Tag: analysis

Monday Morning Movie Review: The Odyssey (2026)

The Portly Politico2 Comments

Well, long after the brouhaha has passed, I’m finally doing it: writing my review of Christopher Nolan’s The Odyssey (2026). Dr. Wife and I saw it back on Saturday, 25 July 2026, in inglorious 2D (as opposed to glorious 3D or IMAX). Overall, we enjoyed it.

Before diving into the film itself, let me address the meta-narrative/-commentary around the film: the woke casting. Yes, Ellen Page (now going by “Elliott”) appears playing a Greek soldier. If you were going to cast a woman-pretending-she’s-a-man as a male Greek soldier, Ellen Page was about as benign as you could get. The role is a young man who is drafted, essentially, when he’s still a little boy, so he’s kind of gangly and weak, even after ten years at war. Ellen is dispatched in the first few minutes of the film, and only appears again as a shade from the Underworld, her figures so obscured by mud and her voice so obscured by scary audio effects that, at long last, she can actually pass as a man.

It’s the same for the other controversial casting decisions: Lupita Nyong’o as Helen (and Helen’s sister) and Zendaya as Athena. As much as I loved the “Helen of Detroit” memes and thought it was kind of ridiculous to cast the incredibly black (but still beautiful, just not “Helen of Troy” beautiful) Nyong’o as a flaxen-haired Grecian super beauty, she appears only fleetingly in the flick. Zendaya’s casting is, perhaps, the most egregious, primarily because, well, she plays herself the entire time—making one or two facial expressions while wordlessly staring at Odysseus. At least here it makes sense, because (MINOR SPOILER ALERT) she’s basically a representation of his trauma over the atrocities he committed at Troy, so looking like a pouty bullfrog is a bit more excusable.

None of that is to endorse this casting—there were many superior choices to portray “the face that launched a thousand ships”—but to note these roles are fairly minor. Remember, Helen is the catalyst for The Iliad, which details the origins of the Trojan War; The Odyssey focuses on Odysseus’s long voyage home after the war. Matt Damon was convincing as Odysseus, and Anne Hathaway was exquisite as Penelope, Odysseus’s besieged but loyal wife.

One more note on the casting: the one time the diversity casting made me LOL was when the Indian actor portraying Odysseus’s lieutenant exclaimed, proudly, “We are Greeks!” It was so incongruous, it made me laugh. That is, perhaps, a commentary on the pitfalls of “woke” and/or DIE casting: there is a thing that it is to be “Greek”—or “Indian,” or “English,” etc.—and we all know, even if we don’t want to admit it, that a guy from the Indian subcontinent is not Greek (although I’m sure some wags would point to Alexander the Great’s conquests of the far western edges of India, or note the common Indo-European ancestry, etc., but let’s not get carried away with autistry here).

But I digress. What about the actual movie?

Read More »

Belated SubscribeStar Saturday: Casey Anthony vs. Lindsay Clancy

The Portly Politico11 Comments

Today’s post is a SubscribeStar Saturday exclusive.  To read the full post, subscribe to my SubscribeStar page for $1 a month or more.  For a full rundown of everything your subscription gets, click here.

The latest controversy to rock the Internet is a legitimately terrifying one: a mother slew all of her children in what appears to be a premeditated, carefully calculated manner, meticulously planned to concoct an insanity plea; and tens of thousands of women, if not more, are applauding her as some kind of hero for mental health advocacy.

It’s a horrifying example of how evil becomes so mundane, we risk celebrating it as some kind of positive good. It’s also an indication of how easily manipulable women are when a viewpoint—even an objectively evil and lethal one—gains enough consensus to be “popular.” Women are actively identifying with a woman who committed cold-blooded infanticide because “raising kids is hard.”

The bandwagoning of a certain group of women in favor of Lindsay Clancy got me thinking about the Casey Anthony case from over a decade ago. I remember the outcry in response to that case of infanticide was completely different. Most women abhorred Casey Anthony. I still remember when the verdict was announced. I was in the office, one of two men in what was otherwise an overwhelmingly white female office. Every single one of them lost it when Anthony was found “not guilty” of the core charges (but found guilty of some lesser chargers involving misleading the police). “How could she be found ‘not guilty’! She so clearly killed her child!” was the paraphrased howl of outrage.

