mass media

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2023: A 'Barbie' Odyssey does raise (wink, wink) moral, cultural and theological issues

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2023: A 'Barbie' Odyssey does raise (wink, wink) moral, cultural and theological issues

Hollywood worships big movie franchises, so fans can expect "Barbie" sequels.

One plot proposal quickly emerged from an unlikely source -- Sister Mary Joseph Calore of the Society Devoted to the Sacred Heart of Jesus in St. Cresson, Pennsylvania.

"'Barbie becomes a nun' would be a great sequel," she wrote, on the X platform. Her post contained this pitch to Warner Bros. executives: "Dissatisfied by endless parties and user friends, an eating disorder, spending addictions with clothes and shoes, and cohabitating with the shallow & unemployed playboy Ken, Barbie's sportscar has been parked more and more at an adoration chapel. She is seriously giving thought to draining the pool, putting her condo on the market, cutting her hair and donning the religious habit."

That would be a twist, after a cinematic manifesto arguing that life as a real woman is painful and complicated, but it's better than being an iconic plastic doll.

"This movie should have been silly and fun, but it ended up being preachy and earnest," said Barbara Nicolosi Harrington, a former Catholic nun who became a screenwriter and Hollywood script doctor. "I mean, how far can you go with a story about Barbie?"

Writer-director Greta Gerwig's previous work has been impressive, stressed Harrington, who teaches at Regent University in Virginia Beach, Virginia. With "Little Women," Gerwig showed the ability to offer a fresh take on a familiar story. Now, "Barbie" will draw intense scrutiny, since she will direct at least one movie in the upcoming Netflix take on "The Chronicles of Narnia" novels by the Christian apologist C.S. Lewis.

"Barbie" contains ambitious attempts to mix serious, even if tongue in cheek, social commentary with pop-culture mythology -- such as a shot-for-shot homage to Stanley Kubrick's legendary dawn-of-consciousness scene in "2001: A Space Odyssey."

The big "Barbie" question, noted Other Feminisms writer Leah Libresco Sargeant, is stated in a soundtrack ballad -- "What Was I Made For?"

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Why won't Indiana Jones convert to something after all he has seen in his life?

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Why won't Indiana Jones convert to something after all he has seen in his life?

By the end of "Raiders of the Lost Ark," archaeologist Indiana Jones had learned enough to know that he should close his eyes when facing the wrath of God.

Apparently, that kind of power can melt Nazis -- without changing the hero's soul.

"Why won't Indiana Jones convert? We aren't insisting that he convert to our faith or to his father's faith or really to any faith in particular," noted Jack Bennett, in a Popcorn Cathedral video marking the "Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny" release.

"What we want to know is why he is always back to square one at the start of every adventure -- a skeptic, or even a scoffer. I mean, think about it: He has seen the Ark of the Covenant opened and the destroying angels pour out God's vengeance on his enemies. He has seen the sacred Hindu stones come to life. …He has seen the true cup of Christ heal his own father from a fatal gunshot wound -- on screen, with no ambiguity."

In what the 80-year-old Harrison Ford has promised is the finale, Indiana Jones remains the archaeologist who risks everything to keep supernatural, even holy, artifacts out of the bad guys' clutches.

This is a war between archetypes of Good and Evil -- with capital letters. The Nazis are on one side, fighting with a brave skeptic who careens through scenes based on Saturday-matinee classics. Miraculous stories from the past are mere fairy tales, until he learns that Higher Powers are at work. Then again, maybe it's just aliens or generic supernatural forces.

In the new film, Jones confesses: "I don't believe in magic, but a few times in my life I've seen things, things I can't explain." But after a life wrestling with sacred mysteries, he concludes: "It's not so much what you believe. It's about how hard you believe it."

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The Rev. Pat Robertson: The prophet of the post-denominational age in America

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The Rev. Pat Robertson: The prophet of the post-denominational age in America

The Pat Robertson for President advance team made it clear that journalists were barred from its campaign rally in a church near Denver.

