Tooth and Nail

Michael Avenatti lacks the resume of a typical Democratic presidential contender. He’s a bit out of his depth — more hat than cattle — and of course he’s an opportunist. What attorney isn’t? But he strikes me as a highly intelligent, relatively decent fellow. He’s tough, well-organized and and well-phrased, and has never stumbled in all the interviews I’ve seen him do. His domestic political views are basically compassionate and humanist. I don’t see a huge problem.

From Maggie Astor’s 8.10 N.Y. Times story: “[Yesterday] Avenatti used his first big speech as a prospective presidential candidate to call on the Democratic Party to reject Michelle Obama’s oft-quoted advice about President Trump and his allies: “When they go low, we go high.”

“The hard-charging lawyer who represents the pornographic film star Stephanie Clifford, known as Stormy Daniels, did not mention the former first lady in his keynote speech Friday night at the Democratic Wing Ding, a party fund-raiser in northern Iowa. But there was no mistaking his meaning.

“’We must be a party that fights fire with fire,’ Mr. Avenatti said to cheers from the audience, his voice rising. ‘When they go low, I say hit back harder.’

“He received a thunderous ovation at the end of his speech, notably louder than the applause for the night’s other speakers, including Representative Tim Ryan of Ohio as well as Representative John Delaney of Maryland, who is running for president.”

The Fix Was In (And Still Is)

The main reason I never cared for Francis Coppola‘s Tucker: The Man and His Dream (’88), the story of innovative auto designer Preston Tucker and his attempt to produce and market the 1948 Tucker Sedan, is that it says the same thing over and over. That thing is the fix was in, or the corporate auto industry refused to allow an innovative auto designer to prosper and thereby make them look bad, and so they had his business killed.

If Tucker had been funnier and crazier, maybe. But it’s so methodical and so determined to deliver the same observation over and over that it eventually smothers your soul.

When you think about it, movies that say “the fix is in and anyone who tries to change or expose this system is going to suffer or get killed or at least corrupted” is a genre in itself.

Alan Pakula‘s The Parallax View is a “fix is in” movie. Ditto Michael Ritchie‘s The Candidate. Luchino Visconti‘s The Damned and Pier Paolo Pasolini‘s Salo and the 120 Days of Sodom are two extreme examples. Serpico and Prince of the City are major “don’t try to un-fix things” films. All The President’s Men, obviously, is the opposite of a “fix” film.

What are some of the better ones? Dramas or comedies that merely say “everything stinks and corruption will always be with us” are not “fix is in” movies. You need a lead protagonist who wants to do things differently and tries to implement that, and is finally stripped, beaten down and gutted at the end.

A Bluray of Tucker: The Man and His Dream will pop on 8.28.

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Two-Thirds Gone

A few days ago Esquire‘s Nick Schrager listed his best-of-the-year-so-far list. I agree with him here and there but some of his other choices…Jesus. The Rider doesn’t develop, doesn’t go anywhere. It’s a movie about waiting for death, about “the thing that you love you can’t do, and so you’re fucked.”

Here’s HE’s latest best-of-the-year roster — a grand total of 21, and in this order:

Tied for first place: Bjorn Runge‘s The Wife (Sony Pictures Classics, 8.17) and Paul Schrader‘s First Reformed; 3. Ari Aster‘s Hereditary; 4. Stefano Sollima‘s Sicario — Day of the Soldado; 5. Chris McQuarrie and Tom Cruise‘s Mission : Impossible — Fallout; 6. John Krasinski‘s A Quiet Place; 7. Eugene Jarecki‘s The King; 8. Lynne Ramsay‘s You Were Never Really Here, 9. Tony Zierra‘s Filmworker, 10. Andrej Zvyagintsev‘s Loveless, 11. Jeremiah Zagar‘s We Are The Animals, 12. Tony Gilroy‘s Beirut, 13. Wes Anderson‘s Isle of Dogs; 14. Bo Burnham‘s Eighth Grade; 15. Won’t You Be My Neighbor; 16. Ryan Coogler‘s Black Panther; 17. Matt Tyrnauer‘s Scotty and the Secret History of Hollywood; 18. Betsy West; Julie Cohen‘s RBG; 19. Spike Lee‘s BlackKKlansman; 20. Antoine Fuqua‘s The Equalizer 2; and 21. John Curran‘s Chappaquiddick.

Not bad, liked ’em well enough, half-liked ’em, mezzo-mezzos: Jason Reitman‘s Tully; Andrew Haigh‘s Lean on Pete; Chloe Zhao‘s The Rider; Steven Spielberg‘s Ready Player One; Armando Ianucci‘s The Death of Stalin; Greg Berlanti’s Love Simon; Clint Eastwood‘s The 15:17 to Paris; Samuel Maoz‘s Foxtrot (all from Sony Classics), Ziad Doueiri‘s The Insult (Cohen Media Group) and Alex Garland‘s Annihilation.

Still Haven’t Seen ’em: Sally Potter‘s The Party, Joel Francis Daley‘s Game Night, Cory Finley‘s Thoroughbreds and what else?

Dead-Mouse Quiet

There’s your rectangular-block, tidy-front-lawn suburbia (exemplified by my boyhood small town of Westfield, New Jersey), exurbia (the leafy, winding-road environs of Westchester and Fairfield counties — Wilton, Weston, Ridgefield, New Canaan, Chappaqua, Bedford) and finally your seriously serene Andrew Wyeth rich-folk farmland regions like the Berkshire foothills, where I was yesterday. Southfield, New Marlborough, Monterey, Sheffield, Stockbridge, Lenox.

I hadn’t visited this Western Massachusetts region since the mid ’80s, and had forgotten how quiet, how disarming, how completely far-from-the-madding-crowd it is. “Gently intoxicating” is one way to describe it The murmuring pines and hemlocks, and the occasional farm-fresh food stands by the roadside. There are whole regions in which your iPhone connectivity totally disappears, and you almost don’t mind. All you can hear is the grass growing.

Don’t get me wrong — I’m still a city boy at heart (and by that I mean Paris, Prague, Rome or Hanoi), but yesterday I felt as if I was 10 years old and sitting on a patch of tree-shaded grass and listening to a nearby waterfall.

All Quiet on Fondamente de l’Arzere,” posted 14 months ago: There’s a soul-soothing atmosphere of quiet throughout the Dorsoduro and San Croce districts after dark. No scooters, no sirens, no thumping bass tones emanating from clubs, no half-bombed 20something women shrieking with laughter…just the barely-there sound of bay water lapping at pier pilings.

“There are many places, I’m sure, that are just as quiet when the sun goes down. But there are very few where you can’t even hear hints of civilization, where traces of the usual nighttime rumble aren’t at least faintly audible. I can sit at home in West Hollywood and feel cool and collected, but I’ll always hear the occasional helicopter or motorcycle whine or subwoofer speakers thumping in someone’s car or louche party animals roaming nearby. Venice is dead-mouse quiet, especially after 10 pm or thereabouts. You can hear a pin drop.

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