Bolivian Camille (Olga Kurylenko - definitely a Bolivian name, that), and then to Bolivia, where Green is assisting a power-hungry General (Joaquim Cosio) in a coup d'etat in exchange for access to and control of the country's water supply. But M (Judi Dench) thinks that Bond is being driven by misplaced feelings of vengeance, and Bond finds himself fighting his own boss as well as Green and Co.

The movie has a number of sins which must be addressed. My esteemable colleague/younger brother wrote succinctly in a Facebook review that:

The action was amazing, destroyed by the rapid cut technique that directors and editors like to use. Also ruined by the "shaking the camera for realism" crap. If I see action, I wanna see it. I don't wanna see fragments, nor do I wanna see blurry things.

As much as I like to pose as an eloquent individual, there's no way I could put it better myself. The action scenes, plagued by the evil scourge of shaky cam and the editors being force fed untold gallons of pure black coffee, are so frenetic and vertigo-inducing as to be virtually unwatchable. It is possible to hold a shot longer than the length of a frame, fellas. When you're selling your film as primarily an action film, it might be helpful if we can, you know, see what's going. This isn't by any means a problem unique to this film, but it's rather egregious since the film throws a seemingly-endless parade of action set pieces at us, each virtually indistinguishable from one another, and each shabbily edited, with lots of unnecessary CGI stunt work thrown in for the sake of anoyance. I think film studios need to bar chimpanzees from the editing room from now on.

Nor does the movie really have the feel of a Bond movie. The cinematography and direction are adequate, but never really impressive. Bond makes his share of quips but nothing really quotable - even the grown inducing. The villains are easily disposed of and not really menacing, and their plot seems rather mundane compared to Donald Pleasance and Gert Frobe's schemes of world domination (but we'll get to that in a moment). There's also no sense of fun; the action scenes don't seem Bond action scenes, the Bond theme is hardly used at all, the atmosphere is far too dark and serious, and overall it seems like we're watching The Bourne Tedium rather than a 007 film. I don't ask a lot from my Bond film, except that it keep the cheesiness under control to a point where it's fun rather than annoying. These last two films have gone the other way - perhaps not a bad idea after the insipid goofiness of Die Another Day - but it would seem too far.

The cast and characters are perhaps the biggest let-down. A Bond film needs a sexy girl (ridiculous name optional but not required), a menacing, vicious bad guy (and some colorful henchmen would help too), and maybe even a cool ally like Pedro Armendarez or Robbie Coltrane. And what do we have here?

For the second straight film, we are given a milquetoast, boring bad guy. Dominic Greene's scheme is an intriguing one - cornering the world's water supply - but the movie doesn't do a lot to make it seem truly menacing. Mads Mikkelsen's Le Chiffre was the dullest Bond villain in memory, and Matthieu Almaric isn't much better. Almaric is competent, but his character and performance seem much more suited for a sniveling henchman than an all-powerful villain. Perhaps it's more realistic than Blofeld and Largo and Oddjob, but who goes to Bond films for realism? He isn't the least bit menacing, nor really interesting for that matter. His henchmen; what henchmen? A bunch of nameless, faceless thugs providing bullet fodder for the action scenes. Say what you will about the cartoonish excesses of Brosnan's films; his antagonists, from Sean Bean, Famke Janssen and Gottfried John in GoldenEye to Sophie Marceau and Robert Carlyle in The World is Not Enough, were at least interesting, distinctive and generally formidable opponents, not milquetoast whiners who do little of import and are indistinguishable from one another.

The rest of the cast doesn't fare much better. Olga Kurylenko is adequate but she has next to nothing to do; Genna Arterton's brief role as an ill-fated consular agent is much more appealing. Casino Royale had Eva Green's excellent Vesper Lynde, this movie has a rather bland substitute. Jeffrey Wright is yet again wasted as Felix Leiter; at least in the Connery and Moore Bonds Leiter had stuff to do. Giancarlo Giannini is similarly underused as the morally dubious contact Matthis, for the second straight time; just when his character is starting to generate interest, he's bumped off. (No sense of dramatic economy, do screenwriters Paul Haggis (yes, the Crash guy), Neal Purvis and Ben Wade have.) The complete lack of a Q character is notable; call me crazy but I liked John Cleese's all-too-brief turn in the part, and he at least was better than no Q at all.

All this is a pity, for I continue to love Daniel Craig as 007. He only needed the excellent title sequence of Casino Royale to sell me as the new Bond. His Bond is decidedly different from most of his predecessors; although extremely rugged and handsome, he also has an intelligence, warmth and humanity that most Bonds lack. In theory, this is an interesting direction to take the character who is usually nothing more than a collection of smartass quips and overwhelming sexual charm, and Craig puts his all into the role. I really wish I liked Craig's films as Bond more, as he's not going to be around forever, but that's neither my fault, nor his.

Although many of the film's critics hate this part of the film, I think the best part of this movie - even more than its predecessor - is the development of the relationship between Bond and M. In the good old days, and even into the Brosnan era, M was a stern authority figure with a grudging respect for and occasional annoyance towards Bond, and he/she rarely figured into the actual story. But in the last few installments, she's developed. Dame Judi Dench has become a fixutre in the series; from her first confrontation with Pierce Brosnan in GoldenEye (way back in 1995) she has seemed absolutely right in the part. She was a refreshing novelty at first (a woman as M!) but she's earned her spurs in the meantime. Dench brings M a wonderful characterization, mixing dry wit with stiff dignity, and all of her scenes with Craig click, convincing as both the exasperated superior and the stern, protective Mother figure. The film's most powerful moment is when M confronts Bond about his reckless actions - showing the fatal consequence for one of Bond's conquests. It's a starkly powerful scene that really stands out amidst the banality around it, and if more of the film had been like that sequence, we could have had one of the best Bond movies on our hands.

The movie also has some welcome depth - not much, but what there is, is welcome. Bond has rarely been overtly political, but most of the better Bond movies were driven by or at least set in the context of the Cold War. Amusingly, everyone in the film assumes the "world's most important resource" is oil, and much of the film's action centers around that fact - an intriguing subplot that's presented without being forced in our face. Timothy Pigot-Smith gets a brief scene in the Geoffrey Keen role as the flustered Defence Minister, where he explains the cold political reality of what's going onto M. The CIA agents on the scene are easily bought off by Green's men; men of integrity like Leiter have to grin and bear it. Not since The Living Daylights has a Bond film been so politically active, and here, at least, it's a good thing.

Still, on the whole, Quantum of Solace remains a rather disappointing film. It's better than Casino Royale, which isn't saying much. But I'm still not convinced that it's a Bond film. A Bond film has a certain style, flair and attitude; these last two movies seem interchangable with any action thriller you'd care to name (the Bourne series most egregiously). Hopefully the producers will have a few more chances to get right; for Craig, if not the audience, as he definitely deserves it.

Rating: 6/10 - Use your own discretion