My Cultural Diet

I’m not much of a podcast listener, but the promise of an in-depth exploration of the Satanic Panic was just too good to pass up. Now, if you didn’t grow up in the church during the ’80s and ’90s, then I don’t know if I can fully explain what it was like to believe that an underground cabal of Satanists was kidnapping, torturing, and sacrificing children all over the nation. That sounds outlandish now, I know, but it permeated the culture back then, giving rise to moral panics over heavy metal and Dungeons & Dragons, allowing grifters like Mike Warnke and Beatrice Sparks to turn a tidy profit, and upending countless lives over hearsay. Host Mike Cosper does yeoman’s work, teasing out the Panic’s origins stretching all the way back to Christian concerns over the ’60s counterculture. He explores its various manifestations and key events (like the McMartin preschool trial and the West Memphis Three) and considers its lingering influence on modern politics (e.g., Christian Nationalism, January 6, QAnon). Cosper casts a pretty wide net, and at times, the podcast’s episodes do meander as he goes down one rabbit trail or another. Still, the result is a fascinating — and troubling — account of a truly bizarre moment in American history that hasn’t really left us. More importantly, it’s a potent reminder (for Christians, especially) that the more obsessed we become with perceived evils “out there,” the blinder we’ll become to the very real evils in our own midst.

Much like Once Upon a Time in the West, which was released two years after this film, The Good, the Bad and the Ugly is best described as “sprawling.” Clocking in at nearly three hours, Sergio Leone’s tale of three bounty hunters — Blondie (Clint Eastwood), Angel Eyes (Lee Van Cleef), and Tuco (Eli Wallach) — who are searching for a stash of stolen Confederate gold takes it own sweet time from beginning to end. And yet, I just don’t know what you could possibly cut from the film to “speed it up.” Perhaps the Civil War battle sequence where Blondie and Tuco join the Union Army, but even that has some important character moments. Best just to settle in, ride along with the film for its entire length, and enjoy the sort of ambitious, cinematic filmmaking that just doesn’t exist any more, not to mention the steely eyed performances, grim humor, and of course, Ennio Morricone’s iconic score.

There’s a scene in Tenet where the protagonist, upon learning the truth about entropically reversed bullets, is simply told “Don’t try to understand it. Feel it.” That’s also pretty good advice concerning Donnie Darko. Yes, there are in-depth explanations for its bizarre, circular storyline involving time travel and parallel universes. And those explanations might even be relatively coherent. But Donnie Darko is best experienced as a vibe. Which is not a knock on Richard Kelly’s script, which is full of excellent lines (e.g., “Sometimes I doubt your commitment to Sparkle Motion.”) and poignant treatments of alienation and loneliness. Nor is it a knock on the film’s performances, and in particular, Jake Gyllenhaal as the titular character, a deeply troubled high school student who begins receiving strange apocalyptic visions. Donnie Darko may be too ambitious for its own good, but it nevertheless unfolds with a confidence that belies the fact that it was Kelly’s directorial debut (he was only 25 years old at the time), and its keenly wrought sense of time, place, and atmosphere is engrossing. Watching it now, nearly 25 years after its release, the film’s flaws are readily apparent. But so, too, are all the reasons why my friends and I became so obsessed with it back in the day.

As much as I enjoyed The Expanse’s first season, the sci-fi series really comes into its own during its second season. We’re introduced to some wonderful new characters (e.g., bad-ass Martian soldier Bobbie Draper, devoted father Praxidike Meng) and a whole new set of complications for the intrepid Rocinante crew. Tensions are mounting between Earth and Mars as news of the alien protomolecule begins to spread throughout the solar system. Though I certainly enjoy its space opera action, what I most appreciate about The Expanse is its deep and abiding humanism, best exhibited by James Holden and the rest of the Rocinante crew as they try to maintain their humanity and do what’s right in the midst of war, political conspiracies, and bizarre alien phenomena. Also, the scene where Chrisjen Avasarala dresses down the Martian ambassador with charisma and cussing is *chef’s kiss*.

