Posted six months ago: Last Night in Soho is the kind of thing Edgar Wright seems to naturally gravitate to. He loves visceral cinema, he’s good with “wow” concepts and has excellent visual instincts, but he has a popcorn soul…sensitivity, depth and thoughtfulness are not, shall we surmise, his strong suits,

Imagine having a fascinating imaginary time-trip playground at your beck and call…a voyage back to the once-in-a-century excitement of 1966 (culturally, tectonically, generationally, sexually, politically), and the “wait, something is happening here” London atmosphere (which was also manifesting in San Francisco and Los Angeles even)…and Wright has a clear-light brainstorm: ”Holy shit, of course…I’ll make it a horror film!”

Imagine being locked up in that fucking head of his, to paraphrase Junior Soprano. Of all the places Wright could have gone to with this premise…God.

If you want a transportational taste of London ’66, watch Michelangelo Antonioni‘s Blow-Up, or listen to Revolver or Between The Buttons. If you want a reminder of how fallow and soul-draining things can be in 2021, look no further than the creative designs of Edgar W.

I don’t know for a dead cold fact that Grant Williams, star of The Incredible Shrinking Man (’57), was gay, but he almost certainly was. And in this context Shrinking Man becomes more than just a sci-fi drama about a guy getting smaller and smaller. It’s a film about a repressed ’50s guy feeling smaller and smaller due to the anguish of the closet — fear of being outed or found out, career anxiety, a general sense of isolation, constantly having to hide and skulk around.

The cat who almost kills Willams’ character…hell, choose any metaphor. The Los Angeles vice squad, homophobic agents and producers, Williams’ father, the general atmosphere of disapproval.

A West Hollywood resident, Williams never married or had any kind of ongoing relationship with anyone of either gender. (Or at least none that was ever written about.) Written on the Wind, The Incredible Shrinking Man and Susan Slade aside, the poor guy made almost nothing but B-level crap. He died of peritonitis in July ’85, at age 53.

Or better yet, their 50s. Just thinking about this is kind of arousing. Because I hate these guys. Even though this video was shot over a year ago. I’m sure most of them are still arrogant little shits.

I see the face of the red-haired Mark Zuckerberg, 37, and I immediately wish I was seeing Jesse Eisenberg instead. Sometimes (this morning for instance) I’ll find myself muttering “fuck you, psychopath.” I don’t like the guy. I don’t like his tennisball haircut, his predatory eyes, his reputation as a lying, soul-less opportunistic prick.

Since 2018, Facebook algorithms have been serving evil ends. Frances Haugen: “Facebook is optimizing content that gets engagement, but its own research is showing that content that is hateful, divisive, polarizing…it’s easer to inspire people to [feel angry[ than it is to inspire other emotions.”

— From a just-posted (10.28) IndieWire piece titled “What’s The Future of Classic Film Appreciation?”

HE comment: Baker is correct, of course. HD renderings of the visual luster and needle-sharp detail in classic films have never been better. Why, then, is Baker saluted for owning “a vast DVD collection”? By 2021 standards 480p viewings are, no offense, a waste of time. I haven’t watched a DVD or an SD streamer since 2012 or thereabouts. (Okay, maybe once or twice.) Life is too short and HD remasterings look too good these days. Why watch something that you know is going to offer diminished visual values?