G.K. Chesteron's priest-detective Father Brown has been a screen mainstay, from 1934's Father Brown, Detective to the current BBC series with Mark Williams. The best-regarded version remains 1954's Father Brown, a loose reworking of Chesteron's story "The Blue Cross." Alec Guinness is perfectly cast as the amateur sleuth, adding charm to a relatively thin caper.
Meek parish priest Father Brown (Alec Guinness) moonlights as an amateur detective. Brown's bishop (Cecil Parker) taps him to transport a holy relic to Rome. Unfortunately he's outwitted by Flambeur (Peter Finch), a French con artist who steals for enjoyment. With help from Ms. Warner (Joan Greenwood) Brown tracks the thief across Europe, ending up at an estate outside Paris. Brown considers Flambeur a lost soul, and hopes to woo him to an honest life.
Father Brown is a slight but enjoyable romp. Director Robert Hamer (Kind Hearts and Coronets) presents the detective's adventures as light comedy, poking playful fun at Brown's stuffy superiors and Bernard Lee's bumbling cop. Brown appears a silly goose but his keen observational skills and understanding of human nature makes him Flambeur's match. Admittedly the film amounts to relatively little: the stakes never advance beyond Brown's wish to convert Flambeur, while supporting characters remain archetypes. Fortunately the ride's fun enough to compensate.
Alec Guinness plays Brown much like Holland from The Lavender Hill Mob, masking a snappy wit behind endearing awkwardness. It's said that this film convinced Guinness to convert to Catholicism. Peter Finch (Sunday, Bloody Sunday) makes a suave adversary, though Joan Greenwood feels wasted. Cecil Parker (The Ladykillers) and Bernard Lee (Last Holiday) feature in supporting roles.
Father Brown is an agreeably frothy concoction, light-hearted but enjoyable. More comic than Chesteron's original character, Alec Guinness's Brown is still fun to watch.
Having failed to fully complete the requirements of my Liebster Award I hope to bring matters up to date with the set of questions posed by Ches of The Sensible Bond.
Here they are:-
What inspired the title of your blog?
I was looking for a title that embraced meaning as well as being memorable. When I stumbled across Linen on the Hedgerow (a reference to the signal used in Ireland, in times of persecution of the Faith, to indicate that Mass would be celebrated at the house that hung its washing on the hedges to dry) I knew that I had found one that fitted my needs like a glove.
Why should people read your blog?
They shouldn't. They should avoid reading it at all costs (it's very bad for one's charismatic side)
What is your personal favourite post on your blog?
What has been the most popular (most viewed) post on your blog?
The one that I wrote concerning the devil, you may see it HERE. Apparently anything featuring the devil, mantillas, Ed Stourton or reception kneeling and by mouth receives great attention.
Which post on your blog has attracted most comments?
Really not sure. But this blog is blest with some very kind and charitable commentators - I value those contacts immensely.
What other hobbies or interests (beyond blogging) are you prepared to admit to?
My family, fishing, any country pursuits and Japanese food.
What are your hopes for the new pontificate?
That Pope Francis will celebrate the EF Mass in public; and that he will give most of the bishops of England and Wales a good spiritual kicking.
Where is your favourite place of pilgrimage, and why?
Lourdes is my favourite although, in May we plan to go to Fatima. Of course, being in Wales, I have a great affinity with the National Shrine of Our Lady of Cardigan but the diocese refuses to give our Mother a decent shrine so she has to make do with a 1970s hotel lobby. I love Lourdes because I feel truly at home there.
Who is your favourite spiritual author, and why?
Is Tolkien allowed? Pity. I think that it would then have to be Archbishop Fulton Sheen who should be canonised as a priority.
Which of these questions did you find it most difficult to answer?
Why should people read my blog? I can't really answer it sensibly.
Are you now, or have you ever been, a member of the Communist Party?
That is a most personal question and I refuse to answer it Comrade Ches.
There's a problem with making "old-fashioned adventure movies" today. True, modern budgets allow for extensive location shooting, period detail and actual Indian/African/Arab actors instead of Alec Guinness and C. Henry Gordon in blackface. But our post-colonial world frowns upon the racial and imperial attitudes that shows like Gunga Din take for granted, leaving filmmakers in a bind. Thus you get queasy compromises likeThe Four Feathers(2002), which play to each sensibility and fail at both.
The Ghost and the Darkness (1996)is like that. Stephen Hopkins's loose adaptation of The Man-Eaters of Tsavo (which previously inspired 1952's Bwana Devil) ran afoul of egomaniacal stars Val Kilmer and Michael Douglas, altering this adventure story into a bloated star vehicle. Critics sniffed at the movie as "Jaws with lions" while audiences largely ignored it. The film has its moments but sinks under some ill-advised narrative decisions - namely a profoundly obnoxious deuteragonist.
Colonel John Henry Patterson (Val Kilmer) is recruited by an English railroad magnate (Tom Wilkinson) to construct the Uganda Railway through British East Africa. Patterson finds the work camp riven by tensions between native Africans and Indian coolies, even before a larger threat arrives. Two lions begin attacking workers, with Patterson unable to stop them. Desperate to stop the attacks, Patterson calls in Charles Remington (Michael Douglas), an eccentric American hunter to help trap the seemingly unstoppable predators.
