Staff Reports
In the great cinematic spectacle of our age, it seems like Hollywood is tweaking its scripts again, desperately trying to find the perfect reel balance in this cultural movie theater we call America. But the truth is, films are not exactly the cultural compass they used to be. Indeed, as our woke-obsessed artists tinker with narratives, the roots of traditional storytelling defiantly poke through all that progressive polish. Take the example of the Fantastic Four, spotlighting a narrative perhaps more human than the overprocessed scripts the public’s been handed lately.
Once, there was an America where the ideal was everyone together, nicely dressed and living in a society harmonious yet diverse. But somewhere along the way, that vision got bent out of shape, twisted into a political landscape where you got to like everybody lest you find yourself on the wrong side of history. America is steered towards this unrequested social engineering—like being coerced into joining a club you didn’t sign up for.
Even as blockbusters aim to portray inverted realities, certain messages sneak in, whether intended or not. Viewers in the theaters see the friction between male rationality and female emotional intelligence that often flare up off the screen—encounters highlighting differences in thought processes. Superman and Lois Lane in that new movie don’t just throw punches at villainy; they engage in good old-fashioned relationship squabbles. How quaintly normal!
Home, that beloved concept of a boy and a girl liking each other enough to forge a new world, seems to be the right popcorn. Heck, even Rahm Emanuel’s recognizing it, writing his op-ed with a dash of sense on why young men are feeling like NPCs in their own life story. He points at a society where traditional roles of providing and protecting seem outdated by a chorus that loves to shout about toxic masculinity; yet, there he is, tendering breadcrumbs that might just lead back home again.
And speaking of homes, isn’t it curious how conversations about houses now matter as much as the commotion about what happens inside them? The conversation shouldn’t be about the architectural blueprints of homeownership but about the emotional blueprint of homemaking. Our society seems to have accidentally stumbled back into a realization of importance: a recognition that bread and butter issues aren’t just what you have for dinner, but what builds life’s little sanctuaries.
In a world wrapping itself in modernity, maybe the solution isn’t more of the same but a bit of the old. Women sneakily rekindling their penchant for homemaking, unraveling the popular belief that somehow womanhood is more powerful outside of domesticity. Yeah, it turns out, for mothers, home isn’t where the heart is—it’s where the soul happens. As our cultural stories ebb and flow, daring to suggest mothering and homemaking as the foundational blocks of society might be novel enough to be, dare we say, revolutionary. Who knew?
