Film/TV

THE CULTURE WARS ARE A ROUT:

The Comic Faith of O Brother, Where Art Thou? (Coby Dolloff, 2/02/26, Christ and Pop Culture)

Returning to Everett’s farm, not to find the treasure they sought, but to retrieve his wedding ring, they are met by the bespectacled lawman who has dogged their trail all along. He has prepared nooses, graves—and even a haunting troupe of gravedigging singers.

“But we’s been pardoned! They announced it on the radio!” the three protest. The policeman replies with haunting simplicity: “We don’t have a radio.”

Faced with the impending reality of death, Everett puts up an earnest prayer for salvation. There are no atheists in foxholes.

And, like clockwork, the deus ex-es the machina. Floodwaters come streaming down that engulf both the just and the unjust in a torrent of household furniture and Dapper Dan pomade. Safely afloat a coffin Moby-Dick style, Delmar attempts to point out to Everett that his prayer worked.

But on the other side of peril, Everett is back to rationalizing. The valley was, of course, already scheduled to be flooded by local bureaucrats. It is not God, but modern technology that has saved them. Everett smugly concludes, “Yessir, we’re gonna have us a veritable age of reason.” But then something floats by which leaves both protagonist and viewer with the furrowed brow of recall.

The other cow just dropped. Memory has spoken. It has all come to pass, just as the old prophet Tiresias predicted.

The Coens’ comic masterpiece fits comfortably into the “Christ-haunted American South” of Flannery O’Connor. It muses, alongside Hamlet, “There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy!”

THE ONE STORY:

Where the Frontier Meets the Galaxy: The Western Genre and the Moral Imagination of Star Wars (Cole Burgett, 1/21/26, Christ and Pop Culture)

But more than set dressing, it’s the moral architecture of the Western that gives Star Wars its discernable spine. The best Westerns understand that wide open spaces don’t make life simpler. On the frontier, there’s nowhere to hide who you really are. A man’s character isn’t protected by institutions or excuses. Instead, it’s revealed whenever trouble rides into town. A rancher who refuses to bend to corruption, a gunman who finally hangs up his weapon, a sheriff who stands his ground when the rest of the town scatters—these traits define them more than the outcome of any gunfight or duel ever could.

Likewise, Star Wars is filled with moral clarity born from the same crucible. Han Solo stands right where the Western and the space opera overlap. He begins the classic wandering gun-hand, cut from the same cloth as L’Amour’s Lance Kilkenny or Hondo Lane, self-reliant, suspicious, interested only in profit. He’ll draw his blaster in a heartbeat. He shoots first. He’s the man who insists he “ain’t in this for your revolution.” But like so many of L’Amour’s protagonists, Han is not morally static. Western heroes often start self-serving but become protectors when faced with injustice that threatens people they’ve come to care about. Han’s arc sees him become something even more recognizably Western: a good man forged in a bad land.

AN AWESOME CINEMA:

The Business of Hollywood Is Horror (and Faith-Based) (Joseph Holmes, October 7, 2025, Religion & Liberty)

You see, movies have always relied to some degree on “awe,” and the further filmmakers leaned into awing their audience, the more successful they became. This is why, throughout film history, short films gave way to features, which gave way to epics, which gave way to blockbusters, which gave way to the mega-blockbusters. But this “awe effect” comes with a big price tag. We have to see Spider-Man swing, Superman fly, and Batman punch people throughout the film or we feel unsatisfied. And this costs a lot of money to do over and over again.

But this isn’t true of horror and faith-based films, where the biggest awe factor is the thing we don’t see. In faith-based films, that’s God. You can have a faith-based film that deals simply with ordinary people doing normal things, but as they get closer to God or God acts dramatically in their lives, fans of the genre feel the same elation as they do when seeing the Millennium Falcon shoot into hyperspace. Likewise, in horror films, we are often there to see the monster. But we also expect—and want—to not see the monster most of the time, because a lot of the entertainment is in the fear of anticipation that the monster’s hiddenness brings. So again, it’s much cheaper to make a monster in a horror film because we don’t expect to see it throughout most of the movie.

The other thing that gives faith-based films and horror films an advantage is that they resist the erosion of monoculture, as both genres lean heavily on religious narratives and religious communities that involve people meeting every week and listening to the same stories together. Haidt notes this in The Anxious Generation as well. Religious services bind people together under a shared system of values and experiences. This creates a common culture of tastes and values that movies can then appeal to. As secular culture continues to subdivide into smaller and smaller subcultures, religious communities will stand out as the biggest and least divided of the subcultures, making it easier for studios to identify and reach out to.