The Ghost and the Darkness draws on John Henry Patterson's colorful memoirs. The Tsavo lions slaughtered dozens of workers before Patterson killed them. Historians and biologists alike still debate what drove these creatures to a murderous rampage. Patterson himself is a fascinating personage, a soldier, engineer and hunter who served in India, oversaw construction of the Uganda Railway and discovered a new species of eland. During World War I he commanded a battalion in Britain's Jewish Legion at Gallipoli and Allenby's Palestinian campaign, remaining a lifelong advocate for Zionism. Between the lions and their hunter there's plenty of cinematic material.
The Ghost and the Darkness certainly has moments of high adventure. Val Kilmer's Irish accent is dodgy but his actual performance works well-enough, a single-minded professional out of his depth facing lions. (Whether it's fair to the real Patterson is another issue.) Vilmos Zigmond's photography makes Africa alternately beautiful and menacing. To Hopkins' credit, he stages several effective set pieces: one lion fighting his way out of a rail car trap proves more terrifying than the actual attacks. Jerry Goldsmith's rousing score adds a touch of grandeur. So where does Ghost go wrong?
One culprit is William Goldman's script. The writer of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid tries to mash the silliness of '30s adventure serials with modern PC sensibilities. Thus we have Tom Wilkinson's mustache-twirling tycoon, who actually tells Patterson that he enjoys torturing his employees. There's also narrator Samuel (John Kani), a modern Man Friday who swills booze and cracks jokes with the heroes like a frat brother. Ghost hints at supernatural explanations for the attacks, generating cheesy opticals of Patterson and Co. bewitched by lion eyes, but doesn't fully commit to it. When all else fails Goldman falls back on cliches (a dream sequence, seriously?), clunker dialogue and set pieces cribbed from Jaws.
But the biggest miscalculation by far is Remington. Goldman claims Michael Douglas came on board, took a minor character as his own and beefed up the part accordingly. Remington is an ill-conceived Great White Hunter caricature, an ex-Confederate soldier living with Masai warriors, all shaggy hair and deranged leering. In other words, someone H. Rider Haggard would consider too outlandish. Douglas's frightful hamming doesn't help, twitching, bugging his eyes and even paraphrasing Dirty Harry's "Do I feel lucky?" speech. This awful character sinks the movie almost singlehandedly, reducing a likely indignant Val Kilmer to virtual spear carrier.
The Ghost and the Darkness really should be a lot better. If Goldman had a clearer handle on the story, or if less "difficult" stars played the leads, it could be fine escapist fun. Instead we're stuck with an overwrought, dramatically hollow creature feature.
John Ford's The Plough and the Stars (1936) should be good. Based on Sean O'Casey's controversial Easter Rising play (which caused riots in Dublin during its initial 1926 run), it seems like a no-brainer for the director who'd just won an Oscar for The Informer (1935). But Ford's stilted handling of the material, mixed with awkward casting and studio meddling, produce a boring misfire.
1916 Ireland erupts into the Easter Rising, an ill-fated rebellion against British rule. Jack Clitheroe (Preston Foster) joins the rebels, wife Nora (Barbara Stanwyck) not comprehending his decision to get involved. Ireland's working class stays aloof from the rebellion, more upset by the Rising's violent chaos than British oppression. The Rebellion is swiftly crushed, the Rising's leaders arrested alongside socialists and antiwar activists. Nora and Jack argue over whether everything was worthwhile.
Ford viewed Plough as a pet project. He received O'Casey's blessing, cast actors from the play's original run (Arthur Shields, F.J. McCormick, Denis O'Dea) and filmed in Ireland. But Ford immediately clashed with RKO producer Sam Briskin, who demanded Ford neuter O'Casey's socialist politics and emphasize the story's romance. Things got so bad that Ford refused to reshoot key scenes with Barbara Stanwyck and Preston Foster, forcing Briskin to bring in an AD. Ford disowned the finished product, complaining RKO "completely ruined the damned thing." The movie received a critical roasting, flopped and was duly forgotten. It's little surprise then that The Plough and the Stars stinks. Ford and writer Dudley Nichols's ragged narrative diffuses over a large cast of cipher characters. The central romance falls flat, while O'Casey's contrast of working class cynicism with nationalist violence scarcely comes through. We see Maggie (Una O'Connor) lose her shop to rioting Dubliners, while hard-drinking Fluther Good (Barry Fitzgerald) wonders whether nationalist revolt can achieve social justice. There's certainly potential here, with O'Casey avoiding easy resolutions, but Ford's staging falls back too frequently on stentorian position speeches.
After The Informer's Expressionist nightmare view of Ireland, Ford's wartime Dublin feels flat and perfunctory. The repetitive action scenes make liberal use of stock footage; a crude running gag outspoken characters being machine gunned wears thin. Cinematographer Joseph H. August drapes scenes in shadow without motivation, as if darkness self-generates mood. Ford's one memorable set piece has an Irish sniper shot by British troops glide silently off the rooftop, arms outstretched Christlike. The rest is rote hackwork.
