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I felt underwhelmed by Errol Morris‘s CHAOS: The Manson Murders (Netflix, now streaming). It’s minor Morris — a skeptical-minded, 96-minute documentary that fiddles around with Tom O’Neill and Dan Piepenbring‘s “CHAOS: Charles Manson, the CIA, and the Secret History of the Sixties“.

The book is a nonfiction speculation about how the Manson horrors may (emphasis on the “m” word) have been subtly triggered or egged on or possibly even orchestrated by “Jolly” West, an apparently sinister figure with ties to the CIA and the MKUltra project in particular.

The film is basically about the white-haired O’Neill (no, not the squishy Oscar prognosticator Tom O’Neil) trying to sell Morris on his theories and suspicions about West, and Morris asking many, many questions and gradually coming to believe that the West-Manson legend isn’t all that credible.

I feel the same way.

The Manson malice happened in part because of a surreal, over-the-waterfall psychology that took hold among alienated middle-class youths who had sampled psychedelia and took the proverbial cosmic plunge, and especially among a few impressionable ditzoids who populated the Manson family in ‘68, ‘69 and, for a few, well beyond.

Charlie Manson was a crafty, headstrong, drillbit sociopath and a half-decent singer-guitarist who wanted to be a rich and famous rock star, but couldn’t quite pull it off. Manson knew deep down that all of his spiritual guru sermons and posturings were more or less a bullshit side activity.

It’s fascinating to consider some of the particulars about Manson’s interactions with Dennis Wilson and Terry Melcher, and how one night Manson even jammed with Neil Young.

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Thank God I don’t have to hate on The Brutalist any more. The debate’s over and nobody of any weight or wisdom or professional merit will want to discuss it ever again. Consigned to history’s dust bin.

Whatever the Brutalist want-to-see factor might have been, it was pretty much suffocated by Adrien Brody‘s six-minute acceptance speech. So many millions of viewers were muttering “good heavens, shut up…just shut the fuck up.” If only Timothee Chalamet or Ralph Fiennes had won…

On the other hand it’s not fair to put Brody down over the chewing-gum toss. Before watching the below video I hadn’t realized that Brody’s age-appropriate g.f. Georgina Chapman emphatically told him, gesture-wise, to throw the gum her way.

Arthur Penn‘s surreal Mickey One (’65) is a black-and-white low budgeter about a hunted, haunted stand-up comic (Warren Beatty) on the bum in Chicago. It’s about paranoia and loneliness and how the game is rigged against the individual. It feels a bit coarse and splotchy at times, but it’s also a kind of loose-shoe, catch-as-catch-can arthouse whatsis with a kind of French nouvelle vague or Italian neorealist vibe (can’t decide).

Is Mickey One a better film than Bong Joon-ho‘s Mickey 17? I never liked Penn’s film all that much, but it feels like a raggedy-ass masterwork compared to the latest Mondo Bongo.

Mickey One is about something that we’ve all sensed or feared at one time or another (i.e., the world is run by predators). Mickey 17 is a woke instructional about the necessity of feeling compassion for society’s lessers or outcasts. Mickey One is an in-and-outer but it’s thematically relatable (at least to existential lone-wolf types). Mickey 17 is about Bong banality.

I posted my jubilant “Kathy Kennedy is stepping down piece” yesterday aftenoon…..whoo!. The Critical Drinker and Echo Chamberlain weighed in several hours later.

Sasha Stone has been working on this Hollywood-has-succumbed-to-a-woke-apocalypse Tablet story for a few weeks now. It finally surfaced last night (2.25). It’s called “Awards Daily, was all but assassinated by Rebecca Keegan and The Hollywood Reporter last summer. That aside, Sasha’s article is accurate, well written, honest, straight-shooting. I wanted something meaner and more scathing, but that’s me.

Excerpt: “The woke code is like the Hays Code. The rules weren’t written down, but everyone knew what they were. After Trump’s win, the fear of racism morphed into Salem-like episodes of mass hysteria that would find its way to the Oscars, too. Suddenly, it wasn’t just most people who were racists. Most movies were racist, too. La La Land was racist, so Moonlight had to win. Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri was racist so The Shape of Water had to win. By the time Green Book came along, everyone in Hollywood had lost their minds.