THE CULTURE WARS ARE A ROUT:

The Vocational Theology of Toy Story (Andy Shurson, September 17, 2025, Christ & Culture)

The first movie revolves around the rivalry of Woody and Buzz as they fight for the top position in Andy’s room and in his heart (Andy is the boy in Toy Story, not the author of this article). The tension grows as the pair ends up in the torturous hands of their kid neighbor, Sid. As the movie grows to the climax, Woody escapes Sid’s clutches, but Buzz gets stuck in the fence. In that split second, Woody must decide: does he abandon Buzz, capitalizing on the moment over his rival, or does he save Buzz, jeopardizing his reunion with Andy? As Woody turns back to help Buzz, we see how Woody’s understanding of life in Andy’s kingdom has changed. Woody no longer views Buzz as a threat who will take away the gaze of his master. Woody sees Buzz as a friend and neighbor who also belongs to the master.

THE CULTURE WARS ARE A ROUT:

The Gospel According to ‘The Office’: What Dunder Mifflin Teaches Us About Grace, Forgiveness and Cringe-Worthy Community (Taylor Berry, Jan. 27th, 2025, Relevant)

At its core, The Office is a masterclass in relationships—and not the glossy, Hallmark-movie kind. It’s the unfiltered, frequently cringe-inducing reality of human interaction. Grace and forgiveness weave their way through the fabric of this show, often hidden beneath layers of awkward pauses, office pranks and absurd team-building exercises led by Prison Mike.

Think about it: How many times does Michael completely mess up—offending, embarrassing or downright traumatizing his employees—and yet, they stick around? Whether it’s Pam forgiving Michael for outing her pregnancy at a company meeting or Jim patiently enduring Dwight’s endless shenanigans, The Office is a celebration of second chances. It’s about extending forgiveness not because it’s deserved, but because community only works when grace abounds.

Biblically speaking, isn’t that the whole deal? “While we were still sinners, Christ died for us,” says Romans 5:8, a verse Michael probably would have butchered during a motivational speech.

The characters on The Office mess up in spectacular fashion, yet time and time again, they’re welcomed back into the fold—reminding us of the gospel’s radical, all-encompassing grace.

A GREAT LISTEN:

Lux Radio Theater 44 01 24 Casablanca

Host Cecil B. DeMille introduces Alan Ladd and Hedy Lamarr as the stars of the Lux production of Casablanca, about the leader of the Nazi resistance and his wife who seek to escape the Nazis with an exit visa held by the owner of a cafe.

Show notes

OTHER THAN DR. NO:

The Ultimate Bond Film Turns 60: “Goldfinger” launched the 007 franchise into global fame—and remains unsurpassed. (Christopher Sandford, September 12, 2024, Modern Age)

First released in the U.K. in September 1964 with a U.S. release to follow in December, the film’s other primary takeaway images are those of a nude young lady killed by being smothered in gold paint, a mute Korean assassin with an unusually lethal bowler hat, and an all-female flying circus, overseen by a blonde-framed vision named Pussy Galore, spraying nerve gas over Fort Knox, all accompanied by a breezily melodramatic title song belted out by Shirley Bassey with the young Jimmy Page, later of Led Zeppelin fame, on guitar.

All rich stuff, you may think, if just a touch on the outré side. The contemporaneous reviews used words like “outlandish,” “ludicrous,” and “absurd, funny, and vile” to describe the film, except for Roger Ebert, who called it “chilling,” and praised Sean Connery—the yardstick by which all his successors as Bond would be measured, often to their disadvantage—for conveying a “verisimilitude” and “sleek assurance” in the role, alongside a gift for deadpan comedy. Revisiting the film years later, Ebert wrote: “Connery . . . had something else that none of [his heirs] could muster: steely toughness. When his eyes narrowed and his body tensed up, you knew the playing was over and the bloodshed was about to begin.” Connery’s performance surmounted even one or two plot twists and chunks of expository dialogue that may seem a touch heavy-going to us today. The title character’s essential game plan is to profit from the economic chaos that will ensue after he’s detonated an atomic bomb over Fort Knox, thus rendering America’s gold reserves radioactive for a precisely stated fifty-eight years. “He’s quite mad, you know,” Bond remarks to Pussy Galore, just in case anyone watching might have considered it a viable get-rich-quick scheme.

I have to say that I’m with Ebert on this one. It’s not just that Connery is perfect as Bond, with a vitality and a humanity (not to mention that widely mimicked Scottish burr) his inheritors in the role could only approximate, some more competently than others. Strange as it may seem, Goldfinger itself, like many of the author Ian Fleming’s tales, wasn’t pure invention. It was inspired by the swashbuckling exploits of the Anglo-Canadian spymaster William Stephenson (1897–1989), whose wartime scheme to relieve the collaborationist Vichy French government of its bullion reserves held on the island of Martinique had come to Fleming’s attention as a young operative with British naval intelligence.