There are some fantastic low-budget movies out there. Some of them are so good that they approach the level of “comfort movies”: that is, films you enjoy returning to again and again, and that can improve your mood. This podcast is about some of my favorite B-movies. Some you may already have seen, but many you may have overlooked.
On September 4, 1804, the British packet Duke of Cumberland was wrecked in a ferocious hurricane that pounded the island of Antigua. Readers unfamiliar with nautical classifications may wish to know that the term packet refers to a ship carrying, on schedule, mail, passengers, and other cargoes. The story of the aftermath of the wreck is an inspiring one, as all hands were saved by the intrepid action of the first mate, Mr. Doncaster. His first name has not come down to us.
In a recent conversation with a friend who works as an instructor at a major university, I was amused to learn a new term about which I was previously unaware. It is the portmanteau word mesearch. A fusion of the words me and research, the term is used to describe a feature of modern scholarship that has sadly proliferated in recent decades.
In this podcast we explore two movies. The first is A Patch of Fog, a British psychological thriller from 2015, and the newly-released film The Dog Stars (2026), a post-apocalypse drama starring Josh Brolin. Both are satisfying movies, and invite useful contemplation. We discuss.
I just finished watching the 2021 documentary film Roadrunner: A Film About Anthony Bourdain. It chronicles the life and tragic end of the celebrity chef and traveler Anthony Bourdain. I see his tragedy as a cautionary tale. What was the source of his despair? And what lessons, if any, can be learned from his story?
Some time in the 1840s—the precise year is not certain—a British ship returning from the Mediterranean was obliged to delay its arrival in England for a few days, due to the persistence of stormy weather and thick fog in the Channel. One of the landsmen passengers found it difficult to sleep; and, to pass the time less fretfully, he took to conversing with an experienced old tar, a grizzled Cornishman, who proved to be a fascinating night-watch companion. He had mastered the lore and history of his native country. This mariner told our landsman many ancient tales of disasters, shipwrecks, escapes, and raw courage. One unsettling story, however, proved to be more memorable than all the others. And it is this one which we will now relate.
A recent trip to Manaus, Brazil prompted some thoughts about the limited time we have on this earth, and what we can do to make the most of our efforts. What things are within our control? What things are not? And how can we know when we are deceiving ourselves?
The idea of divine retribution is a current that runs consistently through the pages of Herodotus. Evil deeds, wicked actions, or the manifestation of hubris, will eventually be repaid; and the payment is usually devastating.
While the power and utility of forensic linguistics is taken for granted today, this was not always the case. The world of scholarship was slow to appreciate the degree to which written language betrays its authorship and pedigree. The “Phalaris Controversy” is a famous, and striking, example of the use of textual analysis in resolving an acrimonious intellectual brick-fight.
Controversy and mudslinging are not new features of the Homeric tradition. We are told that, in 1715, soon after Alexander Pope published the first volume of his translation of the Iliad, the eminent poet was assailed by Britain’s most fearsomely competent Hellenist, Richard Bentley. Bentley, with the insufferable bluntness that had made him famous (or infamous), told Pope, “It is a pretty poem, Mr. Pope, but you must not call it Homer.” Pope revenged himself on Bentley in his satirical Dunciad by portraying the scholar as a pedantic bore who “made Horace dull, and humbled Milton’s strains.”
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