popular culture

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'The Exorcist' turns 50 -- Visions of hell, in defense of beliefs about heaven

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'The Exorcist' turns 50 -- Visions of hell, in defense of beliefs about heaven

William Peter Blatty was pounding out the first pages of "The Exorcist" when his telephone rang -- bringing the news that his mother had died.

The screenwriter was already digging into dark material that was completely different from the whimsical work -- such as the classic "A Shot in the Dark" Pink Panther script -- that established his Hollywood career. He was writing a fictional take on an exorcism case he heard discussed during his Georgetown University studies.

But the death of Blatty's Lebanese-born, fervently Catholic mother changed everything. She spoke very little English and called her son "Il Waheed," Arabic for "the one" or "the only." He struggled with grief for five years and his supernatural thriller turned into something much more ambitious.

"I wanted to write about good and evil and the unseen world all around us. I wanted to make a statement that the grave is not the end, that there is more to life than death," said Blatty, meeting in a diner near the Georgetown neighborhood described in "The Exorcist."

It was 2013, four years before Blatty's death, and our conversation focused on the 40th anniversary of the film that brought him an Academy Award, for adopting his novel for the big screen. Now, on the 50th anniversary of "The Exorcist," critics are still debating why it had such as seismic impact.

Blatty insisted, many times, that he wasn't trying to shock people, even though the R-rated classic sent many rushing for theater exits, sickened by its stomach-wrenching visions. His goal was "apostolic, from the beginning," an attempt to inspire faith and defend core Christian doctrines, he said.

The equation was simple: "If demons are real, why not angels? If angels are real, why not souls? And if souls are real, what about your own soul? … And, by the way, if incarnate evil is real, what are you going to do about that?"

"The Exorcist" set box-office records for horror films, with numbers that soared with subsequent re-releases. At the same time, Blatty was deeply satisfied to hear priests report that, in the weeks after the movie opened, penitents lined up for confession.

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Dorothy Sayers: It's no mystery that her world was shaped by a classical education

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Dorothy Sayers: It's no mystery that her world was shaped by a classical education

As president of the Detection Club, Dorothy L. Sayers led initiation rites featuring ceremonial garb, flickering candles and the spooky presence of Eric, a human skull.

With a flair for the dramatic, Sayers required British mystery writers to take an oath, including: "Do you promise that your detectives shall well and truly detect the crimes presented to them, using those wits which it may please you to bestow upon them and not placing reliance on, or making use of, Divine Revelation, Feminine Intuition, Mumbo-Jumbo, Jiggery-Pokery, Coincidence or the Act of God?"

New members promised "moderation" in -- this is a partial list -- the use of conspiracies, death-rays, ghosts and trapdoors, while "utterly and forever" avoiding "Mysterious Poisons unknown to Science." And of course: "Do you solemnly swear never to conceal a vital clue from the reader?"

The Detection Club was founded in 1930, with G.K. Chesterton as president. Sayers was a founding member and became its third president, followed by Agatha Christie.

Famous for her Lord Peter Wimsey detective novels, Sayers' career defied simple labels. As a young woman, she worked for the S.H. Benson advertising agency in London. Among Christians, she is best known as a colleague of C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien and others in the Inklings writers circle in Oxford. Sayers wrote poetry, theological essays and theatrical works for the stage and BBC Radio. She was gifted in multiple languages and spent the final years of her life translating Dante's "The Divine Comedy" into English.

Sayers is also known for a 1947 Oxford presentation -- "The Lost Tools of Learning" -- that has influenced generations of Classical education leaders in the United States, England and elsewhere. As a child, she was educated by her father, an Anglican vicar, who taught choral music and Latin at Oxford.

"Her parents gave her a classical education that allowed her to navigate her world, the tools to support herself. When she struggled and made mistakes, she was able to repent and get back on track," said medieval scholar Lesley-Anne Williams, who lectured on "Dorothy Sayers: Advertising, Murder and Classical Education" during last week's annual Inklings Festival at the ecumenical Eighth Day Institute in Wichita, Kansas.

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Upon Friar Review -- Looking for valid spiritual questions in popular culture

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Upon Friar Review -- Looking for valid spiritual questions in popular culture

During the 1990s, legions of kids could quote chapter and verse from the "X-Files" adventures of FBI special agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully.

Scully was the skeptic who put her faith in science, while Mulder plunged head-first into the supernatural. But in one case, Scully experienced mysterious visions that helped her save a life. Stunned, she returned to church. Confessing to a priest, she asked why she witnessed a miracle, but her partner did not.

