The Catholic's Guide to Gay Pride

Today is Gay Pride Day in Brighton, a day when homosexuality, lesbianism, transvesticism, transexuality and bisexuality, but mostly homosexuality, are celebrated openly in broad daylight in front of the public, including small children. Scandalous! Every good Catholic knows that this kind of thing is meant to be kept behind closed doors, if it is to be kept anywhere. Preferably, the doors are closed tight on a closet in the attic which has been sealed under lock, key and reams of gaffa tape. Of course, we've got Oscar Wilde and his Bosie who died having embraced the Holy Faith and we honour them, because even if they had a steamy love affair, they wouldn't have been seen dead at a Gay Pride march and thanks be to God for that! They had class and a sense of decency!

O Christian soul! You have been called from Darkness into the Light of Christ. Armed with the weapons of Faith, Hope and Charity you must fight the good fight and do battle with the roaring lions of London Road, in order to defend Holy Mother Church and win souls to Christ, knowing He loves every man, woman and child He has made. So then, take the Gospel not just to the pagans, but lo, to the gays as well! Here then is your Catholic guide to Gay Pride Day...

1. Arise early in the morning, make the Sign of the Cross and say your prayers. You could be ripped limb from limb by the gays this very day, or worse, be embroiled in a dance routine to Kylie with a sexually licentious throng of overly sexed men, the wild animals that they are, so these prayers may be among your last. Pray to St Stephen, Proto-Martyr of the Church for the Grace to forgive your persecutors should they lose their temper with you or try and convert you to their sordid lifestyle.

2. Take a blessed Crucifix and holy water for your travels. Leave your hot pants, your Frankie Goes to Hollywood 'Relax' t-shirt and your feather boa at home because for today at least, you won't be needing any of them. Even if, Heaven forbid, deep down, you yourself are strongly attracted to members of the same sex, this marching nonsense must stop and pronto! The only processions men and women should be involved with in this town are processions of the Blessed Sacrament on the Solemnity of Corpus Christi and that is a scientific fact. Ask Richard Dawkins and even he will agree.

3. Approach the hoards on London Road as they march upon their descent into the heart of Brighton, hold aloft your Crucifix and cry out, in a loud voice. "Behold, gays, bis, lezzas and trannies of Brighton! I come to bring you the Good News of the Gospel! Why are you so hard of heart!? God loves you and Our Blessed Lord died for you so that you may place your trust not in the baser aspects of our fragile, fallen human nature, but in He who is Truth and Love Itself! Yes! We all struggle in one way or another with mastering our passions and our sexuality, but the Lord has sent me to tell you not to place your trust in vain and empty things, but in Him. Look! Here in my hand I have the Confessions of St Augustine, let me read you some...Look! In a Milanese Garden! I called out and You shattered my blindness!" Unfortunately, none of them can hear you because the first float is playing 'I Will Survive' by Gloria Gaynor at ten decibels, so your words are not heard. Few people have even noticed you standing there because they're all chatting to each other, cavorting shamelessly and having a good time. Hell-bent heretics!

4. Your initial evangelisation has failed. It was too general. You need to gain the attention of one or two people personally in order to preach the Gospel. So, during the march you sidle up to a couple of men blowing whistles and tell them about the riches of Christ and His Holy Gospel. Explain to them gently how you disagree with this kind of thing but God has sent you to preach to them the Good News of Salvation and that God is rich in mercy and in love, how Christ died for our sins but that He was raised and now longs us to be with Him in Glory. They have never heard the Gospel being preached so eloquently and with such tenderness and immediately are won over to the Church. "Thank you for telling us all about Our Lord," they say, "We just thought the Church hated us because we're queer, but now we can see the Love of God. We'll see you at Mass on Sunday and let us know when the RCIA course starts, sweetie!"

5. You have won converts to the Holy Faith through your sublime humility and trust that the Holy Spirit will give you the words to say, which He did. But, did Our Lord just quit after a few converts?! Did St Francis?! No! So get stuck in and win more souls to Christ! You and your converts to the Holy Faith hijack a float by stealth and switch off Abba's'Winner Takes It All' and take the mic. "Oi, you reprobates...I mean...Brothers and Sisters! I'm glad to now have your attention! See these brothers here now wish to join the Holy Faith of Christ and become members of His One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic Church. They know that God loves them and wants them in Heaven with them and nothing but a short period of instruction, Baptism and a hearty Confession stands in their way of their path to Eternal Glory! Who knows!? If we pray for it we might be martyred or live lives of heroic virtue and miss out on Purgatory altogether! They now know that the love they seek lies not in the vanity of sin but in the Sacred Heart of Jesus, the Lord who is made present on the Altar at the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. Isn't this true, converted couple?!" The converted couple reply, "Err...yeah." A portion of a crowd has been won over. The rest are on ecstacy and love you whatever you say. Things are going well.

6. The march takes a route through the centre of Brighton, irritatingly stopping all daily, routine functioning of the town. Inspired by the Holy Spirit you disembark from the gigantic pink flamingo float and rearrange several diversion signs in order to direct the path of the march to your local parish Church. Liaise with your parish priest to organise a Traditional Latin Mass so that the poor lambs can pop in at will and be witness to the sublime beauty of the Latin Mass. At least half of the marchers will be converted by the Majesty of the Tridentine Rite and will be literally gasping for the forgiveness of Christ. Those who aren't touched by the Mass will be converted by the splendour of the Sacred Vestments and the lacy alb worn by the parish priest, because, if there's one thing gays can appreciate and love, its aesthetics, fashion and impeccably embroidered clothing. You have won now nearly 5,000 gay brothers and sisters over to the One True Faith, even the ones who already attend Mass regularly at your local parish Church on Sunday.

7. The march has been going on all day now but you still don't want to relent on preaching the Gospel. You realise that it is 7 'o' clock and the soup run is being held on the seafront. You know that gays are compassionate because that's what everybody says about the two men who live next door. So, divert the crowd once more so that all the LGBT fraternity can see the poverty of those living in Brighton and that while they're getting shitfaced on pills, coke and booze, the Lord Jesus's little ones are queuing up just for a cheese sandwich by the Peace Statue near the West Pier. The gays are moved to tears by the plight of the poor, even the really hard gays from London, and well over half the marchers recant their heresy and publicly state their desire to devote their lives in service of the poorest and lament their selfishness. "Yes!" they say, "The Lord is Compassion and Love! He takes pity on us in our weakness and shame! We too should take pity and give to His poor!" Many are heard saying, "I'm either going to become a missionary in Africa helping AIDS victims there or perhaps a Carthusian and seek the Face of God for the rest of my earthly existence."

8. The march is swinging in your favour. You send new converts to your local Church to gather all the CTS pamphlets, papal encyclicals and Latin Mass english/latin translations they can to disseminate among the entire flock of the marchers so that the truths of the One True Faith can be taught openly among the crowds. The majority love the Catholic Faith for they had thought that it was just a load of old mumbo jumbo that meant they were damned merely for their sexual orientation. But now they see the Holy Father is right and that the ecology of the human race is threatened by damaging and dehumanising ideologies concerning the reduction of our humanity to sex and its commodification. What is more most now agree that not only society but the Sanctity of Marriage and the Family are at stake here. Inspired by the Holy Spirit they sing God's praises like little blackbirds at morning's break.

9. The path of the march returns towards Preston Park. Enthusiastic gays have ran back to the tents to cancel the DJs, happy hardcore music and vendors of poppers, condoms and lube, so that they may be replaced with Eucharistic Adoration, recordings of Pope John Paul II saying the Rosary and inspiring talks from the Franciscan Friars of the Renewal on the Blessed Virgin's status as Co-Redemptrix of the World. Many of your brothers and sisters now converted are organising Gregorian Chant workshops both for this festival and those in years to come. Those not fully converted to the Faith are content to sit and listen to Ronan Keating singing 'You Raise Me Up' on the stereo. Give these little ones time. They will come around eventually.

10. You are a gay icon and you revel in it. Hundreds of souls are now gay as a result of your work, but in the original sense of the word, in that they are happy because you have brought them to the Lord Jesus who loves them unconditionally and alone can make them truly happy with His teaching and His Church. Your work here is done. You can let your hair down and dance with the gays all night long singing 'Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go' and 'Club Tropicana' with great hilarity and joy. Hundreds turn up to Mass the next day and lapsed gay Catholics are queuing up for a pre-Mass Confession...yourself included.

Holy Father Signed to Geffen Label

Courtesy of The Times

He is a debut artist with an established global following, a strong sense of style and a unique selling point that could make him a contender for the Christmas Number One album: he is the Pope.