Barbara Stanwyck gives an uncharacteristically awful performance. Excellent playing brassy femmes and comedy leads, Babs flounders playing an hysterical wreck, mouthing Nichols' (or O'Casey's?) overripe verbiage without conviction. Preston Foster is stiff as a board. The Irish players fare better: Barry Fitzgerald (The Quiet Man) steals every scene as a cynical revolutionary. Denis O'Dea, Una O'Connor and Arthur Shields have showy bit parts. But they're too thinly sketched to hold more than momentary interest. The Plough and the Stars is a thoroughly soporific experience. Despite the interesting story it's a dramatic dud that might be John Ford's worst feature.
We should not expect our priests to entertain at Mass (or our altar servers to do aeroplane impressions)
Having been brought up with the Latin Mass or Mass in the Extraordinary Form as we now call it, I find it more familiar and certainly easier to say than the English version.
The Latin rolls smoothly off the tongue while the English stammers and struggles to sound sensible and reverent.
The EF Mass attracts a great deal of adverse criticism and I regularly prune the comments box, lopping off those anonymous contributors who carp on about this or that concerning the 'Mass of all time'.
I have yet to read a comment that is sound or factual, most are in the realms of fantasy or ignorance.
So this is my attempt (for those born after 1980 or, who have not attended a real Latin Mass in the past forty or so years) to explode some of the myths bandied about by the liberal lobby.
1. "The priest gabbles the Latin"
Have you ever travelled to France? Or Japan or Oman? Foreign languages, spoken as a first language are voluble and, to the novice listener, often sound unintelligible. They are not; it is just what we call fluency. The same applies to Latin, that's it.
2. "It's a dead language"
Not entirely sure what people mean when they say this. Latin is at the root of many branches of the sciences and medics use it extensively. It is also fundamental to many of the languages spoken in Europe including English, French, Spanish and Italian. And, even if it is classified as 'dead', it is a truly wonderful thing to dedicate a language to the worship of Almighty God; a special language reserved solely for the purpose of giving praise to the Holy Trinity.
3. "We don't know what is being said"
What? I don't understand what you mean. If you look in any Latin missal you will see a vernacular translation alongside the Latin text - read it!
4. "I don't like the way the priest has his back to the congregation"
Let's make certain we know what is taking place here and why. The priest is acting on our behalf, he is not asking us for forgiveness or for the chance of salvation or for any blessings; he is asking Almighty God for those things on our behalf. He is acting as an intermediary, and, most vitally, the celebrant priest is the conduit that God uses to transform ordinary bread and wine into His own Body and Blood. When you ask for anything it is common courtesy to face the person who will, hopefully, answer and fulfil your request; in this instance, Jesus Christ, present on the altar in the form of bread and wine. If royalty was present you would not turn your back on them; what sort of leader looks backwards rather than forwards?
5. "But I don't speak Latin, the EF Mass is so elitist"
See point 3, the vernacular translation is there for you to follow. In England and Wales in medieval times, even the peasant laity had a good grasp of Latin so there is nothing necessarily exclusive about it.
6. "Latin Masses are so quiet"
This is not a myth but I thought it worth including. If you have grown up with the dialogue Mass in the vernacular or, if you have not attended a Latin Mass for many years, there is a considerable shock element in the silence attached to the Extraordinary Form. I view that as being rather like living in the centre of a busy city where noise is incessant and the roar of traffic is with you twenty fours hours a day. Take a break in the country and it will take you time to adjust and to appreciate that peace of mind that comes only when secular noises are excluded and fresh air inhaled. The House of God should not be a place for noisy chatter and gossipping yet, in the Ordinary Form it so often is. The EF Mass allows you a number of options; you may follow in the Missal, you may follow at your own pace through personal prayer preferences or you may use the Mass as a backcloth to meditation - or you may do a combination of all three.
7. "I find the Latin Mass thing to be old fashioned and out of date"
Fashion should not enter into the liturgical process; the fact is that the EF Mass evolved, after Christ's time on earth, providing the faithful with the most perfect means of us worshipping God and, at the same time, enabling us to fulfil His Son's request at the Last Supper. In terms of format, that evolution had to stop at some stage; in terms of textual translation, there is a need to ensure that what is said at Mass remains intelligible. We draw on tradition and ritual to link us back to when Christ walked the earth and to remind ourselves of our heritage - what Pope Emeritus Benedict called the hermeneutic of continuity.
And, if you wish to leave a comment please make it courteous and non anonymous.
The international success of Rome: Open City (1945) prompted Roberto Rossellini to revisit wartime Europe. The result is his "War Trilogy," rounded out by Paisan (1946) and Germany, Year Zero (1948). These remarkable filmsimprove on the flawed initial installment, showing Axis Europe's reaction to defeat and ambivalence towards their "liberation."
Paisan (1946)
By the standards of neorealism, Paisan (1946) is a full-blown epic. This episodic drama explores the end of World War II, highlighting tensions between Italian civilians and their American and British liberators.
