Tony Hendra

Tony Hendra is an author, actor and author of Father Joe: The Man Who Saved My Soul.

Recent Articles

Gated Community

So finally they are gone from our exquisite and majestic rus in urbe -- the collective obscenities of the collective ego of Mr. and Ms. Christo. What were they supposed to symbolize, these thousands of dishrags hanging from their thousands of kitchen rails? The rigid banality of the urban fabric, gridding and right-angling the rich asymmetry of life into mathematical oblivion? That it's hip, yet again, to be square? Were these emergency signs warning us of a multiple collision just up the highway of American culture? Were they intended to remind us of the jumpsuits worn by the humans we are slowly murdering at Guantanamo Bay? Or were they just the color of Ms. Christo's hair? Everywhere you went, our beloved Central Park -- one of the few truly common treasures left to the unrich and unfamous and unbeautiful in our increasingly dollar-throttled city -- was marred by meaningless tacky curtains, blotting out the stark and intricate tracery of the trees' winter rood screen. You saw...

Gated Community

So finally they are gone from our exquisite and majestic rus in urbe -- the collective obscenities of the collective ego of Mr. and Ms. Christo. What were they supposed to symbolize, these thousands of dishrags hanging from their thousands of kitchen rails? The rigid banality of the urban fabric, gridding and right-angling the rich asymmetry of life into mathematical oblivion? That it's hip, yet again, to be square? Were these emergency signs warning us of a multiple collision just up the highway of American culture? Were they intended to remind us of the jumpsuits worn by the humans we are slowly murdering at Guantanamo Bay? Or were they just the color of Ms. Christo's hair? Everywhere you went, our beloved Central Park -- one of the few truly common treasures left to the unrich and unfamous and unbeautiful in our increasingly dollar-throttled city -- was marred by meaningless tacky curtains, blotting out the stark and intricate tracery of the trees' winter rood screen. You saw...

Quis Papem?

Pope John Paul II's brief illness this week brought into the open a debate that has been raging for years in the sanctified corridors of the Vatican: Who will be the next pope? Rome's College of Cardinals has been burning up the DSLs (Divine Subscriber Lines), and cardinals across the world say lobbying and intriguing in the race to succeed the pope has gotten white hot. Several “papabile,” or electable candidates, have emerged: 1. Belgian Jean-Paul Georges Ringaud, cardinal archbishop of the sprawling industrial diocese of Sprout to the east of Brussels, is widely considered to be the standard-bearer for the left-liberal wing of the Church. Cardinal Ringaud wants to reach out to other denominations by canonizing Martin Luther and naming the first Jewish cardinal. He would make the use of birth control a sacrament and declare a Feast of the Contraception. He sees no reason why the faithful should not be allowed to attend Mass via cell phone or Blackberry. A biblical scholar by...

That New-Time Religion

My Fellow Democrats, The tears have dried, the postmortems have been laid to rest, the Zoloft prescriptions have been refilled, the property listings in Canada/Ireland/Costa Rica/Paris/ Prague/Auckland are in the wastebasket. Now that everyone's come back to earth, let me say this: For the third time in four years, the party I am honored to lead has won a great victory. A victory of principle. And with victory comes the question immortalized by the end of that great Democratic movie The Candidate : Now what do we do? I have prayed about this, and one thing we must do, according to my Lord and Savior, is get religion. That's not to say that Democrats aren't religious. In the past they've embraced just about any religion, however loopy, so long as it wasn't Christianity. That has to change. What we need now is Christian religion. More specifically, Evangelico-Baptist premillenialist fundamentalism. The majority party is a party of principle, but that doesn't mean it's afraid to move on...

Surprise, Surprise

Sunday, Zero-Minus-10 Dubya, I have a dream. A recurrent dream. No, a nightmare. You and me are standing on the White House roof -- it's like it's got a widow's walk or something. We can see for miles. There's gazillions of security moms in rank upon rank all the way to the horizon, screaming like Beatles fans, doing the wave, clapping and yelling for you, the guy who kept them safe from terrorism for four years and will for four more. Suddenly a 50-story Richard Clarke comes stomping down Pennsylvania Avenue, bellowing so loud you can hear him clear across a dozen states. “I apologize to the victims of September 11!” he thunders. “Your government failed you!” And all those gazillions of security moms go real quiet . Sometimes dreams crystallize things, you know? Every time I wake up after this one, I'm sweating bullets. What if the Undertaker does have an October surprise? What if all along he's been planning to do what we did at the convention: exploit the big one ? Only difference...

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