Posted on by Sandeep

God to Gosh, a transition in Hollywood

🕊️Hollywood’s Godly Trajectory

From God to Gosh: How Network TV Turned Divinity into Decor

Two thousand years ago, humanity discovered “God” through divine revelation.

Two thousand years later, we discovered “gosh”—through CBS (Columbia Broadcasting System).

It’s been a long, strange journey.

📜 When “God” Meant Something

There was a time when saying “God” wasn’t just a word—it was an event.

In prayers, people called to Him.

In poetry, they praised Him.

In moments of fear or awe, they exclaimed His name—sometimes followed by words that were definitely not approved for family programming.

Then came Hollywood. And with it, a new trinity: Ratings, Regulations, and Risk Aversion.

🎬 Enter “Gosh”: The Divine’s Bland Cousin

Somewhere deep inside a television network office—wedged between a memo on cleavage angles and a list of disallowed words—someone nervously asked:

“Can we say ‘God’ on primetime? What if someone’s offended?”

And so, to keep audiences comfortable and advertisers calm, the Almighty was quietly swapped for His gentler cousin: “Gosh.”

He wasn’t born in a manger. He was born in a Standards & Practices memo.

📺 The Rise of Euphemisms

Let’s be clear: the U.S. government didn’t ban the word “God.”

The FCC (Federal Communications Commission), which regulates only broadcast television—like ABC, CBS, and NBC—never outlawed it. (It has no control over cable or streaming platforms like Netflix or HBO, which is why they can say pretty much anything.)

But network executives are a cautious species. Why risk a complaint from someone in Idaho or a boycott in Texas, when you can just replace:

– “Goddamn” with “darn,”

– “Oh my God” with “Oh my gosh,” and

– “Jesus!” with “Geez!”

Safer. Softer. Syndication-friendly. And thus, emotionally neutered language took center stage on American TV.

🕵️ Crime Shows: The Last Stand of “God”

Curiously, one genre held out the longest: the crime drama.

TV series like CSI (Crime Scene Investigation), NCIS (Naval Criminal Investigative Service), The Good Wife, House MD, Leverage, and Person of Interest had no problem using “God.”

Because when you’re standing over a corpse or grappling with moral collapse, “gosh” just doesn’t cut it.

But then came FBI—a show so squeaky clean, it could double as a hand sanitizer ad.

Gone was the weight of “God.” In slipped “gosh.” Quietly. Consistently. Like a linguistic cockroach.

🧠 The Mentalist: A God Among Gosh

Then there was The Mentalist—a TV drama about a former fake psychic turned crime consultant. Here, the word “God” wasn’t avoided; it was wrestled with.

Patrick Jane (the protagonist) mocked God. Lisbon (his partner) prayed to Him. The writers didn’t euphemize. They explored.

They let the tension between faith and doubt play out without tiptoeing around it. It wasn’t sanitized. It was sincere.

❓ So Why the Shift?

It wasn’t about theology.

It wasn’t about avoiding lawsuits.

It was about preemptive self-censorship—a kind of linguistic risk management.

No one forced networks to say “gosh.”

They just worried that saying “God” might lose them a sponsor or a syndication deal. So they hedged their bets. One emotional syllable at a time.

📡 Imagine If the FCC Regulated Blogs

Now imagine if these rules applied to websites or blogs.

You’d get pop-ups like:

“⚠️ This post contains three uses of ‘God,’ two ‘damns,’ and one existential sigh. Please replace with ‘gosh,’ ‘darn,’ and ‘network-safe ennui.’”

You’d have plugins like SanctifyPress—automatically converting divine language into polite neutralities. Every time you typed “God,” a compliance bot named Chad would flag it with a red underline and suggest:

“Try a less spiritually specific term.”

Welcome to Regulatory Fan Fiction, where even satire gets redacted.

