Month: October 2018

No Less True Today

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Exactly two months before I had that 12.8.15 chat with Kurt Russell during a Hateful Eight junket, I experienced a “yes!” moment with a 10.5 Salon piece about guns by Amanda Marcotte. It contained one of the cleanest and most concise explanations of why the right is so adamant about the holiness of guns (i.e., refusing to regulate their use like the government regulates cars and drivers):

“Conservatives aren’t lying when they say they need guns to feel protected. But it’s increasingly clear that they aren’t seeking protection from crime or even from the mythical jackbooted government goons come to kick in your door. No, the real threat is existential. Guns are a totemic shield against the fear that they are losing dominance as the country becomes more liberal and diverse and, well, modern.” (“Diverse’, of course, being a code word for fewer whites calling the shots.)

“For liberals, the discussion about guns is about public health and crime prevention. For conservatives, hanging onto guns is a way to symbolically hang onto the cultural dominance they feel slipping from their hands.”

In the comment thread I explained that “50 years ago this country was more or less run by WASP whitebreads + Irish and Italian Catholics, etc. Blacks were seen as a minority, most gays were closeted and women worked the kitchen and tended to the kids. Those days are over and old-fart rural conservatives know it. That’s what the guns are about. To give them a sense of power in times of increasing powerlessness.”

Try, Try Again

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The last time I posted the final scene from Martin Ritt‘s Hud, some low-level attorney (or some low-level attorney software) swooped right in and told me to remove it. But you see, my devotion to legendary movie finales is greater than my compliance with copyright protocol. And besides, who else in the blogosphere is hailing this 1963 film or has made such a big deal, year after year, about the ending? Unregenerate shits who don’t reform, don’t have second thoughts, don’t reconsider, don’t relent…love it.

Foy Puffery

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First, any article, editor or journalist who mentions the word “pressure” in the context of a celebrity profile is a hack. If I’ve listened to one unctuous junket whore ask an actor “how much pressure did you have to cope with?” and blah blah, I’ve listened to it 700 or 800 times. Second, until I glanced at this THR cover I wasn’t even thinking about The Girl in the Spider’s Web (Sony, 11.9)…not even a blip on the screen. Third, now that I’m mulling it over I’m asking myself if I even want to sit through it. Fourth, the last time I checked Foy’s performance as Neil Armstrong‘s hand-wringing wife (Janet Shearon) stood a reasonable chance of being nominated for Best Supporting Actress, but no mention of First Man in the cover copy? Fifth, I respect the fact that Foy’s freckly alabaster skin is a signature that she embraces, but if I were her I would steer clear of black nail polish.

Gutted, Ashen-Faced, Zombie-Like

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Excerpts from my 9.1.18 Telluride review of Karyn Kusama‘s Destroyer: “I’ve been in and out on director Karyn Kusama — loved Girlfight, hated Aeon Flux, loathed Jennifer’s Body but found The Invitation a truly fascinating creepout. And now Destroyer.

“This is a complex L.A. crime tale about Erin Bell (Nicole Kidman), a wasted, walking-dead Los Angeles detective trying to settle some bad business and save her daughter from a life of crime and misery. It unfolds through a complex, pain-in-the-ass flashback structure, and is punctuated by all kinds of nihilistic, hard-boiled behavior by the mostly criminal flotsam characters.

“Destroyer has guns, uniformed cops, blood, a scene in the Westwood Federal building cafeteria, purple ink, ugly asshole criminals with sickening haircuts, drugs, a handjob given to a dying criminal slob, a bank shootout. Everything in this well-made if godforsaken film is scuzzy in a just-so way. Everyone and everything is covered in the stuff. Even I felt scuzzed out from my seat in the tenth row of the Herzog.

“Destroyer is mostly about the way Kidman looks, like a combination vampire-zombie with dark eye bags and a complexion that suggests a heroin habit mixed with twice-daily injections of embalming fluid. Plus a Desolation Row, gray-streaked hair style. It’s also about the whispery way in which she speaks. I swear to God I missed over half of her dialogue.

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Obama to Lazy, Listless Millennials

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Obama: “Remember those hearings when members of Congress were asking Mark Zuckerberg questions, like they’d never used the internet before? That’s because they haven’t. Here’s your chance to vote for people who actually know what the internet is. And by the way, you wouldn’t let your grandparents pick you a playlist. Why would you let them pick your representative who’s going to determine your future?”

Millennials No-Accounts: “Okay, whatever…pass the Fritos, bruh. I have to work on my pot belly.”

Trust James Verniere

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I loved John Carpenter‘s original Halloween (’78) but I won’t even see David Gordon Green‘s just-opened rehash, which has earned $77.5 million — the second biggest October haul of all time and only $3 million less than what Venom earned a week or two ago.

I spit on the sensibility of those lowlifes who adore megaplex horror and complain that films like Hereditary aren’t scary enough. I regard these people as the dregs of cinema culture. By the way: Get Out isn’t really an elevated horror flick — it’s a racially-stamped, comic-flavored remake of The Stepford Wives, which makes it an in-betweener.

I knew from the instant that I read a Jeff Sneider tweet that he was hot to see Halloween during the Toronto Film Festival…I knew then and there it would be the same kind of wallowing broad-brush horror film that It was, and I hated that film with every fibre of my being.

I realize that my refusal to soil myself with an actual viewing of Green’s Halloween is going to result in some pushback, but my nose knows. “You don’t need proof when you have instinct.” — Lawrence Tierney in Reservoir Dogs.

Most of the critics were too cowardly to take swipes, but a few stood up. One was Boston Herald critic Jim Verniere, whom I’ve known since the early ’80s and whose taste is often in synch with my own or vice versa. So if Verniere thinks a movie more or less blows, that’s good enough for me.

Excerpts: “This new Halloween is not the worst or the best of the 10 we’ve had since John Carpenter’s 1978 classic. But at a time when we’ve seen innovative shockers like Get Out and Hereditary, do we really need a Halloween mixing Danny McBride-style (he co-wrote the script) dumb comedy in between gruesome murders from the original film?

“Like the original, David Gordon Green‘s Halloween telegraphs who is going to get killed next by knife, ax, hammer, knife again, Dyson vacuum, whatever.

“Jamie Lee Curtis‘s Laurie Strode could be the heroine of every woman afraid of a crazy, violent ex-husband. But no — we do not go there.

“Instead of a new Halloween, they should have remade Carpenter’s They Live — the Get Out of 30 years ago.”