Woody Allen‘s Deconstructing Harry opened on 12.12.97, or nearly 30 years ago. I happened upon this clip early this morning, loving it but without the slightest recollection of having seen it way back when. Harry isn’t a stinker, of course, but it never wound me up. The reason it’s not spoken about much, I gather, is because of the abrasive and sourpuss tone throughout much of the running time…right? Rediscovering something good is such a pleasure. Even in a minor or second-gear mode, Woody was always inventive.
Caryl Chessman’s “The Trans Dad Was A Killer”
Only transphobes would take note of this Rhode Island tragedy, much less post about it. I have no defense.
Psycho killer Robert Dorgan, who went by the name Roberta Esposito, shot his 23-year-old son, Aidan Dorgan, during a Pawtucket hockey game. Aidan’s 52-year-old mother, Rhonda, was also plugged. They both died. Dorgan then shot himself.
Criterion’s Latest Teal Mischief?
Three months ago I posted an “uh-oh” riff about Criterion’s 4K UHD Network Bluray, as in “dear god, what if the same Criterion vandals who teal-tinted Stanley Kubrick‘s Eyes Wide Shut…what if they inject a similar greenish-teal flavoring into Network?” Pure speculation, of course, as the release date was three months off.
But now, with the new Network streeting six days hence (Tuesday, 2.24), a 2.13.26 review from Slant‘s Derek Smith rings an alarm bell.
Smith: “The color balancing leans toward teal, though that’s primarily limited to exteriors seen through the office building windows.” HE: So the amber-ish office interiors are okay, but don’t look too hard through the UBS windows with midtown Manhattan looking a bit…uhm, tealed.
On the same day (2.13) Criterionforum.org’s Chris Galloway notes the folowing: “The studio set sequences lean more neutral, daylight exteriors feel similar but warmer, and nighttime scenes carry a faint greenish tint consistent with other films of the era. Overall, the colors look superb…the best I’ve ever seen this film appear.”
I’ve asked four knowledgable and trustworthy veterans of the Bluray trenches (including DVD Beaver’s Gary W. Tooze and Digital Bits’ Bill Hunt) if they’ve seen the Criterion Network…nope. So let’s hold our horses for now. Nonetheless Smith and Galloway have me sitting up straight.
Callahan Meditations
I’ve been nursing a passing, passive interest in Ryan Murphy‘s Love Story (FX and FX on Hulu), a nine-episode saga of the turbulent relationship between the late John F. Kennedy, Jr. and the tragically deranged Carolyn Bessette.
It popped on 2.12 (last Thursday) and, God help us all, is nine episodes long. I’ve been reluctant to watch this perversely-mistitled miniseries (John and Carolyn were off and on at best, and half-despised each other) but my interest is…uhm, simmering.
Spurred on by this, last night I bought Maureen Callahan‘s “Ask Not: The Kennedys and the Women They Destroyed” (Litte, Brown & Co., 7.2.24) and tore though several chapters.
Callahan, a truly excellent prose stylist and a blunt-minded, well-sourced reporter, strikes me as a feminist disciple of James Ellroy (“American Tabloid”). She certainly seems possessed by an anti-rich-and-entitled-male agenda the size of a house. Not that the Kennedy-male tradition isn’t soaked with chauvinism, cold manipulation, blase indifference and a lack of sensitivity toward women, but Callahan really hates these guys. She totally trashes all the significant Kennedy bros (principally Joe, Jack, Ted, Senator Bobby and today’s HHS Bobby Jr., John Jr., Michael Skakel).
I was searching, naturally, for the rage, the spilled milk, the dirt, the jizz, the “oh, my God!” raw stuff. Two excerpts stand out…excerpts that have been burned into my brain and will remain there for all eternity, even beyond my death.
“Jackie Bouvier Kennedy“, page 41:
“Carolyn Bessette Kennedy“, page 283:
Drinking Again
TMZ has posted a post-fight video of Shia LaBeouf outside a French Quarter bar…it’s Mardi Gras time…Shia got into a scrap over something-or-other… paramedics, cops, cuffs, jail. The fight happened two nights ago (technically Tuesday AM).
When John Ford included a fist fight between John Wayne and Lee Marvin in Donovan’s Reef (’63), he was pitching a certain affectionate vibe…drunken combat between charismatic movie stars is/was a “men will be men”-type deal. And that’s how we all process it…good rowdy roughhouse. But when this stuff happens in real life, it’s ugly or at least pathetic.
LeBeouf, 39, is probably going to pass from this realm at a relatively early stage. Between the ages of 55 and 60, I’m guessing. Richard Burton was only 59 when he passed on in ’84, and John Barrymore was 60, which, given his relentless carousing, he wasn’t expected to reach. This isn’t to say that all the big showbiz drinkers have left early. Richard Harris died at age 72 in ’02…not bad. And let it never be forgotten that Peter O’Toole, a legendary boozer on both sides of the Atlantic, lived to the ripe old age of 81.