Our popular conception of a spy is that of a dashing and debonair individual who gallivants around the globe, stopping nefarious villains with clever gadgets and equally clever wit. But that image is hopelessly romanticized, explains Elyse Graham in Book and Dagger, which chronicles the WW2-era rise of modern espionage. Rather than recruit what we’d consider “spy” material, the Allies turned instead to scholars, librarians, historians, and economists — none of whom were soldiers but all of whom had the necessary skills and academic training to outthink Hitler and the Third Reich. Along with other unlikely folks (e.g., Hollywood studio execs and production crews) as well as refugees fleeing the Nazi regime, the Allies’ academics created a highly effective intelligence operation that proved essential to winning the war. Graham’s enthusiasm for her subject matter is readily apparent, and her heavily researched book is filled with fascinating details, and even proves legitimately gripping at times. (Her chapter on the D-Day invasion, and all of the behind-the-scenes planning and subterfuge that made it successful, is an absolute page-turner.) The book’s focus does wander at times; Graham casts a wide net and occasionally heads down what feels like elaborate rabbit trails. Even so, Book and Dagger is a fascinating look at a side of history most of us probably know nothing about, and given the current administration’s ongoing assault on academics and the humanities, it serves as a warning, as well.

Alan Moore (Watchmen, V for Vendetta) turned his considerable talents to the Man of Steel, envisioning a possible ending for the Kryptonian’s career and life. As is Moore’s wont, there’s some deconstruction going on here, but it’s clear that he has a real fondness for Superman and all that he stands for. This “deluxe” edition also contains a short crossover with Swamp Thing that envisions another mortal threat to Superman, this time in the form of an unlikely survivor from his home planet. However, the real draw is “For the Man Who Has Everything,” one of the all-time great Superman stories that was originally published in 1985 around the same time that Moore and artist Dave Gibbons were beginning work on Watchmen. I originally encountered the story via the excellent Justice League Unlimited animated series, which itself is a pretty faithful adaptation. The story begins with Batman, Robin, and Wonder Woman traveling to the Fortress of Solitude for Superman’s birthday, only to find him under the spell of an alien organism that allows Superman to live out his greatest fantasies — which soon prove to be quite heartbreaking.

In this nigh-wordless graphic novel, a young mage travels through a bizarre land filled with ancient monuments and strange creatures, a journey that proves surprisingly perilous. The occasional ally offers them comfort and companionship, but even so, their journey will exact a terrible toll. SJ Miller’s story begins on an almost whimsical note, but grows ever more dark and mysterious with each new page. Likewise, Miller’s artwork seems almost simplistic at first, only to throw out a shockingly gruesome or ominous detail that highlights the bizarre-ness of the mage’s world and the deadly stakes of their quest. I liked Mage and the Endless Unknown well enough when I finished reading it, but it’s stuck with me and only grown more intriguing.

Working with an assortment of artists and illustrators, and blending narrative and journalistic writing, Nicolas Finet and Thierry Lamy attempt to create a visual chronicle of the late ’70s punk rock movement in all of its shapes and forms. Plenty of ink is devoted to punk rock’s most well-known exemplars: The Clash, The Ramones, and The Sex Pistols. But Finet and Lamy also highlight lesser known artists including The Saints, Sham 69, and Stiff Little Fingers and explore punk’s influences (e.g., MC5, The Stooges, British pub rock). The duo also cover female punk artists like Siouxsie Sioux and The Slits, the intersection of punk and rasta culture, punk’s confluence with hard rock, and its legacy in the form of post-punk and new wave. Although I’m not a huge punk rock fan, I have a pretty good understanding of the genre — or so I thought until I read Finet and Lamy’s graphic novel. Obviously a passion project, Punk Rock in Comics was eye-opening and educational, and best of all, gave me a slew of new bands and records to check out.