Six vignettes depict the Allied liberation of Italy. Several American GIs liberate a town in Sicily, with Joe (Robert Van Loon) befriending peasant girl Carmela (Carmela Sazio). An African-American MP (Dots Johnson) strikes up an unlikely friendship with a Naples street urchin (Alfonsino Pasca). American Fred (Gar Moore) shacks up with Roman widow Francesca (Maria Mischi) who waits for his return. British nurse Harriet (Harriet Medin) searches for her partisan-lover amidst a British mopping-up of Florence. Three American chaplains take refuge in a monastery, whose Brothers take umbrage when they learn two are Lutheran and Jewish, respectively. Finally, two OSS agents join Italian partisans in a campaign against German troops in Northern Italy.
Paisan loosely recalls A Canterbury Tale but without that film's cheerfulness. Unlike Powell & Pressburger's mythic England, Italy is a bitter, defeated enemy. Mussolini's loyalists and German soldiers conduct scorched-earth resistance, with brutal reprisals against partisans. Antifascist guerrillas achieve little without Allied help. Rossellini contrasts a downbeat ending with the Allied victory; Italy's a loser regardless, the war leaving structural ruin, social divisons and a dangerous power vacuum at the Cold War's onset.
Paisan evokes many tones but its overriding theme is culture clash. The Italians fear Americans as sex-crazed loafers and mock the Brits as ineffectual; the Americans seem bemused by European culture. Attempts to communicate lead to tragedy or misunderstanding. Joe and Carmela's meeting ends abruptly, the girl taking the blame. Fred learns Italian to communicate with Francesca only to dump her. Catholic Chaplain Martin (William Tubbs) preaches religious tolerance to the monks, only pissing them off. Only in combat do the erstwhile enemies work together.
Despite a shoestring budget Rossellini provides lots of location shooting, throwing in two large-scale action scenes. His mostly-amateur cast acquits themselves well; the affecting Carmela Sazio was supposedly an illiterate peasant. Stylistically it's a touchstone for Italian cinema: De Sica's Bicycle Thieves owes much to Rossellini's mixture of charm and pathos, while the Florence episode's graphic street fighting prefigures Pontecorvo's The Battle of Algiers. An absorbing wartime mosaic, Paisan stands as a remarkable achievement.
Germany, Year Zero (1948)
Paisan's ambivalence gives way to despair in Germany Year Zero (1948). This unremittingly grim tale of postwar desolation shows Hitler's Thousand Year Reich reduced to a Darwinist playground of crime and poverty.
12 year old Edmund (Edmund Moeschke) lives miserably in post-war Berlin. His brother Karl-Heinz (Franz-Otto Kruger), an ex-soldier, refuses to register with occupying powers; sister Eva (Ingetraud Hinze) struggles to find work; their father (Franz-Otto Krüger) suffers from malnutrition. Edmund tries to work honestly but falls into street crime, joining his old teacher Herr Henning (Erich Gühne) to sell black market goods. Edmund takes Henning's survival of the fittest mantra literally, committing a crime that pushes him further into despair.
Possibly the most extreme in the neo-realist cycle, Germany Year Zero uses an entirely unprofessional cast. Berlin remains unreconstructed, divided by the Allied powers and its neighborhoods littered with rubble. Germans toil in menial jobs, cram into crowded tenements, steal coal in broad daylight and generally suffer. One early scene has squabbling Berliners butchering a horse in the street. Here Allied troops are only snap-happy tourists, unable (or unwilling) to alleviate German suffering.
Rossellini shows the struggle of "New Germany" to escape Nazism's shadow. Edmund's siblings earn our respect: Eva refuses to prostitute herself and Karl-Heinz eventually does the right thing. But the young protagonist learns all the wrong lessons after being turned away from real work. Henning's mentoring of Edmund mixes Nietzschean harangues with more disturbing attention. Two teenaged criminals swindle Edmund, pocketing his money in exchange for sex and potatoes. He's a warped Oliver Twist, too young to understand his actions but too embittered to be optimistic. Edmund's gone long before committing his stupid, senseless crime.
Some critics fault Zero for forfeiting sympathetic characters in favor of anti-Fascist posturing. True, Rossellini provides more overt messages than previous films: one crude but effective scene plays Adolf Hitler's voice over the bombed-out Chancellery, implying karmic retribution for Nazi imperialism. But even without a strong emotional hook, Germany Year Zero's bleak authenticity seers the memory. Its climactic tragedy will haunt you long after the film ends.
* * *
Groggy hopes to provide more cheerful postings in the immediate future - perhaps drawing from real life as much as films. Stay tuned for future updates.
Anglo-French Rally: Braving the freezing cold of March in London, 2013
Sunday saw the biggest demonstration against 'same-sex marriage' yet witnessed in France, with 1.4 million French citizens descending upon Paris to protest against Francois Holland's proposal to redefine marriage in the country.
Ex-patriot French living in the United Kingdom, in solidarity with those protesting against the proposal in Paris, gathered to make their voices heard in Trafalgar Square in a three hour demonstration along with English supporters of 'Le Manif pour tous' ('The March for All') campaign. As many as 2,000 protesters were estimated to have been present at the foot of Nelson's column in support of traditional marriage as both English and French citizens railed against the French Government and British Government's plans to 'extend marriage' to include same-sex relationships.