At the time, I reasoned that women were so fascinated with the Casey Anthony case because it made them feel good about their mothering abilities. The thought process that simmered just below the surface seemed to be, “well, I may have made some mistakes, but I didn’t kill my kid, so I’m a Really Good Mom.” That the jury determined the prosecution could not prove Anthony’s guilt beyond a reasonable doubt seemed not to matter at all—these ladies knew Anthony was guilty, evidence be damned. It was one of my first real glimpses into the hive mind of a certain segment of the female population.

Now we find women having a completely opposite reaction to Lindsay Clancy, who has admitted to slaying her children. Whereas the prosecution in the Anthony case relied on all manner of dubious forensic “evidence” to pursue a conviction (which, it seems, is why it ultimately failed), all of the grizzly facts are confirmed in the Clancy case. It’s not a question of whether she did kill her three young children—she did, and she admits it—it’s a question of her sanity at the time.

That’s one key difference between the cases. What intrigues me, though, is that women were so willing to send Anthony to the chair, but are celebrating Clancy. The former might have killed her child, but the State of Florida couldn’t prove it beyond a reasonable doubt, and women were furious. The latter did kill her children, and women are lauding her as a feminist icon. Have things changed so much after a decade-plus of wokery that women love infanticide?

Well, leaving abortion aside—perhaps the most devilish evidence of the self-destructive nature of modern women—I would propose another theory, one I have not seen discussed elsewhere: women hated Anthony because she was poor white trash; they defend Clancy because she’s an upper-middle class white professional. It’s a matter of class identity for them. It felt good for those same upwardly mobile women to dunk on the trailer park girl from Orlando—“she’s not one of us!”

But Clancy is one of them. She represents the apex of the “AWFL,” the Affluence White Female Liberal: a nurse living an affluent lifestyle with extensive medical and psychiatric support, as well as a doctor husband, who still wasn’t content. Indeed, she was so discontent, she murdered her own children—and, somehow, it’s her husband’s fault.

To read the rest of this post, subscribe to my SubscribeStar page for $1 a month or more.

Tattoos

The Portly Politico8 Comments

My succulent paid subs—you have a belated edition of SubscribeStar Saturday coming your way imminently (coming 10 AM EST today, Monday, 24 August 2026). In the meantime, here’s a quick musing for the plebes. —TPP

I’m just old enough to remember a time when tattoos were taboo and trashy. The only people that had tattoos were the following:

  • Military veterans who had seen real combat
  • Motorcycle gang members
  • Tramps (remember the early 2000s “tramp stamp” lower back tattoo?)
  • Really rough lower-class types and/or people who were trying to emulate that style

Only the first two are acceptable. If you were at Iwo Jima, yeah, you’ve earned a tattoo of an angry fish or whatever. I remember in college (the early 2000s) the third—the “tramp stamp”—became more common among some women, but it was something that instantly marked a woman as having poor taste and impulse control. The male equivalent was that “tribal armband” thing.

Otherwise, tattoos were basically a form of self-medication for various forms of mental illness, like smoking cigarettes. Often, the overlap between the two—tattoos and tobacco consumption—were very high.

Now, everyone has them (well, not me). People reportedly get “addicted” to getting them (a common refrain I’ve heard from tattoo aficionados is that, once you get one, you want another).

I suspect their ubiquity now is indicative of our society’s general inability to think beyond immediate here and now. That used only be the purview of the fourth type on that list—those poor souls who are so diminished intellectually or developmentally or socially that they never learned—or were incapable of learning—impulse control. Now, it seems as those a vanishingly small number of people can think long-term.

Surely social media plays a role—as it always does—in both popularizing tattoos (“everyone” has one, so I should, too!) and in reducing our overall long-term planning abilities. Do I really want a tattoo of a flower that represents my deceased grandmother on my boob when I’m seventy? I don’t think people think it through.

I also suspect tattoos are a reflection of society’s increased nihilism. If everything is meaningless, then why bother with Beauty? Let’s just make ourselves and everything else ugly (ironically, I think some people get tattoos in an attempt to overcome their physical deficiencies; it’s rare—or used to be rare—for a gorgeous person to be covered in tattoos, but I’ve seen plenty of amorphous land whales with the physique of the Pokémon Ditto covered in tats and sporting bright blue hair). As always, nihilism is a blight on all things Pure and Good and True—and Beautiful.

To be clear, get your tattoo; it’s no skin (no pun intended) off my lower back. But I’ll judge you. You shouldn’t care about that, but if you do, it proves to me that you’re only getting the tattoo because you’re seeking external validation, so much so that some chubby raconteur on the Internet is getting a rise out of you.