@crazzzyaz #shialabeouf #mardigras #neworleans ♬ Cycle Syncing Frequency – Still Haven
This Had Better Be It
…because my patience is at an absolute end.
“I Choose It Because I Abuse It”
I’m persuaded that a Los Angeles-residing friend came up with the above goof line — a riff on Robert Duvall‘s actual Mastercard slogan, “I choose it because I use it.” I could be wrong, of course, but for the last four decades I’ve associated that “abuse it” line with Duvall, and it’s always made me chuckle a bit. Yesterday I called the guy who may have come up with the joke line during the Reagan administration, and he said he didn’t recall doing so. WHAT?
“Oohohh, I’m On Fire’
All hail the life, deeds, eloquent rhetoric and cherished memories of Jesse Jackson, the once-incandescent black spokesperson and social-justice firebrand who made his name as an activist (Rainbow PUSH Coalition), politician and ordained Baptist minister.
Jackson was as much of a superstar-of-color during the mid-to-late 20th Century as Barack Obama was in the 21st Century.
He peaked from the mid ’60s until his extra-powerful 1984 and slightly less riveting 1988 presidential campaigns. He continued to symbolically matter into the ’90s and aughts.
Jackson was there at the Lorraine Motel in Memphis when Dr. Martin Luther King was murdered. He was a super-influential earth-mover and power broker during the 1972 Democratic Convention in ’72. He famously wept in Chicago when Barack Obama was elected 11.4.08. The 1984 “hymietown” remark probably killed his presidential aspirations, but he never stopped being a leading civil rights torch-bearer of the late 20th and early 21st centuries. Not to mention his Saturday Night Live visits.
Jackson disappointed me personally by not standing up against woke fanaticism during the terror (2017 to 2024), but since “woke” began as a BlackLivesMatter thing he probably felt that he couldn’t divest himself.
Jackson, Robert Duvall, Frederick Wiseman…legends are suddenly dropping like flies.
The Impostors
Will ya look at the McCartney-eluding or anti-McCartney argument in those Mescal eyes? That jaw? That hawknose? A 30something failing to align with a 20something spirit.
Duvall Run-Ins Over The Years
My first encounter with Robert Duvall was in the lobby of Manhattan’s Mayflower Hotel (15 Central Park West, demolished in ‘04). Early ‘80s. Nothing verbal; more of an observance. Duvall was hugely pissed about something as he exited the elevators in the main lobby….”God-dammit!” Everyone froze. We all lose it from time to time. I felt a certain empathy.
The second time was in a backstage press area during a Gotham Awards ceremony in 2010 or thereabouts. I forget what award he’d received or was nominated for; maybe he was presenting. Duvall was posing for the paparazzi and people like me. The usual razzmatazz ensued. I barked out a “yo, Bob!” and said I’d recently re-watched John Flynn’s The Outfit (‘73) and that it was still top-tier. Duvall perked up, turned in my direction and said “yeah, good one!” plus something or other about Flynn or costar Joe Don Baker.
The third time was during the January 2015 Palm Springs Film Festival, at a Variety Creative Impact Awards brunch at the Parker Palm Springs. Duvall was there to promote David Dobkin’s The Judge , which had opened the previous October. I was shooting the shit with Duvall, Variety’s Stephen Gaydos, Leviathan director Andrej Zvyaginstsev, two or three others. At one point I asked if I could snap a group shot. “Yeah, let’s do it,” said Duvall.
Duvall Had A Big Fat, Big Tittied Career…Peaked For 41 Years
The late, great Robert Duvall soft-peaked for 41 years, from his Boo Radley in Kill A Mockingbird (’62) to Boss Spearman in Kevin Costner‘s Open Range (’03). He hard-peaked for roughly a dozen years, between George Lucas‘s THX-1138 (’71) and Bruce Beresford‘s Tender Mercies (’83). But he was always first-rate in everything…absolutely everything he did.
One of 20th Century’s All-Time Greatest Actors Now Belongs To The Ages
Robert Duvall is good every time at bat. Open Range, Lonesome Dove, Frank Hackett, Boo Radley, the taxi driver in Bullitt, The Apostle…always right on the mark. When luck and the angels are with him, he’s great.
But the marriage of Duvall and Mac Sledge was perfect. I despise country-style Christians for the most part, but I sure related to them here. Tender Mercies is probably the greatest getting-sober-and-turning-your-life-around movie of all time.
And yet when it opened in ’83, audiences mostly blew it off. It cost over $4 million to make, and only made $8 million and change.
Wiki excerpt: “The post-screening feedback was, in the words of director Bruce Beresford, ‘absolutely disastrous.’ As a result, Universal executives lost faith in the film and made little effort to promote it.
Screenwriter Horton Foote said of the studio, ‘I don’t know that they disliked the film. I just think they thought it was inconsequential. I guess they thought it would just get lost in the shuffle.’ Others in the film industry were equally dismissive; one Paramount Pictures representative described the picture as ‘like watching paint dry‘.”