Documentary 'The Philadelphia Eleven': Mythmaking for a dying Christian denomination



Of all the divisions troubling Protestantism today, perhaps none is as hotly debated as women’s ordination.

All seven mainline Protestant denominations have adopted the practice, while evangelical and fundamentalist denominations have defiantly refused to entertain the notion on biblical grounds.

Even progressives in the church were apprehensive about this direct assault on the 'patriarchal' status quo, fearing that it would undermine the legitimacy of the church.

Scripture seems to speak quite clearly on women’s capacity for leadership in 1 Timothy 2:12. As St. Paul writes, “I do not permit a woman to teach or to assume authority over a man."

But as advocates for women’s ordination argue, female religious leaders in the New Testament like Phoebe, Priscilla, Lydia, and Mary seemed to hold positions of greater respect than St. Paul suggests. Many point out that Phoebe is described as a deacon or deaconess (diakonos) in Romans, which would suggest that there was a model of female authority within the church.

However, the Roman Catholic Church and the Eastern Orthodox Church, which claim apostolic succession and a direct ecclesiastical connection to the apostles, are defiantly against the practice and defend male-only holy orders as the orthodox teaching of the church.

On July 29, 1974, 11 female priests were ordained in the Episcopal Church. The act was largely symbolic, but real change soon followed. Those ordinations became legitimate in 1976 when the House of Bishops conditionally recognized them.

In response, hundreds of parishes broke away from the Episcopal Church as part of the Continuing Anglican movement, paving the way for the founding of the rival Anglican Church in North America in 2009. Ironically enough, that denomination is now split over women’s ordination.

Margo Guernsey’s new documentary “The Philadelphia Eleven” commemorates the 50th anniversary of this watershed moment through interviews with several of the surviving 11.

It’s clear that Guernsey sees women’s ordination as a righteous act of liberationist defiance progress; these women, she writes, “provide a vision for what a just and inclusive community looks like in practice.”

The women in the film depict their quest for greater female participation in the church as inspired by the civil rights movement. It was also an act of “obedience to the Spirit,” which took precedence over adherence to tradition.

The film admits how radical this was. Even progressives in the church were apprehensive about this direct assault on the “patriarchal” status quo, fearing that it would undermine the legitimacy of the church.

In retrospect, it’s clear that their fears were justified.

The ceremony caused extensive turmoil within the Episcopal Church. Several clergy involved had their careers severely damaged. Dozens of bishops and priests condemned the ceremony as an illegal farce, even as the women publicly defended their ordinations as valid. One quoted St. Paul during a television appearance: “There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus” (Galatians 3:28).

It did little good in the short term, as none of the woman were able to find positions. Ultimately, however, they won. By 1988, the Episcopal Church would even ordinate its first female bishop.

“Half of the human population was acknowledged as being important enough to take on one of the strongest institutions in the world,” said Philadelphia 11 member Nancy Wittig.

That’s certainly one way to look at it. Another way is to acknowledge that the institution Wittig and her cohort defeated is now but a shadow of its former self.

The Episcopal Church has continued down the path the Philadelphia 11 set it on, abandoning traditional Christian teaching on other issues like sexuality and abortion. It revised its canons to the point that bishops aren’t allowed to deny women’s ordinations.

The church now is deeply committed to social justice and tolerance, and it does much admirable work in trying to address many of the world’s wrongs. But it is also on the precipice of demographic collapse and will functionally cease to exist by 2040.

The Philadelphia 11 may have turned the tide against the patriarchy within their church and given women permission to be priests, but the resulting schism may prove too deeply wounding to celebrate their victory beyond the passing of this generation. It leaves a film like “ThePhiladelphia Eleven” balancing awkwardly over the abyss.

'The Apprentice': Not your average Trump derangement cinema



"You create your own reality. The truth is malleable," Roy Cohn tells a young Donald Trump in the new movie "The Apprentice."

It's a lesson that the starry-eyed scion from Queens will take all the way to the White House.

The crude patriotism expressed by both Trump and Cohn may be self-serving, but it's hard not to see it as preferable to the pessimistic inertia dragging this once great city down.

But it could also serve as a warning to anyone trying to make a film about Trump: The reality-distortion field surrounding our 45th president affects his critics no less than his fans.

Man, myth, monster

Trump is one of the most controversial human beings in contemporary history; a populist messiah or rage-fueled fascist, depending on who you ask.

It is almost impossible to portray him in a neutral or sympathetic light, to grapple with the humanity under the accumulated detritus of five decades of public life.

Past attempts, like Showtime’s “The Comey Rule" — a blatant piece of "resistance" propaganda uninterested in any coherent depiction of the Trump administration's inner workings — don't bother trying.

As a result, most film and TV versions of Trump barely rise above Alec Baldwin's crude "Saturday Night Live" caricature, driven by partisan resentment and mesmerized by Trump's often disagreeable public persona.