“After the Green Book [foolery], the Academy began adding new members and purging their older members, with the objective of adding more women and people of color. The only requirement would be that they were somehow involved in film and that they weren’t white and male. Women in Hollywood saw this new rule as a perk for going along with the new system, which targeted white men but not white women.

“Over a period of just a few years, the Academy added approximately 3,000 new members, bringing the total membership of the Academy to around 10,000. Of necessity, most of the new instant Academy members were from foreign countries—the same way most “students of color” at prestige American universities these days are the children of wealthy foreign elites, not the products of our collapsing inner cities.

“The sea change in the Academy’s membership was first felt in 2019 when the South Korean art house film Parasite beat some of the most critically acclaimed and profitable films from American film studios, including Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, Joker and 1917. Parasite killed two birds with one stone. Had it not won, all of the winners that night from the major categories would have been white. Parasite ensured that the Oscars made history and had glowing headlines the next day.

“But they also proved something else: that the Oscars were no longer as invested in their traditional job of fortifying the American studio system. Most of the members worked in the industry and cared about its continued success. International voters, whose own film industries are often heavily subsidized by their governments, have no such investment.

“As Hollywood began to rebuild after COVID, there was a shift away from reporting on the domestic box office and more on the global box office, which paints a more optimistic picture of the industry. This is the second year in a row that there are two films double dipping in the Best Picture and International Feature categories.

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An excerpt from Nicolas Niarchos‘ reaction (i.e., not really a “review”) to Michael Wolff‘s just-published “ALL OR NOTHING: How Trump Recaptured America“:

7:35 pm: HE will drive back to Ojai this evening following the Timothee Chalamet interview/tribute (8 pm to 10 pm). I’ve enjoyed a warm, nourishing, profoundly soothing six days in Santa Barbara — thanks to HE’s own Roger Durling for the gracious and generous hospitality!

11:20 pm update — HE to guest moderator Josh Brolin: “The Brolin-Chalamet show was the greatest SBIFF interview hang EVER…hilarious, honest, surreal, liberating.

“James Mangold called it ‘the Phil Donahue show’. I for one laughed and whooped my ass off. You were brilliant!! Your repeated jokes about Timothee’s green floral-print shirt were perfect, and when he left to take a leak…”that is art”…I almost fell out of my seat.

“In a way Mangold kind of brought everyone down with his par-for-the-course praisings. He was fine and eloquent, but you and Timmy were on a whole ‘nother level. You were on mescaline!”

Brolin replies to HE: “Jeffrey! So glad you had a nice time. I knew Timmy and I would [enjoy some] nice, real (if not quite mescaline-infused) banter. I was honored to do it.”

HE back to Brolin: “Not to mention Timmy lamenting the ticking of the clock at age 29 and the career pressure that comes with his being on the cusp of old guy-hood. Which will kick in, you remarked, when Timmy turns 31.’.

”This prompted you, of course, to joshingly imply resentment at this while announcing that your 57th birthday is imminent (actually today!…happy birthday!). Followed by Timmy and the entire Arlington audience singing the proverbial song…a truly joyful moment.

”The audience and I didn’t have a ‘nice’ time — we had a euphoric time. Last night will live in the SBIFF annals.

”I absolutely love that you sent your reply to my initial euphoric email at 4:10 am.

”Forgive me for not having not read ‘From Under The Truck’ yet. I meant to buy it after watching you talk about it on Joe Rogan.”

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“…and you used me to get Jack Reed to marry you.”

HE is preparing for a forthcoming podcast withh Sasha Stone about Warren Beatty‘s Reds. Immersing myself.

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Bunk, I tell you! Don’t fall for it!

Scowly-faced Kris Tapley is basically asking “if Anora is locked in for Best Picture, why on earth would Mikey Madison not win the Best Actress Oscar?”

HE answer: I’ve said this two or three times but it has to be drilled in. Demi Moore is apparently going to win because SAG and AMPAS members have all accepted the narrative voiced by Moore after winning a Best Comedy/Musical Actress Golden Globe award five weeks ago (i.e., January 5th).