Geffen, the record label that brought you Nirvana, Guns N’ Roses and the disco shimmer of Donna Summer announced yesterday that it will release an album of litanies and popular chants in November with His Holiness Pope Benedict XVI on lead vocals.

The project apparently has the full weight of the Pope’s personal support and the proceeds will be used to provide music education for underprivileged children around the world.

If it connects to even a small percentage of the world’s billion Catholics it should blow the likes of Jay-Z, Robbie Williams and Susan Boyle from Britain’s Got Talent out of the water in the race for end of year sales...click here for more...

Happy Anniversary

Exactly one year ago today, I inaugurated Nothing is Written as my long-belated foray into film blogging. 365 stressful days and 172 posts later, we're still going pretty strong, and I have a small regular readership, which I suppose is something.

Here are some random things about myself and this blog I'll share with you, for the sake of this anniversary. There's probably no way I can avoid sounding like a self-indulgent, narcissistic doucehbag here, but I think I've earned it for this one post.

Groggy Dundee's Favorites:

Top 25 Films:

1. Lawrence of Arabia (1962, David Lean)
2. Once Upon a Time in the West (1968, Sergio Leone)
3. The Godfather, Part II (1974, Francis Ford Coppola)
4. The Godfather (1972, Francis Ford Coppola)
5. The Wild Bunch (1969, Sam Peckinpah)
6. A Passage to India (1984, David Lean)
7. The Battle of Algiers (1966, Gillo Pontecorvo)
8. The Ruling Class (1972, Paul Medak)
9. His Girl Friday (1941, Howard Hawks)
10. A Man for All Seasons (1966, Fred Zinnemann)
11. The Wind and the Lion (1975, John Milius)
12. The Nun’s Story (1959, Fred Zinnemann)
13. The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (1966, Sergio Leone)
14. Sunset Blvd. (1950, Billy Wilder)
15. Shadow of a Doubt (1944, Alfred Hitchcock)
16. Full Metal Jacket (1987, Stanley Kubrick)
17. The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962, John Ford)
18. Taxi Driver (1977, Martin Scorsese)
19. Stagecoach (1939, John Ford)
20. The Train (1964, John Frankenheimer)
21. Jaws (1975, Steven Spielberg)
22. How to Steal a Million (1966, William Wyler)
23. The Day of the Jackal (1973, Fred Zinnemann)
24. The Guns of Navarone (1961, J. Lee Thompson)
25. Munich (2005, Steven Spielberg)

Top 10 Actors: (and performance)

Peter O'Toole (Lawrence of Arabia)
Alec Guinness (The Bridge on the River Kwai)
Paul Scofield (A Man for All Seasons)
Geoffrey Rush (Elizabeth)
Henry Fonda (Once Upon a Time in the West)
John Wayne (The Searchers)
Strother Martin (Cool Hand Luke)
Trevor Howard (Ryan's Daughter)
Eli Wallach (The Good, the Bad and the Ugly)
James Coburn (Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid)

Top 10 Actresses:

Audrey Hepburn (The Nun's Story)
Cate Blanchett (Elizabeth)
Claudia Cardinale (Once Upon a Time in the West)
Amy Adams (Doubt)
Celia Johnson (Brief Encounter)
Kristin Scott Thomas (The English Patient)
Barbara Stanwyck (Double Indemnity)
Kay Walsh (Oliver Twist)
Peggy Ashcroft (A Passage to India)
Natalie Portman (The Other Boleyn Girl)

Top 10 Directors:

David Lean
Sergio Leone
Alfred Hitchcock
Fred Zinnemann
Martin Scorsese
Francis Ford Coppola
John Ford
Sam Peckinpah
Steven Spielberg
Orson Welles

Top 5 Screenwriters:

Aaron Sorkin
Robert Bolt
John Milius
Billy Wilder
Oliver Stone

Top 5 Composers:

Ennio Morricone
Maurice Jarre
Jerry Goldsmith
John Barry
Alex North

Top 10 Scenes in Cinema History:

Lawrence of Arabia - Charge on Aqaba

The Wind and the Lion - plotting the Bashaw's downfall

Zulu - Men of Harlech

A Man for All Seasons - Tower of London inquiry

Once Upon a Time in the West - Final duel

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly - The Ecstasy of Gold

The Godfather - Baptism sequence

Doctor Zhivago - World War I/Start of Revolution

Strangers on a Train - Murder scene

The Ruling Class - Intro to the Earl of Gurney

Groggy's Best Articles (without any real order):

(I'd poll my readership on this issue, but I fear six people wouldn't be much of a sample)

To Love on My Own Terms: This review of Orson Welles' Citizen Kane is one of the few reviews that I'm genuinely proud of. I was very much intimidated at the prospect of reviewing a review over which so much ink has been spilled, so much said, but I think the end result was pretty good.

W. - Most of my negative reviews tend to take the form of mean-spirited, angry rants which are fun to write and maybe to read, but aren't exactly Pulitzer material. This review, though, is a fairly thoughtful and well thought-out commentary of a movie that I absolutely despised - Oliver Stone's W. Maybe it's me but the review seems distinctly alien from my usual writing style, aside from the Christopher Hitchens quote and a few title-drops. That's a very good thing, in this instance.

An Ancient Race - It's always difficult to pay homage to one's favorite films, especially ones that I've already written and talked a great deal about. I think I did a pretty good job with my look at Once Upon a Time in the West, without the pompous wordiness that usually overtakes my longer reviews - you won't be seeing my Lawrence of Arabia essay on this list for that reason.

Public Enemies - Since I wrote this review it's one of the ones I've gone back to the most. Conceit? Perhaps, or maybe it's genuine pride. It's one of the best jobs I've done, I think, of balancing a review of a middling film between its good and bad attributes - most of my reviews in this vein tend to lean one way or the other.

Pirates of the Caribbean: Appreciation and Criticism - I am genuinely proud of this article, in spite of the atrocious formatting errors. Everything I could possibly say about these three films is included therein, and I hope it's as fun for you to read as it was for me to right. The Pirates films are loads of fun, very flawed, with a pretty lousy middle act, but some of the best summer blockbusters of the past decade. And that's all I ask.

The Decline of Perspective in Discussing Films and the State of Cinema - I have the conceit to consider myself good at making fun of morons. With the exception of my Twilight rant I don't think I've ever been so overtly mean and snarky on this blog, against a very deserving target; I need to do more of these in the future.

The Godfather Part II - To risk sounding like a broken record: here's nothing more satisfying than writing a good review of a film you love, and here's another example of that.

Tudor Mania! - My very first article for the blog! Still a lot of fun, and I've enjoyed coming back to it for periodic updates since it was first written. Again, ignore the newbie formatting errors and enjoy what I think is a fun piece.

Rusty! - How fun is it to give a good-spirited (if somewhat mean) ribbing to cornball kid's films from the '40s? Very fun.

Land of the Blind - A great movie that really surprised me with how excellent it was; it was a fun film to watch and almost as fun to break down and analyze. I also appreciate the comments of the film's director on my review, which is the highest praise I've gotten from anyone of substance (aside from the comments and attention of my handful of regular readers).

Honorable Mention: I greatly appreciate my friend Analee Harriman's fine review of Mad Love in the early days of my blog. I hope that she can find time to write more stuff for us in the future.

Look forward to another year of blogging! Thanks to all of you who read this meager effort at film criticism/bitching.

Regards,
Groggy Dundee

IVF and 'Screening'

I was in the car driving to do some gardening today listening to Radio 4. You can listen to it in BBC IPlayer here. It was an interesting piece on IVF and 'Screening' in a programme called the 'Inside the Ethics Committee'. I understand that as Catholics we do not necessarily agree with IVF anyway. Leaving this to one side, however the programme raised some important issues. It ended up as a focus of the case as it should really be presented. An examination of eugenics in IVF and the medical profession as a whole.

As the BBC IPlayer website notes it is a series in which Joan Bakewell is joined by a panel of experts to tackle the ethics involved in a real hospital case.

They examine the case of Ayesha and her bid to receive fertility treatment. Ayesha has a genetic condition which causes muscle weakness and curvature of the spine. She is in a wheelchair and heavily reliant on her husband and others for day-to-day tasks such as getting out of bed, having a shower and going to the toilet.

By law, the welfare of any child born through fertilty treatment has to be assessed, and Ayesha's case is no exception. But how does her disability and future health affect the welfare of a child? Is it ethical to put the needs of someone who doesn't exist yet above those of someone who does? Should a fertility treatment request be treated any differently if one of the parents has a disability rather than a life-threatening illness like cancer? Whose job is it to decide what makes someone adequate parents? (Well, quite!)