Trump in training

“The Apprentice” largely avoids this trap by approaching its subject indirectly. Instead of the fully-formed scourge of democracy, it gives us a portrait of the deal artist as a young man.

Set in the 1970s and 1980s, the film opens on boyish Donald Trump still struggling to break free from his boorish, domineering father and his modest, outer-borough real estate empire.

A company vice president whose duties include going door-to-door collecting overdue rent from disgruntled tenants, the young Trump dreams of turning the family business into something bigger but is hampered by a federal lawsuit alleging racist housing discrimination (a charge the movie suggests is true).

It isn't until a chance meeting with infamous Joseph McCarthy prosecutor and political fixer Roy Cohn that Trump sees a way out from under his father's shadow. Taking the aspiring mogul under his wing, Cohn guides him through the early stages of his career by teaching him the three cardinal rules of winning: attack, deny everything, and never admit defeat.

Sympathy for the Donald

Echoing themes from “Citizen Kane” and classic Greek tragedies, "The Apprentice" presents the rise of Trump as a cautionary tale; director Ali Abbasi and writer Gabriel Sherman are smart enough to understand that their protagonist needs a sympathetic core if his hollowing out is to be effective.

Superficially, the movie isn’t shy about its contempt toward the man and his influences. Family patriarch Fred Sr. is unabashedly racist, Cohn drops homophobic slurs and rambles about liberals and socialists stealing from great men, and one of Trump’s opening scenes is him as a landlord threatening to evict Section 8 renters overburdened by medical bills.

Trump himself is depicted as a venal adulterer who goes as far as to rape his wife (as Ivana Trump alleged and later backtracked on in her 1990 divorce deposition). The movie works overtime to earn its bleak conclusion, in which the student callously discards the master.

Surgical strike

"The Apprentice" emphasizes Trump's ultimate dehumanization and moral degradation in the graphic, close-up shots of scalp-reduction surgery and liposuction (on a patient coyly suggested to be Trump) with which it ends. Evoking both Darth Vader and Dr. Frankenstein's abomination, this clinical, creepy scene makes the movie's subtext clear: We've just witnessed the creation of a monster.

Trump may be a monster, but he's also very much a product of his environment. As "The Apprentice" takes care to establish, the New York City of this era is rotting, with even the iconic Chrysler building in foreclosure. The crude patriotism expressed by both Trump and Cohn may be self-serving, but it's hard not to see it as preferable to the pessimistic inertia dragging this once great city down.

According to Abbasi, his goal was not to portray Trump as “a caricature or a crooked politician or a hero or whatever you might think, but as a human being.” As Politico puts it, he’s an anti-hero. “He’s tragic, not evil.”

High-rise Hamlet

Sebastian Stan brings this tragic note to his portrayal of Trump, especially in scenes with his alcoholic older brother, Freddy (a suitably dissolute Charlie Carrick), summoning a tenderness not often associated with the former president. Stan ably captures his subject's more peculiar eccentricities, speech patterns, and mannerisms — even if the face of the Winter Soldier occasionally proves distracting.

This is a quality film, to use one of Trump's favorite descriptors. But its nuance may well have hurt its commercial prospects. Despite being marketed as "the movie Donald Trump doesn't want you to see" (bolstered by Trump's threats to sue the filmmakers for "pure malicious defamation"), "The Apprentice" hasn't done much business after a week in theaters.

Not much of an October surprise after all. But then, maybe it was too much to ask a well-crafted period piece like "The Apprentice" to compete with the riveting drama playing out before us in real time.

Trump isn't one for dwelling on the past, and neither are those drawn to him, whether out of love or hate. Where's he's been has always been far less compelling than what he'll do next.

The Babylon Bee mocks January 6 hysteria with 'The Most Deadliest Day'



The Babylon Bee has come a long way since its days as a small comedy website making in-jokes about dispensational theology.

In a mere eight years, it's become a major media company with the clout to land interviews with Elon Musk and John Cleese, while arguably overtaking the Onion as America's best satire website.

Mann's shrewd portrayal of an overconfident yet ignorant man-child who sees the world through the simplistic lens of superheroes and supervillains deftly mocks what passes for journalism these days.

Like that formerly great institution, the Bee can be a little hacky or partisan at times, but it's consistently funny and regularly risks the occasional big swing.

The Bee's books "The Postmodern Pilgrim's Progress" and "How to Be a Perfect Christian," for example, are both funny and surprisingly honest about modern challenges in the evangelical world. Having met a few of the Bee's writers and seeing them grow, I’m generally impressed by the wit and cultural relevance the site exhibits.

So I was particularly eager for the release of the company's first feature film, "January 6: The Most Deadliest Day."

The film follows "investigative journalist" Garth Strudelfudd (Babylon Bee editor Kyle Mann, also credited as writer) as he bumbles his way through interviews with conservative pundits and January 6 participants in an attempt to uncover the truth about the darkest day in American history.