The first Decline of Western Civilization film focused on L.A.‘s burgeoning punk scene circa 1979 – 1980 and specifically, bands like Black Flag, the Circle Jerks, Germs, and X. Nearly two decades later, Penelope Spheeris returned to L.A.‘s punk scene for the third Decline film. Although she interviews several bands (e.g., Final Conflict, Litmus Green, Naked Aggression), her primary focus is the city’s gutter punks: homeless kids who’ve fallen through the cracks and found a sense of identity and community in punk rock. The third Decline film is considerably more sobering than its predecessors, as punks with names like Why-Me?, Eyeball, Squid, and Spoon list their complaints and grievances with mid-to-late ’90s American society. Their criticisms aren’t necessarily wrong, but they can also come across as naïve and juvenile, particularly when the punks in question gleefully indulge in drugs, alcohol, and other nihilistic and self-destructive behavior. But even then, the film remains heartbreaking as the punks reveal the abuse, neglect, and rejection that drove them to the streets and express precious little hope for their future.

Several years after chronicling L.A.‘s riotous punk scene in the early ’80s, Penelope Spheeris returned to cover another controversial scene: heavy metal, in all of its glammed out glory. As with the first Decline of Western Civilization film, she interviews a wide array of artists (e.g., Alice Cooper, Faster Pussycat, Kiss, Megadeth, Ozzy Osbourne, Poison) and their fans, all of whom swear their allegiance to metal. Not surprisingly, the documentary focuses heavily on the scene’s decadence and debauchery. Sometimes the debauchery is almost ridiculous, like when Paul Stanley is interviewed while lying on a bed surrounded by scantily clad girls. Other times, it’s just sad. In the film’s most disturbing moment, W.A.S.P. guitarist Chris Holmes proudly discusses his groupie escapades and alcoholism, even pouring bottles of vodka all over himself, as his mother(!) looks on with a pained expression. Spheeris also captures the scene’s sky-high confidence (some might say arrogance), interviewing unsigned acts and wannabe rock stars who are absolutely convinced they’ll be the next Rolling Stones or Led Zeppelin. It’s humorous now, of course, given that so many of those bands, with names like Odin and Seduce, ultimately went nowhere. But as in the previous film, there’s also a certain desperation in their defiance that’s bittersweet and haunting.

There’s nothing immediately special about young Moth; he’s as ordinary as the rest of the newly arrived slaves at the mysterious Highest House, the seat of power for Ossaniul’s powerful Aldercrest family. A strange encounter with the House’s most bizarre inhabitant, however, unlocks something inside Moth and before too long, his curiosity and questions begin challenging the estate’s status quo. But those in power dislike being challenged, and worse, the truth about Moth’s enigmatic benefactor grows more alarming the more he learns, leading to some hard choices for the youth. Inspired by 16th century Balkan history and culture, The Highest House is a richly wrought tale of power, political intrigue, and yes, even magic that’s filled with fascinating mysteries and complex characters. Unfortunately, only one volume has been released, and if Mike Carey’s past comments are any indication, it’s unlikely that there will be any more. Which means that much of Moth’s story remains untold. Even so, we should be thankful for what Carey and Peter Gross were able to tell in these six issues.

Thanks to social media, we all know what memes are: ideas that get stuck in our head and go viral because everyone, everywhere, is talking about them. But in There Is No Antimemetics Division, the world is also filled with antimemes, ideas and entities that defy reason and resist being remembered, even to the point of consuming our memories, our lives, and our reality. Using a blend of esoteric math and philosophy, labyrinthine security protocols, bizarre technologies, and memory-altering pharmaceuticals, the Antimemetics Division fights to protect humanity from these bizarre entities. But how can the men and women of the Antimemetics Division accomplish their mission when their mission often requires them to forget everything they know about their mission? Suffice to say, this novel — which originated as a series of entries on the SCP Foundation wiki — is pretty high concept stuff, and gets trippy as it jumps back and forth between time periods and even different states of memory and existence. It also gets creepy in places, weaving in traces of cosmic horror, and boasts a streak of bleak humor (like the antimeme that only consumes bicycle-related memories). There were times when I wasn’t sure Qntm — the pen name of programmer Sam Hughes — would be able to pull everything together, but in the end, I found this to be clever, enjoyable, and even a bit moving. There Is No Antimemetics Division will be published on November 11, 2025. Thanks to NetGalley for the advance copy.