There is a 50 per cent chance that her condition will be passed on to any future child. It is possible to screen out the condition in affected embryos. But Ayesha says she would accept any child regardless of its condition and wouldn't want any screening (her actual words were, 'every child is a gift from God!) The law says you cannot screen in a disability, but says nothing about screening one out. Is it ethical to consider screening for embryos in effect with the same conditon as Ayesha's if she was offered fertility treatment?

The most impressive speaker on the 'ethics committe' was a lady called Alice who had much to say regarding the idea of parents being a 'burden' to their children who may have the same condition as them, the hypocrisy over disability that politically correct society often displays and the simple and true assertion that she is angry that IVF clinics are basically saying they would rather 'screen', terminate, or eliminate people with the same condition as her. Go on, girlfriend! You flippin' tell them! Anyway, have a listen, if you are interested.

Neglect? Or Poverty?

 

The Daily Mail today highlights the story of how a mother-of-four who 'let her children live in appalling conditions' who has been 'spared' jail. How kind of the court not to imprison a mother who has in all likelihood just lost all her children!

'The woman, who cannot be named for legal reasons, was handed a suspended jail sentence after she admitted four counts of child cruelty at Hull Crown Court. The children, aged two, four, six and eight, were discovered dirty and lice-infested in their home after teachers at their school became concerned for their welfare.

An investigation by Social Services found that living conditions on the first floor of the Hull house were 'appalling'. The children's bedding was soaked with urine and the beds broken, with springs sticking out of the mattresses. They were forced to sleep without covers as no proper bedding was provided, and there was excrement on the floor and in open trays on the landing. In addition, the floors were strewn with rubbish and debris, and the rooms infested with flies.

The children were described as 'unkempt' and 'incredibly dirty' when they were found.
They were lice-ridden, and there was a lack of food provided for them. Prosecutors described the living conditions as entirely unsuitable for young children and hazardous to their health and welfare. Conditions on the ground floor, where the mother is believed to have slept, were said to be 'a little better'. The mother was given a nine-month prison sentence suspended for two years and ordered to carry out 150 hours of unpaid work.

Speaking after the sentencing on Monday, Jon Plant, head of safeguarding and development at Hull City Council, praised the school for raising their concerns about the children. He said: 'In this case, the swift action of the school meant that children's social care and the police were informed as soon as possible and able to take action to protect the children. 'The teachers' actions must be praised and this is an example of how agencies across the city work together to safeguard the well-being of children and young people in Hull.'

At ATD Fourth World we heard from many, many mothers who had experience of living in squalor like the pictures above and who raised children in it. In years gone by, the squalor and degradation generated by grinding poverty was the focus of such great writers as Dickens and Orwell. Their writings were fused with compassion for the poor. The grinding poverty they described evoked shock in the British audience at the time that such living conditions could exist. Yet they still exist. But that was then? This is the 21st century! Perhaps what shocks polite society is that squalor exists still today and that the very poor still exist, yes even in the United Kingdom. Living on next to nothing is not easy. Living in poverty is not easy. The mother of these children may have had serious depression and could not cope with the responsibilities of raising her children. 

Yet Social Services in this case might have quite a lot to answer for. Social services are now the enemy of every poor family struggling to raise their children, of every family whose children are 'at risk' of neglect according to social services. These children have doubtless been taken into care and 'rescued' from an 'unfit' mother.  Yet, not only have these children been removed from their mothers care and probably been put into foster care with strangers, or worse a care home, but the poor mother had to stand trial for neglect of her children and only narrowly escaped a jail sentence. 

What I wonder, did social services do for the family? What support network did they put in place for the mother? Where was the home help she needed? Where was the counselling and medical help for depression? Where was the help?! Social services remind me of the Pharisees who Our Lord rebuked so strongly for putting heavy burdens on the poor and who 'don't even lift a finger to help them'. I expect, having heard so many stories from mothers who have had all their children taken into care due to 'neglect' that social services did nothing to support the mother who in all likelihood could not cope. What they probably did do was barge into the home and swipe the children away only to spend money that they could have spent in family support on paying a foster carer or a care home instead. Add onto that the amount of money the State will have spent in actually prosecuting this desperate and now publicly maligned human being and you have a serious amount of cash that they could have spent in trying to keep the family together. Did they bother? No, they did not.

Mothers and families are afraid of social services now. Even if mothers and fathers ask for help, it is often when they ask for help that they fall into a system which actively works against them, which instead of helping and assisting them in areas in which they are struggling to care for their children, grinds them down even further, forces them into a corner and then finally takes the children away when certain conditions and criterion have not been met. These social services workers will have judged only by appearances. They are unjust judges who look at the living conditions of the poor, and instead of evoking within them some compassion for the family, and the mother who is finding it hard to cope, only see the protection of the child as a priority and swipe them away, leaving both the children and the mother absolutely devastated and heartbroken.

The Mail also reports on a mother who is now having her 13th child, having had her previous 12 children removed by social services, most probably at birth. Mail readers, of course, are condemning her, as do the social services, for continuing to try to be a parent. Doubtless middle Britain wants 'people like that' sterilised so they cannot have children. Yet, all she wants is to be a mother and fulfill the right to have a family, after so many years of having her children taken away and put into care. Social services do not allow people the grace to be able to change, or improve their parenting abilities. Like the Mail almost always does with the very poor, they blame the poor for their own plight, condemn them and do all the things Our Blessed Lord told us not to do. 

I could bang on about this for a good hour or two and then some. Suffice to say, we have not progressed as a society as long as we continue to blame the poor for their living conditions created by grinding, deep and long-term poverty. At the End of Time, social workers, as well as myself and all will stand trial before the Face of God at the Last Judgment. What, I wonder, will Our Lord say, to those who ripped apart families when they could have given the family support in order to keep them together? Instead, they chose the 'easy' option. Do not the tears of mothers and children ripped apart from each other by a callous mob of judges cry out to Heaven? Do not the tears of the very poor ascend to the Throne of God who has compassion for the poor?

The woman concerned cannot be named for legal reasons. I, for one, would be very interested to know what her side of the story is. I fear, however, that I have heard it so many times before. 

Congrats to Fr Tim Finigan on Your Jubilee

Yes! I was there too and in esteemed company! Mulier Fortis, Fr Ray Blake, Fr John Zuhlsdorf of WTDPRS fame and many other Catho-bloggers turned up to Fr Tim's Jubilee Mass. It was superb, a beautiful Mass and incredible grub with a choir singing polyphony. I sneaked a desert into Fr Richard Biggerstaff's car on the way home and had to have a peppermint tea when I returned to Brighton to soothe the stomach ache. It was a night of indulgence on two counts since I believe I was in receipt of a plenary indulgence by merit of the fact I attended Mass at this Jubilee. Thanks be to God! I don't know why, but it has something, I think, to do with the fact it is the Year for Priests. What a year it is for some of these wonderful priests God has given us who are celebrating 25 years since their ordination! We are truly blessed to have these Priests.

I was glad to see there were more gladioli than you could shake a stick at in the splendidly large, white tent erected to house all the attendees. Look, there's me in the tweed jacket talking to a very charming and fine man called Matthew who has just got married. I believe this was the point when I discovered he was a musician, teaching and playing piano. "Oh," I said, "You're a proper musician!" He was lovely and what is more, is a little Brother of the Oratory in London. So we had a good chat about that. Look! The tall priest is Rev Dr Alcuin Reid of liturgical splendour fame! Everyone there was very effusive about Fr Tim. He is well-loved by his parish and deservedly so. He made a cracking speech afterwards and raised a toast to the Holy Father Pope Benedict XVI, who he rightly pointed out as the man who has made the celebration of the Traditional Latin Mass not just a possibility, but something to be encouraged to the Church. Congratulations once more, Fr Tim. May your ministry continue to fruit, flower and blossom for many years to come!

Rusty!

In the summer of 2007, just after I graduated from high school, TCM started showing the Rusty films - a series of cornball kiddie films made by Columbia in the late '40s. They center on Danny Mitchell (Ted Donaldson), an American Everykid living in Lawtonville, Illinois, his friends and family - and his dog, the German Shepherd Rusty. What started out as a bit of morbid curiosity grew to a regular Saturday morning viewing experience that year. Rusty remained a silly memory until TCM started to re-run the series about a month ago, and given my odd affection for these films and the existence of this blog, it seems a logical subject for a blog piece.

In 1945, Columbia Pictures produced The Adventures of Rusty. Rusty was conceived as a competitor to the hugely successful Rin Tin Tin and Rex the Wonder Dog, with Ace the Wonder Dog in the title role and child star Ted Donaldson (A Tree Grows in Brooklyn) as his master Danny Mitchell. The initial film was successful enough to warrant a sequel; ultimately, there would be eight installments in the Rusty series. These films would be pretty typical children's fare of the time, not dissimilar from stuff like Leave it to Beaver, with the same childhood lessons and morals taught at the end of the films, Danny learning his lesson but never seeming to grasp the big picture (with lots of threats of going to military school in the bargain).