The candidate wanted friendly faces. As one volunteer said: "What Pat might have to say to a group of pastors … might not be the kinds of things he'd want mainstream Republicans to read in the press."

The faithful inside that 1988 event raised their hands in praise to God and sang familiar choruses with a true believer that they knew shared their embrace of miracles, prophecy and "speaking in tongues." That kind of trust fueled Robertson's media-driven career, which ended on June 8 with his death at age 93.

Yes, I was on the outside of that door, researching my very first syndicated "On Religion" column. Before Robertson arrived, supporters prayed for a "special anointing" of God's power on their candidate. There is the kingdom of heaven, and there is the kingdom of the earth, one man prayed. "We thank you for men of courage, like Pat Robertson, who are working to bring these two kingdoms closer together," he added.

Robertson avoided blunt faith language when facing the press during that high-wire political campaign. However, he kept blending subtle biblical references into remarks about economics, foreign policy and hot cultural issues. He knew fans of his daily 700 Club broadcasts could break the code.

"Robertson had his own program. He knew he could say whatever he wanted to say there," said Kenneth Woodward, known for decades of work at Newsweek and books such as "Getting Religion: Faith, Culture and Politics from the Age of Eisenhower to the Era of Obama."

On one level, "he didn't need to talk to the press because he could talk straight to his own people. But that doesn't always work in politics, when you need to reach other people in order to succeed," said Woodward, reached by telephone.

Once Robertson veered into politics, his critics paid closer attention to what he said, about almost anything. In an online First Things essay, Woodward noted that this included 700 Club prayers in which Robertson -- "his eyes squeezed tight for inward gazing" -- said he could sense that viewers were being healed.

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So your praise band is rockin' -- but why has the congregation stopped singing?

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So your praise band is rockin' -- but why has the congregation stopped singing?

Anyone who has visited a shopping mall understands the Big Idea behind a food court.

"If you want Mexican food, you go here. … If you want pizza, you go over there," said Kenny Lamm, the worship ministry strategist for the Southern Baptist state convention in North Carolina. "Then we sit together and eat whatever we want. …

“The question is whether a food-court approach works if you are seeking unity while leading worship in a church."

In the latest wrinkle in what researchers have long called the "worship wars," some church leaders are asking a blunt question about the decision to trade traditional hymnals for contemporary Christian music. That question: Has the typical Sunday service become a semi-professional concert instead of a communal worship experience for all believers?

As part of his work, Lamm hears from many pastors, musicians and church members. One recent letter -- which he posted while keeping the writer anonymous -- combined many hot-button issues in this debate.

After four weeks of visiting a church, the writer noted that he was constantly distracted during worship by "haze machines," "programmable lights that blind the audience," concert-level darkness in the auditorium, as well as musicians wearing "ball caps," skinny jeans, "Chuck Taylor" tennis shoes and other "stage" apparel.

Many of the new songs seemed to confuse the congregation.

"The melody is unmemorable. Very few in the audience seem to know the songs either; indeed as we looked around during one of the songs, we did not see one person singing -- not one," noted this visitor. "Some of the songs are so high I cannot sing them. I wish the leaders would consider the average singer! … Why does just about every praise and worship song go up an octave and double in volume halfway through, then die back down at the end?"

Concerning volume levels, he added: "Driving home, my wife indicated that the excessive loudness was starting to cause some serious anxiety. Having earplugs available in the lobby is a sure sign there might be a problem."

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Heretic? Catholic Dan Lipinski was a loyal Democrat in Congress -- until he wasn't

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Heretic? Catholic Dan Lipinski was a loyal Democrat in Congress -- until he wasn't

WASHINGTON — As a veteran Chicago-land Democrat, Rep. Daniel Lipinksi knew what to expect when facing newspaper editors during pre-election endorsement season -- hard questions about his support for centuries of Catholic teachings on abortion.

But the Chicago Sun-Times stressed a different question in 2020 -- same-sex marriage. Lipinski said the Supreme Court had settled that issue, so he didn't expect to face it in Congress. The follow-up was blunt and personal: But do YOU support legalized same-sex marriage?

