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    Monsters Plague Japan. But What Do They Mean?

    How ancient history and modern calamities have cultivated a national obsession with menacing creatures.HIROSHIMAON A BLUSTERY afternoon last November, I stood on the esplanade of Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park listening to the solemn gong of the Peace Bell as English and American tourists rang it again and again. A traditional Japanese bell made of oxidized metal, it has a pendular log that strikes at the atomic symbol engraved on its side as if to banish that evil from the earth. A few feet away, a group of Japanese schoolboys stood laughing and gamboling, hanging on each other as schoolboys do everywhere. More

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    Angel Studios Turns to Viewers of Faith to Greenlight Movies

    The company behind “Sound of Freedom” follows an unusual strategy that relies on an army of subscribers to its streaming platform.When “Sound of Freedom,” a $14.5 million indie film about child trafficking based on the life of a Homeland Security agent, stormed the box office to become an unlikely $250 million hit, practically nobody saw its runaway success coming.Except Neal Harmon.Harmon is the chief executive of Angel Studios, a self-described “values-based distribution company,” that he founded in 2013 in Provo, Utah, with his brothers Daniel, Jeffrey and Jordan as well as their cousin Benton. Even before a rave review from Ted Cruz and a private screening held by Donald J. Trump, the reception for “Sound of Freedom” was effectively preordained, Neal explained in a recent interview, because the studio’s million-member Angel Guild had endorsed the film before the company decided to acquire the distribution rights.Jim Caviezel in “Sound of Freedom,” the breakout hit that went on to earn $250 million at the box office.Angel Studios“We definitely knew it was going to be successful because of the guild’s reaction,” Neal said. “We knew it was going to be really well received.”Most distributors rely on the instincts of a programming team, which typically attends festivals and watches screeners like a prospector sifting for gold. Angel’s model defers to the subscribers of its streaming platform, which has grown to become one of the most-downloaded apps on the Apple TV store, occasionally surpassing Netflix, Disney+ and Amazon Prime Video.In addition to a library of original content, the Angel app features short-form concept videos for potential movies or TV shows. Subscribers, or guild members, answer short surveys about the videos, and based on the results, Angel decides whether to greenlight projects. Subscriber fees are funneled back into the films and shows in production, essentially turning Angel’s system into a wide-scale crowdfunding model.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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    The Streaming Rush to Turn Scripture Into Scripts

    After the success of “The Chosen,” Amazon and Netflix are converting Bible stories into films and TV shows with “Game of Thrones”-style intrigue and romantic comedy elements.A once-beloved king slips into madness as wary confidants surround him, breathless for his next maneuver.A soldier wrestles with his dueling loyalties toward family and friendship.A young man from a humble background defeats a brute, not knowing that the victory sets him on a path to ascend into power.With its interpersonal intrigue and battlefield bloodshed, “House of David” looks like it could be an alternate-universe of “Game of Thrones.” But rather than an adaptation of a high fantasy franchise from the 1990s, its source material goes back millenniums.“House of David,” a series that premiered on Amazon Prime Video on Thursday, tells the story of David, the biblical shepherd who used a sling and stone to defeat the giant Goliath before assuming King Saul’s throne. It is part of the original faith-based programming that streaming services are unveiling to court the viewers who have made “The Chosen,” a prestige drama about the life of Jesus Christ, one of the most successful crowdfunded television or film projects of all time.“The sheer size of the audience is enormous,” said Jon Erwin, who pitched “House of David” to Amazon and co-directed several of the first season’s eight episodes. “It is the largest underserved niche audience in the world.”Viewership figures from streaming shows are rarely made public, but the team behind “The Chosen” estimates that the show has been watched by more than 280 million unique viewers worldwide, a third of whom it says are not religious. The hit show feels more like a workplace comedy-drama, a version of “The West Wing” set in Galilee, than the direct evangelism of the widely translated “The Jesus Film” (1979) or the storybook sermons of the 1990s animated series “VeggieTales.”We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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    How Yehonatan Indursky Fled His Ultra-Orthodox Life — and Returned

