Where Things Seem To Be

Politically and culturally the N.Y. Times has lately become even more “Woke Central” than Indiewire, particularly, it seems, in recent coverage of the Oscars and the film industry.

They’ve been agitating for woke advancement and urging powerful white people to recognize that, more than anything else, whiteness represents an essentially evil and corrupt mindset as well as a soiled and heinous history (The 1619 Project) and is therefore burdened in the eyes of God and history with completely appropriate guilt — a stain that can never be washed out but can at least be atoned for by white people hanging their heads in shame and perhaps even hiding their faces from public view for the foreseeable future.

There can only be one way forward, and that is to keep the doors open to all gifted and worthy people of color (African American, Latino, Asian) while continuing to guilt-trip white people over under sideways down. Forget proportionality in terms of the industry workforce or general population demographics. The bottom line is that whiteness is believed to be deeply flawed and corrupt, particularly in the matter of older white males, and that the term “older white male” has become, in fact, an epithet. For some time now. Obviously.

And if you say anything other than “what’s happening today is obviously a necessary and approvable thing in terms of redressing the sins and injustices of the past”, you are not only an intransigent racist but part of the problem and therefore a prime candidate for possible cancellation. And so the smart move is to simply shut up.

Just to be on the safe side, Hollywood Elsewhere is taking this opportunity to reiterate its strong support of keeping doors open to all non-Anglo movers and shakers, and to reiterate my belief in the constant channelling of appropriate shame about my white heritage, and to never forget the ugly things that white people have been responsible for in decades and centuries past. I know I sound facetious to some extent, but at the same time I’m being 100% sincere — anyone who would deny the dark legacy of paleface rule in this country is living under a rock.

At the same time this is why Trump is going to win next November. Because a certain under-educated portion of 60.7% of the U.S. population doesn’t want to be guilt-tripped and finger-wagged over and over. They’re angry about the p.c. Torquemadas, and they’d rather live under an ugly rightwing monster who will leave them alone (i.e., won’t lambast them for their endemic failings) than deal with constant accusations and shaming and outrage-venting from the progressive left.

Ask any Average Joe to choose a present-day political analogy for “The Monsters Are Due on Maple Street,” the old Twilight Zone episode. Seven or eight out of ten will point to wokesters.

Underperforming “Birds”

The fact that Little Women has crested $100 million domestic and $64 million internationally shows that the right female-angled film can connect. This is especially noteworthy given that Greta Gerwig‘s historical film is infused with contemporary attitudes about female independence, empowerment and wokeness.

Alas, Cathy Yan and Margot Robbie’s Birds of Prey, which also draws upon these currents, is a shortfaller. Variety is reporting that it’s performing “well below forecasts, with about $34 million at 4,236 North American sites” or about $10 to $20 million short of the $45 million to $55 million it was projected to earn domestically. (Warner Bros. had been projecting a conservative $45 million.) Birds earned $4 million last night.

For what it’s worth the 8:30 pm Grove screening that I attended last night had about 15 or 20 people. The well-reviewed Birds of Prey cost a reported $80 million to make.

Not Fat Enough

23 year-old Gladys Presley was a slender young thang when Elvis Presley was born in 1935. She’d put on a few pounds (but not too many) by the time he was 10, but had become quite chubby by the mid ’50s, when she was in her early 40s. (Elvis followed suit, calorically speaking, when he hit the same age.) In 1958 the poor woman died of heart failure (i.e., clogged arteries) at age 46, lasting four years longer than her illustrious son.

I’m mentioning this because Baz Luhrman has cast the svelte Maggie Gyllenhaal to play Gladys in his ’50s rock biopic, Elvis. Which means Gyllenhaal will have to (a) wear a fat suit with fat prosthetics or (b) pull a Christian Bale and pack on the pounds with bowls of pasta and ice cream every night.

That or the movie could just pretend that Gladys wasn’t overweight. Baz can obviously do whatever he wants.

The forthcoming Warner Bros. biopic will star Austin Butler (i.e., Tex Watson in Once Upon A Time in Hollywood) and Tom Hanks as Presley’s demonic manager, Colonel Tom Parker. Principal photography will begin this spring.


Elvis Presley, 21, and his 44 year-old mother Gladys in 1956.

Gladys, Elvis and Vernon in 1937 or thereabouts.

Trump Whacks Col. Vindman

Interior Trump dialogue: “That motherfucker is out…get him out! Nobody fucks with me like this. Cut him off at the knees.”

