Category Archives: Reviews

Blogs, Socials, Reviews

No fool he

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The redoubtable Anthony Sacramone has been energized once again in his blogging at Strange Herring, which makes the world a sweeter and better place in so many ways. Today he reviewed the new film, “Our Idiot Brother.” He kind of liked it, but was not blind to its conceptual failings. Especially in the area of honesty, as seen through Hollywood eyes:

The moral of our story is that honesty is the best policy. And “openness” to others is the free-est form of expression. It sounds so simple and right. Except, well, this is Hollywood. And even its moralizing needs some desanitizing.

It’s possible to be so “open” to the other that one becomes a mere experiment in someone else’s “life journey.” One can also use “honesty” as a cover for merely being frank. You know the difference between being honest and being frank, right? Abraham Lincoln was honest. Adolf Hitler was frank.

The frank person makes no bones about the fact that he is robbing you, but insists that this “admission” also makes him honest. The frank person admits to cheating you, or cheating on you, and insists that needs must be met, and what about those banks and insurance companies and Wall Streeters?

To be honest means more than calling a spade a spade. It is also means more than mere earnestness. It is a a habit of mind, heart, and soul. It is a form of personal integration — integritas — that emanates from the center and not from attempting to Crazy Glue all the broken pieces back together with hollow apologies and confessions of being merely human.

Non-fiction, Religion, Reviews

All Things Considered, by G. K. Chesterton

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If you like reading blogs, you’ll probably like reading G. K. Chesterton. Chesterton did the thing bloggers do long before blogging existed, and he did it better than the best of us. If he were alive today his blog would be the most popular one in the world. It would drive liberals crazy much of the time, but conservatives would take offense now and then too, and both sides would likely post indignant comments to tell him how STOOPID he was.

All Things Considered is a collection of columns Chesterton wrote for the London Daily News during the years up to World War I. They’re not his absolute best work. He admits in the preface that many of them were written under tight deadlines, when “there was no time for epigrams.” And what he wrote frequently got snipped down, pretty arbitrarily, by editors.

But even under adverse conditions, Chesterton offers a wealth of opportunities to the happy highlighter. Instead of reviewing All Things Considered (an act of hubris), I’ll just list some snippets to give you a taste.

First of all I want to mention that this book includes what may, very probably, be the first use of the word “groovy” in the English language. Seriously. Chesterton doesn’t use it as the hippies did, and I’m pretty sure they weren’t quoting him when they re-coined the adjective, but it’s right here, in a column called “Humanitarianism and Strength”:

Have you ever noticed that strange line of Tennyson, in which he confesses, half consciously, how very conventional progress is?—

“Let the great world spin for ever down the ringing grooves of change.”

Even in praising change, he takes for a simile the most unchanging thing. He calls our modern change a groove. And it is a groove; perhaps there was never anything so groovy.

*

The real objection to modernism is simply that it is a form of snobbishness. It is an attempt to crush a rational opponent not by reason, but by some mystery of superiority, by hinting that one is specially up to date or particularly “in the know.”

I believe firmly in the value of all vulgar notions, especially of vulgar jokes. When once you have got hold of a vulgar joke, you may be certain that you have got hold of a subtle and spiritual idea. Continue reading All Things Considered, by G. K. Chesterton →

Authors, Reviews

Fair, partly cloudy

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The Minnesota State Fair. Artist’s Conception.

It occurs to me that I should have taken pictures at the State Fair on Saturday, like Lileks does. But then I realize, it was hard enough dragging myself around the fairgrounds, let alone taking a camera. I know people have tiny little cameras in their cell phones nowadays, but I’m a straggler on the dragging edge of technology. I only get things after they’re passé (except for my Kindle, which was a gift from… well, I won’t embarrass him again).
It was possibly the most perfect day for the fair I’ve ever seen, from the perspective of weather. Nice temperature, and it started sunny and then clouded over without actually raining more than the occasional tiny spit. This was great for the concessionaires, not so great for Avoidants and Introverts. You know that place in the gospels where Jesus is pushing through a crowd, and stops and says, “Who touched Me?” because (He says) “I felt power go out of Me”? I didn’t heal anybody (may have injured some) but when we pushed through a crowd of teenagers who suddenly appeared around us, screaming for some pop singers (or something) at a radio station booth, I felt the power go out of me, all right. I was a shell of a man by the time I got free of that.
The conclusion was obvious. I need to lose even more weight, and get some exercise. Which I’m trying to do.
Or else give up the fair.
I need to retract an endorsement.
Hunter Baker (funny, I was just thinking about him) commented on my review of Lee Child’s Killing Floor, writing the words I always dread:

I have read a lot of Lee Child books, but had to stop a couple of years back. He revealed himself in a couple of books to be pretty seriously anti-Christian. And made the Reacher character share those views. That did it for me…
I was a major fan of his. It began small with Reacher refusing to fly Alaska Airlines because they put a small Bible verse on each tray. In a subsequent book, there is an extremely bizarre Christian character who is some kind of caricature of American evangelicals. Once I read that one, I just decided Lee Child didn’t need any more of my money.

Sad, but not really a surprise. No more of my hard-earned will flow to Lee Child either.

Reviews

Film review: Conan the Barbarian

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With this review, I consciously renounce all right to any respect as a film critic. I loved Cowboys and Aliens, which right-thinking people seem to despise, and now I’m going to admit to the world that I enjoyed the new Conan the Barbarian, which everybody except me and a few Facebook friends seems to loathe.

I’m going to start by moving my recommendation, which I usually leave for the end of the review, to the beginning. The good things I’m about to say about Conan the Barbarian should not be taken as an endorsement for most of our readers. This movie earns its “R” rating. There is much violence, and enough graphic, special effects-enhanced gore to please Odin’s ravens. Also considerable female nudity, often in situations involving bondage. I think this was a major error on the part of the filmmakers. They could have made a movie just as good without voluntarily reducing their paying audience through shock techniques and salaciousness.

On the other hand, the “R” rating is not inconsistent with the original material.

I approached Conan the Barbarian with something less than low expectations. I mistrusted the re-boot project from the first, and Michael Medved, whose opinion I respect, hated it. So I was pleasantly surprised when, somewhere along the way, I realized I was enjoying the show. Continue reading Film review: Conan the Barbarian →

Reviews

Film review: Twelve O'Clock High

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I’m sure every one of you has seen the movie Twelve O’Clock High already, but I never saw it until last night. I know I write too much about movies in this books blog, but I want to meditate on the film a little bit, particularly as an exercise in storytelling. It’s a superior example of the art.

What you’ve got in Twelve O’Clock High is two layers of story going on at one time. There’s the surface story—the sort of thing a small boy watching it would come away with, and then there are the truths the story conveys, buried under the surface but identifiable if you’re looking for them.

The surface story is pretty simple. The 918th Heavy Bombardment Group, based in England at the very beginning of American participation in World War II, is suffering heavier than average losses. The men, and their commander, Col. Keith Davenport (Gary Merrill), think they’re jinxed. Their commanding general thinks the problem is more practical, and sends in hard-nosed Brig. Gen. Frank Savage (Gregory Peck) to whip the unit into shape. This he does, through hard—sometimes cruel—discipline. As the men learn to repress their individual fears and concerns and operate as a group, they manage to achieve their goals and lower their losses.

But that’s not the real story. The real story is what’s going on inside the men. I don’t mean any disrespect to John Wayne (frankly I think John Wayne could have handled the Frank Savage part just fine), but you understand what I mean when I say this isn’t the typical kind of war movie we associate with John Wayne. Gregory Peck’s Gen. Savage sometimes pushes the men too hard, and he’s not as confident as he seems. There’s a splendid little moment when his adjutant, Lt. Col. Stovall (Dean Jagger) says, “You know the difference between Col. Davenport and Gen. Savage? Gen. Savage is about this much taller.” In the end, Davenport’s and Savage’s roles get very neatly reversed.

Because the real message here is that war is impossible. Fighting in a war is like walking a tightrope while carrying ever heavier burdens, while crosswinds change at random. No man can bear the strain indefinitely. The strongest iron breaks at last, through constant fatigue.

A friend of mine who’s a combat veteran says this is the most realistic war movie ever made. That’s remarkable when you think that it was made in 1949, taking into account all the special effects advances that have been made since then, and changes in audience toleration for on-screen gore. What sets Twelve O’Clock High apart is outstanding storytelling, a profound understanding of the human heart.

