‘Frankenstein’ lays bare the horror of the human heart

          What does it mean to be alive? What does a creation owe to its creator, or a creator its creation? What answer is there for the evil that men do?

Dispense with any preconceived notions of Boris Karloff’s stoic blockhead, or even Fred Gwynne’s campy but good-hearted “Munster.” Neither will you find the irreverent whimsy of the hilarious 1974 Mel Brooks cinematic production. No, the creature revealed in this Henderson Civic Theatre production of “Frankenstein” is a far more tortured and tragic iteration, and one that strikes a familiar chord for any soul who has contemplated the deeper themes of human existence.

Continue reading “‘Frankenstein’ lays bare the horror of the human heart”

Cripples and Bastards and Broken Things

So, yeah, I watch Game of Thrones. Not a big deal, right? After all, if broadcast ratings are to be believed, over 17 million households watched the most recent episode. I also watch Game of Thrones on a Sunday, mere hours after attending my conservative evangelical church.

Ay, there’s the rub… how dare a professing Christian (especially one whose political views tilt more toward the conservative end of the spectrum) enjoy a spectacle filled with all manner of gross, perverse, and utterly barbaric words/deeds? Does this not contradict numerous Biblical exhortations to live a life of purity and piety?

Continue reading “Cripples and Bastards and Broken Things”

XLI (reflections upon my 41st year)

41st birthday cakeToday is my forty-first birthday, and it feels… well, anti-climactic. There is absolutely nothing significant about turning 41.

Of course, my birthday falling on a weekday probably didn’t help. This morning I just got up, went to work, ate dinner, went to church, and now I type these words sprawled out on my bed.

Having eclipsed most age-related milestones, it would seem the only birthdays that still “mean something” will be when I surpass another decade. Turning 40, or 50, or 60, or 70, or 80… may be a big damn deal, but add a year and it’s suddenly anti-climax.

Continue reading “XLI (reflections upon my 41st year)”