There is a time for religious exercise to be in private, as Our Lord Jesus Christ taught; but there’s also a time for it to be publicly shared. This, too, the Bible teaches.
But our “entertainment” is a massive God-free zone, dryer than the Sahara–when was the last time you saw a fictional character praying? It’s like they all came out of a faculty lounge somewhere–arch-humanists, every one of them. And that’s not realistic. That is not what human life looks like. But then who knows less about humanity than a humanist?
In which Gable eats a carrot… just like Bugs Bunny
Any movie starring Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert, and directed by Frank Capra, has just got to be good! And It Happened One Night is no exception to that rule.
Man, they made some great movies in the 1930s! And this is one of that period’s great comedies. Not split-your-gut, roll-on-the-floor funny, but quietly and relaxingly funny–ideal for a weekend afternoon. It’s also totally sleaze-free: although if you were ever wondering what happens when “a cold mama gets hot,” there’s a creepy little man named Shapely who can tell you all about it.
The story centers on a madcap heiress (Colbert) trying to run off and marry a lounge lizard, against her zillionaire father’s wishes. The madcap heiress is now an extinct species, although cryptozoologists think there may be one somewhere in the Adirondacks. She takes up with a recently-fired reporter (Gable) who helps her because he thinks he’ll wind up with the scoop of the century. Of course they fall in love, but don’t worry–it never degenerates into a kissing movie.
Sometimes Capra skates on thin ice over dark tarns of cutesieness, but he never falls in. America in 1934 was still in the throes of the Great Depression, and a very different place from what we’re used to. This is also a great slice of life movie: you’ll see those differences. When a bus rider literally faints from hunger, that’s not something we’ve seen in our time. The Depression did that to people. But when a whole busfull of riders, who don’t know each other from Adam and Eve, while away their long, long journey with a sing-along–y’know, that was good! Wish we could recover things like that. “The Man on the Flying Trapeze” will keep popping into your head many hours after you’ve seen this movie.
I wouldn’t be surprised if many of you have already seen it at one time or another, but don’t worry–Capra, Gable, and Colbert never get stale.
Oh! And this may be your only chance to see an autogyro–obsolete predecessor to the helicopter–in action.
Well, waddaya know! They’re still making autogyros! Nice, sleek, modern ones–I had no idea. I wonder why they’re not more popular than they seem to be. They look like they’d have the advantages of a helicopter but would be much safer. The one in the photo is an old one, about identical to the one used in the movie.
The movies spent a lot of money on special effects, but frittered it all away by cringing from C.S. Lewis’ story as he wrote it, in which “Aslan” clearly represents Our Lord Jesus Christ. Never mind what that bog-hopper Liam Neeson said about Aslan being Mohammed and Buddha, too. Really, sometimes I wonder what actors use for brains. Soggy cereal?
The old BBC series may have relied on unconvincing costumes, but one thing they did get right was the spirit of the enterprise.
Take a lot of classical music and wrap it around at least a dozen solid belly laughs, and you’ve got Unfaithfully Yours.
Patty and I have seen this movie a bunch of times, but not in the past few years–and it still cracked us up today. Preston Sturges, famous for his screwball comedies, made this film in 1948, starring Rex Harrison and Linda Darnell–with a great supporting cast.
When a volatile, hot-headed symphony orchestra conductor thinks his wife has cheated on him, his imagination shifts into overdrive. But when he tries to do the things he’s imagined–like frame his secretary for murder–it’s a whole ‘nother story!
If you’ve never seen this before, you’ll be floored by how funny it is. Laugh till you plotz! We rented it on amazon and got all the laughs we bargained for.
In search of mere undemanding relaxation, last night Patty and I watched “Breakthrough,” Episode No. 9 of Primeval New World.
It was very sinister.
Here’s the premise. A dinosaur comes through a glitch in space-time and winds up in Vancouver. The team in charge of containing these incidents doesn’t want a large-scale panic, but this time they may be too late: people at a skateboard park have already caught a glimpse of the Triceratops.
You wouldn’t believe how easily Our Heroes, with the aid of computers, turned this real incident into an amusing hoax quickly unmasked. They convinced the whole city that something that had really happened had been only make-believe. No cause for alarm. Voila! A real thing is made unreal.
And I got to thinking, “I wonder how many times this has already been done to us in real life! How hard would it be to manipulate the nooze so it becomes a fairy tale?” We already know the nooze media tell lies; they’ve been caught doing it times without number. Then there are our “scientists”, and politicians. Lies and more lies.
This is what happens to a civilization that cuts itself off from God.
With my brain pretty much stuck in neutral, Patty suggested I take a day of rest and watch some dinosaurs. Why not? I’m always up for dinosaurs.
Primeval New World is a Canadian sequel to the British series, Primeval. It very badly needs Ben Miller, but he wasn’t available. Oh, well–it still has really cool prehistoric animals. They inspire me. And take my mind off the schiff-festival that’s today’s nooze.
Now, this show really is mindless entertainment. There are these weird magnetic thingies that allow dinosaurs to wander into our world from theirs, and when they get here they’re always hungry because apparently they try to kill and eat anything that moves… etc., etc. And they’re opposed by a little group of hot sexy good-looking young heroes and heroines who have no personalities. The dinosaurs are more realistic than the people. I’m not sure whether the dinos in this “Primeval” are Tim Haines’ creations–but they could be.
Well, I wasn’t looking for King Lear, was I? Mindless I wanted, mindless I got–and I’m all the better for it. Give me a Baluchitherium, or even a Uintatherium, and those jagged brain waves go away.
The Marx Toys Sphenacodon. Welcome to the Permian Period. Which is were my Internet seems to be hiding out today.
I want to put up posts, but with my internet access so iffy today, I’m lucky to get away with another paragraph before it conks out on me again. Nothing much to do, really, except sit outside and work on my new book. Longhand, on a legal pad. That usually works.
I wanted to cover a story about Hollywood producers conferring with Chinese Communist Party officials about how to craft their movies so that the Party will approve of them. Is that disgusting, or what? They’re literally letting communists micromanage their productions.
There are a lot of people in this country selling us out to China. For money. And because hey, they’re all commies anyway.
The British ruling class spent years appeasing the Third Reich, making excuses for Hitler, trying to be Mr. Nice Guy, and they still got the living daylights bombed out of their country–and a brand-new German battleship, the Bismarck, determined to cut off their imported food supply.
Yep, superheroes need “a cultural reckoning,” she babbled, blaming “superhero creators for being white men”–forsooth, for being (gasp!) “straight white men.” So the world needs “more creators of color,” yatta-yatta. Uh, so who’s stopping “creators of color” from creating their own superheroes?
Our existing superheroes, she complained, are “vigilantes” who “decide the parameters of justice” without any oversight committee to ride herd over them.
Superheroes are dull, annoying, and vapid at their best. People used to outgrow them, but not anymore. But to make them even more dull, annoying, and vapid, this lulu at Time sez superheroes from now on ought to “reckon with issues of systemic racism”–which is imaginary, and only Far Left Crazy types believe in it–along with other burning issues like transphobia, homophobia, and phobophobia, etc.
Assorted “critics” have objected to this essay, perhaps moved by a suspicion that bad movies should not be made worse. A movie which you watch to relax shouldn’t be turned into a nagathon. It shouldn’t pepper you with woke crapola.
What do we have to do to shut these people up?
Honk if you think we need to bring back the ducking stool.