Ace would not last long in the role. An unidentified dog played Rusty in The Return of Rusty; Flame would play the part a total of five times; a dog approrpiately named Rusty would take the role in Son of Rusty. To be fair, though, Rusty underwent a horrible series of tortures - being shot, crushed by a trailer, blown up, snake-bitten, run over by a car, paw caught in a trap, nearly drown, caught in barbed wire, and kidnapped - that it's little wonder they had to change dogs. Also, Danny's aberrant behavior throughout the film can be explained by the fact that his parents were played by two actresses and three actors. Ted Donaldson, a not-bad child actor whose career petered out as he got older, plays Danny throughout all eight films. What a traumatic childhood he must have led, waking up every morning not knowing if his parents would be the same people as when he went to sleep!

The second entry in the series, The Return of Rusty, was never shown on TCM, and is perhaps a lost film. However, that will not dissuade us from examining the other entries in the series.

The Adventures of Rusty (1945)

Poor Danny Mitchell is living a hard life. His mother has died, and his dad (Conrad Nagel) has remarried old friend Ann (Margaret Lindsay, later re-named Ethel), much to Danny's disapproval. Worst, Danny's dog Skipper gets run over by a truck the day of his parents' honeymoon. While Danny struggles to adjust to his new mom, he befriends Rusty, a vicious ex-Gestapo police dog (no, seriously) brought back from WWII by a local veteran (Robert Williams). So basically it's a family soap opera with a Nazi dog thrown in.

About midway through a pair of Nazi spies (Arno Frey and Eddie Parker) come ashore via U-Boat for no particular reason, leading to some tension with Rusty and Danny. As Lawtonville is later established as being in Illinois, this would make it the only Midwestern city with access to the sea. Rusty as played by Ace is mostly a snarling, Kraut-speaking jerk, helping the Nazis steal chickens (surely the Fuhrer's most diabolical plot) but ultimately turning the tables on them after Danny trains him to be nice. But it's not really about Rusty then, is it?

Rating: 3 bones out of 10 (with apologies to the Video Hound)

For the Love of Rusty (1947)

This third entry in the series, directed by John Sturges (!), sets the tone for the rest of the series. Here, Rusty (played by Flame for the first time) plays a wholly secondary role. Flame is a handsome, very-talented German shepherd who mostly stands around looking adorable and performing occasional dog tricks for the camera. It makes up for a lack of anything substantiative to do as the story becomes a family soap opera about Danny's difficult relationship with his dad Hugh (now Tom Powers) and his friendship with a local eccentric, the creepy "Doctor" Fay (Aubrey Mathers). There isn't much to recommend this entry, aside from an amusing carnival scene where Rusty is driven wild by a potato-peeling carny (Eddie Fetherston) and mauls him half to death. It's also the first time a borderline-crazy eccentric shows up in town for no reason - and hardly the last. Lawtonville is a regular magnet for transients, vagrants, criminals and crazies, as we'll soon discover.

Rating: 2 bones out of 10

Son of Rusty (1947)

Son of Rusty is one of the most entertaining entries in the series (admittedly not a great achievement). Moody, outcast Air Force vet Jed Barlow (Stephen Dunne) shows up in Lawtonville, setting up shop in an abandoned farm. Being the usual small-town, Lawtonville begins spreading rumors about the admittedly-unfriendly stranger and treating him like dirt - especially after Danny discovers that he was imprisoned in a military jail while in the service. Things come to a head when Jed accidentally blows up Rusty (here played by "Rusty") with dynamite (!) and goes on trial for careless use of explosives, with the town eager to tar and feather the "jailbird".

The dubious highlight of the film is Thurston Hall, playing an obnoxious, eccentric town lawyer. Towards the end, he gives a five-plus-minute long lecture on the evils of intolerance to the town, speaking like a pompous dime-store Clarence Darrow happy to have a platform for his ego and pomposity. I'm sure kids in the '40s appreciated the lengthy lecture just as much as they did getting caned by their parents every night.

Now, after reading that description, I know just what you're thinking: Why the hell is this installment called Son of Rusty? Why, because jailbird Jed has a bitch that Rusty falls for, romances (inasmuch as dogs can romance, I suppose) and knocks up, and so at the very end she has a litter of puppies, at least one of which is a boy! Totally worth naming the movie after, eh wot? (I suppose it's a better title than Son of a Bitch, I grant you...)

Rating: 5 bones out of 10

My Dog Rusty (1948)

My Dog Rusty gives us another lecture on the dangers of spreading gossip and truth telling, in case you hadn't yet got it. Danny's dad runs for Mayor against the mean, crooked Mayor Fulderwilder (Lewis L. Russell), who will do anything to win. Danny does everything he can to help his dad, including sneaking out at night and lying to his dad about it - what's a Rusty film without Father-son tension? Danny works for local doctor Toni Cordell (Mona Barrie, seemingly channeling Celia Johnson), who just happens to be Hugh's old college flame, and makes a lab error that leads to an accusation of tainted water supply against the Mayor. On top of everything else, the movie offers yet another grim tale of animal abuse: adorable blind guy Whitford Kane accidentally crushes his cute little terrier with a vase, and Rusty gets snakebit in the forest. Good thing the ASPCA wasn't around back then.

Here, Danny goes through yet another change in father. John Litel takes over the role of Hugh Mitchell, and he's easily the best of the lot; he has a warm, friendly manner that makes him convincingly fatherly compared to the stiff Conrad Nagel and crusty Tom Powers. He has genuine chemistry with his "wife" and "son" and isn't a bad actor either, although the screenwriters' attempt to supply him and Mrs. Mitchell with Hawksian banter are pretty lame. In an oddly appropriate continuity error, Danny writes a letter referring to his father's sixteen-year marriage to wife Ethel (Ann Doran) - apparently forgetting the first entry in the series, he had so much trouble adjusting to his father's re-marriage! I guess when your parents transform so often, you're liable to forget such things.

Rating: 5 bones out of 10

Rusty Leads the Way (1948)

Rusty yet again plays a secondary role here to the story of blind girl Penny (Sharyn Moffet), who arrives in Lawtonville with her mom (Peggy Converse), befriends Danny and Rusty, and debates whether to take on a guide dog or go to a school for blind children. It's not a very good entry, with lengthy and interminable scenes of Danny's dad and the school board debating how to deal with Penny's educational situation, though Penny's little Boxer Tubby is adorable (Penny herself, less so). In a truly odd moment, the scene where Penny and Tubby get confused whilst walking along a loud and busy street is directed with the sharp editing and vivid imagery of a Hitchcock film - heaven knows why.

Rating: 2 bones out of 10

Rusty Saves a Life (1949)

I tend to enjoy kids' programs most when I can get some morbid, perverse enjoyment out of the affair, and in this regard Rusty Saves a Life is by far the best entry in the series. Here, the kids' friend Counselor Gibson passes away, and his crabby nephew Fred (Stephen Dunne, previously "jailbird" Jed Barlow), who accidentally runs over Rusty the moment he shows up in town (a dog's life, I guess). Danny and his pals go from mildly mischevious scamps to outright juvenile delinquents, declaring a private war on the snot-nosed Fred, sending him threatening notes, throwing rocks through his window and setting his property on fire. The town gets in on the act, turning a cold shoulder to Fred and revealing the Counsellor's words about the tolerance and friendliness to be a bitter, sick, twisted joke on the part of a man who spent ten minutes haranguing the townspeople on their intolerance in his prior appearance.

Most of the enjoyment this installment has to offer is watching the kids be complete jerks and get their comeuppance. The townspeople's conversion, instigated by Fred's would-be love interest Gloria Henry, is a bit much, but John Litel and Ted Donaldson have some of their best acting moments in the series as Danny's delinquency escalates. Stephen Dunne is a mediocre actor but the script gives him a fairly layered character to work with - he's admittedly a jerk but he has a reason to be bitter towards his Uncle, and the kids and townspeople don't make his stay in Lawtonville any easier. The only question is whether the film was deliberately ironic in its having a character who previously harangued the town for intolerance, force his nephew to stay in a town he praises for its friendliness. I somehow doubt it, but then I refuse to believe Douglas Sirk was a satirist rather than a bone-headed mook either.