Parliament overshadows demonstrators at 'Le Manif pour Tous'
While the Trafalgar Square demonstration passed off without violence or major incident, the news from France was different today, with Life Site News today reporting that police fired tear gas at men, women and children protesting for the rights of all children to be given a natural mother and father, for the rights of public sector teachers not to have to teach this definition of marriage to children and for the rights of conscience to be upheld for all. Along the top steps of Nelson's Column stood children of the French mothers and fathers waving flags in defence of marriage.
The culture clash of the 21st century was evident in Trafalgar Square with a smaller group of counter-protesters jeering and attempting to drown out the voices of those speaking on the many anti-democratic and totalitarian outcomes expected if British and French 'same-sex marriage' proposals pass into law. But for the vocal crowd of pro-'gay marriage' supporters making chants of 'hypocrite', 'bigots' and 'your hate kills', the event was a loud if good-natured affair, as speakers from England and France encouraged those gathered to protest against the legislation to shout 'Vive le mariage' so that David Cameron and Parliament would hear. Despite freezing temperatures, the crowd gathered to protest against the proposals listened to talks from different speakers, including Alan Craig of Anglican Mainstream, one of the few Church organisations that have become involved in the joint French-English demonstration campaign.
1.4 million French citizens demonstrate against same-sex marriage in Paris
There was, sadly, no official representation that I could see from the Catholic Church. This was an excellent opportunity for the Catholic Church in England and Wales to gather momentum in the continuing campaign against the redefinition of marriage.
I found it sad that this initiative, which surely involves at least a small contingent of French and British Catholics, has received as yet no public backing from either the Hierarchy of the Catholic Church or that of the Anglican Church. There is popular sentiment against this proposal, so why is the Catholic Church not tapping into the natural feelings of the majority of British people against it and supporting such a demonstration publicly?
Speakers at the demonstration in London urged protestors on to join other 'manifestations' that will take place in the year and to keep fighting in defence of marriage, an institution which, if redefined in such a radical way, will surely crumble in the decades to come. Protesters were urged to fight now, since once the proposal becomes law, it will surely not be long before all protest against it will be silenced under the force of law. Already, in France, tear gas was used on those demonstrating. What will it be like for those who fight in defence of marriage once it is redefined?
The demonstration on Sunday had me thinking of the two crowds of Holy Week, for there were two crowds at the 'manifestation' in London. On Passion Sunday, we recalled those who lauded and honoured Jesus as He rode into Jerusalem upon a donkey, greeted by many as the Messiah and the long awaited King of Israel. We are led to believe that this was not the same crowd that called out 'Crucify him!' in His Bitter Passion. Two crowds swarmed at Trafalgar Square, one crowd defending Truth and honouring marriage in defence of family and children.
The other crowd, the crowd who are listened to by the modern day Pontius Pilates that fill Parliament mocked and jeered those standing up in defence of the one institution that guarantees the next generation to be raised in stability and with both maternal and paternal love. Those who seek the destruction, redefinition and crucifixion of marriage may very well win in England, France and all of Europe. Let not those in authority in the Catholic Church go down in history as those who, like our politicians, will declare themselves to be 'innocent of the blood of this man, as He who made man and woman for a sacred union for their temporal and spiritual welfare - and that of their children - is crucified once more in our times! We hear in the Gospel that children cried out 'Hosanna, blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord' as Christ rode triumphantly into Jersusalem on a donkey. Children cried out in defence of marriage on Sunday, in France and in England and for their cries were, along with adults, subjected to tear gas from the French State.
Shocked? Well, why are we not doing something about it?! What a disgusting vision of the state of things to come! What a bleak future for children and what a terrible sign this is for the World, when tear gas is used on people by their own Government, protesting against a war not on some foreign nation, but on marriage, family life and even children and the environment in which they flourish! This is not a march against a war but a march against a government proposal that is not yet even law - a proposal that had, in neither France, nor England, no popular mandate! It is children, their future, their safety, their education, even the livelihoods of their parents that are at stake now in this battle over the definition of marriage - a battle started not by the Church, or the populace, or by even homosexuals - but by the State itself. Let us fight and campaign for marriage. Long live marriage! Vive le mariage! Viva Christo Rey!
Oh and by the way, just because people are on opposing sides of the 'debate' on marriage does not mean that they have to be totally at emnity. A fellow protester against the redefinition of marriage and I took one of the pro-'gay marriage' for a drink at a nearby pub afterwards. We got on well and discussed some of the issues. Turned out the guy was a former Mormon who had been married and had had children but now wants to marry his male partner. He came all the way from Norfolk to protest against the protest, so it goes to show the strength of feelings that some have in terms of the legislation, for and against. So while one commenter on my blog is suggesting that people defending marriage from redefinition are narrow minded haters of homosexuals, I thought I'd just nip that one in the bud. He was a nice guy, pray for him.
The end of Lent is within sight and, taking stock of my penances and mortifications I find that I have not progressed much further than the 'soft' options.
The ones lambasted by Fr J in his first Lenten sermon.
I cannot quote him word for word but the essence was that giving up chocolate and strong drink is not exactly penitential.
Yet that was what I did; I refrained from eating chocolate and imbibing beer and alcohol of all kinds. I also resolved (successfully) to ramp up my daily prayer routine and I fasted a bit.
That, basically, was it.