Lipinski said he supported his church's teachings on marriage and sexuality.

"They didn't just see themselves as newspaper editors interviewing candidates in a political race. ... They saw themselves as inquisitors seeking an admission of heresy," said Lipinski, who lost that close primary race with a rival backed by liberal Democrats.

During his 16 years in Congress, Lipinski voted with his party 90% of the time and his convictions never changed, especially on economic and labor issues. Nevertheless, by 2018 New York magazine had floated this headline: "House Democratic Leaders Rally to Defend Their Illinois Heretic."

By 2020, he had reached "political leper" status, in part because of social-media attacks on his beliefs that bled into mainstream news, he said, addressing the recent "Journalism in a Post-Truth World" conference in Washington, D.C. The event was sponsored by Franciscan University in Steubenville, Ohio, and the Eternal Word Television Network.

The old days of tough questions and bipartisan debate were one thing, said Lipinski. At this point, American politics have stormed past tribalism into bitter sectarianism, with politicos, activists and journalists embracing "partisanship as a fundamentalist pseudo-religion" that strictly defines good and evil.

What is happening?

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Why fairy stories still matter, in an age of secular myths and marvels

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Why fairy stories still matter, in an age of secular myths and marvels

Demons appear on movie screens all the time, but poet Richard Rohlin is convinced he has actually seen them at work when counseling young people whose search for meaning has driven them deep into experiments with sex, drugs and the occult.

"The stories that I can't tell would curl your toenails," he said, speaking at the Eighth Day Institute in Wichita, Kansas. "If you think that these spiritual realities are not still with us, you are deluding yourself. ... The magic is coming back into the world. Something is happening and it is not an unqualified good."

The young people he works with in Dallas are not interested in sermons and detailed descriptions of why their lives are broken. But they are open to fantasies, myths and tales -- ancient and modern -- about unseen, spiritual realities that interact with their lives.

Millions of Americans know where to find stories about angels, demons, warriors, seers, giants, demigods and heroic kings and queens. They head straight to movie theaters and cable television, where they find entire universes of content offering visions of fantastic worlds. The last place they would seek inspiration of this kind is in churches.

The irony is that some of these works draw inspiration from the fantasy classics celebrated in the ecumenical Eighth Day Institute's annual fall celebration of The Inklings, a mid-20th Century circle of Christian writers in Oxford, England, that included C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien and others.

This year's lectures focused on Scottish writer George MacDonald, often called the "grandfather of the Inklings," who is best known for "Phantastes," "The Golden Key," "Lilith" and many other works. The festival included Celtic and folk musicians, along with workshops on topics such as "The Art of Making Mead" and "Publishing for the Moral Imagination."

The goal of MacDonald and The Inklings, noted Rohlin, was to reclaim an older vision of life in which physical realities corresponded to spiritual realities and nothing was considered purely material. The real divide was between "the seen and the unseen," not between the "spiritual and the material."

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Hillbilly Thomists: Dominicans tracing their roots into Appalachian music and faith

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Hillbilly Thomists: Dominicans tracing their roots into Appalachian music and faith

With its sobering lyrics and a droning country-blues riff, "Holy Ghost Power" by the Hillbilly Thomists is a song with zero chance for Christian radio success.

The jilted protagonist has been "living off of grits, whiskey and Moon Pies." His man cave offers no refuge: "A hundred channels of nothing on the TV at 10. It's like Diet Coke and original sin. … Now it's a zombie town, there's a lot of undead. They wander around looking underfed."

But the chorus offers hope: "He makes a rich man poor; He makes a weak man strong. No more going wrong just to get along. I felt the force of the truth when they pierced His side. I saw the war eagle dive and I could not hide."

It wouldn't shock old-school country fans if this was a Johnny Cash song. But it was written by a banjo-playing Dominican from Georgia who has an Oxford theology doctorate and now leads the Pontifical University of Saint Thomas Aquinas. Writing to the National Reso-Phonic Company, Father Thomas Joseph White said he likes to play this classic blues guitar "in my office looking out at the Roman Forum that's 2,700 years-old."