Congressman to Vindman: “You realize that when you came forward, you were putting yourself up against the President of the United States?” Vindman: “My father worried about my speaking out. He deeply worried about it. [But] This is America. The country I’ve served and defended. And that all my brothers have served. And here, right matters.”

N.Y. Times: The White House on Friday dismissed Lt. Col. Alexander S. Vindman, whose testimony in the House impeachment hearings infuriated President Trump and his allies, escorting him out of the complex just days after the Senate trial ended in acquittal, his lawyer said.

“’There is no question in the mind of any American why this man’s job is over, why this country now has one less soldier serving it at the White House,’ David Pressman, the lawyer, said in a statement. ‘Lt. Col. Vindman was asked to leave for telling the truth. His honor, his commitment to right, frightened the powerful.'”

Strange Clairvoyance

It’s 1991 and Robert Harris‘s initial restored version of Spartacus is starting to be screened for press and industry types. Imagine a 37 year-old F.X. Feeney sitting in the 10th row at a certain Academy screening (which I happened to attend myself), and then imagine a voice coming into Feeney’s head as he sits and waits for Alex North’s overture to begin:

“I want you to receive this news calmly — please don’t freak — but you and Kirk Douglas will move onto the next realm within 24 hours of each other. You will live a very full life, F.X., and you certainly won’t die young or middle-aged, but when the moment happens people will be speaking about the passing of Douglas and Feeney in the same breath. Don’t let the fact that Douglas [born in 1916] is now 75 throw you. He’s a very hearty fellow. You’ll both be around for decades to come. On top of which, as you well know, quality is far more valuable than quantity.”

If the Academy had a heart as big as Feeney’s, he would be included in Sunday’s “death reel” segment on the Oscar telecast.

HE Turnaround on “Birds of Prey”

I was understandably wary of Birds of Prey the other day. I was influenced by the trailer and Variety‘s Owen Gleiberman declaring that it “isn’t pretending, for a single moment, to cast a spell of poetic awe” but is nonetheless “a compellingly novel popcorn jamboree.” I deduced that Cathy Yan‘s film would be about “enraged fuck-all nihilism and, in a certain social-undercurrent way, anti-brute-male revenge porn…savage winks and ten times the necessary emphasis!”

So much for imprecise, second-hand observations. Last night I caught Birds of Prey at the Grove, and it ain’t half bad for what it is.

It’s not my cup but any fair-minderd cineaste would have to agree that it’s a bracingly vigorous, high-style, toxic-male-busting romp.

Here’s how I put it this morning to a critic friend (but understand that the following contains a mild spoiler about the ending, which, trust me, is no big deal in the greater scheme):

HE to critic pally: “I wasn’t caught up or deeply moved or anything, but Yan shows real vigor and pizazz as far as this kind of cartwheeling, slam-bam, extended-DC-universe material allows. Very nimble and enterprising choreography and camera work. Lots of visual invention and verve.

“It’s basically formulaic junk, of course, but I dearly loved that each and every male bad-guy character is dispatched with a few savage blows. Whomped and whoofed and slammed on the pavement. Or thrown from a car. Or shot. Or kicked in the face.

“Does Margot Robbie‘s Harley Quinn appear to be big or swift or musclebound enough to knock these guys over like so many bowling pins? Of course not! Do her fighting sisters — Mary Elizabeth Winstead‘s Huntress, Jurnee Smollett-Bell‘s Black Canary, Rosie Perez‘s Renee Montoya (a cop) and Ella Jay Basco‘s Cassandra Cain — possess some kind of special superhero combat aptitude a la Bruce Lee on steroids? Well, yeah, sort of…if you wanna believe that. But I love the bullshit!

Important point: Birds of Prey lies, of course, by declaring that it’s about “The Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn.” Because it’s really about the bonding of five tough-chick desperadoes into a kind of D.C. Amazon Justice League. Or, in Quentin Tarantino-ese, “Fox Force Five.”

This teamwork aesthetic finally manifests at the 90-minute mark when Harley says to the other four “we’ll be better off facing this situation together.” Whoo-hoo! Social metaphor!

But then (an∂ here comes the spoiler) the movie completely reverses itself in the last four or five minutes by having Harley and Cassandra Cain (short, round-faced, maybe 12 or 13 years old) abandon their sisters and rumble off in their yellow Jaguar. Meaning that the D.C. Amazon Justice League of five (which was a thing for maybe 12 or 13 minutes) has been reduced to Fox Force Three.

What a betrayal of feminist “stand tall together and watch each other’s back”! It takes 90 minutes for these five desperadoes to join forces, and then Harley flips the bird and goes off on her own 13 minutes later. C’mon!

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