In my defence I plead a weak will and a lifestyle that should, by rights be sedentary and serene but, in actuality, is a manic mix of work, family and desperate DIYing on a property that, at times, seems to be falling down about our ears (why ears for goodness sake?).
That is probably the same for most of us but, nevertheless, Sunday will bring a special glow over and above the glory of the Resurrection.
Priority will have to go to a pint or two (but no more than that) of the Reverend James. A draught bitter that is, according to the Scribe of Jarrow, too sweet for manly Northerners but it suits my adolescent, softie, Southern palate.
But that can only come after we drive our grindingly boring 70 plus miles to Mass. With a 3pm Mass the day is basically gone, you cannot do much beforehand and very little afterwards, except, perhaps, drink a glass or two of the amber liquid.
1950 was a seminal year for Westerns. The genre turned towards darker fare: The Gunfighterand Winchester '73 deconstructed the gunslinger myth, while Broken Arrow and Devil's Doorwayextoll Indian rights. John Ford's brilliant Wagon Master showed traditional Westerns could still provide a kick. Lost in the shuffle was Robert Wise's Two Flags West (1950), a serviceable Civil War Western.
In 1864, Confederate POWs led by Colonel Tucker (Joseph Cotten) agree to join the Union Cavalry fighting Indians. These "Galvanized Yankees" arrive at Ft. Thorn, New Mexico, where Tucker immediately butts heads with untrusting Major Kenniston (Jeff Chandler). The friendlier Captain (Cornel Wilde) pines for Elena (Linda Darnell), Kenniston's widowed sister-in-law. Tucker and his men consider escape, goaded by Rebel agent Ephraim Strong's (Harry Von Zell) plans to stir up rebellion in California. Tucker makes his choice when hostile Apaches attack Ft. Thorn.
Story writer Frank S. Nugent explored North-South reconciliation in Ford's She Wore a Yellow Ribbon but makes it Two Flags West's major theme. Mutual loss generates tension among characters: Tucker led the Rebels who killed Elena's husband at Chancellorsville, while both Tucker and Kenniston served in POW camps. Tucker has no interest in reconciliation, having lost his farm to Sherman's March. Ultimately Wise falls back on the old expedient of Americans uniting against a common enemy, forging a national identity slaying Apaches. Two Flags West might interest film-goers for its influence on future Westerns. John Sturges's Escape From Fort Bravo (1953) borrowed the setting and north-south tensions for a routine action flick. Sam Peckinpah grafted whole scenes onto Major Dundee (1965): Dundee's recruiting speech, Tucker's obsessive loyalty, a Dixie-Battle Hymn of the Republic singing duel originate here. Henry Sibley's New Mexico Campaign, mentioned in passing here, became the focus of Sergio Leone's The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (1966).
Robert Wise provides efficient direction, with expressive photography and a thrilling end battle. The movie's crisply paced yet seems to cram in a few too many plot strands. We're intrigued by Harry Von Zell's Rebel agitator yet his subplot comes to nothing. The Apache are goaded to violence by Kenniston's stubbornness (shades of Fort Apache) but soon revert to pop-out savages. At least Wise provides an unconventional resolution to the climax. Western fans will enjoy Two Flags' straightforward action but its ambitions seem frustrated.
Joseph Cotten is fine as the conflicted Colonel Tucker. Jeff Chandler gives the standout turn, a cruel martinet who reveals nobility under fire. Cornel Wilde is likeable in a secondary role and Arthur Hunnicut steals his scenes as Tucker's right-hand man. Linda Darnell makes an appealing love interest; if nothing else, it's nice seeing her play a non-stereotyped Latina.
Two Flags West is an enjoyable Sunday afternoon film. A masterpiece it isn't, but those seeking an undemanding oater should enjoy.
In fact, it's a very nice church, and the doctrine's not bad either, those bits that were not excised or mangled by your forbears, and the position is excellent also......
....so please just remember that all of the above were once Catholic.....Canterbury Cathedral*, the doctrinal elements of the Anglican Faith and the post of Archbishop of Canterbury.
The inauguration of the new Archbishop of Canterbury
And, as far as the plywood altar and polyester vestments are concerned, they're yours - you can keep 'em.
But...please treat the accommodation with respect....
....and in Cardiff, Clare, Catrin, Rhoslyn, Colleen and all the other 40 Days for Life workers and volunteers, throughout the world.
Thank you on behalf of the unborn, the mothers and fathers, the abortuary workers and, of course, us; all of us.
It is surely an amazing feat to provide the organisation, tenacity and faith with which to mount a gruelling 40 Day vigil outside abortuaries; those death camps where, they say, abortion is so safe but where, a regular flow of ambulances arrive to transport those women whose abortion did not go to plan and whose life is threatened.
See Stuart McCullough's blog HERE where his wife has a timely post.
Today is the last day of the vigil. If you have time, visit the groups at St Mary's Street, Cardiff, Bedford Square, Whitfield Street or Ealing, London.
Roberto Rossellini's Rome: Open City (1945) is a seminal work in Italy's neorealist movement... or is it? This grim, downbeat account of Nazi occupation and Italian Resistance lays out the genre framework but retains conventional dramatic form. Whatever you call Rome, it's a remarkable film.