    Yehonatan Indursky showed me around Ponevezh Yeshiva one evening in January. Known in Israel as “the Harvard of yeshivas,” Ponevezh sits perched on a hill above the ultra-Orthodox city of Bnei Brak. We stood at the back of its vast central study hall. Hundreds of white-shirted teenagers and young men packed the room, hugging the lecterns where their leather-bound Talmudic volumes lay open, the holy texts close to their chests, as if the ancient words could be absorbed not only by their minds but also by their bodies.Two decades ago, Indursky was one of them. Tzitzit, the specially knotted tassels a reminder of his relationship with God, dangled at his hips. He was eager to have me see this exalted school, where he had lived and studied. But certain things didn’t look exalted. Except for the gilded aron kodesh, the structure where the Torah scroll is housed, the main study hall was unadorned. The bulbs were bare, maximizing their harsh fluorescent light. The floors of a corridor and study nook were strewed with litter. On the grounds outside, we passed a decrepit refrigerator sitting like forgotten junk. The Haredi, or ultra-Orthodox, Indursky said, “are less conscious of superficial things.” Even the dishevelment held spiritual devotion.At Ponevezh, Indursky had dedicated himself to the Torah and Talmud during nearly all his waking hours. But then, when he was 18, he fled the yeshiva. He fled his family. He shed his kipa and high-sitting wide-brimmed black hat. He cut off his payos, the long sacred locks that grew from his temples.He fled — and eventually created “Shtisel,” a television series delving into the world he abandoned, a deeply layered portrait of a Jerusalem family cloistered within Haredi society. And though its niche subject, delicate stories and quiet tone might have doomed it to drift into oblivion, the show was a hit when it debuted in Israel in 2013. For the first of its three seasons, it won 11 Israeli Television Academy Awards, including for best drama series and best drama screenplay. In Israel, The Forward reported, “Shtisel” was everywhere: “Huge billboards featuring the show’s bearded and side-locked characters popped up in secular Tel Aviv, a city where it’s more usual to see images of bikini-clad supermodel Bar Refaeli looming over the freeway.”In the United States, the show was a surprise phenomenon when Netflix brought it here five years later. What came to be known as “Shtisel mania” spread across Jewish communities throughout the country; a pair of events at the Streicker Center at Temple Emanu-El, a Reform synagogue in Manhattan, sold out within hours, drawing more than 4,500 fans.In both countries, the show’s devotees included the Haredi. Despite the ultra-Orthodox ban on television and the blocks installed on their devices to prevent most internet access, many found a way to watch the series. Rigidly isolated as the Haredi are, Indursky said, there are always people in the community ready to assist with working around media restrictions. Indursky’s father, a retired copy editor of religious texts, told me that when “Shtisel” appeared, he was asked by a worshiper at his Jerusalem synagogue, “What is it with your son that he does shame to the community?” But this was the minority view. “The Haredi were excited,” Indursky’s father said. “A lot of people asked could I get them CDs.”We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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    This N.Y.C. Theater Was a Haven for Adventurous Art. Then the Archdiocese Intervened.

    The Connelly Theater has suspended operations after its church landlord began more carefully scrutinizing show scripts and its general manager resigned.The Connelly Theater in New York’s East Village has for years been a shabby but warm haven for adventurous performing arts: the play “Job,” which is now wrapping up a Broadway run; Kate Berlant’s “Kate,” a one-woman show that went on to London and California after selling out downtown; and the satire “Circle Jerk,” a Pulitzer finalist in 2021.But over the past few weeks, the building’s landlord — the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of New York — began more intensely scrutinizing the content of shows whose producers were seeking to rent the space. At least three planned productions had to relocate.Josh Luxenberg, who has been the theater’s general manager for the past decade, submitted his resignation late Friday. And early Tuesday, the Catholic school that is the intermediary between the theater and the archdiocese said it was “suspending all operations of its theater.”Producers who have rented from the Connelly say they were aware that it was owned by the archdiocese, and that there was always a clause in their contract allowing the Roman Catholic Church to bar anything it deemed obscene, pornographic or detrimental to the church’s reputation. But only recently, they said, did the archdiocese seek to rigorously scrutinize scripts before approving rentals.New York Theater Workshop said it was told by a bishop this month that it could not stage “Becoming Eve,” which is adapted from a memoir about a rabbi who comes out as a transgender woman, at the Connelly early next year. It is now looking for another venue.“We had seen a range of really provocative, amazing, inspiriting, artistically rigorous shows there, so I was surprised this would be rejected,” said Patricia McGregor, the artistic director of New York Theater Workshop. “And if in the East Village of New York City we are meeting this kind of resistance, where else might this be happening?”We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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    What Ethan Hawke’s ‘Wildcat’ Gets Right About Flannery O’Connor