Much of the joke here is Mann's earnest investigative journalist persona: He is a deluded crusader convinced that his efforts are crucial to both saving democracy and honoring the “billions” of people who died that day.

There's no mistaking the movie's target audience; it's unlikely that anyone who sees January 6 as a brush with a fascist coup will have his mind changed by what Michael Knowles or Dennis Prager has to say. The pundits in the film are content to make the usual observations about media malfeasance and declining public trust, while pointing out once again that Trump never actually called for violence.

"The Most Deadliest Day" flirts with actual journalism when it focuses on infamous January 6 participants like Jacob Chansley and Adam Johnson. But instead of taking this opportunity to humanize the people labeled as "insurrectionists" by the mainstream media, the movie mostly uses them as props to expose the vacuousness of its fake journalists.

And ultimately it is the media that "The Most Deadliest Day" means to target. This isn't meant to be a hard-hitting expose in the manner of Tucker Carlson or the Epoch Times. Nor is it meant to reach out to those for whom January 6 is one of the high holidays of the liberal liturgical calendar. Unlike Matt Walsh's recent "Am I Racist?" "The Most Deadliest Day" stays behind a subscriber paywall, explicitly marking it for those already in on the joke.

As I’ve written previously, the great risk of every conservative documentary is that it sacrifices persuasion on the altar of reassuring propaganda. But sometimes reassuring propaganda is what's called for.

The Bee knows its audience, and the audience is fed up with media-fueled January 6 hysteria, especially as it ramps up ahead of next month's contentious election. Mann's shrewd portrayal of an overconfident yet ignorant man-child who sees the world through the simplistic lens of superheroes and supervillains deftly mocks what passes for journalism these days, and it's both satisfying and often hilarious.

Coppola’s Vibes-Based ‘Megalopolis’ Is The Movie Version Of Kamala Harris

The film’s message is almost the literal embodiment of Kamala Harris’s much-mocked sentiment of 'what can be unburdened by what has been.'

Will Matt Walsh’s 'Am I Racist?' actually change anyone's mind?



It's a great time to release a conservative documentary.

Since Dinesh D’Souza’s "2016: Obama’s America," the left wing's grip on the genre has weakened, making way for a proliferation of right-leaning films like "The Plot Against the President," "Alex's War," and "Hoaxed."

The movie presents a vivid example of the ugliness and abuse that virtue signaling can draw out of normal people seeking approval.

Now comes Matt Walsh with "Am I Racist?" Can it attain the kind of mainstream theatrical success formerly reserved for blatantly liberal fare like "An Inconvenient Truth" and "Bowling for Columbine"?

Preaching to the choir?

I have two questions I always ask when evaluating conservative documentaries. First: Does the filmmaker actually have something to say, or is he just using the film to promote his personal brand? Second: Has the filmmaker worked to present a genuinely persuasive argument, or has he settled for preaching to the choir?

As with his previous documentary, "What Is a Woman?" Walsh has picked a promising subject. And like its predecessor, "Am I Racist?" features Walsh blindly stumbling around the modern world, asking basic questions while pretending to be baffled. He's just a confused innocent earnestly trying to understand the latest bizarre concepts mainstreamed by obscurantist left-wing intellectuals.

In "What Is a Woman?" it was trans and gender ideology. In "Am I Racist?" it's DEI policies and anti-racist activism.

Walsh definitely has something to say, even if his characteristic acerbic personality often upstages his message. That just leaves the question of whether he can convince anyone not already fed up with the totalizing view of racial identity permeating every aspect of American life.

Very nice!

To that end, it is worth looking at the film’s approach. As my colleague Christian Toto puts it, Walsh is effectively trying to reinvent the Borat strategy of goading people into revealing their worst beliefs and prejudices by pretending to be an ally.

The film introduces Walsh as a bumbling white man grappling with the challenges of the post-2020 world, going on a journey of self-discovery to become a certified DEI expert and interviewing leading progressive voices like Saira Rao and Robin DiAngelo.

For the film to be truly persuasive, it needs to take the logic of modern critical race theory to it's inevitable conclusion. It needs to get the core of what “anti-racism” means in a modern context and why it’s bad on principle: its tendency to answer inequality with illiberal, easily exploitable social engineering, the way its relentless targeting of whites for their "privilege" and alleged sense of "supremacy" emboldens actual white nationalist groups to use the same arguments.

It needs to expose the cynical, self-perpetuating grift of professional anti-racists like Ibram X. Kendi, who argues, “The only remedy to past discrimination is present discrimination. The only remedy to present discrimination is future discrimination.”

Racist uncle

Walsh comes remarkably close to accomplishing this. "Am I Racist?" is comprised of several hidden camera group sessions with Walsh in attendance, asking questions and nudging the dialogue in the direction he wants.

