Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (’69) is such a rakishly charming, beautifully composed film (one of Conrad Hall‘s finest), but I’ve seen it too many times. There comes a point with certain classics when they turn into amber, and there’s no getting past the fact that you know each and every line, shot, action sequence, musical cue, etc.

That said, I’ll always love the opening poker game sequence (shot in sepia-tone b&w) and the final shoot-out scene with the federales. I love the way the surrounded Redford drills so many soldiers, picking them off like wooden ducks…dead center.

Why did this five-man collaboration (George Roy Hill, William Goldman, Paul Newman, Robert Redford, Hall) connect as well as it did? Because it tapped into the anti-authoritarian spirit of the late ’60s in a kind of jovial, laid-back way, and because it lulled viewers into thinking that living outside the law could somehow feel warm and soothing (and at the same time tragic) as long as they had Redford and Newman’s company.

One of the greatest romantic screen pairings of all time, and a totally hetero current from start to finish.

I wonder how it would’ve played without the Burt Bacharach intrusions? I was never much of a “Raindrops Keep Fallin’ On My Head” kinda guy.

During a press briefing earlier today Trump was asked about Chinese aid by a reporter for Hong Kong Phoenix TV. He seemed skeptical of her question, and vaguely suggested that the correspondent was some kind of shill for the Chinese government.

Phoenix TV’s CEO and founder, Liu Changle, reportedly has strong ties with the Chinese government, in somewhat the sane vein as the relationship between Rupert Murdoch and Trump.

Trump tends to challenge female reporters when they ask what he regards as inappropriate or challenging questions, and he definitely went there today..

Phoenix Reporter: “Are you cooperating with China?”
Trump: “Who are you working for, China? Who owns that, China? Is it owned by China? Is it owned by the state?”
Phoenix Reporter: “I work for Hong Kong Phoenix TV. It’s privately owned.”

No one wans to remember Joe Johnston‘s The Wolfman. How could a movie this tiresome have been written by the guys who penned Se7en and Road to Perdition (i.e., Andrew Kevin Walker and David Self) respectively?

Domestically released on 2.12.10 by Universal, The Wolfman was panned by critics (34% Rotten Tomatoes) and Joe Popcorn alike. It wound up grossing $139 million worldwide against a $150 million production budget.

The one bright spot was The Wolfman‘s Rick Baker and make-up effects supervisor Dave Elsey winning the Academy Award for Best Makeup at the 83rd Academy Awards.

Posted on 2.12.10: The Wolfman makes you feel like you’re stuck inside a deep stone pit with Universal werewolves prowling back and forth and worrying about the grosses. Rowwrrlll! — make it shorter! Rowf! — let’s throw in another beheading! Owwooooohhll! — we need to at least get those research scores into the 70s! Let’s bring in Walter Murch…snarrrrrll!

You can’t say it doesn’t look great — every scene is expertly smothered in fog and smoke and ominous shadows, or lit by candles. Cheers to cinematographer Shelly Johnson and production designer Rick Heinrichs. But it makes you feel trapped, shackled.

I saw it with an Eloi crowd (i.e., radio promotional) at the Grove last night, and after 20 or 30 minutes the room had no pulse. The crowd watched, waited and seemed to be saying, “This is it? This? Well, we paid to see it so we might as well stick it out but this just isn’t happening, man. Where’s the juice? This thing is just…what is it?”

Benicio del Toro, who plays the doomed Larry Talbot, looks miserable in every scene. He does the job, hits the marks, mouths the dialogue, etc., but his eyes say, “Good God, get me outta here! I’ve been very well paid, yes, but I’m stuck in a piece of shit and my soul is writhing in pain.” Plus he’s been given an awful pudding-bowl haircut.

Four and 1/2 years ago I posted a Vimeo embed of Adrien Dezalay, Emmanuel Delabaere and Simon Philippe‘s “The Red Drum Getaway.”

For some obscure but logical reason it began attracting fresh eyeballs sometime yesterday. “Wow! This is fabulous,” “Great job, sir!,” “Trippy,” etc. The always alert Sasha Stone, never one to surf behind the eight ball, sent me a link this morning.

Yes, of course — at the very end that’s the lifeless body of Scotty Ferguson lying in front of the apes.

And yet now that I’ve watched it yet again, the only thing I would change is to end it at 2:37.