    Those familiar with her menagerie of grotesques, her views of Southern society, her tortured faith and inner contradictions will get what his film is doing.Nobody’s ever really known what to do with Mary Flannery O’Connor. They didn’t know when she was alive, and they haven’t known since she died in 1964, at 39, after years of battling through lupus to write her nervy, weird stories about Southerners, sin, religion and the God to whom she prayed so fervently. Her mother, Regina, with whom O’Connor lived for the last third of her life in Milledgeville, Ga., once asked her daughter’s publisher, Robert Giroux, if he couldn’t “get Flannery to write about nice people.” He couldn’t. Not that he would try.O’Connor in 1959 on the steps of her home in Milledgeville, Ga. She’s a patron saint to writers who explore the fault lines between religion and belief, transgression and salvation.Floyd Edwin Jillson/ Atlanta Journal- Constitution Via Associated PressThe screen adaptations of O’Connor’s work have not quite captured her essence either, though some attempts have been more successful than others. A telling instance comes in “The Life You Save,” a 1957 TV adaptation of her short story “The Life You Save May Be Your Own,” starring Gene Kelly in his first small-screen role. He plays Tom T. Shiftlet, a one-armed vagrant who talks a woman into taking him on as her handyman, then marries her mute, deaf daughter, Lucynell. Tom and Lucynell drive off toward their honeymoon and then, at a diner, as Lucynell naps on the counter, Tom makes his getaway. In the story, Tom picks up a hitchhiker, who insults him before leaping out of the car, and Tom just keeps driving away. In the TV version, however — presumably to avoid offending viewers’ delicate sensibilities — Tom has a change of heart, returning to the diner to retrieve Lucynell after all.That kind of moment would never have made it into an O’Connor story. She saw the episode, and “the best I can say for it is that conceivably it could have been worse,” she said. “Just conceivably.” (It paid for a new refrigerator for her and Regina.) She was not interested in writing tales of cheap redemption, or those that dramatize a change of heart that brings about a pasted-on happy ending, even if they’d have sold a lot better. Her stories are full of darker things, the “action of grace in territory held largely by the devil,” as she put it. A traveling Bible salesman steals a dour intellectual woman’s false leg. A young man berates his mother for her backward views on race until she has a stroke. A family on the way to a vacation is murdered by a roving serial killer. A pious woman beats the hell out of her reprobate husband after he gets a giant tattoo of Jesus on his back.“Wise Blood,” John Huston’s 1979 adaptation of O’Connor’s 1952 novel of the same name, comes much closer to her uncomfortable tales of uncomfortable grace. The book was adapted by Benedict and Michael Fitzgerald, sons of Robert and Sally Fitzgerald, close friends of O’Connor (she lived with them for a while, and they edited “Mystery and Manners,” her 1969 collection of lectures and essays). “Wise Blood” is the story of a somewhat unhinged veteran named Hazel Motes (Brad Dourif), the grandson of a traveling preacher, who returns to his Tennessee home and tries to spread an antireligious gospel, only to discover he can’t quite get away from God. The Fitzgeralds chose Huston to direct in part because he, like Motes, was an avowed atheist, and they thought that’s what O’Connor would have wanted: a director who wasn’t afraid to skewer the pieties of her native South. But on the last day of shooting, Huston turned to Benedict Fitzgerald and said, “I’ve been had.” He realized he hadn’t managed to tell an atheist’s story at all. He’d told O’Connor’s story, and that meant it was soaked in hideous divine grace.Brad Dourif as a somewhat unhinged veteran trying to spread an antireligious gospel in “Wise Blood.”Anthea FilmWe are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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    H.B.O. Is Tackling Religion in the Most Remarkable Ways

