A couple of weeks ago I bought some distressed black-leather motorcycle saddlebags for the new hefty-sized black Yamaha scooter. The fact that the bags were old and quite worn-down and looked like John Wayne might have used them during the shooting of Red River are what made them cool. It’s very hard to find Tom Dunson saddlebags today because 99.5% of today’s motorcycle owners prefer foo-foo metrosexual leather bags with a shiny showroom lustre and metal studs and complex stitchings that might have been designed by Vera Wang or Ozwald Boateng.

The original John Wayne saddlebags as offered by Rusty Chicken of Austin.

Typical metrosexual motorcycle saddlebags for effete Harley owners who’ve either forgotten or never knew or will certainly never know what rugged-ass John Wayne stuff looks like.

But guess what? The people in Austin who sold me the beat-up bags (they’re known as Rusty Chicken.com) cancelled the order and tossed the bags, they said, because they’re too dusty or grubby-looking or something like that.

When Hollywood Elsewhere is finally able to provide live, as-it-happens Google Glass coverage of various movie-related events and encounters, accompaniment could be provided by the just-announced Airdog drone. The idea would be to occasionally have a video camera autonomously follow me from 50 or 100 feet up as I walk along the Croisette in Cannes or bike to the Four Seasons for an interview or drive to the Arclight for a screening. The Airdog has a camera-equipped stabilizing rig, can fly for about 10 to 15 minutes on a single battery and can travel up to speeds of roughly 40 mph.

I saw Oliver Stone‘s Born on the Fourth of July tonight at the Aero. I was floored and close to tears when I first saw it in 1989, but now…well, it’s still very emotional and emphatic but it would have been a better film, I think, if it had been a tiny bit dryer and quieter from time to time. The angry cup runneth over…shouting, blood, saliva, spilled urine…but it cares and hits like a punch. I’m thinking particularly of the haunted look on the face of an older armless veteran during a 4th of July parade in Massapequa. I still find it a bit irritating (as I did 25 years ago) that not once does Tom Cruise‘s Ron Kovic ever mention what a huge strategic and political miscalculation the Vietnam War was, and how our belief in the domino theory led to horrific slaughter and the unleashing of the furies. All Cruise/Kovic ever says is that waging war and killing civilians carries bad karma, and that being turned into a paraplegic made him very, very angry — a lament that any World War II or Civil War or Korean War veteran could have shared. Cruise was 26 when Born was made, but during the first third he looks around 18 or 19 at most. And yet costar Willem Dafoe hasn’t aged much at all. Stone and Kovic spoke for about 25 minutes before the screening; both were greeted with standing ovations.

I love the “schedules permitting” qualification in this Aero listing. (Oliver Stone: “I’ll try to come by. I will. I’ll really try. But something might come up.”) I’m not a fan of big-deal holidays as a rule. I loathe crowds, traffic jams, long lines, packed restaurants, screaming kids, older men in shorts and sandals. I certainly never drive anywhere over the 4th of July holiday — I stopped that back in the ’90s. I might drive up to Mulholland west of Beverly Glen to watch the distant fireworks but maybe not. At least I’m not in Manhattan, which I hear is baking and muggy and generally horrible.

Every couple of years I search around for scenes from this 1971 Mike Nichols classic, but I can never find anything better than the Jack Nicholson-Ann Margret fight scene, which I last posted in 2012.

Longtime Nichols collaborator Dick Sylbert explained it to me once. Nichols had developed that static, carefully composed, long-take visual style that we saw in The Graduate, Catch 22, Carnal Knowledge, Day of the Dolphin and The Fortune. And then he withdrew from features for eight years after the double-flop of Dolphin and Fortune. He crashed. Some kind of drug-dependency issue was part of it, Sylbert said. Anyway, when Nichols returns with Silkwood in ’83 he’s abandoned the static long-take thing. He’s now into Phase Two — the great stylistic signature of his late ’60s to mid ’70s films is over.

