Brooklyn: Saoirse Ronan Soars

BROOKLYN (2015)

Directed by John Crowley

Fox Searchlight, 112 minutes, PG13 (mild language, milder sex)

* * * *

Here's what several friends told me before I saw Brooklyn: "It's not my kind of movie, but it's really good and I liked it a lot." That's my take as well. I normally gravitate toward films that inspire adjectives such as realistic, gritty, and challenging; Brooklyn is more sweet, sentimental, old-fashioned, and fairy tale-like. But I really, really liked it.

The year is 1951 and Ellis Lacey (Saoirse Ronan) is about to leave her County Wexford Irish home for America. There's simply no opportunity for her in depressed post-World War II Ireland—unless she want to continue as a veritable indenture to the misanthropic and vitriolic shopkeeper Miss Kelly (Brid Brennan). Ellis isn't a willing émigré; as the youngest, she's a burden on a family reduced to an older sister, Rose (Fiona Glascott), and their widowed mother, Mary (Jane Brennan). Rose has a job, so it's off to America for Ellis, where Father Flood (Jim Broadbent) has arranged a job and lodging in a heavily Irish part of Brooklyn.

Brooklyn pretty much unfolds as one would expect—a sad goodbye between Ellis and her best friend Nancy (Eileen O'Higgins), a teary dock scene before the ship departs from Cork, on-board tips from an established émigré, settling into a boarding house run by the devout and set-in-her-ways Madge Kehoe (Julie Waters), heckling from the older residents, and struggling to overcome loneliness, shed her greenhorn skin, and adapt to America. One of the things that makes Brooklyn a good film—courtesy of Nick Hornby's treatment of Colm Toibin's novel—is that all of what I've just said is communicated clearly, but in telescoped time. It is pretty much the standard (if romanticized) immigrant narrative, so why dwell on it?

Director John Crowley doesn't. The story is really about Ellis' transformation from an awkward Irish lass to a confident young Irish-American woman who learns how to present herself publicly, discovers her intellect, and perfects the art of dishing out quips and snark as needed. She even transgresses her Irishness by taking up with an Italian boyfriend, Tony Fiorello (Emory Cohen), an ethnic leap that was still viewed as mildly scandalous in the 1950s.

The film's dramatic crisis occurs when the Americanized Ellis makes a return visit to Ireland a year later. Things have changed in the village, or have they? The restless Ellis—who now has bookkeeping skills—finds temporary employment to occupy her spare time, and she finds herself being wooed by Jim Farrell (Domhnail Gleeson), a sweet man from the Irish upper crust. To return, or to stay; that is the question.

The film's glories begin with Ms. Ronan. She is the real deal, folks—perhaps the finest young actress to emerge since Jennifer Lawrence. She's all of 21, but she's already dazzled in films such as Atonement, The Lovely Bones, The Way Back, and The Grand Budapest Hotel. She's not classically beautiful—more like irresistibly intriguing—but her enormous talent allows her to engage in a chameleon-like transformation from dowdy to desirable. When she's on screen you simply must look at her. It's hard to imagine that anyone could have played Ellis as well as she.

All of the acting is strong. Waters is delicious as Madge Kehoe. Hers is a superb blend of goodness, saltiness, and prudishness. She even chews a little scenery, as when she hysterically warns her lodgers they are not to discuss "our Lord's hygiene habits." Jim Broadbent is always solid, Domhnail Gleeson strikes the right chords of being provincial yet different, and Brid Brennan ought to be the go-to gal the next time someone is casting for the Wicked Witch of the West. 

The performances alone make this film a treat, but credit must also go to Crowley. His past directorial work has been largely in theatre and he brings to the screen theatre's sensibility that it's okay to truncate tales and trust your audience to fill in the gaps. His light-handed direction allows the actors to infer past action emotively rather than bludgeoning us with the obvious. Call it a classic less is more approach.

