"For love of country they accepted death." — James A. Garfield
For me the most interesting thing about the Fox TV series House, the final episode of which aired last night, was the way the narratives balanced cynicism and compassion, doubt and faith, solipsism and humanitarianism. What was perhaps most extraordinary about the show was that it managed to accomplish this through the depiction of its complex central character, Dr. Gregory House, a cynical, manipulative, oddly selfish medical diagnostician whose great genius is applied to solving medical mysteries.
House has no spiritual beliefs and looks upon the human race with undiluted cynicism: "Everybody lies," he says, and that, to him, is enough. He is devoted strictly to the truth.
What "the truth," is, however, has always been the real mystery of the show. . . .
“… They even make virtues out of ‘humility’ and ‘turning the other cheek’ and ‘loving everybody.’ Because it alleviates their guilt. It’s much nicer to pretend to yourself that your passivity makes you a saint, rather than just another gutless puke who won’t take a stand for what’s right.”
The passage above kind of encapsulates my ambivalence about the novel HUNTER: A Thriller, by Robert Bidinotto. There’s much to enjoy and appreciate in the book, and it promotes some ideas with which I strongly agree. But in my view it’s taken a little farther than I, as a Christian, can endorse. It’s not merely that I disagree with the Randian point of view on display here; I think the treatment weakens the argument (and the story) in some ways. . . .
Lars Walker has often written about the archetype of the American private eye. Particularly the fact that he’s often a figure of male fantasy. What guy, in his heart, doesn’t sometimes dream of living unfettered, setting his own hours, having uncommitted sex with a series of dangerous dames, and being the Spillaneian Jury?. . . .
You may have heard about a little controversy from the latest episode of Mad Men. Protagonist Don Draper listens to the first couple minutes of "Tomorrow Never Knows" from the Beatles’ recently released Revolver album, then stops the music in a gesture that is equal parts boredom and disgust.
Some fans of the show thought the scene was ridiculous, claiming that any high-powered ad man would have been hip to The Beatles in 1966 and would not have been alienated by a little psychedelia. I think this critique misses the point completely. The end of the episode n is probably a taste of things to come and – at the risk of sounding absurdly grandiose – might even be an inflection point for the series. . . .
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