Fiction, Reviews

Killing Floor, by Lee Child

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After my unpleasant experience with Philip Kerr’s Field Gray, I was in the mood for something less ambitious and more fun. I found it in Lee Child’s first Jack Reacher thriller, Killing Floor.
Child, an English television writer who does a very creditable job portraying American characters and settings, knows a few important truths about thriller writing. He knows that “movie logic,” the phenomenon that allows movies to get away with a lot of unlikely or impossible story elements because “I just saw it right there,” also works—to a certain extent—in action novels. The very unlikely coincidence on which this book’s plot pivots doesn’t bear close examination, but Child treats it matter of factly and keeps the interest up, and most readers come along for the ride. I know I did. Enjoyed it too.
His hero is Jack Reacher, a former military policeman who was raised a Marine brat. Having left the Marines, he is now traveling the United States, getting to know the country of which he is a citizen, in which he has never actually spent much time. And so, purely on a whim, he gets off a bus and walks to a tiny town called Margrave, Georgia, where he is immediately arrested by the police. A man has been murdered, and the stranger is a natural suspect. By the time Jack’s alibi has checked out, he’s met a very attractive lady cop he wants to know better, and come to feel a certain responsibility for a fellow prisoner, a rich man who doesn’t know how to handle himself in lock-up. But when he learns the identity of the murdered man, Jack’s course of action is decided. He has an obligation.
Fortunately for the good guys, Jack’s a very dangerous man—the very kind of man you want around when you’re up against a murderous, amoral conspiracy.
Killing Floor has all the virtues—and some of the faults—of an inspired first novel. Some of the detective work seemed a little too neat to me, and one of the big mysteries probably won’t be as much a mystery to readers today as it was when the book was published, more than a decade ago. But I took it on its own terms and had a great time. I’m already reading the second Jack Reacher novel, Die Trying, which starts with another coincidence almost as dubious as the one that kicks off this book.
Jack Reacher has some similarities to Stephen Hunter’s Bob Lee Swagger, but the classic character he reminded me most of was John D. MacDonald’s Travis McGee. Travis McGee, although he had a permanent address, lived on a house boat, and so was metaphorically adrift in the world. Jack Reacher is literally rootless, describing himself at one point as a hobo. The two have similar attitudes, and even resemble each other.
Killing Floor is recommended for grown-ups.
Update: Endorsement retracted. The reasons may be found here.

Fiction, Reviews

Thumbs down: Field Gray, by Philip Kerr

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I have to tell you, this one hurts. Being sucker-punched by someone you trusted always smarts, and my great admiration for Philip Kerr’s writing makes my disappointment—I could have said feeling of betrayal—on reading Field Gray all the more painful.

Kerr’s continuing character, World War II era Berlin-based detective/cop/soldier Bernie Gunther, is a splendid literary achievement. He’s a relatively decent man in an insanely indecent situation. He tries to do what he sees as right, but is constantly undercut by history. He’s Philip Marlowe on a meaner street, facing challenges Raymond Chandler knew nothing of.

He hates the Nazis and the Communists equally, he informs us. That suited me just fine. But what I didn’t realize (though I should have guessed from heavy hints in the last novel, The One From the Other) is that there’s one group he hates even more.

The Americans.

You see, the Americans have committed unforgivable crimes. They eat too much. They think they won the war. They see the world in black and white. They don’t always live up to their principles, which makes them hypocrites, and thus far worse than mere mass murderers. They treated Bernie real mean, arresting him in Cuba at the beginning of this book, beating him up (under the impression he was a fugitive war criminal), and imprisoning him for a while at Guantanamo (GUANTANAMO!!!!!), where it was hot and there were mosquitoes. Compared to that his treatment by the Communists, who merely put him in a death camp, mining radioactive pitchblende, obviously pales.

There is one passing reference to the Berlin Airlift in this novel. Bernie brushes it aside. Obviously the Americans did it “for themselves.”

And so he chooses a Communist agent, a murderer who has tried to murder Bernie himself in the past, over a group of American agents who have done him no harm at all. Because they’re just “Amis,” while a German, you know, is a German. Apparently it comes down to “Deutschland über alles” after all.

I’m sure Philip Kerr doesn’t want any of my filthy American money, and he may rest assured I won’t spend any more on his books.

Field Gray is a superbly written novel that I do not recommend at all.

Fiction, Reviews

Back On Murder, by J. Mark Bertrand

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Those of us who read both secular and Christian fiction tend to employ a double standard. There’s a full-out “excellent” category in the secular field, and then there’s “excellent for Christian fiction,” which is understood to be not quite as good as the secular stuff, but better than the average CBA fare.

