Jimi Hendrix wasn’t a black musician or one given to blasting out white rock ‘n’ roll. He was completely defined by and borne aloft by his own genius…a gypsy mystic, a sensual smoothie, a Krishna-like figure, not of this earth, a virtuoso Spirit God.

If Hendrix been less cavalier or thoughtless about which pills he was dropping, he’d be 82 today, and if he’d gone to see Sinners in IMAX he would certainly love the Robert Johnson musical tribute stuff, but he would not be kowtowing and hyperventilating and talking endlessly about identity…trust me. Hendrix didn’t believe in devils and angels, and certainly not in the myth of schlocky Samuel Z. Arkoff vampires. He was way, way above that shit.

Sound of Falling‘s German-language title (In die Sonne schauen) translates to Staring at the Sun. Any film that shoots in 1.37:1 pretty much has my vote, sight unseen. Farm life is never a bowl of cherries, especially for women and doubly when it comes down to having to fuck those homely Farmer Clem types. I’m getting a little bit of a Padre Padrone vibe from this.

And Cannes is swamped with ugly super-yachts around this time of year. If the guy who designed the Tesla cybertruck had designed a yacht.,,

The cabin windows are open, the sun is bright and the cloud-free sky is a gleaming light blue as our SAS flight approaches Copenhagen. It’s 8:26 am in Copenhagen, 2:26 am in NYC and 11:26 pm in Los Angeles. I’ve gotten maybe 90 minutes of sleep, if that. HE’s connecting flight to Nice leaves from CPH terminal 3 at 11 am. Nice touchdown at 1:25 pm.

The long-retired Brigitte Bardot, who turned 90 on 9.28.24, is obviously no #MeToo advocate. Earlier today she told BFM that she believes renowned French actor Gerard Depardieu, 76, who will soon face an array of sexual assault charges (13 women have accused him) under the French legal system, should be left alone.

This can only be filed under the general category of eccentric opinions. Bardot and Fanny Ardant aside, no one on the planet earth seriously believes that swaggering, hard-drinking, old-school rich guys known for occasional ornery behavior (like Depardieu) should just be forgiven and cut loose when it comes to allegations of louche or unlawful sexual behavior…nobody.

Several Fairfield County homies (myself among them) during the Nixon administration, posing on the side porch of a large, ramshackle, six-bedroom home in Southport, CT. There was a small barn out back where we’d pass the pipe around. The guy in the striped T-shirt made a 16mm short in which I starred, called Beyond Embarassment. I’ve never forgotten what a friend wrote on the dining room wall: “We are all merely sea men.”

What a terrible, soul-siphoning way to begin HE’s Great Cannes Adventure of 2025. I arrived at JFK’s Terminal 1 around 3:05 pm — it’s now 4:30 pm.

Earlybird snap by Scott Feinberg:

The new F1 trailer ends with the words “Filmed for IMAX”. Meaning what exactly? All of it will be projected in 1.43:1 IMAX? No IMAX-shot film has ever screened entirely in that process. It’s always sections. So this is different? They need to be specific.

“Hope isn’t a strategy”….true.

When a costar asks Brad Pitt, “Any other words of wisdom, professor?”, he says “Drive fast?” Good one, except he should have said this more emphatically.

In my head it’s a profound tragedy that F1 won’t be playing at Cannes.

Every dude with hair uses “product” (Crew Fiber or Boost Powder, hair spray, Batiste dry shampoo, Brylcream…something) or at the very least a comb. To give it an intended attitude, a little shape. Otherwise your hair just flops and scatters out all over the place.

Tom Cruise definitely applied hair shapers and holders in the early days (Risky Business, The Firm, A Few Good Men) but not over the last few years. Nowadays he pretty much wears a raggedy-ass soup bowl. An odd way to go.

Glenn Kenny’s toxic acidity is a really ugly thing to endure (especially in my case), but it’s to his credit that he was able to put his snide anti-conservative prejudice to one side while reviewing David Mamet’s Henry Johnson.

Posted on 6.9.15: “Nancy Wells, my dear mom, passed Sunday night. She gave me everything — life, love, love of the arts (she turned me on to Peter Tchaikovsky, Ingmar Bergman, Alfred Hitchcock, John Updike, Frank Sinatra, George Gershwin…the list is infinite) and particularly love of theatre.

“She was the beating heart and balm of our family — 90% of the joy and spunk and laughter came from her, and she basically saved me and my brother and sister from my father’s alcoholic moodiness when we were young. (Not to diminish my dad’s influence too much — he gave me the writerly urge along with the barbed attitude, such as it is.) But I would have been dead without my mom’s emotional radiance and buoyancy. “

My mom loved show business, plays, films, music. She worked for NBC and BBC in the old days, acted in several plays in New Jersey (including Somserset Maugham‘s The Constant Wife) and directed two or three plays at the Wilton Playshop. She was partnered in her own real-estate business in the late ’70s and early ’80s. “

She had been gradually slipping away for a couple of years (during my last visit she didn’t even open her eyes). Now, at last, her peace is absolute.