🙏 Final Blessing

So next time you hear “gosh” in a crime show, remember:

It’s not just a word. It’s a market-tested, advertiser-approved, family-certified, FCC-friendly miracle. And somewhere, in a tired writers’ room, a screenwriter sighs…

deletes “God”…

types “gosh”…

and knows deep down:

The Almighty has just been networked.

Posted on by Sandeep

Certification or Censorship of Movies in India

The Legal Fiction of Film Certification

CBFC, Censorship, and the Cinematograph Act

The Central Board of Film Certification (CBFC) is often called India’s “censor board.” That term is misleading. The Cinematograph Act, 1952 empowers the CBFC to certify films for public viewing. In practice, the CBFC often asks for cuts, disclaimers, or changes. This amounts to censorship, not just certification. This contradiction came up strongly during the Delhi High Court’s recent review of the government’s actions in the Udaipur Files case. The official trailer is here:

Statutory Framework: What the Law Permits

CBFC’s Legal Role

  • Section 4: The CBFC examines and certifies films. Films fall into categories—U, UA, A, or S.
  • Section 5B(1): The CBFC can refuse certification if a film harms sovereignty, security, public order, decency, or morality.
  • Section 5B(2): The Central Government can issue guidelines about certification. These do not allow censorship.
  • Section 6: The Centre can review films before certification. It can direct re-examination or refuse to certify. It cannot do this after certification.

What the Law Forbids

  • The Centre cannot order edits or modifications in revisional jurisdiction after the CBFC certifies a film.
  • The CBFC is meant to certify films, not censor them. It may suggest changes only before granting certification.

Judicial Scrutiny: The Udaipur Files Case

In July 2025, the Delhi High Court heard a challenge to the Centre’s post-certification order. The Centre in revisional jurisdiction wanted six cuts in Udaipur Files, which was already certified. The Court said:

“You’ve issued directions beyond what the Certification Board had done. That’s not permissible.”

Key Legal Issues:

  • The Centre’s order went beyond its legal power under Section 6.
  • The cuts after certification broke the rule of finality.
  • The Centre’s move raised free speech concerns under Article 19(1)(a).

Comparative Insight: The UK BBFC Model

The UK also regulates films. The British Board of Film Classification (BBFC) focuses on certifying, not censoring.

FeatureCBFC (India)BBFC (UK)
Legal BasisCinematograph Act, 1952Video Recordings Act, 1984 (amended in 2010)
Core FunctionCertifies filmsClassifies films and gives ratings
Censorship Powers?Demands edits before certifyingCuts only if film breaks UK law of obscenity or hate speech
Post-certification interferenceCentre may order new cutsBBFC makes no further changes after rating
Legal EnforcementCertification is mandatoryRatings for home video are legally binding
TransparencyVague guidelinesPublished, clear, and consistent guidelines

 

Lessons from the UK:

  • BBFC only censors if a film breaks a law.
  • Cinema ratings are advisory, but respected.
  • Video ratings are a legal requirement.
  • The government does not demand edits after the BBFC gives a rating.

Possible Reforms for India:

  • Lay down clear, public rules for certifying films.
  • Limit government actions after certification to rare, legal cases.
  • Allow regional panels to make some decisions.
  • Make reasons for all decisions clear and public.

Conclusion: What Certification Means

The CBFC’s job is to certify films. The law does not allow the CBFC or Centre to order edits after certification. Doing so goes beyond their legal power and risks breaking the Constitution. The Delhi High Court’s view in the Udaipur Files case supports this.

The BBFC model shows a better way. It helps protect creative freedom and keeps legal rules clear. India must choose if it wants to certify films, or keep censoring them in disguise.

Appendix: Landmark Cases on Film Freedom

  • A. Abbas v. Union of India (1970): Pre-censorship can only happen with good reason. Art is protected speech. Yet in this case the challenge to the movie release was in effect a demand for pre-censorship.
  • Rangarajan v. P. Jagjivan Ram (1989): Free speech can’t be stopped just due to fear of unrest unless real danger exists. This was directly an issue raised before court in Udaipur Files case.
  • Indibily Creative Pvt. Ltd. v. Union of India (2020): CBFC can’t demand cuts not allowed by law. Certification must follow law, not personal morals. Yet this is what CBFC does in every case including Udaipur Files.
  • A. Picture International v. CBFC (2015): CBFC must certify, not censor. Any changes must be legally justified.