However, in its relentless desire to be a comedy, the film frequently stumbles.Throughout these hidden camera meetings, Walsh interjects and asks questions that derail the conversations, which proves detrimental from a journalistic perspective. He’s interrupting his enemies while they’re making mistakes.

"Am I Racist?" works best toward the end, when Walsh hosts a DEI group discussion. He rolls out an old man in a wheelchair, identifying him as his uncle who told a racist joke. Walsh proceeds to castigate the man (actually an actor), leading two women in the crowd to join in, yelling obscenities at their target and bragging that they've cut off their entire families for being racist. Here, the movie presents a vivid example of the ugliness and abuse that virtue signaling can draw out of normal people seeking approval.

Affirmative reaction

Unlike "What Is a Woman?" "Am I Racist?" explicitly hopes to appeal to mainstream moviegoers. It's done fairly well with them so far, grossing $4.75 million in its opening weekend and landing in fourth place at the box office.

Conservatives are largely turning out to support the film, with Lutheran Satire creator Hans Fiene praising the film as “genuinely hilarious” and “very well done.”

The most notable, and surprising, nonpartisan review of the film has come from YouTuber Jeremy Jahns, who generally approved of the film as funny, thought-provoking, and “a good time, no alcohol required,” while highlighting the disconnect between activists and the desire of regular people not to have to think about race every second of their lives.

More positive reviews coming from nonpartisan or centrist content creators would help assuage my fear that "Am I Racist?" won't have much reach beyond the conservative media-sphere.

As "Podcast of the Lotus Eaters" points out, the film's unabashed mockery of DEI — its steadfast refusal to take it seriously or consider it worthy of reverent attention — may be persuasion enough.

And yet the fact that progressives are brigading "Am I Racist?" so effectively is a sobering reminder of the vast propaganda machine at their disposal. Winning the hearts and minds of open-minded non-conservatives will take all of the creative and commercial power the right can muster.

Mortifying 'Minecraft' trailer has fans reliving 'Sonic' snafu



Is the trailer for "A Minecraft Movie" the worst abomination inflicted on gamers since the horrifically "realistic" Sonic the Hedgehog character design?

I don't think so. But then, I'm not much of a Minecraft fan; those who are do seem pretty upset. Let's look at what the big deal is.

"A Minecraft Movie" stars Jason Momoa, Danielle Brooks, Sebastian Eugene Hansen, and Emma Myers as four misfits who find themselves pulled into the game's Overworld, where they must battle zombies, piglins, and creepers. There to guide them on their quest to return to reality is iconic Minecraft character Steve (Jack Black).

In its title alone, the adaptation expresses a worrying lack of confidence. So ... this isn't good enough to be "The Minecraft Movie"? The reaction to the trailer — which got over 1 million downvotes on YouTube — certainly hasn't helped matters.

Viewers criticized nearly every aspect of the just under 90-second clip, including the costume choices, the uncanny-valley-esque creature design, the clichéd dialogue, and the casting of Jack Black. One wag sarcastically lauded Warner Bros.’ bravery for not turning off commenting, a regular practice for fandom punching bags like Lucasfilm and Disney.

The good news is that this seems less of a "get woke, go broke" scenario (unless you count the feminine costume/makeup choices for Jason Momoa), and more a case of Hollywood trying to please fans and embarrassingly missing the mark.

It's likely the filmmakers wanted to avoid another Sonic debacle. If so, they may have stayed too faithful to the source material: Those square-shaped goats and llamas with square eyes and square pupils really are the stuff of nightmares.

If Hollywood has learned anything in this age of unprecedented fan empowerment, it's this: The audience is always right. The good news for "A Minecraft Movie" is that — as with "Sonic" — the backlash has come early enough to do something about it.

Back in 2020, Paramount listened to criticism and delayed the film to redesign the character according to his iconic look. The studio's reward was a hit movie, two sequels, and a spin-off series to boot.

The team behind "A Minecraft Movie" should follow the same playbook, trusting that when you treat your audience with respect, the audience responds in kind. Let's hope the next trailer we see offers character design more worthy of this iconic game. Worthy enough, at least, that we can overlook Momoa's weird bangs and hideous pink motorcycle jacket.

Wednesday Western: 'The Ballad of Cable Hogue' (1970)



Venture into the life of a failed prospector named Cable Hogue (Jason Robards) as he scrambles through the last remnants of the American frontier. Hungry, he growls at a lizard, which explodes right as Cable is about to nab him.

From the shadows, Cable’s partners, Taggart (L.Q. Jones) and Bowen (Strother Martin), played target practice with the lizard.

For all the biblical imagery, there are equal parts raunch and bawdy humor, darting camera shots from face to cleavage.

When they emerge from the dust, he points his rifle at them. They laugh.

Cable responds: “I appreciate humor, boys, but I’m beginning to think you’re cuttin’ it a mite thin.”