The film is a nice slice of the early 1950s, a reminder that Irish immigration was/is an ongoing phenomenon, and a subtle consideration of the myriad push-pull tensions between one's homeland and one's adopted land. And yes, it's sweet, sentimental, old-fashioned, and fairy tale-like. Call me an old softy, but my skeptical hackles dissolved amidst its charms.

Rob Weir

Are We Serious about Terrorism?

Here’s the big test. Will President Obama pass this time, or will he once again drop the ball into the conciliatory goo that passes for statesmanship these days? The issue is terrorism—of the domestic variety. Put directly, the question is whether the United States has the stomach to tackle its homegrown death merchants. If not, it’s pretty hard to imagine it can effectively stare down the pure evil of ISIS or al-Qaeda.

What makes this more acceptable than ISIS?

The latest Born-in-the-USA monster is named Robert Lewis Dear, though he has a few Frankenstein-like creators behind him. Dear is the Christian jihadist who shot up a Planned Parenthood clinic in Colorado Springs and left three dead and nine wounded. Dear won’t ever see the light of day again: one of the dead was a cop, as were five of the wounded. He’s irrelevant in the larger question of what is to be done with the terror groups that are culpable: Operation Rescue, the National Rifle Association, and the extreme rightwing of the Republican Party.

Operation Rescue a terrorist group? It pains me to say so, but yes. I know several earnest individuals involved in anti-choice movements. They are people of conscience willing to put their own bodies on the line, but would not harm another. They are not the problem any more than all Muslims are members of ISIS. That is why, as in the case of extraterritorial terrorism, we need to go after the heads, not the feet of terrorist groups like Operation Rescue. It belongs on the same terror watch list as other sanguinary anti-choice movements such as the Army of God and the Phineas Priesthood. One can try as hard as one wishes to argue to the contrary, but the broader anti-choice movement meets all the criteria of a terror group: random murders (20 since 1997); intimidation (380 death and 655 anthrax threats since 2000); destruction of property (41 bombings and 173 arsons since 2000); non-lethal violence against individuals (153 convicted assaults, 100 acid attacks); and three kidnappings. Robert Lewis Dear is not indicative of a typical anti-choice activist, but neither is he a Lone Wolf. At some point all activists must be held morally culpable for the fact that their rhetoric inflames individuals such as Dear, but until that enlightened day all groups must be monitored carefully and intensively.

That starts with the heinous Troy Newman, the current head of Operation Rescue. It extends also with holding GOP mad dogs such as Ted Cruz, Carly Fiorina, Chuck Grassley, and Bobby Jindall accountable for their incendiary words. They are among those who whipped up hatred for Planned Parenthood by jumping onto a “they sell baby parts” bandwagon without checking any facts, let alone the facts. What is it that Dear muttered as he was led away? “Baby parts.” Do we think he made an exhaustive study of that claim? How about a censure motion against irresponsible Republican fear mongers?      

And how about a STFU restraining order for the NRA? We are already witnessing backpedaling from the NRA terrorist elite. How, we are asked—for the 12,071^st time this year—can we hold all gun owners responsible for the action of a lone assassin? We are asked, yet again, to imagine that Dear is mentally ill. He might be, but at what point does the Little Boy Who Cried Wolf scenario take over? Is there a tipping point in which we must say that the American species is simply too dangerous to have unfettered access to all the firepower they want? The 12,071 figure is the number of Americans killed this year by guns. If there is any solace at all, it is that Americans are also the Gang that Can’t Shoot Straight; the death toll represents just one-quarter of the total number of shooting “incidents” as of November 30, 2015. I fear ISIS, but I never feared the late “Jihadi John” as much as I fear NRA head Wayne Lapierre. Let’s face it,  one of Wayne’s boys is much more likely to harm me than one of Jihadi John’s.

