Nick Offerman to bring Ignatius Reilly to the stage.
Check out the animated show Bat out of Hell on YouTube!
A nod to Kierkegaard and Walker Percy: existentialist tomfoolery, political satire, literary homage, word mongering, a year-round summer reading club, Dylanesque music bits, apocalyptic marianism, poetry, fiction, meta-porn, a prisoner work-release program.
Søren Kierkegaard
Walker Percy
Bob Dylan
Literature & History
Letters from an American
Beau of the Fifth Column
This American Life
The Writer’s Almanac
San Diego Reader
The Stranger
The Inlander
Adoremus
Charlotte was Both
The Onion
From Empty Hands
Ellen Finnigan
America
Commonweal
First Things
National Review
The New Republic
All Manner of Thing
Gerasene Writers Conference
Scrutinies
DarwinCatholic
Catholic and Enjoying It
Bad Catholic
Universalis
Is My Phylactery Showing?
Quotidian Quintilian
En pocas palabras
William Wilson, Guitarist Extraordinaire
Signposts in a Strange Land
Ben Hatke
Daniel Mitsui
Dappled Things
The Fine Delight
Gene Luen Yang
Wiseblood Books
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The theatrical stage is the sanctuary of Satan. Those deluded devotees who flock to the profane temples of the Drama to witness the offenses against Truth and Virtue enacted therein make themselves sons of the Father of Lies. Also, the passions aroused by such lascivious spectacles tend to unbalance the humors of the spectator. This may interfere with one’s valve. It is clear, therefore, that the so-called “live” theatre leads to the instant death of the soul, and the lingering death of the body. The lack of flagellant processions up and down Broadway is but one more proof of the degeneracy of our age — the same age, of course, that elevated a stage actor to the once-august office of Roman Pontiff. The ancient Roman law branded the actor as infamis; the modern Roman mob sees one and acclaims, “Santo subito!”
One may, perhaps, safely peruse some of the more tasteful and decent Medieval mystery plays in the quiet of one’s bedroom. (The Second Shepherds’ Play does not count. That heretical travesty is to be shunned, and, where possible, burned.) The motion pictures, of course, wholly escaped the condemnations that Chrysostom, Tertullian, and even that squishy mama’s-boy Augustine leveled so justly and soberly against the so-called “live” theatre. I myself repair often to the movie-house. When the cinema does not refresh my whole being, it refreshes my outrage. Either way, it equips me to continue bearing the peculiar cross that Fortune has dropped upon my rugged shoulders.
However, the day is fast approaching when I shall no longer be allowed the peace to enjoy a matinee and a Dr. Nut. The long decadence begun by Euripides, arrested by the Church Fathers, resumed by Corneille, and accelerated by Ibsen will soon catch up with me. No doubt my enemies are already planning to abuse me rather spectacularly in some public forum for the entertainment of the rabble. Perhaps I shall be martyred live on Pay per View, rouged and bewigged as Europa, fatally gored by a particularly large Jovian bull in some unspeakable manner.
ZORRO
Breathtaking. I knew you would not disappoint, sir.
… as the actress said to the bishop.