Rome in 1944 waits eagerly for Allied liberation, but German occupation makes things unbearably grim. A loose activist network organizes resistance in the city: engineer Manfredi (Marcello Pagliero), the pregnant Pina (Anna Magnani), liberal priest Don Pietro (Aldo Fabrizi). Even Pina's adolescent son Marcello (Vito Annicchiarico) joins in, helping smuggle guns and explosives from outside partisans. But SS Chief Bergmann (Harry Feist) has tricks up his own sleeve, using informers and interrogation to smash subversives.
Neorealism got its start in Luchino Visconti's Ossessione (1943), a bastardized adaptation of The Postman Always Rings Twice. But Rome: Open City established the genre firmly. Filming on a shoestring budget in early 1945, Rossellini captured remarkable footage of bombed-out Rome while the war raged elsewhere. The movie bombed domestically but garnered international acclaim, winning the jury prize at Cannes in 1946. Rosselini rounded out his "War Trilogy" with Paisan (1946) and Germany Year Zero (1948), catapulting him into the top tier of international filmmakers.
Rome: Open City's verisimilitude still impresses. Made just months after Rome's liberation, it's truly ahead of its time depicting bombed-out cityscapes and poverty. Italians riot over bread while Gestapo raids occur daily; hostile families are crowded into tiny tenements. What was technical necessity strikes an aesthetic chord: few films provided such raw, direct pictures of wartime destruction. Rossellini beautifully captures Italians' wartime cynicism: the Resistance seems ineffectual, while the Allies only prove their existence through bombing raids. Federico Fellini's episodic script allows for wonderful slice-of-life moments, like a kid's soccer game or Pina bickering with her sister.
Despite these authentic trappings, Rome isn't pure neorealism. For one, it features major stars Magnani and Fabrizi, a no-no in many genre works. Nor does Rossellini avoid melodramatic touches: in particular, Pina's romance with Francesco (Francesco Grandjacquet) tempts fate from the onset. Borrowing a page from wartime Hollywood potboilers (Hangmen Also Die!), Rossellini casts the Nazis as sexual deviants: Berger minces effeminately while spymaster Ingrid (Giovanna Galletti) seduces singer Marina (Maria Michi) with furs and booze. For better or worse it's more conventional than Bicycle Thieves and Umberto D.
Nor does Rome honestly address Fascism. Benito Mussolini's personality cult never achieved Hitler's pervasive success but neither was he actively opposed; Il Duce purged leftists, co-opted the Catholic and military, with most Italians carrying on indifferently. Rossellini's narrative pawns responsibility onto foreigners, as if the Black Shirts were mere quislings of the Third Reich. Perhaps Rossellini, a friend of Vittorio Mussolini active in prewar cinema, didn't feel comfortable tackling the issue head-on. Or perhaps Italians generally weren't ready to accept responsibility.
That said, Rome's dramatic power is undeniable. If Rossellini utilizes familiar archetypes they're handled iwth unusual skill and power. One comic scene of Pietro and Marcello hiding bombs from the Gestapo ends in a burst of unexpected tragedy. The second half settles in for a prolonged interrogation, with our heroes subjected to shockingly brutal torture. A partisan raid halfway through the film provides our heroes' only tangible victory. Rossellini's bleak anger presages any number of "enemy occupation" films from The Battle of Algiers to Army of Shadows.
Anna Magnani anchors the film's first half. Decidedly unglamorous, Magnani is beautifully effective as an ordinary person struggling to make a difference. Aldo Fabrizi matches Magnani, transforming Pietro from comic foil to tragic hero. The luminous Marla Michi reappeared in Rossellini's Paisan. Harry Feist and Giovanna Galletti make effective villains; Galletti gnawing seductively on a Fahrtenmesser sure makes a perverse image!
Rome: Open City makes for disturbing viewing. Rossellini's next two films adhere more stringently to neorealist expectations, and prove even darker. Classification aside, it's still a remarkable movie.
'Your Holiness: In order to please Catherine, lose the gold. Why not wear denim?'
Catherine Pepinster on Thought for the Day on Radio 4. First Catherine discusses the Passion of Our Lord and goes on:
"...Rather than people paying homage to Him, He will be mocked. Perhaps it was grief at that mockery that led the churches to focus so much on Christ the King but they seem to have turned themselves into a sort of court. Bishops, Archbishops and Cardinals wear sumptuous vestments, Altars are awash with ornate gold and silver, the people who run the churches belong to strangely Byzantine bureaucracies. Yearning for the transcendent has been replaced by the material."
Several things cross my mind when I listen to these words of Catherine Pepinster. First, did Our Lady chastise the Magi who brought to Her Divine Son gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh? Secondly, this is, fundamentally, Protestantism that Catherine Pepinster is promoting - the stripped Altars of the Protestant Reformation, the destruction of beauty, the tearing down of the sacred, to replace it with only with the human.
Pepinster: Editrix of an unpopular Protestant magazine
When are these liberal progressives going to understand that while it is true that Jesus was and is 'meek and humble of heart', the Church, in Her great wisdom, has always built Churches and designed liturgy in order to aid the praise and worship of God. Catherine, like many, is under the impression that 'sumptuous vestments' are about the wearers of the vestments. They are not.