 I give President Obama props for his recent linkage of the Colorado Springs carnage to the larger issue of gun availability. I wish I could believe the president will do something about this, but his track record doesn’t inspire confidence. Obama was on the right track back in 2010 when the Internal Revenue Service was scrutinizing rightwing groups. That should have been done and should be reinstated. Intensive oversight has happened—but only to leftwing groups. Don’t take my word for it—check out COINTELPRO (COunter INTELligence PROgram), the FBI’s take-down of the radical New Left. The justification at the time was that any law-abiding organization would have nothing to fear from surveillance. Alas, President Obama caved to GOP pressure to call off the IRS offensive on the right. If we can’t look at their finances—which are supposed to be public--how hopeful are we that Obama would subject them to greater oversight,  or that he will give us substantive gun control? (If he does, I will gladly eat crow and admit I was wrong.)

Something needs to happen, or we may be heading for another Stonewall moment. Can you envision an Operation Rescue protest that gets routed when clinic supporters rally and beat the crap out of the protestors? I can, and I don’t want to see it happen. After Colorado Springs, President Obama pulled a page from Bernie Sanders’ campaign and announced, “Enough is enough.” It was enough decades ago. So what will it now be? Will we do something about terrorism on American shores or continue to hide behind ISIS-colored blinders? Will it be the rule of law, or the law of the jungle? Will we clean our own house, or simply demolish foreign homes?

Patty Griffin Servant of Love a Stunner

PATTY GRIFFIN

Servant of Love

Thirty Tigers PGM 001

* * * * *

Patty Griffin is beloved among music fans and rightly so. The only open question about Griffin is why she's only a medium-sized deal instead of the biggest thing to hit country music since Dolly Parton's hair. Servant of Love—widely interpreted as her post Robert Plant break-up album–helps explain why. Like Emmylou Harris, to whom Griffin is often compared, she doesn't play according to the rules. That is, she's almost impossible to categorize. Is she a delicate folk princess, a Texas (via Maine) country girl, a roll-up-the-sleeves rocker, a PTL gospel roller, an introspective chanteuse, or a pop diva? She's all of them, though the Celine Dion-like outlandish glam headdress she dons for an inside-CD airbrushed photograph is no doubt intended as ironic mockery of pop pretense.

Griffin is about the size of a New York minute but my goodness, what a voice pours out! The title track is as smoky and enigmatic as a Jacques Brel composition—just nighttime piano and Griffin's emotive voice. In the next breath, though, she slides into the rockabilly "Gunpowder," which is what what a cowboy hepcat might have dreamed up in the mid-50s. Need more? "Hurt a Little While" and "There Isn't One Way" are Mavis Staples goes secular. "Snake Charmer" is a country song wrapped in Jim Morrison-like imagery, and songs such as "Rider of Days" and "You Never Asked Me" will simply knock you off your pins through sheer beauty and the power of the embedded emotions. This is especially true of the latter, which is one of the more poignant songs of lost love in recent memory. When Griffin finishes one stanza with the line As we glide along the bends of time/Falling for little tricks of mind/With memories of Eden now so far behind/And the taste of melting snow, then slides into the opening line of the next verse–I don't believe in love like that anyway–you can just rip out your heart and toss it on the bedroom floor. Luckily Griffin takes us out on a high note, the bluegrass-flavored "Shine a Different Way." You'll cry because it's so damn pretty, but it's move-on optimism will bring a simultaneous smile.  And here's hoping Ms. Griffin never compromises her art for anyone.  Rob Weir

PS: Craig Ross (of Lenny Kravitz band fame), who also guests on the release, produced the album. He deserves kudos for captaining a truly remarkable recording.