But he hesitates to shoot them. So they clobber him and steal his gun and his water.

“Cable is yella!” they taunt as they glide away, leaving Cable to die.

So he talks to himself. (A lot. Throughout the whole movie.)

Watching them fade into the dust, as he grits his teeth: “Yellow!” he exclaims. “Call me yellow! Leave me to dry and blow away! SING A SONG ABOUT IT! Laugh at old Cable Hogue, huh? I'll get out! I'll get out! Don't you worry none about that! You just ... worry about when I get out.”

He keeps hollering until he has no choice but to abandon his humiliation, for now, and wander into the rocks of Arizona red. He’s halfway to hell and looking for help. And he’s thirsty. In that picturesque landscape, the sunlight never ends. Two days without water. So he talks upward, to God. He promises to sin no more if he can just get a drop of water.

“I mean that, Lord.”

Nothing. No water.

Second day: No water. Just more blistering. He continues to beg for God’s mercy.

Then, on the fourth day, the sunlight is replaced by a sandstorm, total dryness. He collapses into a growing dune: “Lord, you call it. I’m just plain done in. Amen.”

And on this cruel deathbed, water begins to pool up from the ground.

Then, he does something that recurs throughout the film in countless ways by every character, even the extras without lines: He abandons high ideals without pause.

In this case, he ambiguously taunts the Lord, taking credit for his survival: “Told you I was gonna live. This is Cable Hogue talking. Hogue. Me. Cable Hogue. Hogue. Me. Me. I did it. Cable Hogue. I found it. Me.”

It’s a comically bleak and cathartic way to open a film. Like everything else we encounter, it’s slippery and ever-changing and impossible to pin down. As Cable puts it later, “I found water where it wasn’t.”

The president’s man

Jason Robards, who plays Cable Hogue, is a fascinating guy. He discovered the work of Eugene O’Neill in the library of the USS Nashville, and this set him toward his Hollywood career. Robards played Jamie Tyrone in the film rendition of Eugene O’Neil’s dour stage play “Long Day's Journey into Night.”

Robards was married to Lauren Bacall for most of the 1960s, until the marriage collapsed under the weight of his alcoholism, much like the character he played in O’Neill’s masterpiece.

As for Westerns, there’s his portrayal of Doc Holliday in “Hour of the Gun” (1967) — and who could forget his menacing performance in “Once Upon a Time in the West” (1968)?

He won an Oscar for his portrayal of Washington Post managing editor Ben Bradlee in “All the President’s Men” (1976), then another for his hard-nosed depiction of detective-novelist Dashiell Hammett in “Julia” (1977). His final credit was “Magnolia” (1999).

When Robards died, then-President Bill Clinton issued a statement of condolence. Clinton had awarded Robards both a National Medal of Arts and the Kennedy Center Honors award.

His talent is largely why “The Ballad of Cable Hogue” stands as such a thematically and emotionally complex film, humourous and oddly relaxing, with a soft tone and leisurely pace.

The Bad Samaritan

"The Ballad of Cable Hogue" has Slim Pickens and the legendary Kathleen Freeman, who barked her way through “The Blues Brothers” series as well as appearances in a ton of blockbusters.

You’ll also recognize Strother Martin, whom we discussed in the entries about “True Grit” (1969) and “The Sons of Katie Elder” (1965). Also R.G. Armstrong, who played Kevin MacDonald in “El Dorado” (1967).

But perhaps most of all, the film is known as a creation of Sam Peckinpah.

Peckinpah is a legendary figure in cinema history, wild even by Hollywood standards. We’ll spend quality time with him in the entry for “The Wild Bunch.” “The Ballad of Cable Hogue” was the unexpected love child that followed it.

Over the course of the 19 days of filming, he got hammered and rowdy. At one point, he fired three dozen crew members. Inclement weather shuttered the set, and the cast rushed to a nearby bar. By the end, the tab had grown to $70,000. The film itself went $3 million over budget. The whole mess cost him his job with Warner Bros.

'Ten cents, you pious bastard, or I’ll bury you'

God plays a tremendous role in Cable’s journey, but so does the devil. Many of the characters quote Bible verses with ease, conversationally, although this habit is also used as device to unmask hypocrisy, like the impatient banker in the stagecoach.

The Christian message is strong but also playful and, often, unclear. Until, of course, it isn’t.

Like our introduction to Rev. Joshua Sloan, who spooks Cable enough that Cable shoots the reverend’s hat off.

“Peace and goodwill, brother,” Rev. Sloan pleads. “l come as a friend.” Waving a white handkerchief: “Careful, son, I’m a man of God.”

Cable, squinting: “Well, you damn near joined him.”

The sudden appearance of water is reminiscent of Jacob’s well and the outpouring of Psalm 107:35, “He turns a desert into pools of water, a parched land into springs of water.”

After shooting at the “reverend” again later in the film, Cable snarls: “What a blessing religion must be, preacher. It touches my heart.”