Rating: 6 bones out of 10

Rusty's Birthday (1949)

This final installment in the series comes not a moment too soon, as Danny is a high school junior ready to attend a military academy (I guess it's no longer an empty parental threat). This entry has Rusty accidentally falling in with a group of transient workers who try and find a home Lawtonville. Unfortunately for everyone, it features the horribly annoying kid Jimmy Hunt (who would gain some degree of immortality for starring in Invaders From Mars), who refers to Rusty as "Gladly" with a toxically-cute voice and demeanor. He's adorable you just want to throw him under a train. The movie has a few moments, including a fist-fight between Danny and jerk hobo boy Bill (Mark Dennis), but mostly you're just waiting anxiously for the series to finally end; we've seen this too many times and that horribly annoying punk isn't helping. At the end, Rusty's gal has another litter of puppies, the Mitchells give one to the obnoxious kid and zzzzz. Let's just say we're glad it's all over at this point. We've had more than enough of Danny, Rusty and Co. by this point.

Rating: 2 bones out of 10

Another Look at Barry Lyndon

Well, I took another trip to the Kubrick Well today. Despite my initial lukewarm reception of Barry Lyndon I've been persuaded to rewatch the film as it supposedly improves with repeat viewings. Sadly, this was not the case with me. A lot of what I said will be redundant to those of you who read my earlier, scathing review back in November, though hopefully some stuff will be explored in more detail. This is a film I really want to like, but can't.

As before I really like the first half of the movie, at least through the Ireland and Seven Years' War scenes. They're full of caustic, dry humor, fine performances and great set-pieces (the duel, Arthur O'Sullivan as Captain Feeny, the battle scenes, Barry's encounter with Potzdorf, Barry's decoration, the intro to Lady Lyndon). The supporting cast is uniformly excellent, even those actors I overlooked last time I watched; it's too bad that the film's leads are a bewigged block of wood and a catatonic dress-up doll. The movie starts to slip a bit during the scenes with the Chevalier (the reason given for Barry's defection is horribly unconvincing and effectively marks where the film starts to go downhill), encountering narrative drift and the first of many well-composed but interminable scenes consisting of well-dressed people sitting around whilst beautiful music plays on the soundtrack, but it's still watchable, and the act ends on a high note with Frank Middlemass's great scene as Lord Lyndon. I'd give the first half a high 7/10; entertaining and interesting, not truly great perhaps, but worth my time.

The second half of the movie, however, is pretty much unbearable. It's like staring at a painting for seventy minutes and about as satisfying; the great music and visual splendor wears itself out before too long simply because there's nothing of interest going on. There's no emotional connection to the characters, no narrative drive, no interesting story (rather a treacly, insipid soap opera), none of the early parts' humor, no themes worth consideration (the aristocracy of Georgian England weren't nice people? Shocker), no reason at all to give a damn about what's going on onscreen really. Presumably we're supposed to be enraptured by the gorgeous art direction but this only works up to a point.

Not to mention, I find the narrator insufferable in the later passages of the film. I will grant I enjoy his snarky commentary on the early segments of the film, when the film functions on some level as a satire and such commentary is appropriate, but as Barry's life falls apart (and the story devolves into soap opera) it just seems cruel and mean-spirited to the extreme. This part of the film is perhaps the strongest argument for Kubrick as anti-humanist cynic. And even that wouldn't bother me that much (who says a filmmaker has to love the characters he portrays?) if something worthwhile were going on! But nothing is! It's redeemed a bit by the wonderful Barry-Bullingdon duel but it ends on as empty and uninteresting a note as it's been chugging along under for the past hour and a half or so.

I feel a need to raise a dissent on the issue of the film's cinematography and art direction. Certainly it's a beautiful film, but it's not a beauty I particularly like. It's an aesthetically distant type of beauty, flat, dull and uninteresting - very pretty to be sure, but to what end? Kubrick shoots the film with rote camera movements of the sort that the likes of Fred Zinnemann get routinely criticized for. It certainly looks nice but it doesn't amount to much because, not only is much done with it beyond producing an endless series of pretty pictures, for much of the film there's rarely anything interesting going on within the shots themselves. Compared to Lean or Leone or Hitchcock's films, or even Kubrick's own 2001, A Clockwork Orange and The Shining, the cinematography is empty and uninteresting, the kind of stuff that we're supposed to appreciate and admire rather than enjoy. If you enjoy it, power to you, but that does not apply to me. In my opinion, truly great films are both artistically sound and entertaining. If I had to chose one or the other though, I'd generally choose the latter.

So yeah, I still don't like Barry Lyndon. It's a film of great individual scenes and moments but fails as a whole. I gave it another shot, and it appealed to me roughly as it did the first time around. I might be generous enough to give the film a bump from a 5 to 6, but that's about it, I fear.

As I did with my last review, though, I'll provide you with something to balance out my bitching: a nice interview with Kubrick on the film. Give it a look.

The Government's 'Sin Bins'

The Telegraph reports that tens of thousands of the 'worst families in England' are to be put in "sin bins" to improve their behaviour, under a government scheme.

The Government, still mired in corruption allegations following the expenses scandal, a Government so morally impeccable that they vote for abortion on demand, embryonic experimentation, gay civil partnerships and adoptions, dish out condoms to kids and a Government that is doubtless paving the way for euthansia laws to be implemented soon, have suddenly decided to believe in sin.

But the only sinners in the UK, as far as the Government is concerned, are 'problem families' who suffer poverty, exclusion and suffer from the associated drug and alcohol problems so often present in 'sink estates'. Oh, and people who put chewing gum on the pavement...these are the worst sinners of all. This Government only believe in any kind of morality when it suits them and they are far more shameless than any of the families that they look down upon.

'Under the Government scheme, members of "Shameless" families are given intensive 24-hour supervision to make sure children attend school, go to bed on time and eat proper meals.

Parents are also given help to stop them leading dysfunctional lives and to combat drug or alcohol addiction. Around 2,000 families have gone through Family Intervention Projects, but ministers intend to increase its scope to 20,000 more in the next two years – each costing between £5,000 and £20,000.

Ministers hope expanding the scheme will reduce the number of youngsters who become drawn into lives of crime because of their chaotic family lives. The projects are operating in around half of all council areas, but Children's Secretary Ed Balls said he wanted every local authority to fund them.

"This is pretty tough and non-negotiable support for families to get to the root of the problem," he said. "There should be Family Intervention Projects in every local authority area because every area has families that need that support."

Expanding the projects is part of moves aimed at reducing youth crime revealed in the Government's Youth Crime Action Plan.'

24 hour supervision? Families will have their own live-in 'supervisor'? At ATD Fourth World, families were crying out for state support. That is support of a caring nature, rather than belittlement or humiliation. The support that ATD Fourth World offered, in the absence of real help or support from social services was a lifeline to families in London and beyond. The organisation was set up by Fr Joseph Wresinski, who had himself been raised in deep poverty.

Of course, nobody is suggesting that all is well in poor families or communities blighted by poverty. It just sounds as if the Government is about to launch a War on Poverty, which like every war the Government launches, like the 'War on Terror', or even the 'War on Obesity', will doubtless result in, if not bloodshed, then more pain and suffering for families, rather than actual family support of any good whatsoever.

Think I am over-reacting? Well, this is from the Home Office website detailing the plans...

'The use of sanctions is an important lever for motivating families to change. Demoting tenancies or gaining possession orders suspended on the basis of compliance with the projects or, for some, the very real prospect of children being taken into care, can provide the wake up call to take the help on offer. Too often these families have been told that action will be taken but is then not followed through, creating a sense among family members that they are untouchable.'

The great problem with secularism, the great poverty of secularism is that it always fails to treat the weakest and most excluded with dignity and it always ends up in a War on someone. Secularism fails to attribute to whole communities, nevermind individuals and families, their true dignity as children of God. That is why this Government will fail in every attempt to wrestle with poverty and social exclusion. It is happening already of course, but more and more, the very poor will be criminalised, and yes, this will result in an increase of children being removed from their families, being placed into care and put up for adoption. I have a good interview on this subject coming up with a lady I met living in Moulescomb coming up and will post it soon. The true stories of people living in poverty must be told and this is as good a place to tell it as any.

Gandhi

Richard Attenborough's Gandhi (1982) is an old-fashioned epic biopic with a cast of thousands, an impressive scope and a brilliant lead performance by Ben Kingsley. It tells the story of a truly great man on a scale few films could hope to match. Its only flaw is its perhaps overly-worshipful portrayal of its protagonist, but all things considered, it's fairly forgivable.

The film tells the life story of Mohandis K. Gandhi (Ben Kingsley), the Indian activist who went from small-time lawyer in South Africa to Indian messiah and international icon. Gandhi's protests start small against discrimination of Indian coolies in South Africa, but gradually build to monumental proportions. Using his tactics of nonviolent resistance, Gandhi gradually wears down the befuddled British Raj and makes continued British rule untenable. However, he is unable to prevent the partition of India into Hindu India and Muslim Pakistan, and he can only try to prevent the internicine violence from growing into an all-out war.