God Gave you beautiful skin (ladies, listen up in particular). Don’t sully it with a spinning wheel that’s a metaphor for time or how your Mimi used to sew you a sweater. Mimi would rather her little apple dumpling have smooth, beautiful, unadorned skin, not a sick-green outline of a dove that starts to look like an amorphous blob after ten years.

Think ahead. Don’t be a putz. Tattoos are for military veterans and bikers, not corporate drones sending e-mails for a living.

zaira

Pit Bulls and Genetics

The Portly Politico2 Comments

There’s been a lot of debate around pit bulls for years, and the sides are pretty predictable: some people argue they are only violent because of bad upbringing and abuse; others argue that the breed is genetically predisposed to aggressive and unpredictable behavior. I fall firmly in the latter camp.

Are there are exceptions to the “killer pit bull” stereotype? Sure. Nugget, who is truly the meekest, sweetest dog to ever live, is apparently 75% pit bull genetically; the only indication is her blocky head. Whatever pit is in her is completely subsumed under the other 25% of her genetic heritage (we highly suspect she has some rat terrier and/or Australian Cattle Dog in her). But no one would look at Nugget and say, “that’s a pit bull.”

We all know what a pit bull is, even if their advocates will try to argue that it’s “not really a breed” (funny how they’ll argue the breed isn’t inherently violent, then in the next breath argue the breed doesn’t exist; you can see why this dog is a favorite of single white liberal ladies in their thirties). It reminds me of that Supreme Court justice who, when asked to define pornography, said (to paraphrase), “I know it when I see it.”

Here is a pit bull. It’s a beautiful dog, don’t get me wrong. I also wouldn’t let it anywhere near my hypothetical children.

“Portly, didn’t you have a bull terrier?” Yes, and that’s a challenging and neurotic breed. I loved Murphy, but she wasn’t a saint; she infamously scratched one of my nephews one horrible Christmas (she was super stressed out, but it was still totally unacceptable; my nephew was fine, but understandably shaken up). I did a lot of work with her to test her boundaries and to ensure she wouldn’t go too far or get too rough. Additionally, the bull terrier, while sharing some common stock with the American pit bull, was bred to be super friendly towards humans. Other than that one unfortunate incident, Murphy loved people.

I still would never let her around a two-year old.

I’ve long suspected that a lot of the rhetoric around pit bulls isn’t really about dogs—it’s about race. I don’t believe that one’s race automatically defines a person, but there are clear differences between human races other than skin tone. For example, some Asians are lactose intolerant, while most Europeans aren’t; people of African descent are more likely to suffer from sickle cell anemia. These things don’t mean one group of people is inherently better or worse than another (“all hail the dairy drinkers!”), just that genetics are real and play some role in who we are.

Anyone who has ever had children, or witnessed young children develop, knows this intuitively, even if they’d never say it out loud. My niece is my mother; the older of my two nephews is my father. It’s absolutely wild how they’ve inherited personalities and traits and talents across generations. Obviously, my niece and nephews are their own people, with their own unique quirks and abilities, but it’s striking how much they have ingrained behaviors and mannerisms, not just from their parents, but from their grandparents. The dynamic between my niece and the older nephew is like watching my parents interact.

Again, let me stress what I’m not saying. I’m not saying that biology is 100% destiny. But I’m also rejecting the “blank slate”—we have all sorts of things imprinted upon us genetically from the moment of conception. That’s a really beautiful thing.

Similarly, dogs are influenced by their genetics. This shouldn’t be controversial—we literally breed dogs into breeds. What makes a breed a “breed” are the distinct characteristics between them. Some dogs are bred for companionship; some for hunting; some for receiving; some for pointing.

Some are bred as brutal killing machines. And we’re kidding ourselves if think we are safe just because we’re nice to the brutal killing machine.

But, again, for a certain segment of the population, I suspect their fear is that if we draw that conclusion about dogs, we might draw that conclusion about humans. Never mind that humans are ensouled; that we’re made in the Image of God; that God Gave us intelligence and self-control. Sure, some people might have more or less intelligence or restraint than others, but they can make a conscious effort to overcome or mitigate at least some of their biology.

What prompted this lengthy reflection was this post from Substack author Georgi Boorman. I can’t say I disagree with her overall thesis.

