Day: June 13, 2016

This teaser is all about emphasizing how “real” and un-CG’ed the shooting of the new Ben-Hur chariot race was. Director Timur Bekmambetov, costars Jack Huston and Toby Kebbell…all on the same page. Why, then, does the moment when Judah Ben-Hur’s chariot rides over the wreckage and he’s nearly thrown out of the chariot…why does that scene look utterly real in the ’59 version but like exaggerated CG bullshit in the newbie? And why does the new sequence look so bleachy and washed out compared to the William Wyler version, which is full of rich sandy browns and arid yellows with accents of blue and red? I’m not saying that Bekmambetov, Huston and Kebbell are lying about shooting their version realistically. I’m saying it doesn’t look or feel as arresting as the old version. I’m not being a knee-jerk crank here. I’m not saying “oh, the older stuff is always better.” The newbie really doesn’t look as good. Honest.

Listen to this again.

I sent that male-betrayal thing I wrote about yesterday to an ex-girlfriend, and she wrote back today and basically said “Wow, you’re still angry at something that happened 36 years ago? Shouldn’t you be serene and cosmic and burning incense at this stage in your life?”

Response: “I’m not actively pissed off about this, not really, but it did happen, and it was fun to resuscitate it. I’m okay with Bob. He’s a good fellow. But what’s past is present and vice versa. The ghosts swirl around us. I live with stuff that happened when I was 8 or 20 or 42 just as vividly as when these incidents were fresh. That’s the joy of writing about this and that every day. Nothing is dusty or faded. Everything that has ever happened or will happen is alive and crackling.

“And I must tell you I’m well past being concerned about whether this or that post will reflect well or ill upon me. I get shat upon every day of the week and twice on Sundays on Twitter. There is no tranquility in this life for someone like myself. Not with guys like Glenn Kenny in the world. No solace, no serenity, no plateau. Well, there’s happiness in fits and starts, of course, but certainly not as a going proposition. There’s only the next story to write, the next film to see, the next experience, the next encounter, the next festival, the next interview…the river of it all. And it’s the happiest period of my life, by far.”

The Night Of is an eight-part HBO series that will debut on Sunday, 7.10. It’s about a wrongfully accused guy (Riz Ahmed) caught in a murder investigation. John Turturro plays Ahmed’s lawyer. It’s been directed by Steve Zaillian, who co-wrote the script with Richard Price. The cinematography and editing are obviously high calibre. The 2013 pilot starred James Gandolfini in Turturro’s role. Everything collapsed after Gandolfini died in June 2013, but here it finally is.

Because it popped on 5.10, or just as the Cannes Film Festival was getting underway, I ignored Criterion’s Bluray of Nicholas Ray‘s In A Lonely Place (’50). Last night I finally caught up with it. I had never thought of this downish Hollywood romance as anything special to look at, but now, thanks to Criterion, I’ve got a new attitude. The crisp black-and-white imagery is luscious and rich like a river…a river of glistening silver. It’s strawberry shortcake with whipped cream. The mine-shaft blacks are to die for. I was sitting up in my seat and going “whoa, wait a minute…this is excellent!”

Criterion Bluray of Nicholas Ray’s In A Lonely Place.

A lot of times Criterion will make a classic film look darker or grainier than it should be. (The Only Angels Have Wings debacle is one example.) But every now and and then they’ll make a film look much better than ever before. This is one of those times.

Wiki boilerplate: “Humprhey Bogart stars as Dixon Steele, a troubled screenwriter suspected of murder and Gloria Grahame co-stars as Laurel Gray, a neighbor who falls under his spell. Beyond its surface plot of confused identity and tormented love, the story is a mordant comment on Hollywood mores and the pitfalls of celebrity and near-celebrity, similar to two other American films released that same year — Billy Wilder‘s Sunset Boulevard and Joseph Mankiewicz‘s All About Eve.”

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A week ago I was wondering when STX would begin to screen Gary Ross‘s Free State of Jones (STX, 6.24) to guys like myself. Today STX finally sent out invites to their NY and LA all-media screenings on Wednesday, 6.22, with an embargo review date of 9 am Eastern the following morning. The Civil War-era conflict drama will technically open on Thursday evening, 6.23.

I’ve read that Hollywood beauticians and makeup artists of the 1930s regarded Katharine Hepburn‘s facial freckles as appalling, and that they constantly (a) covered them with pounds of base and (b) urged dps to shoot Hepburn’s CUs with a vaseline-smeared lens. By the ’50s or certainly by the ’60s this view had more or less subsided. The culture has long accepted freckles as appealing or even beautiful, but I’ve never fully agreed. A smattering of freckles across the nose and upper cheeks is…well, fine. Reddish, light-brown pointillist accents upon alabaster skin. But I still prefer creamy, freckle-free complexions. Sue me.

Cover of New York Times Style Magazine — Sunday, 6.12.

I’m mentioning this because I was definitely going “whoa” when I gazed at that super-freckly model on the cover of yesterday’s New York Times Style Magazine, especially with the slogan “Real Beauty” placed to her left. Those hundreds if not thousands of teeny black and brown markings don’t look like freckles as much as…I don’t know what to call them. They’re like a cross between Hepburn or Lindsay Lohan-style freckles and…I’d better not say any more. The p.c. Twitter banshees (who, don’t forget, yesterday tried to have me flayed when I admitted to having speculated in my head in the immediate wake of the Orlando slaughter that the shooter might be a radical Islamic wacko) will probably shriek like Donald Sutherland at the end of Invasion of the Body Snatchers over what will sound to them like freckle prejudice.

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Sometime yesterday window dresser ChadMichael Morrisette, a.k.a. L.A.’s “mannequin man”, created a sobering art display on the roof of his West Hollywood home. Profiled by NBC News last night, Morrisette put 50 sprawled mannequins, representing the 50 Orlando clubbers killed Saturday night by jihadist-nihilist Omar Mateen, on view to remind observers what that horrific toll actually looks like. (The number of Pulse victims has been revised to 49 — the body of Mateen, killed by cops, was included in the original count.)

Snapped this morning at 8:40 am.

Morrisette: “We cannot have 50 Americans killed in a nightclub and continue to do nothing about it.”

We can’t, huh? When NRA-supporting yokels hugged their guns in the wake of the 2012 Newtown slaughter (20 kids, six adult staffers), I figured that was it — they have no souls, they’re immovable, they’ve gone around the bend. We can also guess what a good percentage of hinterland conservatives are probably muttering to each other privately about the Orlando tragedy. Remember — Islamic jihadists and hardcore gun-toting Christian righties are pretty much cut from the same cloth. This was the thrust of an “American Taliban” rant that Aaron Sorkin wrote for a Newsroom segment that aired in ’13.

Here’s an 11.20.14 profile of Morrisette by la-racked‘s Danielle Directo-Meston.

Note: Morrisette’s object d’art is on the roof of his home at the SW corner of Fountain Ave. and Orange Grove Ave., one block east of Fairfax.

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