Gandhi was a life-long obsession for Richard Attenborough. After twenty years of preparation, and the failing of similar projects by David Lean and Fred Zinnemann, Attenborough finally got the chance to put his vision on the screen. Attenborough's left-wing sympathies were made clear in his earlier directorial efforts (Oh! What a Lovely War!, A Bridge Too Far), and the film is resolutely in this mould, never doubting the righteousness of Gandhi's cause or tactics. The film's morality is fairly simple, but also very clear in its condemnation of violence and imperialism, its embrace of humanism, peace, equality and understanding. It's a film that's both accessible and thoughtful, plaintitve and considered.

The film shows Gandhi as a truly unique leader, the antithesis of conventional historical earth-shakers who forged their name in blood. Non-violence as a tactic is shown to be brutally effective, simply because there's no good way to fight back: violence will only make one look bad; imprisoning him only angers the public; killing Gandhi will make him a martyr; and, in this case, argument is hopeless, as Britain's rule in India has not a moral leg to stand on. The British, from General Jan Smuts (Athol Fugard) in South Africa to the various British officials (John Mills, John Gielgud, Nigel Hawthorne) consistently underestimate Gandhi, viewing him as a "half-naked fakir" (in Churchill's words) who will simply go away if ignored or appeased to a degree. But he simply cannot be ignored; his populist appeal to the masses is undeniable, and the righteousness of his cause nigh-impossible to question. Imperialism, even Britain's relatively benign model, is impossible to justify as anything than blatant power-grabbing; Britain's violent reaction to Gandhi's protests only lays bare the lie that the Raj is propagating progress and prosperity. Unfortunately for everyone, the predictable fissures in race and religion rend India apart, leaving the country soaked in blood and Gandhi's dream in tatters.

The film's hagiographic portrayal of Gandhi is to be expected, not only for Attenborough's personal politics but because Gandhi has become an untouchable icon of righteousness few in the 20th Century have matched (eg. Martin Luther King and Mother Theresa). The movie makes Gandhi an almost godly figure, speaking in fortune cookie aphorisms (many of which are, to be fair, real quotes - but surely he spoke in conversational tones on occasion), being an ideal father and husband, virtually without religion, lacking in vanity or selfishness and all-knowing and endlessly wise, sweeping the more unsavory sides of his character - his religious fundamentalism, his indifference towards black South Africans, his tacit support of the Axis in World War II - under the rug. One notes Orwell's admonition that "Saints should always be judged guilty until they are proved innocent"; yet Gandhi's image as an avatar of peaceful revolution has endured beyond any criticism.

Don't misunderstand: I certainly see Gandhi as an admirable figure, but also as a human being with faults and foibles. However, for a biopic to worship at the alter of its protagonist is nothing new, and perhaps it's unduly pedantic to complain it - especially considering how compelling a figure he is. Certainly Gandhi was able, for the most part, to put his personal prejudices aside to a degree few people can dream of, and for that alone he deserves his niche as one of modern history's great heroes.

Attenborough's direction is wonderful. His model is clearly his friend and idol David Lean, and marshalls a production even more expansive than any of Lean's films; the opening funeral alone still holds the record for most extras ever used in a film. The film's set pieces are powerfully done; the assassination, the funeral, the bloody and brutal Amritsar Massacre, the triumphant salt march, all expertly staged and marvellously photographed by Ronnie Taylor and Billy Williams, capturing the epochal beauty of India (though somewhat lacking in its squalor). John Briley's script is well-constructed storywise, but for dialogue too often falls back on glancing at Gandhi's page in Bartlet's Quotations. Ravi Shankar's score is wonderful.

Like all biopics, the film succeeds or falls on the strength of its lead performance, and Ben Kingsley is more than up for the task. Kingsley's portrayal is flawless, tackling the character head on and making him human for all his saintliness; he gives the Mahatma a warmth and vitality that the worshipful script is somewhat lacking. A virtual unknown at the time of the film's release, Kingsley became an overnight star with an impressive list of credits: Bugsy, Searching For Bobby Fischer, Schindler's List, Twelfth Night, Sexy Beast (and granted, dross like The Love Guru and Thunderbirds). But he has never topped his impressive feat as Gandhi, and rarely has a Best Actor Oscar been more deserved.

The supporting cast is a mixed bag. The best are the Indian actors: veterans like Roshan Seth (A Passage to India), Saeed Jaffrey (The Man Who Would Be King), Amrish Puri (Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom), Om Puri (Charlie Wilson's War) and one-time film actor Alyque Padamsee all give wonderful turns as Gandhi's friends and colleagues, and have enough screentime to make an impression. The prestigious Western cast is mostly reduced to cameos: veteran British actors like John Gielgud, Trevor Howard, John Mills, Michael Hordern, Nigel Hawthorne and Michael Bryant have little to do but act indignant towards Gandhi. Ian Charleson and Geraldine Paige as two of Gandhi's British allies make a much better impression; Edward Fox's blood-chilling appearance as General Dyer (responsible for the Amritsar slaughter) is far more memorable than his limited screen-time suggests. American stars Candice Bergen and Martin Sheen get token parts as journalists. A young Daniel Day-Lewis can be seen as a South African street punk. The film is clearly Kingsley's show, however, so Attenborough can be forgiven for giving the supporting cast less to do.

Gandhi achieves what it sets out to do very well. It's not a masterpiece, but it's a fine old-school biopic that has hardly dated in the twenty-seven years since its release.

Rating: 8/10 - Highly Recommended

Gonorrhoea Down, Herpes Up!

The BBC Reports...

'The number of gonorrhoea and syphilis infections has fallen, latest figures for the UK show, although diagnoses of genital warts and herpes are up. Statistics from the Health Protection Agency (HPA) showed the number of new gonorrhoea (goneinyourear!) infections was the lowest in nearly a decade.

Overall sexually transmitted infections was up last year by 0.5%, mostly due to the increase in herpes and warts. Those aged between 16 to 24 are still disproportionately affected by STIs. While just 12% of the UK population falls into this age group, they account for more than half of all new STIs diagnosed in the UK.

They saw 65% of new diagnoses of chlamydia (nice name for a daughter), which remains the most common STI - with a total of 123,018 cases. However the rise in the number of infections with this disease, which can cause infertility if not treated, has slowed markedly.

The HPA suggested the significant rise in the number of herpes and warps diagnoses was probably down to the the greater use of more sensitive tests (rather than rampant sexual activity among the young!).

"Early detection is vital for both men and women as some infections, particularly chlamydia, gonorrhoea and genital herpes, can often have no symptoms. This means people may be unaware that they are infected and can pass the infection on to others," the HPA said in a statement.

"We need to continue to encourage safer sex, including condom use, to help reduce the spread of STIs. We also recommend that anyone with a new or casual sexual partner gets tested regularly at a GUM clinic or through the National Chlamydia Screening Programme."'

I see. How interesting. Shouldn't someone tell the HPA, otherwise known as the Herpes Purveyors Association, and perhaps the BBC as well, that condoms do not protect anyone from catching herpes or genital warts, since it is not transmitted through penetrative intercourse but is spread by direct skin-to-skin contact, especially during intimate sexual contact. This includes kissing, oral sex and contact with the genitals or anus. The herpes virus may sometimes be transmitted through a cut to the skin. I know this because I just looked it up on some website and Fr Tim Finnegan told me so last week.

But we'll ignore the facts shall we and just keep telling kids to use condoms anyway even though they're utterly useless in combating the most common sexually transmitted disease in the UK?

It's All Subjective

If I'm going to devote any time to bashing moronic opinions, I might as well mine the fertile fields of IMDB's Film General board. I spend way too much time prowling that board, and while there's much interesting discussion that happens there, too much time is devoted to asinine off-topic sniping. Some of these threads and flames are entertaining - ask any veteran about the Mounty-Slurry Feud - but most are just annoying, petty childish bickering. However, such childish vendettas are nowhere near the that results when board members attempt to debate issues of art and philosophy...

Today there were several trollish threads of users sniping incessantly at each other, per usual. One thread, involving a user named "McFlyin" complaining about how he gets no respect for liking Transformers 2, degenerated into a lengthy slugging matching about Film General's pet topic: subjectivity in art.

Some brief excerpts to give you an idea of what we're talking about here:

Matt Velvet (aka Trolling Streetcar):

There's a point where taste stops being subjective and becomes fact. Roger Ebert wrote a great article about this.

