
The ‘Shōgun’ Series Is Like a Beautiful Car with No Engine
James Clavell’s Shōgun is about profound transformation through understanding, but FX’s Shōgun is just a spectacle of surfaces with no meaningful drive.

James Clavell’s Shōgun is about profound transformation through understanding, but FX’s Shōgun is just a spectacle of surfaces with no meaningful drive.

The Shining endures because it conveys all horror, real and imagined: Stephen King’s horror of the collapse of Man, and Stanley Kubrick’s collapse of History.

In Sue Townsend’s hands, comedy doesn’t soften despair; it sharpens it. Her creation, Adrian Mole, is a most perfectly flawed portrait of loneliness and failure.

Manic Street Preachers’ The Holy Bible is fastidious in its religious intensity, but rather than giving moral uplift, it is rock music’s deepest dive into the human abyss.

Bad Wisdom is a brilliantly savagely offensive, gleeful parody of the rock ’n’ roll messiah complex, the seeker-narrative, and the entire tradition of male spiritual self-aggrandisement.

Where Roddam’s Quadrophenia asks of British identity, “Who am I?” and Anderson’s If…. asks “Can I be myself?”, Cammell and Roeg’s Performance declares, “There is no self.”

Cruising, once denounced as homophobic pulp, is now being reassessed as a daring exploration of performance, identity, and the psychic costs of repression.

Nirvana’s Kurt Cobain despised rock music’s posturing machismo, mocked its fundamental assumptions, and then utterly destroyed the genre.

The coiled intelligence and emotional impact of Guns N’ Roses’ Appetite for Destruction insists that humanity’s ugly reality is better than hypocrisy or quiescence.