They are about Christ the Priest, Prophet and King in whose place the clergy and the Hierarchy stand 'in persona Christi' during the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. Have you never noticed, Catherine, that Priests do not wear sumptuous vestments at any time other than during Holy Mass and that at other times of the day they're probably wearing something from Primark? It is not about the person celebrating Mass or about the community. It is about the Person of Jesus Christ.
Yes, it is true that our King reigns from a Cross. Yes, it is true that His 'Kingdom is not of this World'. Yes, it is true that our King rides into Jerusalem on a donkey. However, just because Jesus is humble - just because God is Humility - does not mean that Jesus is not a King, nor does it mean He is not Divine. See, Catherine, the Majesty of God we should declare and we should be in awe of it. Churches are meant to inspire a sense of awe. Everything about the Church is meant to point to not just the Humanity of Christ, but to His Divinity. Recall that before the Passion, was the Transfiguration. We should be in awe and in this great season of Lent, prostrate ourselves before the God and Man and King who was fastened to the weighty Cross by our sins. The Lord Jesus came to us, meek and merciful as the Lamb of God, but, when He returns at the End of Time we shall see Him as the terrible Judge of all the nations.
The prophet Daniel was given a vision of the true King. Here it is:
'I beheld till thrones were placed, and the Ancient of days sat: his garment was white as snow, and the hair of his head like clean wool: his throne like flames of fire: the wheels of it like a burning fire. A swift stream of fire issued forth from before him: thousands of thousands ministered to him, and ten thousand times a hundred thousand stood before him: the judgment sat, and the books were opened. I beheld because of the voice of the great words which that horn spoke: and I saw that the beast was slain, and the body thereof was destroyed, and given to the fire to be burnt: And that the power of the other beasts was taken away: and that times of life were appointed them for a time, and time. I beheld therefore in the vision of the night, and lo, one like the son of man came with the clouds of heaven, and he came even to the Ancient of days: and they presented him before him. And he gave him power, and glory, and a kingdom: and all peoples, tribes and tongues shall serve him: his power is an everlasting power that shall not be taken away: and his kingdom that shall not be destroyed.'
The 'son of man', the 'Ancient of days' is, of course, the same Man that rode into Jersusalem on a donkey. This is the same Man who comes to us so humbly as to be concealed under the guise of bread and wine. What is this Man's name? This Man's name is Jesus Christ. Let us familiarise ourselves with the Majesty of God in the Church's sacred ceremonies, Catherine, since they are but a pale reflection, a glass into which we peer darkly, of the power and the glory of our God, who dwells in that World without end, the Kingdom of Heaven. The Kingdom of God. The gold, the silver, the sumptuous vestments are not materials that are used in the Church's buildings and liturgy for their own sakes, or to make Priests 'look and feel fabulous'. You seek the transcendent? May I recommend the Traditional Latin Mass, Catherine.
These items are employed by the Church because, frankly, just because our King is so humble as to condescend from His Heavenly Throne to us at every Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, a King He is now and always will be and He should be treated and worshipped as He is - as the Almighty God that He is. These things also help us to see, in the Mass, that Jesus is not just man, but God also! Why be stingy with God, Catherine? Why be like Judas when God has given us the time to be like St Mary Magdalen? If the Lord had come the first time to earth in the manner He will come at the End of Time, would anyone be able to abide it? How shall we stand before Him 'with confidence' but for His pledge that we shall be risen and glorified if we follow Him and give Him glory? Let us familiarise ourselves with the Majesty of God now, so that when, as we dearly hope, we shall see Him as He truly is, we will not be wondering why the Cherubim and Seraphim are not behaving or wearing something more, 'Low Church', as they prostrate themselves before the Thrice Holy, the Almighty and Ever Living God, crying, 'Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus, Dominus Deus Sabaoth...!'
Simple, humble and in touch with the man on the street...
Pope Francis today meets Pope Emeritus Benedict for lunch at Castel Gandolfo. Already a media circus has swarmed at Castel Gandolfo to report on what the new Pope and the ex-Pope will be having for lunch.
Reports suggest that Pope Francis will be taken by helicopter to the residences of Pope Emeritus Benedict, but it is more likely that Francis will instead send the helicopter to a local prison to greet a newly released prisoner on his first day of freedom and take the journey by foot or by donkey.
Some are already suggesting that this decision will be seen by many as a repudiation of the previous Pope's methods of transportation.
A small group of Catholic traditionalists have gathered outside St Peter's to pray that, following a mutually respectful dialogue, the former Pope will ask a trusted butler to squirt tomato ketchup over the black shoes of the new Pope, thus turning His Holiness's black shoes red.
It is rumoured that Pope Emeritus Benedict will be having something luxurious and light, eggs benedict, on a bed of expensive 'Taste the Difference' sunflower and spelt bread with a light salad topped with a sophisticated honey and mustard dressing, while Pope Francis will be having beans on toast. The beans will be Fairtrade beans. They are said be the simplest and humblest beans in living memory.
Already commentators are drawing sharp distinctions between the lunch choices of the two, suggesting that the new Pope is clearly a man in touch with the people while the old Pope doesn't understand the lunch of the common man on the street. More news as it emerges...
