Ian Holm‘s death wasn’t a terrible thing — he lived a rich and radiant existence for 88 years — but news editors and commentators calling him “the man who played Bilbo Baggins” in the Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit film series is a gruesome send-off.
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I first took notice 46 years ago when Holm played Nicholas Porter, the cruise-ship executive in Richard Lester‘s Juggernaut (’74), and especially five years later when he played Ash-the-robot in Ridley Scott‘s Alien (’79). His Sam Mussabini role in Hugh Hudson‘s Chariots of Fire (’81) was also noteworthy.
Agree or not, but these are the three Holm performances that immediately came to mind when I heard the news.
I don’t want to get too cranked about Patrick Vollrath’s 7500, a terrorist-plane-hijack thriller that’s currently streaming on Amazon Prime. Because as good as it is, it’s nowhere near the level of Paul Greengrass‘s United 93 — by any measure the gold-standard in this realm.
A poor man’s version of that brilliant 2006 film, 7500 is claustrophically designed (the whole thing takes place in a pilot compartment of a commercial jet during a Berlin-to-Paris flight) and technically effective as far as it goes. It held me in its grip, and I understand why Indiewre‘s Eric Kohn has called it “the most exciting cinematic ride of the year so far.”
But at the same time I was feeling a wee bit irritated by Joseph Gordon Levitt‘s performance as Tobias Ellis, an overly emotional, bordering-on-girlyman co-pilot coping with a team of 9/11-styled fanatics. (By the way, did you know that “Muslim hijackers” is a “racist trope” and that a film that serves up same is dealing in “antiquated stereotypes“?)
The initial storming of the cabin results in the death of the pilot (Carlo Kitzlinger‘s “Michael”) but also with JGL managing to bludgeon a would-be hijacker into unconsciousness as well as keep the other two baddies out by locking the cabin door.
It then becomes a question of whether or not the most belligerent of the two lock-outs can goad JGL into opening the door in order to save the lives of two hostages with knives at their throats — a passenger and a flight attendant named Gokce (Aylin Tezel) who happens to be JGL’s wife.
We know as well as JGL that if the hijackers get into the cabin they’ll crash the jet into the middle of a major city and kill God knows how many people. Letting them in is therefore not an option. And yet director-writer Vollrath tries to wring emotional tension out of the fact that Gokce’s throat will be slit if JGL doesn’t open up…”oh, no…oh, please!”
Do you not understand the basics, Vollrath (and for that matter JGL)? The terrorists don’t get into the cockpit, and so as much as it makes us sad and anguished I’m afraid it’s “hasta la vista, baby” as far as Gokce is concerned.
A cowardly man might say “oh, no, my poor wife is going to be killed, but maybe I can save her life by allowing the terrorists into the cockpit and letting them fly the plane into the Eiffel Tower.” Only a whining, squeeky little mouse would think that way, but that’s what JGL does. He frets and grimaces and goes “oooh no, don’t kill her!” as his panicked eyes fill with tears.
Fucking little candy-ass…grow a pair! Have you ever seen a Clint Eastwood film? Learn to snarl.
And then an even bigger candy-ass comes along — Omid Memar‘s “Vedat”, a junior terrorist (18 years old) who’s a bit conflicted about mass murder. JGL senses early on that Vedat isn’t all that hardcore and might even be a soft touch. This leads to a big tussle-in-the-cockpit scene in which Vedat is openly moaning and whimpering about whether or not to thwart his radical colleagues and save the lives of JGL and the passengers. Except the whimpering goes on too long, and I realized about about 30 seconds in that Memar sounds like the crying and moaning Joan Cusack in that control booth panic scene in Broadcast News.
Here’s the Cusack mp3 — the scene itself is after the jump.
For God knows how many tens of millions, Vera Lynn‘s “We’ll Meet Again” is known for one thing and one thing only — as a tuneful accompaniment to a montage of nuclear explosions at at the very end of Stanley Kubrick‘s Dr. Strangelove (’64).
Here are three guesses as to why Ravindran, Variety‘s London-based international editor, dropped the ball.
One, because the 30something staffer wanted to write a positive-minded, hooray-for-a-legendary-singer tribute to Lynn, and felt that the satirical Strangelove association would somehow diminish that. Or two, because Claudia Eller, who’s been furloughed from her Variety editor-in-chief post over safety/sensitivity issues, wasn’t there to catch the omission. Neither did Eller’s successor, Cynthia Littleton.
Last night Amy Klobuchar took herself out of contention as Joe Biden‘s potential vice-presidential running mate. She simultaneously fired a torpedo at Elizabeth Warren by stating that Biden should choose a woman of color, especially given the current historical moment.
She’s probably right about the WOC thing. If I were Biden I would choose Kamala Harris, who’s the only woman of color with any sort of national exposure from the Democratic primary campaign. Or Susan Rice, an excellent Obama-linked politician and diplomat. Then again if Biden had serious balls of steel he would choose whichever woman he feels will do him the most good in the November election, regardless of heritage or skin shade.
The real reason for Klobuchar’s statement, of course, was that she knew she was dead meat anyway given her allegedly problematic record as Hennepin County prosecutor in the early aughts, which came to light in the wake of the the recent death of George Floyd in Minneapolis Police custody. (Klobuchar was recently criticized by Left Twitter for her failure to vigorously prosecute police misconduct during her tenure.) Then again she obviously knew she was sticking a shiv into Warren’s ribs so there had to be a motive above and beyond racial tokenism.
But if, God forbid, 2020 cancel culture had somehow descended upon early ’60s England like a flash flood, McCartney might have sustained serious career damage if Mortimer had decided to accuse him after-the-fact of “sexual assault”, which can sometimes be translated as “it was my first time and a bit painful, and the sex wasn’t followed by tender emotional caresses and perhaps the beginning of a serious relationship, and so I felt used.” England’s age of consent was 16 at the time so at least the 20-year-old McCartney would have been legally in the clear.
Except Gabby’s description doesn’t sound like sexual assault — the sex began as consensual if not eager-beaver on her part, but she felt badly afterwards. It almost sounds like an Aziz Ansari-type situation.
In any event Steven Spielberg and the the Disney-owned 20th Century Studios, the director and distributor of the forthcoming West Side Story (12.18.20), are…how to put this?…accepting of the Gabby situation (how could they not be?) but are probably not, shall we say, entirely at peace with it. The idea, I would imagine, would be to gently put a damper on the episode (and particularly the Twitter brush fire) in whatever way that might be deemed appropriate, sensitive and non-suppressive.