Shakey Graves, Steve Forbert, Peach Kings, Darlingside, David Ramirez

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Is Shakey Graves a great name for a country singer or what? The Austin-bred Graves was actually born Alejandro Rose-Garcia, but the stage handle fits like a glove. Check out his most recent release, And the War Came (Dualtone Music). These days about the only difference between country music and rock is the twang, but Graves further obliterates that blurry line. There are a surprising number of stylistic shifts on the record. "Pansy Waltz" unfolds with clipped vocals akin to a poetry slam tempo; "Only Son" has the dreamy sonic feel of acid folk; and "Perfect Parts" has a buzzy grunge vibe. Some singers are smooth with hard edges, but Graves is the opposite. His voice is robust and husky, yet capable of delicacy when the mood strikes—which is only occasionally. Most of the songs on this album are about doomed relationships and pain, but of the variety tempered by passion, hope, and a refusal to let set-backs turn into beat-me-downs. The morning after in "Hard Wired," for instance, reveals a doomed relationship in full light: Well you are as you came/Mostly blessin' cocaine/Just a match begging for fire, but it was still a helluva night! In keeping with the themes of attract/retreat, many of the songs are duets with Esme Patterson, whose lovely voice provides grace to Graves' grit. When you hear lines like, Well, I've never seen life as a chore/Or a treasure to find/I've read the news, abused the booze/And often wondered why you are hearing what country music does best: offering a velvet fist. Take a listen and you'll know why the mayor of Austin once declared a Shakey Graves Day.  {Noted: The link on "Perfect Parts" is acoustic, not electric.}

Steve Forbert is a certified road warrior that lots of people remember for his 1980 hit "Romeo." That one was something of a fluke; Forbert writes a lot of songs with solid hooks, but he isn't really a pop charts kind of guy. His voice is too unusual for the gleam and generic sparkle of Top 40­–too much smoke, quaver, and growly bottom, especially now that he's turned 60. His new record, Compromised (Rock Ridge Music) is his 16^th studio release to go along with a passel of compilations and website-only recordings. Despite the title, most of the songs are about change as a natural life progression rather than something with which one must settle. The record reunites Forbert with John Simon, who produced his second record back in 1979. It also places Forbert at the front of a band, which allows for bigger arrangements. "Big Comeuppance" has very cool brassy blues horn from Kami Lyle that makes the song reminiscent of Dr. John back when he tempered his jazz-soaked offerings with accessible pop hooks. Another winner is "Rollin Home to Someone You Love," whose memorable bass lines perfectly supplement the song's working-class feel. Joey Spampinato's bass also anchors "Devil (Here She Comes)," a classic tale of moving deliberately toward the Siren's flame knowing full well that you're going to get scorched. This is a fine release from Forbert, with a few reservations. The wear and tear on his voice is starting to show, so don't expect it to be 1980 all over again. On a more substantive note, three of the songs are labeled as "Americana" versions of earlier tracks. Forbert's version of Americana is mainly to slow the bass and tempo, which I found more gimmicky than effective. That's also what I thought of the speeded up cover of "Send in the Clowns," and Forbert's thinly veiled appropriation of the hook from The Who's "Baba Riley" on "Whatever Man."

The Peach Kings are the LA-Based duo of Paige Wood and Steven Dies. Their most recent release, Mojo Thunder (Mophonics), is probably illegal in the Bible Belt. It's a heavy breathing rock and roll EP that blends Wood's sultry voice with Dies' hard-edged guitar. The half-sung/half-spoken word "Hold On" is like Barry White on acid and the title track uses a surf guitar meets swamp rock arrangement to front vocals such as Fell you coming on harder now sugar/Puttin' on your push/Push…. Somehow I don't think Wood is singing about her partner's brilliant defense of Schopenhauer's critique of Kant's view of the noumenal. Sexy, dark, and slightly ominous—think dashes of the Velvet Underground and P.J. Harvey.  

Darlingside has just released a new CD titled Birds Say (!KZ Records) that demonstrates the quartet's evolution from a group of Williams College students messing with folk, rock, and bluegrass into one featuring a complex interweaving of melodic, ambient, and transcendent sounds. Check out "The Ancestor," which invokes the drenched sounds quality of a band such as Snow Patrol. Its gorgeous harmonies and tight instrumentation make it sound at once sunny and enigmatic.

Austin singer/songwriter David Ramirez has a new release, Fables (Sweetworld), which is great news. By his own admission, Ramirez smacked into writers' block after his 2013 EP The Rooster. "Rock and a Hard Place," a featured video from Fables is reason enough for cheer. Ramirez tends not to be fancy—just thoughtful songs, solid guitar, and a soulful voice that exudes an honesty embedded in simplicity.

Rob Weir

Blythe Danner and Alice Hoffman Let Me Down!