From Todd McCarthy‘s 2014 Sundance review in The Hollywood Reporter: “The generically titled War Story is a rigorous and enigmatic behavioral study of a professional photographer traumatized by what she’s recently experienced in a combat zone. Fronted by an outstanding performance from Catherine Keener, who is onscreen, often by herself, at almost every moment, this challenging but not difficult second feature from Mark Jackson parcels out its information in gradual increments, forcing the viewer to infer rather simply receive most narrative information.

The Declaration of Independence, adopted on July 4, 1776, proclaimed that the 13 American colonies were detaching themselves from English rule and were therefore free and independent states — quite a brave thing, raised quite a rumpus. The United States of America would not become relatively united and cohesive until after the end of the Civil War, of course, but for 130 years the U.S. of A. at least approximated the idea of a nation more or less bonded by shared beliefs, convictions and social goals. That’s obviously no longer true. Today and beyond the U.S. of A. is impossibly divided and never the twain shall meet. The right has gone totally around the bend. The urban Blues are the Czech Republic and the rural Reds are Slovakia, and I really think it’s time for the Czechs to sign a new Declaration of Independence and cut those bozos loose.

It’s not a rumor — the brown areas are where the least affluent, most downmarket, under-educated and culturally resentful U.S. citizens reside. If you can’t re-educate them the next best thing is to isolate them & let them stew in their own juices.

Yes, I wrote about this 15 months ago but I’m talking about the saddest and most personally screwed-up voters (poor health, obese, boozing, cigarette-smoking, gun-owners, living hand-to-mouth in trailer parks or foreclosed homes, driving gas guzzlers, poorest educational systems, highest divorce rates) who live in West Virginia, Kentucky, Mississippi, Tennessee, Arkansas, Alabama, Ohio, Louisiana, Indiana and Oklahoma…in that order.

I believe in forgiveness and offering second chances, but a lot of industry people reportedly don’t feel that way about director Randall Miller, whose apparent negligence and/or recklessness while shooting Midnight Rider on February 20th led to the train-trestle death of Sarah Elizabeth Jones. After dragging ass for too many months, prosecutors in Georgia’s Wayne County yesterday charged Miller, his producer wife Jody Savin and unit production manager Jay Sedrish with involuntary manslaughter and criminal trespass. They’re all looking at prison time above and beyond what they’re facing in civil court, including a wrongful-death lawsuit filed by Jones’ parents. I’m sure the defendants will mount a vigorous defense but the best thing for Miller and Savin, image- and industry-wise, is to cut a deal with prosecutors in which they’ll do time for a year or so. Then the yoke will be lifted and they’ll be looking at a clean slate. People will feel sympathy (“Who hasn’t made a mistake or two?”) and give them another shot. Robert Mitchum was in a dicey career position when he was busted for pot in 1948, but his image was almost enhanced after he manned up and did 48 days in a minimum-security facility. Bonus: Miller and Savin could then make a documentary or even a feature about the Midnight Rider tragedy as a way of atoning and offering tribute to Jones.

I was already sorry about the passing of Harold Ramis last February. I didn’t need any help in that regard. But after watching this just now I’m a little more sorry. Sorry. I know this scene is just a calculated James L. Brooks massage but it gets me anyway. I didn’t know Ramis at all (spoke to him maybe two or three times) but the gentle vibe was real.

Aspect-ratio scholar Bob Furmanek, the man most responsible for persuading distributors to cleaver various 1950s films on Bluray over the last four or five years, explained today why a 1.37:1 aspect ratio is correct for Laslo Benedek‘s The Wild One (12.30.53). “When determining whether or not a film was composed for widescreen,” Furmanek reminded, “the dates of production must be determined.” The Marlon Brando motorcycle drama was filmed between 2.12.53 to 3.17.53, or a little before Columbia’s 1.85 mandate went into effect in March/April of that year. A high-def 1.37 version is viewable on Vudu, and a new 1.37 German Bluray has been reviewed on DVD Beaver.