Watchmen being better than The Love Guru is not an opinion. It is a fact. Watchmen took much more effort to make, it is much more intelligent and complex, and it is much more entertaining. Thus, it is a better film. Fact.

...

If you think Step Brothers and Transformers 2 are better than The Godfather, you are wrong. That's all there is to it. You are wrong

.

A-ha, but Independent Thought Alarm (among others) takes issue:

Pull your head out of your ass. Effort and complexity do not make better films. Intelligence and entertainment level are purely subjective. If he thinks Step Brothers and Transformers 2 are better than The Godfather ... then they are better films to him and that's all there is to it. You can still consider The Godfather better, and that opinion is equally valid. Stop being such an arrogant jerk and let him have his own taste. I agree with s-bui, that is nothing but elitism. You have no better taste than McFlyin, just different taste. Now get over it.

You see? That settles it. It's all subjective.

Seriously, though, this seems to be an issue that FG just can't keep away from. A recent article by Roger Ebert also addressed this issue, in response to bitching from Transformers 2 fans (my, they're a surly bunch!) about his acid-laden review of the film. To wit,

We should respect differing opinions up to certain point, and then it's time for the wise to blow the whistle. Sir, not only do I differ with what you say, but I would certainly not fight to the death for your right to say it. Not me. You have to pick your fights.

You tell 'em, Rog!

Though FG seems to enjoy kicking this issue around more than most, it's certainly an argument I've heard many other places, both online and in real life. Where does the line between fact and opinion end? (A corollary, similarly self-defeating argument is: What is art?) Is it right to dismiss someone who likes, say, Billy Jack or Terminator Salvation as a blithering idiot? Is his taste worse than me, who considers Lawrence of Arabia and The Godfather Part II as some of his favorite films? Here's my two cents, so hopefully I'll never have to opine on this idiotically self-defeating argument ever again:

The whole argument is really self-defeating, and, not to be ironic, subjective. Everyone has their own comfort zone, their own point up to which we can accept the other guy's point-of-view as valid, just as personally-defined as our taste in movies. I may accept that many people think The Reader is a brilliant masterpiece while I think it is absolute crap, for instance. It's a movie that has artistic merits that can be argued, even if they elude me. Is it fair, though, to say that something like 300, which shows virtually no skill other than replecating the page of a comic book, is completely devoid of merit? In my opinion, yes. Regardless of objective technical worth, not all films are equal; Silent Night Deadly Night 2 is not "objectively" the same as Citizen Kane, and for me it's foolish to try, for the sake of some esoteric, up-own-arsed pseudo-philosphical argument that three people on the Internet will ever read, to argue otherwise.

As an actual, real-life young man between the ages of 18 and 25, I enjoy a good dumb action movie on occasion, like Die Hard or Speed, but I would never argue they are cinematic masterpieces. Reasonable people can disagree on films, and I might not even mind a coherent, well-reasoned argument on why The Dark Knight is an all-time masterpiece. But the dope teenager who likes Spider-Man 3 and whose opinion is limited "omg that movie rawx", I do not accept as having the same validity as mine. You may think that douche-ish; I would tell you to get a fucking clue and to get your swollen head out of your ass.

To reiterate an obvious point: Objective fact and quality are virtually non-existant in human society, and this should be an obvious point to every sentient being. However, in this case - arguing that there is no difference in quality at all between two films, even if it's Leprechaun in the Hood versus The Godfather - it seems to be taking an argument to an extreme and rendering it completely pointless. It is a pointless exercise in circular logic to argue otherwise.

I guess a summary of my view is, You're entitled to your opinion but I don't have to respect it. I may be willing to listen to a defense of Transformers but so far as I'm concerned that's just so much wasted effort. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. If that makes me a snob, so be it - I am what I am and that's all that I am.

In any case, isn't it subjective whether or not something else is subjective? From my point-of-view an issue may be subjective, but from someone else's it may be concrete fact. Ergo, post-modernism, where nothing actual exists actually - in my personal opinion/perception of course. Oh my God, I've become one of them...

Ultimately, having endless arguments on the issue of subjectivity and opinion vs. fact is futile and pathetic; the same arguments are trotted out ad nauseum without end. It would be nice if FG could stop boring the world and twisting brains in knots, but it ain't likely to happen in this lifetime.

Rant over. I'll try and have a new review up for you tomorrow.

Polish Franciscan Monks Singing Vespers

Andrew, another altar server who serves at the Latin Mass on Fridays and the third Sunday of every month at St Mary Magdalen's, and I, are very keen to start a Sunday Vespers at St Mary Magdalen's with Fr Ray. Listen to these Polish Franciscans singing it. Very beautiful and quite hypnotic.

Soup Run Queue is Growing

Everybody knows times are hard, work is growing more scarce and the cost of living is high. For the past few weeks I have noticed that the soup run queue on the seafront has been getting steadily longer. Yesterday, for the first time, I noticed a family in the queue for the sandwiches and coffee including two little girls aged around 7 to 9 years of age.

When a mother and father are struggling to feed their children, you know that times are very hard. This is the reality of poverty in the UK. For fathers, poverty and unemployment is humiliating, for couples poverty is a source of conflict and arguments, for parents poverty can mean going without to feed your children. For children, poverty can mean social exclusion and bullying at school.

Ed West of the Catholic Herald is coming to St Mary Magdalen's today to talk about poverty and the Faith with me. I feel slightly uncomfortable about it. I think that the experts on poverty are people who are truly poor or at least have experience of it. True poverty results not merely in financial insecurity, but exclusion from society. The Gospels bear witness to this in, for example, Our Lord's healing encounters with those suffering leprosy. Poverty can result in a kind of social leprosy.

People living in long term poverty are often stigmatised and made outcasts. In the parish of St Mary Magdalen's we have one lady who lived a long time in 'cardboard city' in London but was able thanks be to God to find help and support to escape homelessness. I have an hour or two before the interview and will endeavour to get the gist of Caritas in Veritate in preparation for it. Say a prayer that I may not say anything too dumb and that I may give God glory.

The experts on poverty are those living in poverty. People living in poverty do not need well-meaning spokesmen or women, when they can speak for themselves...if somebody takes time to ask. One of the effects of poverty is that people feel without a voice. At ATD Fourth World, it would take sometimes months of encouragement to enable families who are enduring poverty, even in the midst of widespread affluence and wealth in the 'good times', to talk about their experience in a microphone and share their experiences. Some of these families went on to be able to explain poverty to thousands at commemorations, at policy forums with the All Party Parliamentary Group on Poverty and even at the United Nations. That, I feel, says a lot more than I could possibly say. Still, I will do my best.

Hold Your Unborn Child

See The Telegraph, here, for a picture gallery which details a new scanning technique allows expectant mothers to hold a life-size model of their unborn child. Jorge Lopes, a Brazilian designer, developed the ground-breaking technique for his PhD at London's Royal College of Art. "It's amazing to see the faces of the mothers. They can see the full scale of their baby, really understand the size of it," said Dr Lopes.

"I'm Not a Saint"

"I'm too sexy for this job, too sexy for this job..."

Silvio Berlusconi, under mounting allegations, no pun intended, has come out in the press and said, 'I'm not a Saint' in his defense.

It's an interesting phrase and one that I've used myself quite a few times when a friend or two has been shocked by something I have done. "I'm only human!" or "I'm no Saint!" are jolly good defenses...to a point. Yet, there is something rather defeatist about the statement. Our private falls are humbling and remind us of our need for God's mercy. When someone in public life, 'falls from Grace', it must be very humbling indeed, perhaps a little humiliating, because its all over the papers. To be frank I feel sorry for anyone who has their private life turned over in public. It's pretty grim, I'd imagine. Wake up in the morning, look at The Times, 'Oh, my sex life is all over the front page again. Darling, have you seen my glasses? Darling? Darling!'

Clearly, Mr Berlusconi has a sex addiction and being very wealthy, popular and powerful, there is plenty of temptation around him which on various occasions he has given into. My sins are many in number and kind and I wouldn't judge Mr Berlusconi on his weaknesses. But somehow, saying, 'I'm not a Saint' is missing something. I suppose the problem with the statement, 'I'm not a Saint' is that it can express a certain defiance, a kind of, 'This is me and you can take it or leave it, because I'm not going to change' attitude, because 'I'm not a Saint'. Secondly, it is a lot easier to say, 'I'm not a Saint' than it is to say, 'Pray for me. I have screwed up royally this time. Bigtime! I am a poor sinner seeking the Mercy of God'. Thirdly, a man could commit heinous crimes against women, children and men, slaughter whole villages, eat their babies for breakfast and then turn around to a horrified public and say, 'Well, what do you expect? I'm not a Saint!'