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Here are  reviews of a film and a book that let me down. Sigh!

I'LL SEE YOU IN MY DREAMS (2015)

Directed by Brett Haley

Bleeker Street Films, 92 minutes, PG-13

*

I'm a huge Blythe Danner fan. I think she's a way better actress than her more famous daughter, Gwyneth Paltrow, and in her youth she was more attractive. I was excited to see what sort of role she would play now that she's 72 (and still striking). Alas, there's very little that's as embarrassing as presenting elderly people as if they are twenty-somethings with wrinkles, which is what is done in I'll See You in My Dreams.  It centers on Carol Petersen (Danner), who has been widowed for twenty years and is bored out of her mind in sunny California. Her BFFs—Georgina (June Squibb), Sally (Rhea Perlman), and Rona (Mary Kay Place)—try to convince her to leave her house and move to their retirement community, but she can't imagine being in such a place. The death of her beloved dog, Hazel, is the tipping point. Something—anything—has to happen. She's so desperate that she even goes to a karaoke bar with Lloyd (Martin Starr) the young, lost guy who cleans her pool, where she dazzles patrons by reviving her youthful past as a singer. Will this be a December-April romance? There are creepy suggestions that might happen, but she begins a new relationship with a man her own age, Bill (the always delightful Sam Elliott). No spoilers here, but I will say that it doesn't go where you might expect.

The film is tagged with the line "life can begin at any age," but that's as deceptive as the film's vague title. Elliott and Banner have real chemistry together and Danner also has a few poignant scenes with her daughter Kath (Malin Akerman). These prevent the film from being a total train wreck, but more cars are derailed than remain on track. There are scenes of smoking pot, snide cougar jokes, a cringe-worthy speed dating setup, and giggly pleas to kiss-and-tell. I detest films that infantilize older people by treating them like post-menopausal teens, and this one gets added to that list. Not even Ms. Danner can redeem such offensive material.

THE MARRIAGE OF OPPOSITES (2015)

By Alice Hoffman

Simon & Schuster, 369 pages, #145169393591

*

I'm also a fan of Alice Hoffman's novels. By all indications, I should have loved this one. Its subject matter is a fictionalized look at Rachel Pomie, the mother of my very favorite Impressionist painter: Camille Pissaro. Rachel had a very unorthodox life, the early part of which reminded me of a Judy Collins song with the line, "My father always promised me/That we would live in France/We'd go boating by the Seine/And I would learn to dance." Rachel was born and raised on the Danish West Antilles island of St. Thomas—now one of the US Virgin Islands––and her Jewish merchant father indulged her dream to one day go to Paris. Life, as they say, had other plans. Her father's financial troubles led her to become the wife of Isaac Petit, a much older widower, while she was still in her early twenties. The marriage came with three young children and in the six years before Isaac died, Rachel bore three children of her own. She was a widow with six children under her care by the time she was 29!

The novel delves into marriages of convenience and passion, as her next connection was a lusty one to Isaac's nephew, Frédéric Manzano. Many islanders viewed the relationship as scandalous, but she bore four more children, the next to last of which was Camille. Toss in island experiences such as having a mixed race best friend and claiming Jewish European heritage (though she was probably Creole and her own children, including Camille, were forced to attend all-black schools) in a land full of dark-skinned descendants of slaves, and you have the elements of high drama.

Alas, I found Hoffman's treatment so dull that I managed to read just a third of the book before giving up. Hoffman's usual magical prose disappears in passages that are prosaically descriptive rather than illuminating. Perhaps the pace quickens when Rachel takes up with Frédéric but I bailed around page 120. The Marriage of Opposites has been compared to the works of Gabriel García Marquez, but from where I sit, such praise is badly misplaced.  But hey, not every Camille Pissaro painting was a masterpiece.

Rob Weir

Liberals Face Unpleasant Choices on Terrorism Question

Exactly the sort of idiotic thinking that can elect Trump!