This ironic theological undercurrent is a useful way to embolden the ungodly elements that add sparkle to the story, which in turn elevate a reciprocity between the sacred and the profane. Like the way Hogue sadly mutters to the banker, “I’m worth something, ain’t I?” A sadness, of course, motivated by his desire to visit Hildy, the most prized prostitute in Dead Dog.

The optics are all askew, a slapdash rendition of heaven. Hogue’s pale horse is spotted like a Dalmatian. Death is life; life is rowdy.

He and the preacher talk about life from a grave-like hole. The preacher, in his clerical suit with white collar, oversees a “congregation” consisting of photos of naked people, women presumably.

Or how about the way he handles Frank’s death? That entire scene is both uncomfortable and hilarious.

Together, Cable and the preacher get drunk in the grave, then ride to Dead Dog, with visions of Hildy. After falling off the horse, the preacher loosens his collar: “If I cannot rouse Heaven, I intend to raise hell.”

The twist

Fluctuations like these are a hallmark of postmodern film. Nothing is what it appears to be. Irony abounds. Up is down … and over and under. Then — all at once — you land in a reality so crisp that it almost hurts to experience.

“The Ballad of Cable Hogue” is bursting with these moments and guided by this artful little surprise maneuver. For all the biblical imagery, there are equal parts raunch and bawdy humor, darting camera shots from face to cleavage.

The implication of prostitution, in “Stagecoach” (1939) for instance, is a thing of the past. “Cable Hogue” takes us into the stink of the henhouse. But right as the steam is about to boil, we cut to a scene full of clergymen and crosses amid a sermon: “The devil seeks to destroy you with MACHINES! Ask me how I know! ... Inventions are the work of Satan!”

This interplay is constant. The entire fight scene between Hildy and Hogue is swamped with it. A choir sings “Shall We Gather at the River" as Hogue sprints away from his dine-and-dash with Hildy, ducking into the sign for the big tent revival that says, “BE SAVED. SINNER REPENT.”

And of course Hogue deflates the tent, whiskey bottle in hand, pants half on, fleeing from his backroom mischief.

The townsfolk chase him out of Dead Dog. And more than one of them think it’s the funniest thing they’ve ever seen.

Then the movie can take a sudden turn, and you crash into these beautiful embraces, moments that knock you over because they’re so powerful.

As we fall into the love story, all the irreverence fades away. Or better yet, it becomes purified.

And there’s that moment, halfway through the movie, when Ben (Slim Pickens) dutifully hands Cable the American flag. You can feel each person’s emotions. And suddenly, you’re right there with them, smack dab in the middle of a treacherous desert, and you’re sweaty and you’re worried, but you’re safe and you’re free.

Disney's live-action 'Mulan' is an unsung masterpiece



Almost a decade ago, Disney announced that it would finally be moving ahead with a live-action remake of “Mulan.”

The animated musical adventure was a huge hit when released in 1998. But now it was 2015, and anxieties surrounding race, transgenderism, and workplace sexual harassment were nearing their peak.

This Mulan is not the liberal feminist icon she’s been made out to be; she’s more Joan of Arc than Captain Marvel. What drives her is love, not ambition.

In retrospect, not the best time for an American company to tell a story set in ancient China and inspired by a well-known Chinese legend. Nor was it the ideal environment in which to cast a heroine who disguises herself as a man to in order to join the imperial army only to fall in love with a superior officer.

'Inappropriate' romance

From the beginning, calls to oust white artists from the project trended online. Disney attempted to play ball; its first choice of director, Ang Lee, was unavailable to direct.

Mulan's love interest from the original film, Captain Li Shang, was dropped in exchange for two new characters in response to the #MeToo movement. Producer Jason Reed explained that "having a commanding officer that is also the sexual love interest was very uncomfortable, and we didn't think it was appropriate.”

This then upset LGBT activists who had, unbeknownst to the world outside their bubble, claimed Li Shang as a “bisexual icon.” Production’s attempts to conform to one moral crusade led to accusations of “erasure” by another.

Politics and pandemic

“Mulan” was finally ready for release in early 2020; by then other problems had emerged. It was revealed that some of the film’s landscape B-roll was shot in the northwest region of Xinjiang, where the government had infamously erected re-education camps for Uyghurs and other Turkic Muslim minorities to retaliate for terror attacks by Sunni separatists.

Western governments and assorted NGOs urged Disney to condemn China. While Disney didn’t fold, the Chinese found the company’s lukewarm defense insulting enough to instruct state media not to cover the movie’s domestic release.

The final and perhaps most devastating setback had to do with the film’s original premiere date: March 2020. While Disney did pull off the standard gala Hollywood screening, COVID and its attendant lockdowns squashed plans for a wide release.

By the time “Mulan” finally crept into multiplexes that July, Disney, eager to be rid of the problem, had done little to promote it.