Here is my response:

Read More »

TBT^256: Modern Art and Influence

The Portly PoliticoLeave a comment

Thinking about all the wild, modern art aboard our cruise ships got me thinking about this perennial chestnut, the story of how well-connected people with the right politics can get their “art” purchased for outrageous sums, not because it’s “good” art, but because it’s a form of purchasing influence. When Kamala Harris’s stepdaughter or Joe Biden’s son sell a work of art, there is—at some level—a transaction in access taking place. At the very least, there is a purchase of goodwill with powerful people and families and institutions. Art (or plum jobs or the like) provides a convenient vehicle for buying access that otherwise would be illegal: you can’t bribe a politician, but you can hire her homely stepdaughter to model or buy his son’s crappy paintings.

As much as this world of fine art influence peddling is distasteful, I think it’s something that elite Leftists get right—at least, in spirit. They actively support their own. Yes, there’s something luridly transactional about it, in that way that occurs when money and power intermingle incestuously, but it shows that they at least pay lip service to supporting their creatives. The Left has done that fairly well since at least the Works Progress Administration commissioned artists, writers, historians, musicologists, musicians, dramatists, radio hosts, etc., to produce works during the Great Depression.

Before the modern Left hit the scene, Gilded Age robber barons spent lavishly to support the arts, architecture, photography, and the like. Indeed, one argument I’ve read (and adopted) is that when these huge data centers roll into towns, they should exercise a degree of noblesse oblige and build parks, fund schools, contribute to libraries, and support the local economy through local hiring, etc.

Naturally, the Gilded Age model seems fundamentally and philosophically more aligned with this blog’s ethos—there’s a real risk to the national government using taxpayer dollars to fund garbage—but the idea of supporting your people is one that the Left gets right (of course, it’s easier to do that when you support your people with other people’s money).

I’ve made similar calls over the years, but it’s really important for conservatives to support one another’s endeavors, be they artistic or more traditionally business-oriented. There are signs of doing that when it comes to consumer products (just think of all the conservative spin-offs of products like coffee, soap, razors, chocolate, and the like). Folks on the Right tend to gravitate towards products that are more immediately and obviously usable.

But art is what moves culture, not a razorblade that’s just a Bic or Gillette rebranded. Tolkien, Lewis, Chesterton, Kirk—and on and on and on—these are the creators who shaped and continue to shape our culture.

Food for thought.

With that, here is 24 July 2025’s “TBT^16: Modern Art and Influence“:

Read More »

Wayback Wednesday^2: Gnostic Mysteries

The Portly PoliticoLeave a comment

One of the enduring temptations for Christians of a more intellectual or theological bent is to take pride in their knowledge of Scripture. It’s scarily easy to fall into that trap, but it’s one that must be avoided, lest we either a.) fall into the heresy of Gnosticism or b.) are so proud in our knowledge, we sin against God. Really, both are likely outcomes, and “b.” includes “a.” Furthermore, no one is an effective witness if they come across as a boastful know-it-all.

The danger of that pride is very, very real. Consider that it was the pride of the Pharisees that condemned Jesus to the Cross. The pride of the Athenian elites condemned Socrates to hemlock. In both cases, the condemned poked at and exposed the foolish pride of their tormentors.

The appeal to know some “secret” knowledge, or to have the real answers, is one that those of an intellectual stripe must constantly guard against. I speak from experience (and that’s not me giving myself a very roundabout, backhanded compliment, but acknowledging that I have struggled with this sin). Ultimately, Jesus Is the Source of all Truth.

With that, here is 26 November 2025’s “Wayback Wednesday: Gnostic Mysteries“:

Read More »

Memorable Monday [Morning] Movie Review: The Empire Strikes Back [(1980)]

The Portly Politico1 Comment

Back in late 2022 and early 2023, Ponty and I did a series of posts about our favorite films. I ranked 1980’s The Empire Strikes Back as my number one pick. If we redid the lists, I doubt it would rank that high, but it would certainly be in the top five.

At the time, I noted that Empire was the first film I ever reviewed for what would become Monday Morning Movie Reviews. At the time, I just called it Monday Movie Review, perhaps knowing there’d be days I’d miss the “morning” deadline. Regardless, the review of that film marked something of a turning point for The Portly Politico, moving away from primarily political topics and moving more decisively towards cultural ones.