Remember the Rolling Stones line: You can't always get what you want? Liberals face the possibility of inadvertently electing a Republican president in 2016 through out-of-touch thinking on terrorism. The GOP has called for a “lockout” on Syrian refugees in the light of the bloody terrorist attack on Paris and information that some of the planners slipped into Europe by posing as humanitarian refugees. The French and the Russians have declared war on ISIS. A call for a broader international coalition against Muslim jihadists is sure to follow. These things will happen and liberals really have just two choices: formulate viable (and realistic) alternative policy, or enjoy irrelevance as the world passes them by.

It goes by a German name, folks: realpolitik–that which is deemed practical and realistic (in power and material terms). It is often the antonym of idealistic. Principles are rooted in idealism, actions in realpolitik. I hear all the liberal concerns: nervousness over religious profiling, fear that harsh actions will breed terrorists, the need for the equivalent of a Marshall Plan for developing nations, and suspicion that Western policies are largely to blame for terrorism. Better go easy on the last of these; nothing justifies the slaughter of innocents and such a pitch abrogates the moral high ground. The other three principled concerns need to be aired, but not today and probably not until retribution runs its course.

Here’s the reality: today's cries for restraint are analogous to those in the days following 9/11. In political terms it is simply inconceivable for France not to retaliate for its 130 terror victims, or for Russia simply to mourn the 219 who died in October when ISIS planted a bomb on a plane. Retribution is happening now and will continue. Democrats need to get on board with this and they'd better articulate plans for better screening of refugees instead of foisting them upon unwilling states. It doesn't matter if liberals don't like it. Check out the numbers: 56% of the American public finds Islam "at odds" with American values, 67% of the working-class feels that way, 40% of Americans think Muslims want to impose Sharia law on America, and almost no one is comfortable with accepting Syrian refugees. Ignore this data and it becomes thinkable we will sing "Hail to the Chief" to Donald Trump in January of 2017.

Liberals need to do some soul-searching on the question of when they became such knee-jerk softies and defeatists. Dialogue is the preferred option for mediating disputes, but a minimum requirement is that that both sides must be willing to talk. NPR, the New York Times, and President Obama have all argued persuasively that ISIS and other jihadist groups are "death cults," not negotiating teams. If they are correct, dialogue is off the table. There is a strain of oft-aired thought that claims the war on terror cannot be won. Really? I wonder what the world would be like now if the Western world had taken a similar position on fascism. We should not confuse what makes us uncomfortable with what cannot be done. 

There may a case to be made for isolation over war, but let's see the plans and let's be willing to make some hard choices–those grounded in realpolitik rather than abstractions. A good start would be a moratorium on bad analogies. Those on the left have been quick to make comparisons between today's close-the-borders call and past hysteria toward European immigrants, Jews, and Asians. I understand the reluctance to profile, but let's get some history straight. What made acts such as the Chinese Exclusion Act, the 1924 National Origins Act, Japanese internment, Jewish quotas, and current fear over Latino immigration–yes, lots of egg on GOP faces too­–such miscarriages of justice is that they were directed against those who did no and posed no harm. This is categorically not the case when applied to radical jihadists. Have we forgotten Lockerbie, 9/11, the Boston Marathon bombing, and the beheading of Daniel Pearl and at least five other Americans? The website Fusion tells us that homegrown terrorists have killed more Americans than jihadists since 9/11, but is anyone feeling good about that narrow 28 to 26 victory? More to the point, do you think voters are keeping score?  Want to make liberals seem like total jerks? Mock those who fear Muslim terrorists. Do you think voters haven't heard about shopping mall bombings in Kenya, bombings in Beirut, hotel slaughters in Mali, and travel bans to Belgium? Take this tack and it's you who plays the Fool.