Not woke? Go broke

Those who reviewed the movie largely seemed to do so through the ubiquitous lens of identity politics, which constrained their thoughts to the political context surrounding the production rather than the story itself.

Critic Joonatan Itkonen’s dismissive reaction was exemplary: “Mulan is a film best described as an ‘if only’ production. If only the script had the input from actual Chinese people.”

Never mind that Disney had originally sought an Asian director and boasted a cast and supporting crew that was nearly 100% ethnically Chinese — so very Chinese, in fact, that in 2019, lead actress Liu Yifei sparked controversy by condemning the pro-democracy riots in Hong Kong. Given the exacting, contradictory demands of the time, it should come as no surprise that “Mulan” also lost points for being too Chinese.

A secret success

In retrospect, I think its harshest critics owe “Mulan” a reappraisal, if not an out-and-out apology.

I watched the movie with my family this week and found myself pleasantly surprised by how good it was. It was visually and audibly stunning, with a physicality to its performances that gracefully incorporates elements of Chinese kung fu film tradition.

The creators tone down the animated film’s goofiness in order to make something more serious — which in fact brings the story closer to its epic source material, "The Ballad of Hua Mulan."

Particularly impressive was the film’s emphasis on honor, virtue, and a specifically Chinese concept of filial piety. Mulan risks death not for her own “self-realization” (an all-too-common motivation for contemporary heroines) but rather to protect both her father and the father of her nation: the emperor.

When she reveals her true identity to the men in her unit, they reject her. A shape-shifting witch-warrior on the enemy side (a creative reimagining of the hawk from the animated film) offers her solidarity in this moment of cold exile.

Mulan rejects her, saying, “I know my place, and it is my duty to fight for the kingdom and protect the emperor.” The sword she carries, stolen from her father, is emblazoned with three Chinese characters: 忠、勇、真 (loyal, brave, and true).

After she saves the emperor, he gives her a new sword, one emblazoned with an additional virtue: filial piety (孝).

This Mulan is not the liberal feminist icon she’s been made out to be; she’s more Joan of Arc than Captain Marvel. What drives her is love, not ambition.

And this love dares to encompass her nation as well as her family. Americans haven’t seen a film so rich in unvarnished national pride since "The Patriot" (2000). “Mulan” left me yearning that we might one day again employ the vast resources of Hollywood to enshrine our own founding myths. I’m inspired by the possibility.

'It Ends with Us' offers unflinching look at domestic violence



I read “It Ends with Us” based on the recommendation of my college roommate. At the time, Colleen Hoover's tale of domestic abuse and intergenerational trauma was at the peak of its popularity, and you couldn't walk into a Barnes and Noble without seeing it at the front of the store’s prominent Colleen Hoover section.

I found the writing lackluster, to say the least. But I’m a harsh judge, as I grew up exclusively reading British and American classic literature. So naturally, I had to read the sequel. I’m just a girl, after all.

Unflinchingly honest yet hopeful, 'It Ends with Us' has the potential to make a difference in the lives of viewers struggling to free themselves and their children from similar cycles of abuse.

Director Justin Baldoni's adaptation was troubled from the get-go. Early glimpses of Blake Lively as the book's protagonist dismayed women — myself among them — who could not reconcile Lively's wardrobe with how they envisioned Lily Bloom.

Delays caused by the writers' strike and rumors of tension among cast members added to the offscreen drama.

The film's marketing was also confusing, as Baldoni (who also plays Lily's love interest/tormentor, neurosurgeon Ryle Kincaid) and Lively often seemed to be promoting two very different films.

Baldoni, who kept noticeably separate from the rest of the cast during the press tour, spoke about the importance about raising awareness on the topic of domestic abuse.

In stark contrast, Lively brushed off such serious questions, choosing instead to plug her hair-care line and to brag about wearing Britney Spears’ Versace dress on the red carpet. If Lively’s promotion was the only exposure you had to the story, you would be forgiven for thinking that it was a romantic comedy.

Now that "It Ends with Us" is finally in theaters, however, those intending to see it should be warned. Whatever flaws the movie may have, it is excruciatingly faithful to the book's graphic depictions of domestic violence.

Hoover is intimately familiar with such violence; she based the novel on her childhood memories of watching her father abuse her mother. This also inspired her to tell the story from a woman's perspective, a perspective Baldoni's adaptation retains.

In stark contrast to the “Fifty Shades of Gray” culture of the last decade, “It Ends with Us” does not find any titillation in abuse. “The intention was to not glorify [domestic violence] in any way,” Baldoni said. Instead, it paints a complex picture of the harsh reality many women face. “Why did she stay?” becomes less black and white. The truth is never that simple.

Like the book, the movie begins with a stereotypical, yet convincing, romance between Lily and Ryle. Bad boy meets good girl. Bad boy falls for good girl. Bad boy reforms for good girl, until you realize that he didn’t.