(As a corollary, I find that I also have a counterbalancing prejudice. When I encounter really good Christian fiction, I think I sometimes depreciate it a little, just out of defensive critical snobbery. Something I need to watch out for. I may have done it with this book.)

J. Mark Bertrand, in his first police procedural novel, Back on Murder, shows himself qualified for a place on the shelf alongside successful mystery writers in the secular market. Perhaps not up in the highest rank (at least yet), but definitely big league.

The hero of Back On Murder is Roland March, a Houston police detective near the bottom of his profession. Once he was a star, the cop who solved a dramatic case that got turned into a best-selling book. But a personal tragedy took the heart out of him. Now he’s a time-server, the “suicide cop”–the cop who gets stuck with the unenviable job of investigating when other officers kill themselves. He’s the subject of pity and derision at headquarters. His marriage is strained.

But at the beginning of this story he finds himself, uncharacteristically, at a crime scene, a house where several gang members have been shot to death. By accident, he notices a detail that changes the whole investigation—someone has been tied to the bed in the house, and that someone is not there anymore. Suddenly March is “back on homicide,” and energized by an investigation for the first time in years. Then he’s transferred to a task force investigating the high-profile disappearance of a teenage girl. He’s disappointed until he grows convinced that the two cases are linked—the missing person on the bed, he believes, was that girl. Working with an attractive female missing persons cop, he enters the unfamiliar world of the girl’s church and faith life, puzzling like an anthropologist over the odd customs and mores of these bizarre evangelicals. Continue reading Back On Murder, by J. Mark Bertrand →

Fiction, Reviews

On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness

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The subtitle of Andrew Peterson’s fantastically fun young adult novel just about gives you all the invitation you need to read it: “Adventure, Peril, Lost Jewels, And the Fearsome Toothy Cows of Skree.” You can see the thrills and silliness right there (if you’re stuck on what toothy cows are, stick no further).

I loved this book, despite its minor weaknesses which are minor. Peterson says he knew while writing this book that his sequel would be even better, and I fully believe him. This story of children running from goblin-like occupiers of their home country has plenty of serious thrills, and it’s built on a mythology that is completely silly. For example, the horrible conqueror in a distant land who ultimately commands all of the disgusting troops in Skree is “a nameless evil” called Gnag the Nameless. His evil minions are the Fangs of Dang, in that they have poisonous teeth and hail from the dark land of Dang. A popular sport described early in the book is handyball, “a delightful sport in which each team tries to get the ball into a goal without using their feet in any capacity, even to move,” meaning the players roll on the ground. That detail is delivered in one of many footnotes which sow threads of silliness through the pages. Many of the footnotes reference one of 24 imaginary books, like In the Age of the Kindly Flabbits by Jonathid Choonch Brownman, Taming the Creepful Wood by Rumpole Bloge, and Ready, Set, Chube! A Life in Gamery by B’funerous Hwerq.

On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness records the story of the three Igiby children who are waking up to the oppression around them. They’ve never known life without the Fangs of Dang. One night, their dog gets them into a little trouble that quickly escalates into a life-and-death struggle. Soon enough, the whole family is running for their lives.

This is the first book in a series of at least three. The third Wingfeather Saga book was released this summer.

Reviews

Film review: Cowboys and Aliens

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OK, here’s the deal. When you’re talking about a movie called “Cowboys and Aliens,” you’ll do well not to overthink it.

I’m glad I hadn’t read some of the reviews I’ve read today, before I went to see the film last night. Because I had a great time. I don’t think I’ve sat in a theater seat and enjoyed myself so much since I saw “Taken.” When you’re talking summer movies, it doesn’t get much better than this, if you’re asking me.

The secret to carrying off a ridiculous genre mash-up like this, unless your intention is to do farce, is to take it as seriously as “High Noon.” No ironic, I’m-above-the-material lines from the actors. No winks at the audience. No blatant contemporary references, either pop or political.

In this the makers of “Cowboys and Aliens” succeeded splendidly. There are funny moments, but the actors don’t know they’re funny. All they know is that they’re being attacked by nearly invulnerable monsters, that their loved ones are missing, and that time is running out.

The film opens with the hero, Jake Lonergan (underplayed in Eastwoodesque style by Daniel Craig), waking up in the desert. He can’t remember who he is, he has a painful wound just under the ribs, and a strange metal shackle is wrapped around his wrist. Continue reading Film review: Cowboys and Aliens →