Here's another vote-loser: blame-the-West. Whatever the root causes of terrorism might be, it's at best an eye-for-an-eye response and attempts to excuse it are morally repugnant. In plain terms, it's hard to cast victimizers as victims. Each year thousands die at the hands of jihadists, a global perspective that needs to be considered. In a world of 1.6 billion Muslims those thousands might seem a small number, and the argument that other religious fanatics have blood on their hands is certainly true. Tell that to voters who recognize groups such as these: al-Qaeda, al-Shabaad, Abu Sayyaf, Boko Haram, Fatah-al-Intifada, Hamas, Harkat-il-Jihad-Islami, Hezbollah, ISIS, Islamic Jihad, Jaish-e-Mohammed, Jamaat-ul-Mujahedeen, Lashkar-e-Taiba, and the Taliban. And this is the short list! 

Everyone should welcome a frank discussion on the root causes of all terrorism–once the death cults are neutralized. The first discussion, though, is what role the United States will play in neutralization. Look at pictures from the Paris bombings and the above list again. Now ask how hard it will be to use fear of another 9/11 for political gain. You can make any argument you wish about how marginal these groups are vis-à-vis the world’s Muslim population and be correct, but ask also if the globe would be better if the above list were shorter. Until it is, a lot of people will worry about Muslim immigrants and calling them bigots isn't going to make them feel more charitable.

I do not welcome the war on Islamic terrorism, but it’s coming. The only real question is whether you want the commander-in-chief to be a right-wing Crusader or someone (at least slightly) more rational. There is no third option.

Grounds for a Crisis in Faith?

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Heathen cup vs. Christian cup?

About the time you think life can't get any weirder, it does. A new battle rages across the land, my friends—one, I'm told, that threatens the survival of Western society as we know it. Go ahead and blame me if society crumbles like a stale muffin, because after this essay I intend to sit on the sidelines. I just can't get all that frothed over images of Christmas as seen from the side of a Starbuck's coffee cup.

If you've been on another planet and missed all of this, let me first tell you how much I envy you. To bring you up to speed, Starbuck's riled Christians of (little) faith by unveiling the paper cup in which December beverages will be served. Shockingly, it's red. Even worse, it has the Starbuck's logo on it! Imagine the nerve of putting the corporate logo of the corporation selling you corporate coffee directly onto the side of a corporate cup. But this isn't all that stirred the sludgy minds of evangelical caffeine addicts. Even worse, that's all that's on the cup­–no Christmas symbols like reindeer, holly, or Santa. If memory serves, didn't Starbuck's have a blue snowflake cup last year? Did that escape comment because it evoked Elvis's "Blue Christmas?" (Maybe the War on Christmas crowd confused Elvis and Elves. That could happen.)  

By contrast, Chris Davis, the head of a North Carolina-based group calling itself Faith Driven Consumer–you can't make it up–has praised Dunkin' Donuts seasonal cup, a pink, green, and orange vegetative design that appears to be half pine and half tarragon, encircling the word "Joy." Well praise the Lord and pass the Half and Half. And thank you for informing me that orange is now a holiday color, that joy is a Christian word, and that consumerism is now officially faith-based. Apparently a new lost text of Matthew 21 reveals that Jesus drove the money-changers from the Temple and then, after a quick stop to get a cup of Dunkin', toddled over to Walmart to do a little Christmas shopping. On the way he regaled the disciples with warm family stories about the manger and how the forgotten fourth Magi, Milkyor, came bearing a thermos full of Joe for his infant self.

Can we just stop with all this War on Christmas nonsense? If one measures Christmas according to a Faith Driven Consumer standard, the war has been won. Last year more than $616 billion was spent during the official holiday season that begins the day after Thanksgiving. That's up a trifling $584 billion over what it was ten years earlier!

Do you want to talk about Christmas outside of the consumer realm? Good luck with that. Adbusters promotes a Buy Nothing Day for Black Friday, but CNN won't run their ads. Did I mention that CNN is owned by a bunch of one-percenters (and I don't mean a coffee additive)? Want to bring back the true spirit of Christmas? Tell Chris Davis that he and his ilk need to stop rendering unto Caesar. And to all whose faith is shaken by a plain red coffee cup I say, "Your faith is weaker than Dunkin' Donuts' coffee."

I'm done now. Go ahead and blame me if the red cup really is the tipping point that leads to Christmas being outlawed. You'd have grounds.