For Baldoni, it was crucial that the audience see his character through Lily's eyes. "This movie hinges on this relationship working and there being real love, and real romance, and real passion there. 'Cause that is what happens in real life," Baldoni told Access Hollywood, adding that:

I wanted the film to reflect Lily’s emotional journey, to be in her mind in a way that an audience can understand the complexity, and the challenge, and the situation that she was in to choose something better for herself than maybe what was chosen for her. And the only way to do that was to make Ryle a human and to protect Lily in that way.

This emotional ambiguity makes the eventual violence Lily suffers all the more horrific. I’ll spare you the details — they’re so gory it’s hard to repeat. Suffice it to say that tears were shed over the brutalization depicted.

Other elements of the film were far less effective. In particular, the pivotal moment in which Lively and Baldoni's characters first meet. Lively's husband, Ryan Reynolds, apparently rewrote this scene without consulting screenwriter Christy Hall.

As much as I love Reynolds, it pains me to say that his contribution stands out — and not in a good way. The dialogue is disjointed and clunky, and the banter that was supposed to have been flirtatious is just ... strange. It's truly unfortunate.

That aside, Baldoni approaches this sensitive subject with obvious care. The film's delicate cinematography and tasteful, PG-13 love scenes keep the focus on Lily's fight to break free from her abuser.

Unflinchingly honest yet hopeful, “It Ends with Us" has the potential to make a difference in the lives of viewers struggling to free themselves and their children from similar cycles of abuse.

"It Ends with Us" has partnered with the No More foundation to raise awareness about domestic violence. If you or someone you know is dealing with domestic violence, the National Domestic Violence Hotline is 1-(800)-799-SAFE.

'Deadpool & Wolverine' makes the MCU fun again



"Welcome to the MCU. By the way, you're joining at a bit of a low point," says Deadpool at one point in his much-anticipated (by him, at least) team-up with Wolverine.

Turns out, admitting you have a problem is more than half the battle.

It’s satisfying to see a director of Levy's talents play in the Marvel universe for the first time, nailing the requisite epic scale while keeping things fun.

After years of declining audience interest, Marvel Studios has delivered a much needed win in the form of "Deadpool & Wolverine," the third installment in the Deadpool trilogy and the first proper inclusion of the X-Men into the MCU.

Wade Wilson (Ryan Reynolds) is living a peaceful existence retired from superhero-ing and struggling to find meaning in his life. Enter the TVA (short for Time Variance Authority, an organization introduced in the streaming series "Loki"). Turns out, the TVA could use a man like Deadpool to fix the timeline.

When the Merc with a Mouth realizes he'll have to destroy his universe in the process, he pivots to saving it instead. To do so, he recruits a disgraced, alternate-universe Wolverine (Hugh Jackman). As the two unlikely friends maneuver through the multiverse, the chaos that always surrounds Deadpool follows them.

At the heart of this ultra-violent, ultra-irreverent film are surprisingly sincere themes of friendship and redemption. In their shared struggle to find new meaning in their lives, these two heroes end up saving not only the entire universe in a bloody, action-packed climax, but each other.

It's one of the best bromances ever captured on film, with both Reynolds and Jackman giving career-best performances. It is one of the most earnest and emotionally satisfying stories we have seen from Marvel Studios since "Spider-Man: No Way Home."

WARNING: SPOILERS FROM THIS POINT ON

The film also lovingly pays tribute to the 20th Century Fox era of Marvel with cameos from Blade (Wesley Snipes), the Human Torch (Chris Evans), Elektra (Jennifer Garner), Pyro (Aaron Stanford), and Gambit (Channing Tatum, who finally gets to play the character after many failed attempts at a solo film).

Even Laura/X-23 (Dafne Keen), from what was supposed to be Jackman's final bow as Wolverine, makes an appearance. She confirms that the Wolverine of "Logan" is indeed dead while inspiring this version of Wolverine to become the hero he's always been capable of being.

While these throwbacks are fun, they do sometimes make the film's pacing suffer. Still, it's hard to fault "Deadpool & Wolverine" for its commitment to maximum fan enjoyment.

I must also single out director Shawn Levy, a filmmaker with great family films like "Cheaper by the Dozen," "Night at the Museum," and the Reynolds-starring "Free Guy" under his belt. It’s satisfying to see a director of his talents play in the Marvel universe for the first time, nailing the requisite epic scale while keeping things fun.

It's safe to say that with "Deadpool & Wolverine," the MCU has officially bounced back from the wokeness-fueled nadir of "The Marvels." Will the studio build on the momentum and good will?

Only time will tell, but the recent Comic-Con bombshell that Robert Downey Jr. will play Dr. Doom in both "Avengers: Doomsday" and "Avengers: Secret Wars" is certainly a hopeful sign. Let's keep our fingers crossed that the party is just getting started.