    “Righteous Gemstones” remains a surprisingly complex (and hilarious) take on American faith.It’s hard to find a doctrine that better explains this country’s political and cultural trajectory over the past 50 years than the so-called prosperity gospel, which reversed the old dogma in one key, seductive way: It came to interpret the attainment of worldly wealth and privilege as proof of spiritual exceptionalism, the rewards of a life lived righteously. Jesus says in Matthew 19:24: “And I say again unto you — it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.” But across the end of the 20th century, any number of figures built immense and lucrative flocks by coming at that problem from a very different direction: a promise, perhaps, that you might look great crossing into heaven in a camel-hair suit. That this sentiment aligned so well with politically ascendant strains of conservatism may or may not be coincidence, but the net effect was the same. There is the elevation of wealth as a sign of virtue. There is the sense that if only those in need had been more righteous, they, too, might have been blessed. There is, in short, the long, strange trajectory of American temperament that has, on some level, brought us to HBO’s “The Righteous Gemstones.”“Gemstones,” the brainchild of the writer-performer Danny McBride, is the story of a megachurch’s descent into corruption and chaos, rendered in the cheerfully unruly tradition of Mark Twain. Audiences may respond to McBride most immediately as a comedian of great physical gifts, but he is also a satirist of increasingly subtle intelligence, and there is a startling, possibly underappreciated depth to this critique of wealth, power and spirituality.That’s not to suggest that the show, which recently ended its third season, is averse to over-the-top parody. In one memorable moment from this summer, we’re presented with a flood of lights, hip-hop dancers and brute-force gospel music as a silver-haired preacher — a onetime child evangelist still known as Baby Billy — steps forward to host the first episode of “Baby Billy’s Bible Bonkers,” a liturgical quiz show that, as people keep pointing out, is a carbon copy of “Family Feud.” Moments later, the production is interrupted by a horde of locusts descending on the building. This — the profane, the sacred and the apocalyptic — is the world of “Gemstones,” condensed.This is a portrait of damaged people born into the redemption business, trying to find anything redeemable about themselves.The show bears obvious similarities to its critically fetishized network peer “Succession.” In each, we focus on three entitled siblings, potential heirs to an empire built by their charismatically imperious father, and their desire, real or imagined, to transcend the implications of their birthright. But while the Roys of “Succession” are armored with stylish nihilism, the three Gemstone offspring, lieutenants in the family’s sprawling spiritual operation, are less mannered and far more relatable. Even as they behave badly, even appallingly, you can sense their maladroit grasping for the morality they’ve always understood to be interchangeable with their privilege. Television’s depictions of religion have often leaned either toward po-faced dogma or scouring atheism, but here is one that dares to split the difference. McBride has made a career of playing swaggering Southern blowhards, inhabiting them with such familiarity that they transcend simple mockery and become almost poignantly human; “Gemstones,” too, has a fondness for its characters that runs parallel to the humor it wrings from their failings.And the Gemstone children definitely have failings. The eldest, Jesse, is a pompous hothead whose default response to any insult is light violence and who, despite his persona as a family man, has enjoyed the sort of hard-partying lifestyle that would make early-1970s Led Zeppelin blush. His sister, Judy, is a flamethrowing libertine with a staggeringly foul mouth and a tendency to transgress against her lovingly milquetoast husband. The youngest, Kelvin, is comparatively sweet but locked in a closet of his own making, profoundly in love with his best friend and prayer partner. Like a staging of “King Lear” at a monster-truck rally, the show has a loneliness that undergirds its berserk energy. Much of it is delivered by John Goodman, who brings a touching pathos to the role of the church’s patriarch, Eli Gemstone — a man of humble beginnings whose best intentions toward his kin only seem to multiply their avarice and shamelessness. There is also the conscience of the family, his deceased wife, Aimee-Leigh, seen only in flashback. (And, once, as an ill-advised hologram.) We see her counsel that “money ain’t everything,” but these words float by, unheeded, against the ever-escalating scale and spectacle of the Gemstone Salvation Center or the family’s own theme park. Their Ferris wheels and roller coasters have replaced precisely the kind of down-home, small-town, tiny congregations that represent the family’s own roots, but the Gemstones are masters of a great American skill: They can see themselves as the salt of the earth even while surrounded by Croesus-like wealth.This year, “Succession” concluded its final season on a bracingly cynical note, suggesting that its four seasons of familial infighting were little more than a meaningless sideshow in one cul-de-sac of the corporate world. “Gemstones,” by contrast, has come to hint at a better future. Some of the first season’s action involved Jesse’s oldest son, Gideon, having scandalized the family by lighting out to Hollywood to become a stuntman. By Season 3, he is firmly back in the fold, demonstrably more mature than his own father and serving as Eli’s chauffeur. The affection that develops between the two characters culminates in the season’s finale, in which Gideon asks his grandfather if he might teach him to be a preacher — as if suggesting that the dysfunction of today’s Gemstones might be a generational blip brought on by the distorting effects of wealth and power. At its most serrated, the show has satirized the unrepentant predation that marked the heights of televangelism, as churches were remade into spiritual money-laundering operations. At its most generous, though, it has been remarkably forgiving, letting each sibling fumble toward something like self-awareness. This is a portrait of damaged people born into the redemption business, trying to find anything redeemable about themselves, continually held back by the profit motive. This is not the only fascinating vision of the church on HBO these days. There is also “Somebody Somewhere,” which recently finished its second season. Bridget Everett plays Sam, a truculent self-styled outcast who has returned to her small Kansas hometown following the death of her sister. In a cheerful twist on the usual Hollywood portrayals of “flyover” Christian America, Sam finds companionship in a church-adjacent “choir practice,” where she joins her best friend, Joel, who is both deeply devout and openly gay. In the Season 2 finale, Sam — blessed with an extraordinary singing voice she has become reluctant to use publicly — belts out “Ave Maria” at the wedding of a trans man and a cis woman. This is a rare representation of the way religious fellowship connects and enriches communities of many sorts. Tonally, it approaches the polar opposite of “Gemstones,” but what the two series share is a knack for finding the strangeness and nuance in American religion, a topic Hollywood has more often regarded as a zero-sum contest between the wholesome and the heretical. True salvation, both programs understand, may be someplace in between.Opening illustration: Source photographs by Jake Giles Netter/HBO More