“Height is to men what breasts are to women,” an HE commenter said three years ago. To some extent yes, but not necessarily. Or not entirely. Tall or tallish guys enjoy an obvious pecking-order advantage, but towering fellows (6’5″ and up) can seem gangly and galumphy. Or even a tad freakish.

The bottom line is that broad shoulders are the real bodacious tat-tas in the XY realm. I came into broad shoulders when I turned 13 or 14, and believe me I know about the benefits. Ask anyone who’s been lucky by way of genetic inheritance. If you have broad-ass shoulders, you’re halfway home in terms of general estimates, job interviews, receptive women, etc.

By the same token narrow, rounded shoulders are generally not a good look. There’s never been a rounded, narrow-shouldered guy in the history of the planet who’s ever said “man, I am so lucky that I don’t have broad shoulders!” I see a fellow with narrow shoulders and I think “well, okay, I’m sorry…he’s obviously had his share of struggles.”

From “Physical Dominance vs. Psychological Security,” posted on 6.19.19: “I was in love with Alan Ladd and I went to a party at Romanoff’s. I’m 5’7” but in heels I’m 5’9” or 5’10”. They said, ‘Shirley, your favorite actor is here…come and meet him.’ I turned around. He was there and I went, ‘Oh hi, Mr. Ladd.’ He was about 4’9” and all my admiration disappeared literally in the dust.” — attributed to Shirley MacLaine but who knows?

Ladd was notoriously insecure about his height, which (to go by most accounts) was somewhere between 5’5″ and 5’6″. For his entire professional life this psychological albatross was draped around the poor guy’s neck. On the other hand James Cagney was roughly the same size (5’6″ or thereabouts) and he never squawked about it. He spent his whole adult life playing tough urban guys who slapped, punched or psychologically dominated other fellows, and nobody ever said “Jeez, he’s kinda short.” They said, “Shit, here comes Cagney…watch out.”

In short (pun), a good part of life is about owning the right kind of psychology — about feeling secure and confident about who you are and what you look like. It’s about planting your feet, looking the other guy in the eye and saying “take or or leave it but this is me…got a problem with that? Because I don’t.”

On the other hand I understand the Shirley MacLaine mindset. I’ve been a tall, slender, broad-shouldered guy with fairly good hair (augmented by Prague-installed follicles when I got older) all my life. I’ve been that guy since I was 11 or 12, and by the time I hit my early 20s I was feeling pretty cool about it. I know my looks helped in my hound-dog days in the ’70s and early ’80s.

But I’ve always had this unfair or prejudiced attitude about short guys, and I mean going back to when I was nine or ten. I’ve always had this belief that guys need to be 5’8″ or taller, and if they’re not…well, not a problem for me personally but they will have a certain gauntlet to contend with on a daily basis. Life is unfair and often cruel.

There’s a reason why I tend to tug down on the face mask so it sits just below my nostrils while driving. Repeating: While driving inside a sealed, air-tight space. Because the warmish air being expelled from my lungs collects under the mask and mostly escapes through the upper portion. This in turn fogs up my glasses.

Two choices: (a) constantly wiping the moisture from the lenses so I can see clearly in order to drive safely or (b) tugging down on the mask. Option (b) is obviously preferable, but admonishments from “virusbros” and friends alike have been unceasing.

Just for the record, virusbros is one of two COVID-19 terms that HE has recently coined and which are now entering the lexicon. The other (announced yesterday) is freedom drivers.

What other newly coined (or new re-defined) terms have been making the rounds? Ask anyone if they know what the acronym PPE means. I guarantee nine out of ten won’t have a clue.

Last weekend the Venice Film Festival‘s artistic director Alberto Barbera said the festival will happen in the usual physical, real-world way, and that he’s “currently not weighing digital options” a la the Toronto Film Festival.

The 77th Venice International Film Festival is slated to unfold between Wednesday, 9.2.00 and Saturday, 9.12.20.

The pesky coronavirus could interfere with Barbera’s plans, of course. He’s saying right now what he feels he needs to say. He has to project a resolute front.

“The Venice Film Festival cannot be replaced by an online event,” a Venice spokesman told Variety‘s Nick Vivarelli earlier today. He added that “there is obviously the possibility that we use technology for some initiatives,” but “it’s too early for this to be decided.”