With its multiple time skips and various storylines, Andor’s second and final season is undoubtedly ambitious as it chronicles the Rebellion’s humble beginnings, which are characterized by conflicting agendas and personalities. As a result, however, it doesn’t flow as smoothly as the first season and occasionally gets bogged down by its storytelling (e.g., Andor’s interactions with the Maya Pei Brigade). But once it gets going, hoo boy, we’re in for a ride as Andor, Luthen, Mon Mothma, et al. try to stay one step ahead of the Empire’s dragnet (led by the implacable Dedra Meero) while confronting the numerous sacrifices required by their rebellion. Diego Luna, Stellan Skarsgård, Genevieve O’Reilly, and the rest of the cast really deliver, especially when backed by the series’ incredible effects and production design. (Put simply, Star Wars has never looked better.) The season’s political intrigue is hauntingly relevant given our current political climate, with Mon Mothma’s impassioned speech about the death of truth feeling downright prophetic in the Age of Trump. Finally, Diego Luna’s Cassian Andor might be the series’ namesake, but for my money, its real MVP was Luthen’s resourceful assistant Kleya, played to steely perfection by Elizabeth Dulau in a truly breakout performance. Episode ten (“Make It Stop”), which explores her history with Luthen as she tries to infiltrate an imperial-guarded hospital, was the season’s highlight. (The fact that Andor was Dulau’s first major role after acting school only makes it all the more impressive.)

As we watched the bird-obsessed Detective Cordelia Cupp wind her way through the White House’s labyrinthine halls and passages to investigate a murder, I turned to my wife and noted how much it felt like The Residence had been made specifically for her. The original Netflix series is delightful for nearly all of its eight episodes, with twists and turns aplenty as Cupp’s investigation reveals all manner of scandals and misdeeds on the grounds of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. The Residence has an embarrassment of riches: colorful characters, a standout cast (e.g., Uzo Aduba, Giancarlo Esposito, Ken Marino, Randall Park, Jason Lee, Jane Curtin), immaculate production design, a riotous jazz soundtrack, and some of 2025’s funniest dialog to date. Unfortunately, after a wildly delightful ride, The Residence doesn’t quite stick the landing. It runs about 30 minutes too long and its critique of those who use their privilege and political power for personal gain, though certainly relevant to our current political situation, can get as preachy as it is pointed. Even so, if you’re a fan of Knives Out and Only Murders in the Building — and birding — then The Residence should be at the very top of your Netflix queue. (As a side note, I really wish my house had some secret stairways now.)

Billed as “Nebraska’s only British Fish & Chip Shop, Market, & Bakery,” Chippy’s is a literal hole in the wall — I think it’s about the size of our living room — that’s quite the local gem. We both ordered the fish and chips, which were quite delicious, as was the Ribena that washed it all down. We also got to try some of the tarts courtesy of the couple sitting next to us who were enjoying a spot of high tea. Afterwards, we bought some Jaffa Cakes and Jammie Dodgers.