Insight: These rulings show that film regulation must be lawful, fair, and protect artistic freedom. Overreach by the CBFC is both bad policy and unconstitutional.

Posted on by Sandeep

The Godfather 3 movie and it’s unholy inspiration.

Godfather 3 and its unholy inspiration

The Corleones and the Conclave

Godfather 3 and the Unholy Mess That Inspired It

“Just when I thought I was out… they pull me back in.”
Michael Corleone said it best — but he could’ve just as easily been talking about the Vatican Bank.

When The Godfather Part III hit theaters in 1990, critics focused on its quieter tone, Sofia Coppola’s acting, and how it failed to live up to its predecessors. But what many missed was this: the movie wasn’t merely the swan song of a mafia saga. It was a cinematic confession — a dramatized but disturbingly accurate peek behind the red-draped curtain of Vatican finance.

Because, as it turns out, while Michael Corleone was trying to buy his family’s way into Heaven, the Vatican itself was running a financial sideshow so bizarre, it made the Mafia look… efficient.

Chapter I: God’s Banker and the Financial Gospel of Greed

Our saga begins not in Sicily, but in the sacred, gold-trimmed halls of the Holy See, where money — vast oceans of it — was being handled with all the subtlety of a blackjack dealer at a mob-run casino.

Enter Michele Sindona, a Sicilian financier with a gift for turning money into magic dust. By the early 1970s, Sindona had been welcomed into the Vatican’s economic fold to “modernize” its portfolio. One imagines the cardinals expecting divine dividends. What they got instead was a white-collar conjurer who turned Holy assets into black holes.

Sindona’s tactics? Classic mafia-financier crossover: Swiss accounts, false fronts, shady wire transfers. And, of course, the inevitable collapse of New York’s Franklin National Bank in 1974 — one of the largest bank failures in American history. Guess who got burned in the process? That’s right. The Vatican. Apparently, divine protection doesn’t extend to bad investments.

Chapter II: The Archbishop with a License to Loan

If this sounds bad already, buckle up. Because next, we meet Archbishop Paul Marcinkus — a strapping, cigar-smoking American priest from Chicago who looked more like a bodyguard than a banker. With zero background in finance but lots of experience managing papal itineraries, he somehow landed the job of President of the Institute for the Works of Religion (IOR) — better known as the Vatican Bank.

Putting Marcinkus in charge of billions was like handing your car keys to a bear and hoping for valet service.

Marcinkus quickly joined forces with a rising star in Italian banking, Roberto Calvi, the chairman of Banco Ambrosiano — a bank that would go down in history not for its loans, but for its mysteries. Calvi was dubbed “God’s Banker,” although “God’s Bookie” might’ve been more accurate.

Together, they created a symphony of off-the-books transactions that spanned Panama, Luxembourg, the Bahamas — basically, every sunny place with loose banking laws. Money was moved, disguised, and vanished into corporate shells like disappearing communion wafers.

Chapter III: The Vatican’s Very Own Masonic Thriller

Now, for the part where this story breaks the scandal sound barrier: Calvi, our beloved “God’s Banker,” wasn’t just juggling numbers — he was a card-carrying member of Propaganda Due (P2), a secretive Masonic lodge operating like an Illuminati fan club with actual membership.

P2 had fingers in everything: politics, intelligence, media, the military. It made the Italian deep state look like a kiddie pool. Oh, and did we mention that Calvi’s financial web may have also served the Sicilian Mafia and helped fund anti-Communist operations in places like Nicaragua and Poland?

Let that sink in. The Vatican’s money was possibly used to support Cold War campaigns and the Mafia. “Holy see no evil,” indeed.