St Paul says that as Catholics we are 'called to be Saints'. Our Blessed Lord told us to 'be perfect, as your Heavenly Father is perfect.' The standard of the Gospel, the standards of Christ are so high and indeed we do fall short. For 'all have fallen short of the Glory of God'. But God is Good and God is Mercy and Love. Our Lord picks us up when we fall, longs to embrace us again and wipe away our tears. He knows and loves Mr Berlusconi and all of us possibly more than we can know or truly appreciate in this life.

In other words, Mr Berlusconi may say to the Italian public, 'I'm not a Saint', but the reality is that Sainthood is something to which he and every Catholic is called. Mr Berlusconi may not be a Saint. I may not be a Saint. But both Mr Berlusconi and I have been called by Christ not to defend our vices by negating that Glory to which we have been called, but by saying, 'Lord, I am a poor sinner, make me into a Saint!" Then, after he's been to Confession and told the Lord all about his misdemeanours he can walk out of the Church having done his assigned penance and say to the press, "Listen you cockroaches, the Lord has just taken away all my sins because He loves me and died for me. Why don't you think of doing the same yourselves, you toerags?! I'm off home to go and try and patch things up with my wife and kids and as for you, go and look at yourselves before judging me! I may be a poor sinner, but I know that my Redeemer liveth and with His help, with His Grace, I will be a Saint!"

Well, that's what I would say, if I were famous and ever caught with my pants down in public.

Franciscan Knights: An Order for True Romantics!

Keep praying sisters! Sterling job! We brothers are going down the pub...I mean to feed the poor!

Inspiring article on Catholic Online

In medieval days, knights were men who were elevated by their king and consecrated to a position of trust. These noble and faithful men would pledge to give their very lives to the service and protection of their lord and his kingdom.

Today, members of the Knights of the Holy Eucharist, a vibrant community of consecrated young men deeply committed to the Catholic faith, provide that very service for their Lord and King, Jesus Christ, through their work at the magnificent Shrine of the Most Blessed Sacrament and Our Lady of Angels Monastery in rural Hanceville, Ala. Situated on 400 acres of lush farmland along a remote country road some 45 miles north of Birmingham, the Shrine receives thousands of pilgrims each year who seek to nourish their faith amid this sacred and peaceful environment.

The Shrine and monastery, home to a cloistered community of Poor Clares of Perpetual Adoration, were founded by Mother Angelica, the beloved nun who entered religious broadcasting in 1981 on little more than a prayer and developed the Eternal Word Television Network (EWTN), the largest and most popular religious media network in the world. EWTN is headquartered some 50 miles to the south in the Birmingham suburb of Irondale, where the nuns resided in the original monastery until their relocation to the present site in 1999.

The Knights of the Holy Eucharist represents part of the resurgence of vocations in the Catholic Church developing from the “new evangelization” promoted by Pope John Paul II and continued by Pope Benedict XVI. Its members have as their primary focus the fostering of reverence for the Blessed Sacrament as well as the assistance and protection of the nuns of the monastery. Along with maintaining the grounds and facilities, the Knights host clergy, brothers, and seminarians on retreat; serve as acolytes at Shrine liturgies; and provide assistance for pilgrims.



Community members live the evangelical counsels of poverty, chastity, and obedience but do not profess public vows. In their daily work and personal contact with pilgrims, the Knights also seek opportunities to evangelize by performing works of charity and providing instruction and comfort when necessary. Putting aside the things of this world, they live by the motto of their patron, St. Francis of Assisi: “My God and my All.”

The Knights strive for a structured balance of work and prayer. In addition to their assigned labors, Knights participate daily in Mass, the Rosary, Morning and Evening Prayer, and two hours of scheduled adoration before the Blessed Sacrament. They also take formation classes three days a week, make a Holy Hour on Thursday evenings, and plan a monthly one-day retreat.

HAPPY ST MARY MAGDALEN DAY!

Check out Fr Ray's blog for a picture St Mary Magdalen dressed to the hilt in gold, purple and white. She looks fantastic!

Scarface

It's been awhile since I've actually sat down and reviewed a movie, so today we'll take a look at Brian De Palma's Scarface (1982), a film I've long put off seeing but finally got around to today.

During the late '70s, Fidel Castro empties the Cuban jails of political undesirables and criminals, leading a short-lived exodus of immigrants to the United States. One such man is Tony Montana (Al Pacino), a former soldier and petty crook who arrives in America with little hope for the future. Along with his partner Manny (Steven Bauer), Tony finds work as a minor thug for Miami drug lord Frank Lopez (Robert Loggia) and quickly ascends the ranks after killing a number of Lopez's rivals. However, Tony's ruthless ambition and eye for Frank's girlfriend Elvira (Michelle Pfeifer) land him in trouble with his boss - but Tony kills Lopez and ascends to the top, becoming one of America's biggest drug lords. However, investigations by the Feds, marital problems with Elvira, his possessive relationship with sister Gina (Mary Stuart Mastrantonio), an escalating cocaine addiction and his general paranoia make him a vulnerable target for his rivals - especially after he refuses to carry out a job for rival mobster Sosa (Paul Shenar).

Scarface revels in its excess. For a film directed by Brian De Palma, starring Al Pacino and written by Oliver Stone, one should not expect a subtle film. It's entertaining enough on its own glossy terms, but it lacks the richness, nuance and depth of truly great Mob films like The Godfather, Once Upon a Time in America and Casino, sacrificing depth for surface flair. That's not to say it's not without merits; indeed, it's a very good film provided of course one isn't expecting a Shakespearean masterpiece.

Nominally a remake of the fine 1932 Howard Hawks film with Paul Muni, Scarface maintains only a shred of the narrative and character development and forges its own story, for better and worse. Its narrative is episodic and rather sloppy; aside from its larger than life lead, the cast is made up largely of ciphers with little depth. Not that it matters much, as the film is designed as a complete triumph of style over substance, and mostly succeeds in that way. Few people going into the film are going to be looking for a strong story anyway, least of all the rappers and gang-bangers who seem to have adopted the film as their own.

Tony Montana is an operatic character writ impossibly large. Like all movie gangsters, his rise to power is a perversion of the American Dream, an immigrant finding success through power. This hoary old stereotype has been presented in every film from Little Caesar onward, so there's little new in this. Watching his downfall, however, is perversely fascinating, as in the best Mob films. Ensconced in a mansion, hiding behind piles of money and coke, he alienates his wife, his friends and family, even his business partners. The film wisely doesn't try to romanticize Tony or humanize him to an unreasonable degree; his relationship with his sister and mother (Miriam Colon) serves only to highlight what a slimy ass he is; his rotten marriage is completely empty, making Michael Corleone look like an ideal husband; he ends up killing several of his friends, henchmen and business partners. Tony is a dangerous combination of impulsive, violent, ambitious, and egomaniacal. He thinks he has the world coming to him, and no one or nothing is going to stand in his way.

De Palma provides the film with suitably larger-than-life direction. He lets the bullets and blood fly, with the body count reaching monumental proportions. He shows off his film-buffery a few times, with a tracking shot during a murder reminiscent of Frenzy and a character claiming to have worked on Pontecorvo's Burn! , but mostly its all De Palma, sloppy, high-octane but viscerally intriguing - like Tarantino without the grace and control (and not as well-focused, it would seem, as screenwriter Stone's own excess). This movie's famous final shootout with a rival gang's hit squad is a bit too over-the-top, even for me, making The Wild Bunch's fabled finale look like a friendly picnic. Still, within the context of the film - and considering the character who is its center - it's the only appropriate ending. His direction on The Untouchables a few years later would be much more restrained and classy if no less stylish.

Al Pacino makes the film with a bravura performance of record-setting scenery-chewing. He plays Tony broadly over-the-top, as a consummate actor, concerned only with self-gratification and - as if trying to convince the other characters of his righteousness. It's hard to criticize Pacino's turn as over-the-top because that's exactly what the character demands. The rest of the cast is mostly non-descript: talented actors like Robert Loggia, Michelle Pfeifer, Mary Stuart Mastrantonio, Harris Yulin and F. Murray Abraham are all given fairly minor parts, completely overshadowed by Pacino. This isn't inherently a bad thing but it robs the film of well-rounded depth; it's essentially a one-man show, but fortunately focused on a man powerful enough to carry the film on his shoulders.

Scarface is a sprawling, ambitious film, a comic-book version of The Godfather that almost elevates blood-soaked pulp into cinematic art. It succeeds as a piece of entertainment, but it doesn't quite reach the top tier of gangster flicks. That said, it's still one hell of a ride - a mess, but a fascinating mess.

Rating: 7/10 - Recommended