Maybe, the priest said, God was only speaking to her. "With the Lord, anything is possible. Perhaps you saw these things because you needed to. … Why does that surprise you?"

Scully answered: "Mostly it just makes me afraid. … Afraid that God is speaking, but that no one is listening."

Father Casey Cole grew up in that era. While he wasn't an "X-Files" fan, many of his friends were, hooked by the show's mantra, "The truth is out there." Thus, this confession scene has become one of many video clips he uses as chaplain at three schools in Macon, Georgia.

When exploring pop culture, the young Franciscan friar is looking for good questions – the kinds of questions he thinks the church needs to hear.

That's easier with some forms of entertainment than others. It's possible for savvy pastors, youth leaders and teachers to respond to high-quality movies and television programs, especially those that address spiritual issues, said Cole, describing the approach used in the "Upon Friar Review" videos he makes with Father Patrick Tuttle of Holy Spirit Catholic Church in Macon.

Then there are "times when Father Patrick closes his eyes and says, 'This is awful.' … There are times when I want to say, 'This is the worst thing ever.' But when we're at our best, we can say, 'Let's take a step back and let's analyze this. What question is being asked here?

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A 'nothing in particular' believer captures millions of clicks in YouTube America

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A 'nothing in particular' believer captures millions of clicks in YouTube America

Oliver Anthony counted about 20 listeners when he performed earlier this summer at a produce market in coastal North Carolina.

That was before August 8, when radiowv posted his "Rich Men North Of Richmond" video on YouTube. More than 45 million views later (when this was posted), the unknown country singer from Farmville, Virginia, has become a culture-wars lightning rod.

When he returned to the Morris Farm Market, near Currituck, he faced the massive August 13 crowd and read from Psalm 37: "The wicked plot against the righteous and gnash their teeth at them; but the Lord laughs at the wicked, for he knows their day is coming. The wicked draw the sword and bend the bow to bring down the poor and needy, to slay those whose ways are upright. But their swords will pierce their own hearts, and their bows will be broken."

Anthony then sang his blunt NSFW (not safe for worship) hit about suicide, depression, hunger, drugs, politics, child sex trafficking and dead-end jobs.

"I've been sellin' my soul, workin' all day / Overtime hours for bulls*** pay / So I can sit out here and waste my life away / Drag back home and drown my troubles away," he sang, with the crowd shouting along. The chorus began: "Lord, it's a damn shame what the world's gotten to / For people like me and people like you / Wish I could just wake up and it not be true / But it is, oh, it is / Livin' in the new world / With an old soul."

"Rich Men North Of Richmond" debuted at No. 1 in Billboard's Top 100, the first time ever for a new artist without a recording contract and mainstream radio support.

"The song was immediately politicized, even though there have always been country songs with singers lamenting the state of their lives and the state of America," said David Watson, a theologian and country-music fan. He is academic dean of United Theological Seminary in Dayton, Ohio, near a Rust Belt poverty zone with historic ties to Appalachia.

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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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Raquel Welch finally found some peace in with believers in an ordinary church pew

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Raquel Welch finally found some peace in with believers in an ordinary church pew

The statuesque film legend didn't call attention to herself as she shared a pew with other conservative Presbyterians in their small church not far from Hollywood.

She was articulate when discussing theology and church matters and, from time to time, would offer advice on finances. She had learned a lot in the movie business.

Raquel Welch wasn't trying to hide, during the later decades of her life when she faithfully attended Calvary Presbyterian Church in Glendale, California. She was simply looking for people she could trust.

"She was careful. … She wasn't going to one of those 2,000-member churches where everyone would look at her. That wasn't her style," said the Rev. Christopher Neiswonger, who grew up in that congregation and attended nearby Fuller Theological Seminary. He now leads Graceview Associate Reformed Presbyterian Church in Southhaven, Mississippi.

"She also wasn't trying to stick her thumb in the eye of a Hollywood culture that she knew would denigrate this kind of faith commitment. … She was Raquel Welch, but she just wanted to be part of our church family."

Welch died on Feb. 15 at the age of 82, inspiring waves of tributes focusing on her iconic beauty in "Fantastic Voyage," "100 Rifles," "The Three Musketeers" and dozens of other movies and television programs. The legendary poster from "One Million Years B.C." framed her as a bombshell babe image for the ages.

In a Facebook tribute shared with other believers, Neiswonger called Welch a "wonderful lady and a fine Christian" whose "faith grew more powerful and practical with age. It's often true that the most important things become the most important to us as we've matured personally."