After seeing so many AI-generated rip-offs of Studio Ghibli’s aesthetic, I thought I’d get reacquainted with one of my favorite Hayao Miyazaki films and see the real deal. Princess Mononoke features the usual Miyazaki-isms — e.g., highly detailed animation, a sense of natural wonder, strong female characters — but it’s arguably his darkest and most despairing film. Miyazaki is a devout pessimist concerning human nature, and that shines through quite clearly in this “man vs. nature” epic. At the same time, however, his film possesses a moral complexity that makes it all the more intriguing. In the hands of a lesser filmmaker, Lady Eboshi and Irontown would be clearcut villains and the forces of nature would be entirely in the right. But because Miyazaki is a master storyteller, he weaves in just enough ambiguity to challenge your assumptions, along with a melancholy that haunts you after the credits stop rolling. And of course, the film is absolutely gorgeous to behold, with a suitably sweeping score from Joe Hisaishi.

Apple’s series about a team of disgraced British spies just keeps getting better and better with each new season. This time around, the Slow Horses must race to save one of their own when a private military contractor threatens MI5 security. Naturally, things only get more complicated as various conspiracies and coverups begin to emerge. Gary Oldman is in top form as Jackson Lamb, the slovenly and misanthropic head of Slough House who gets in all of the best lines, especially when he’s taking down corrupt and ambitious politicians and bureaucrats. On a sidenote, Slow Horses’ third season was released in 2023, meaning its storyline about a private company arrogantly claiming to make government more efficient feels rather prophetic in light of current events.

My wife and I are big fans of Seth T. Hahne’s Monkess the Homunculus, which was published all the way back in 2015. We read it often to our kids, who found it almost as enjoyable as we did. Thus, when Hahne announced a Kickstarter campaign to publish a new Monkess story, funding it was a no-brainer. The resulting book — Monkess and the Springtime Sonata — is as delightful as I was expecting, filled with colorful and vibrant artwork and a whimsical-yet-heartfelt story about a young homunculus, her puffin best friend, and their mutual discovery of “a new and important friend.” Our kids are quite a bit older now, so I’m not sure they’d enjoy Hahne’s latest as much as we do, but that’s OK. We’ll just save it for the grandkids.

Squid Game’s second season picks up four years after the events of its first season, with the previous season’s winner re-entering the games in order to shut them down once and for all. He’s joined by another motley assembly of desperate, down-on-their-luck individuals, including a failed crypto influencer, a flamboyant rapper, a creepy shaman, a transgender woman, and a mother-son duo. Season two also offers a behind-the-scenes look at how the games are run, and the individuals wearing those iconic pink suits and black masks. It did feel like season two — which only has seven episodes compared to the first season’s nine — juggled a few too many storylines, specifically Detective Hwang’s ongoing search for the island on which the nefarious games take place. Nevertheless, Squid Game’s second season proved just as entertaining and engrossing as its first, and I’m eagerly looking forward to watching the third and final season when it’s released in June.

Every single conspiracy theory you’ve ever heard is true, or at least has the potential to become true if enough people believe in it. But altering reality and rewriting history like that is dangerous. Thus, it’s up to the Department of Truth, led by Lee Harvey Oswald — yes, that Lee Harvey Oswald — to prevent the worst ones from taking root in the public consciousness while promoting those that ensure America’s greatness. The Department’s methods, however — which range from mundane to mystical — are questionable at best, and there are other forces who seek to use the world’s conspiracy theories to further their own agendas. The question is, who are the good guys? The Department of Truth is as engrossing as it is troubling, as James Tynion IV weaves together the JFK assassination, flat Earthers, school shootings, Aleister Crowley, Jack Parsons, the moon landing, Bigfoot, the Illuminati, Charlemagne, and of course, the Satanic Panic into a nightmarish tangle of alternate histories. Meanwhile, Martin Simmonds’ painterly artwork is the perfect accompaniment to Tynion’s writing, richly capturing each bizarre conspiracy theory as it comes to life. Tynion has written a lot of great comics, including Something Is Killing the Children and The Nice House on the Lake, but The Department of Truth — which perfectly captures the zeitgeist that gives rise to such dangerous nonsense as QAnon and election denialism — might be his crowning achievement.