With that, here is 28 September 2020’s “Monday Movie Review: The Empire Strikes Back“:

Read More »

Monday Morning Movie Review: The Abominable Dr. Phibes (1971)

The Portly Politico4 Comments

One of the flicks on my mental “to view” list for some time now was today’s feature, The Abominable Dr. Phibes (1971; that’s an Amazon Affiliate link; I receive a portion of any purchases made through that link, at no additional cost to you). It’s been wickedly hard to track down online, although I’ve seen its sequel, Dr. Phibes Rises Again (same affiliate link as above) available on a number of platforms. For whatever reason, I never cared enough to find the DVD (ibid.)—or to even consider looking for it!

So when the sequel popped up on YouTube a couple of weeks ago, I decided to hunt down the original. Surely YouTube would have it as one of their free (with ads) flicks, yes?

Well, no. But someone—or two someones—had uploaded it to YouTube. I can’t vouch for how legit it is that they’ve done so, but they’ve head the film uploaded for seven years, so I imagine American International Pictures or the copyright holders of the various Great American Songbook tunes in the film don’t care or don’t know about the upload (hopefully I’m not outing them with this review). Regardless, two gentlemen in New Castle, Pennsylvania, have a little horror show called New Castle After Dark (website) in which they dress in the kind of tuxedos nerds wear to the prom. They also smoke lots of cigarettes and drink dark beer while they make some general comments about the flick.

It’s a charming setup, and I appreciated that they didn’t cut into the film too frequently. From what I recall, they do an intro, then host a segment midway through the film, and finally close with some concluding remarks. It’s just the right about of interstitial commentary, and I think it’s super cool that they’re trying to capture the spirit (no pun intended) of late-night horror hosts.

Here’s the flick with their commentary if you want to check it out yourself:

The premise for Dr. Phibes is insanely fun and campy: the titular doctor, who holds dual doctorates in music and theology, seeks revenge on the surgeons who he believes botched his wife’s surgery some years earlier. He methodically murders each doctor according to the Ten Plagues of Egypt from Exodus.

Phibes himself is a gruesome character. While his wife was going into surgery, he attempted to rush back to England from Switzerland. In the process he crashed his car, sustaining injuries that made it impossible for him to talk. To do so, he used his knowledge of music and acoustics to create a voice box (through which he comically drinks some champagne at one point). He also has a full, automaton band that plays jazz and pop standards from the 1920s (the setting of the film) and, anachronistically, the 1930s and 1940s.

Vincent Price portrays the devilishly ingenious doctor, so imagine Price’s stentorian voice filtered through an old landline telephone wire. It’s so goofy and awesome.

Read More »

Printing: The Brother DCP-L2640DW Laser Printer

The Portly Politico20 Comments

Yours portly doesn’t have any new music or covers this week, although I have arranged a delightful rendition of the theme from Agatha Christie’s Poirot and hope to record that soon (thanks to Ponty for that recommendation). Here’s the theme song itself, which is a killer sax solo:

The one thing that has forestalled my practicing and recording of my arrangement of the piece is my printer. I purchased an Epson printer some years ago because I’ve had good experience with other Epson products (we use their projectors frequently at school). The printer was, as most printers are, always a bit finicky, but it worked well enough for my needs, and it’s typically rare for me to need to print anything at home.

Then one fateful day I made the mistake of updating the firmware. Suddenly, the perfectly serviceable third-party ink cartridges I used weren’t good enough for my printer, which demanded only the finest (and overpriced) Epson ink. That took me down a rabbit hole of cheapskatery in an attempt to locate an earlier version of the firmware online.

Read More »

Monday Morning Movie Review: The Last Man on Earth (1964)

The Portly Politico11 Comments

I started writing this review Sunday evening and decided to spend time with Dr. Wife, who is now done with residency and living here in our South Carolina house permanently! This morning was full of errands, including taking Nugget to the vet for her annual visit and taking care of things around the house. Ergo, I’m finally getting around to finishing up this review. —TPP

Also, this post includes some Amazon Affiliate links (the book and movie titles). I receive a portion of any purchases made through these links at no additional cost to you. —TPP

On Saturday I wrote about Richard Matheson’s novella I Am Legend, which I enjoyed reading over the past week. What prompted me to purchase the book was re-watching its 1964 film adaptation, The Last Man on Earth. The film stars Vincent Price is the role of Robert Neville, the titular last man on Earth not to succumb to a terrible plague that turns people into vampires.

Read More »