Chapter IV: The Banker Who Took a Dive

In 1982, the house of holy cards collapsed. Banco Ambrosiano imploded, leaving behind a €1.3 billion crater and more questions than answers. Calvi, facing criminal charges, did what any embattled banker might do — he fled Italy.

His final destination? London. His final appearance? Less than dignified. He was found hanging from Blackfriars Bridge, his pockets stuffed with bricks and foreign currency. The official ruling? Suicide. The public response? “With bricks in his pants? Please.”

It was murder. Everyone knew it. The only mystery was which of Calvi’s many powerful frenemies had finally decided he was no longer useful.

Chapter V: The Pope Who Died Too Soon

But this story wouldn’t be complete without one last, eerie twist. In 1978, a gentle reform-minded pontiff named Pope John Paul I took the throne. He was humble. Kind. Intent on cleaning house.

He lasted 33 days.

Cause of death? Officially, a heart attack. Unofficially? Let’s just say embalming was suspiciously fast, and no autopsy was conducted. Conspiracy theorists went wild — and not without reason. The timing was perfect for anyone who liked their ledgers messy and their questions unanswered.

Chapter VI: Michael Corleone Goes Legit (Almost)

Enter Coppola, with a script inspired by this perfect storm of holy deceit.

In The Godfather Part III, Michael Corleone, older and haunted, tries to wash his bloodstained hands through a deal with the Church. His goal? Invest $600 million into Internazionale Immobiliare — a Vatican-controlled real estate giant — and buy himself out of sin.

But as he dives into Vatican business, he realizes something chilling: The Church doesn’t just forgive sin… it invests in it.

Archbishop Gilday: Smoking with the Saints

The film gives us Archbishop Gilday, a puffing, puffed-up Marcinkus clone running the Vatican Bank like a back-alley bookie shop. Gilday doesn’t just allow corruption — he embraces it, smoothing over scandals with holy rhetoric and investor doublespeak.

His chain-smoking? A direct nod to Marcinkus’s own habits. His shamelessness? 100% papal-grade.

Frederick Keinszig: Hanging Around

Then there’s Frederick Keinszig, a Swiss banker who ends up dangling beneath a bridge, just like Calvi. No metaphors here — Coppola goes full headline. This was his version of cinematic honesty: Here lies the cost of laundering the sacred.

Cardinal Lamberto: The Good Die Young

Finally, we meet Cardinal Lamberto, the moral center of the film — an echo of Pope John Paul I. He is elected Pope, promises reform, and… is murdered. Sound familiar?

Coppola doesn’t just borrow facts. He elevates them into Shakespearean tragedy. Michael’s last attempt at legitimacy is buried beneath the very institution he hoped would save him.

Chapter VII: What’s Sacred, What’s Corrupt

The Godfather Part III isn’t just a tale of crime — it’s a meditation on the futility of redemption in a world where corruption isn’t limited to street-level gangs. It asks a chilling question: What happens when the mob wants out, but the Church wants in?

Coppola took a mess of real-world conspiracies, scandals, and sins, and turned them into something operatic. Michael Corleone’s journey ends not with redemption, but with the slow realization that some institutions — cloaked in robes, wreathed in incense — are more impenetrable, more untouchable, and far more dangerous than the Mafia ever was.

Epilogue: Beyond the Credits

After the scandal, Marcinkus quietly left the Vatican, never charged with a crime. He retired in Sun City, Arizona, playing golf while the Vatican quietly swept up the mess.

Sindona? Poisoned in prison.
Calvi? Murdered in London.
John Paul I? Still a mystery.
And the Vatican Bank? It’s still around. Still running. Still a little… opaque.

Coppola gave us a film that was less a conclusion and more a confession — whispered through a Hail Mary and filtered through a $600 million check. As Michael Corleone collapses alone in the final scene, you realize:

“sometimes, the path to salvation is blocked not by sin… but by the sacred.”