That makes sense in the Hillbilly Thomists, a "musical collective" of Dominicans, most of whom have Bible-belt roots. The band recently staged a concert in the Grand Ole Opry and, over the past decade, has recorded three albums of music that would sound at home at Appalachian fairs, but not in most church halls.

There's a vital tie linking these songs to the life and work of this band of priests and brothers, said Father Simon Teller (who plays fiddle). Whether singing Appalachian hymns or their own original songs, the Hillbilly Thomists -- dressed in the white habits of their order -- keep returning to images of suffering, sorrow, eternity, hope, grace and redemption.

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Norm Macdonald: Wisecracks about big, eternal questions while his clock ticks louder

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Norm Macdonald: Wisecracks about big, eternal questions while his clock ticks louder

Comedians frequently take shots at taboo targets, but that wasn't what Norm Macdonald was doing when he addressed Down's Syndrome while solo recording what became the new "Nothing Special" on Netflix.

"I love people with Down Syndrome," said Macdonald, in a no-audience performance packed with his familiar pauses and bemused expressions. "I wish I had Down Syndrome, and I'll tell you why. They're happy. You know what I mean? …

"What's wrong with that? … People get mad at them … and they pity them. Now, who's the bad person in that scenario?"

The former Saturday Night Life star -- who died September 14 after a secret nine-year fight with cancer -- recorded nearly an hour of material during the coronavirus pandemic, before yet another operation in the summer of 2020. He said he "didn't want to leave anything on the table in case things went south."

This Netflix finale offers fresh musings on mortality and morality that, with Macdonald's blunt language and haunting images, evolve into meditations on how modern people deceive themselves. The X-factors in his art were religious faith and his love of literature ranging from Mark Twain to Fyodor Dostoyevsky.

"Macdonald showed respect for basically everyone, with the exception of himself and people like O.J. Simpson and Bill Clinton," said Rich Cromwell, a television professional and essayist for The Federalist. "He was not a Christian comedian -- that's clear. But that was part of who he was, and he treated faith with respect. …

"This Down's Syndrome material is a perfect example. He didn't turn that into an overt argument about abortion, but it's clear that he is saying all life is worthy of respect, even if some people don't judge that life to be worthy. He's saying people with Down's Syndrome are God's children, no matter what."

"Nothing Special" ends with an A-list reaction panel -- David Letterman, Adam Sandler, Conan O'Brien, Dave Chappelle, David Spade and Molly Shannon -- who knew Macdonald as a friend and colleague. This special was full of "third-rail stuff," noted O'Brien.

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What did Denzel Washington tell Will Smith after the slap heard round the world?

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What did Denzel Washington tell Will Smith after the slap heard round the world?

Moments after the Academy Awards slap heard 'round the world, Will Smith huddled during a commercial break with Denzel Washington, another of the Best Actor nominees.

No one could hear what Smith discussed with the man who is both an A-list player and the rare Hollywood superstar who has -- after years in hot press spotlights -- emerged as a mentor on issues of faith and family.

But Smith appeared to have Washington on his mind during his emotional remarks after winning the Oscar for his work in "King Richard." Smith apologized to his peers for slap-punching Chris Rock after his jest about his wife Jada Pinkett-Smith's shaved head. The comic apparently didn't know she was suffering hair loss with Alopecia.

“In this moment, I am overwhelmed by what God is calling on me to do and be in this world. … I'm being called on in my life to love people and to protect people," said Smith, tears on his face. "I know that to do what we do, you gotta be able to take abuse, you gotta be able to have people talk crazy about you. In this business, you gotta be able to have people disrespecting you. And you gotta smile and pretend that that's OK."

When Washington offered quiet words of encouragement from offstage, Smith thanked him and added: "Denzel said a few minutes ago: At your highest moment, be careful -- that's when the devil comes for you."

This was not ordinary Oscars God-talk.

This drama triggered waves of social-media angst, with critics and millions of viewers debating who to blame for this crisis during an otherwise meandering Academy Awards show shaped by politics, pandemics, gender, race and low ratings.