“Thirty years ago, I had a producer tell me that I was a ‘popcorn actress,’ and at that time, I [took] that to mean that…I could do movies that were successful and made a lot of money, but that I couldn’t be acknowledged, and I bought in and I believed that,” Moore said. “That corroded me over time, to the point where I thought a few years ago that maybe this was it, maybe I was complete, maybe I had done what I was supposed to do.

“And [just] as I was at kind of a low point, I had this magical, bold, courageous, out-of-the-box, absolutely bonkers script come across my desk called The Substance. And the universe told me that ‘you’re not done.’”

For the sixth or seventh time, Moore’s narrative is dishonest. She was not forced into a popcorn box by mean old Hollywood executives. She walked right into that box of her own volition, and she totally reaped the spoils (mainstream fame, huge paychecks, flush lifestyle) until she aged out. And then she pivoted into a body horror flick just like Bette Davis and Joan Crawford pivoted into hag horror in the early ’60s.

In the ’80s and ’90s Moore went for big, attention-getting, high-paying roles in mainstream films, and she became rich and famous from this. She chose this path while the choosing was good.

I’ve never read or heard that Moore tried to prove her arthouse mettle by appearing in edgy Sundance films, and she never tried to be in a critically-approved, Cannes-worthy, outside-the-box feminist statement film, and certainly not in a body-horror film.

She only took the lead in The Substance when she calculated that she’d aged out (duhhh) and a role like this was her only likely shot at revitalizing her career.

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Yesterday afternoon I was prevented from catching a 3:20 pm Santa Barbara Film Festival screening of Ricardo de Montreuil’s Mistura. But I saw it this morning and lo and behold, it’s fully approvable — a fall-and-rise saga of Norma (Barbara Mori), a somewhat older elitist who’s forced to cope with personal upheaval by overcoming cultural prejudice while exploring the glorious riches of French-Peruvian cuisine.

It’s basically about survival through rebirth, sensual discovery and the shirking of shitty attitudes in the wake of a shattering divorce…quite a mouthful!

It’s also another sublime foodie film in the vein of Tran Anh Hùng‘s The Taste of Things (i.e., The Pot au Feu) and Sandra Nettlebeck‘s Mostly Martha.

Set in 1960s Peru (apparently Lima), Norma’s privileged life collapses when her husband’s infidelity results in her being cut loose from elite social circles. She attempts to restart her life as some kind of food entrepeneur or restaurant owner, but is first obliged to overcome certain cultural prejudices (social, culinary) she acquired during her well-heeled marriage.

This is one of those personal-struggle-and=growth films that feels wonderfully, culturally and organically alive.

May I admit to a prejudice on my own? I’ve never had much interest in visiting Peru or for that matter South America — I’ve only been to Argentina once, and that was 20 years ago. But now, thanks to Mistura, I’m thinking about making the trek someday. I feel slightly awakened.

Norma is a compelling character because of the realistic prejudices that define her early on, and because she taps into an inner moxie that helps her struggle through by grappling with a challenging but ultimately rewarding reality.

Norma’s butler, warmly played by César Ballumbrosio, serves as her coach and moral compass — a good fellow to have in your corner.

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12 days hence HE will fly to Los Angeles for the Santa Barbara Film Festival (2.4 thru 2.15), and in so doing will enjoy a glorious respite from sub-Arctic Connecticut weather.

I’ll do roughly a week’s worth (2.5 through 2.12). As many films as I can fit in plus the 2.7 SBIFF screening of Kevin Costner‘s Horizon: An American Saga — Chapter 2 plus the Writers and Directors panels (2.8) plus Arlington events for Angelina Jolie (2.5), Ralph Fiennes (2.6), the 2025 Virtuosos (Kieran Culkin, Harris Dickinson, Karla Sofía Gascón, Selena Gomez Ariana Grande, Clarence Maclin, Mikey Madison, John Magaro) plus Outstanding Directors panel (2.10) plus Timothee Chalamet (2.11) plus whatever else shakes loose.