B’day Greeting From Dan Richter

Of all the Facebook-software-generated birthday greetings that came in today, I was especially moved by one from Dan Richter, who played “Moonwatcher” in 2001 A Space Odyssey.

I haven’t spoken to Dan face-to-face for a full 28 years, but we’ve kept up the correspondence. Of all the famous people I’ve met and regard on friendly terms, I suspect that 100 years from now more people will be familiar with Richter (or at least his legendary performance) than any present-day Hollywood hotshot you could name.

Be honest — how many people in the year 2121 will know or care who Chris Pratt was? Or Dwayne Johnson? Or any other quarter-of-an-inch-deep actor of note? How many people will recall who Ed Sheeran was? Paul McCartney or Mick Jagger, okay, but Sheeran?

Here’s an L.A. Times Calendar piece that I wrote in ’93 about Dan Richter, the ’60-era mime who played the bone-tossing Moonwatcher in Stanley Kubrick‘s 2001: A Space Odyssey.

The last time I linked to this piece was in July ’08. Here are three scans of the original article — #1, #2 and #3.

My father met Dan at a Connecticut AA meeting in ’92 or thereabouts, and at my dad’s suggestion I called a while later and visited Dan at this home in Sierra Madre for an interview. I remember he was dealing with chemotherapy at the time. He’s still with us and doing fine .

In 2012 Richter published a memoir — “The Dream Is Over” — mainly about a four-year period that he spent with John Lennon and Yoko One (’69 to ’73).

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Age-Inappropriate Relationships

With all the Licorice Pizza buzz and the related topic of May-December love affair flicks, I was startled to read about Richard Donner‘s Lola (aka Twinky), a 1970 dramedy about a 38 year-old novelist (Charles Bronson) falling for and marrying a 16 year-old (Susan George, actually 19 during filming). Looks awful! Bronson’s character writes porn novels (!).

A much better film in this vein was Bertrand Blier‘s Beau Pere (’81), about a 30-year-old pianist (Patrick Dewaere) who has an affair with his 14-year-old stepdaughter (Ariel Besse) after her mother dies in a car accident. Can you imagine Twitter’s reaction to such a film? Can you imagine anyone even flirting with making it? Much, much worse that the Woody and Soon-Yi thing.

Yeah, I know — the Licorice Pizza situation isn’t exactly “May-December” but it’s close enough, I guess. A 25 year-old woman (Alana Haim) being attracted to a 15 year-old male actor (Connor Hoffman) doesn’t seem too beyond the pale, but it keeps Haim from getting entangled with Hoffman for most of the running time.

There was a slight age-inappropriate discussion with Luca Guadagnino‘s Call Me By Your Name (’17), due to Timothee Chalamet‘s Elio being 17 to Armie Hammer‘s Oliver being 24. But mostly no one cared.

Older women falling for younger fellas movies are much more palatable. And no one thinks there’s anything tragic or hurtful about teenage guys having it off with older women…c’mon. When I was 15 and 16 I used to dream about getting lucky with this or that female teacher. It would have been heaven on earth. And when I was in my 20s I used to dream about women in their 30s.

Best older women-younger dude movies: Simone Signoret in Room At The Top (’59). Adrien Lyne‘s Unfaithful (’02), The Mother (’03). Notes on a Scandal (’06), Rushmore (’98), The Reader (’08), Y Tu Mama Tambien (’01). Others?

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Veteran’s Message

As yesterday (11.11) was Veteran’s Day, I’m allowed to quote my Marine Lieutenant dad, who slugged it out against Japanese forces (Iwo Jima) and had this to say: “No soldier ever gave his life for his country. They caught a bullet or shrapnel or just bad luck. People glorifying battlefield death as some kind of noble patriotic charity is…bunk.”

PTA’s Frustrated Valley Dude

Set in the early 70s, Paul Thomas Anderson‘s Licorice Pizza is not some San Fernando Valley teenaged horndog flick. It’s an anecdotal, stand-offish, gentle-hearted episodic about a spiritual, emotional connection between an unlikely, age-inappropriate couple who keep eyeballing each other.

And here are the PTA whores.

Approving Guillermo & Kim

Guillermo del Toro and Kim Morgan (whom I’ve personally known for several years and ran into at a Telluride brunch three or four years ago) have been travelling around for two or three years and working together on Nightmare Alley (they co-wrote the script), and now they’re married…cool. GDT was married for 20 years to Lorenza Newton, mother of his daughters Marisa and Mariana. They separated in early ’17. Morgan was previously married to Canadian highbrow director Guy Maddin for four years.

HE is looking forward to seeing Nightmare Alley sometime in early December.

All The Right Moves

Posted nine or ten weeks ago

Will Smith and Reinaldo Marcus Greenes King Richard (Warner Bros./HBO Max) is effing aces, and Smith will obviously be Best Actor-nominated and almost certainly win. I’m sorry but that’s simply the truth of it — the man has hit a grand slam.

It’s not just a first-rate sports drama (the story of how Richard Williams launched his tennis star daughters Venus and Serena Williams in their teen years) but a supremely effective, crowd-pleasing, character-driven “fall movie” — you know, those things they used to make for award season and that people would go to see in theatres and root for in terms of potential Oscar triumphs?

I was sitting there in a state of near-amazement and muttering “wow, this is so great and so unusual for this day and age…a first-rate, phenomenally well acted, sagely written, smartly edited, adult-angled film that isn’t infantile or depressing or diseased and is not just engrossing but rousing on a spiritual and emotional level…whatever happened to movies like this? Because corporate Hollywood has all but stopped making them.

There will be no King Richard haters…trust me. It radiates the right kind of vibes…the kind everyone wants.

Shark Tale & Other Tangents

“Some of our greatest cinema challenges us to really confront our own hearts in the safety of that darkened theatre. That’s part of the purpose of filmmaking.” — quote from David Fincher and David Prior‘s Voir (Netflix, 12.6).

This trailer is an excellent exercise in movie impressionism. Congrats to Sasha Stone for managing to be a part of this thing, and for telling her Jaws story in a compelling way.

2021 Reality Check: Movies stopped challenging or even slipping into the hearts of filmgoers with any regularity a long time ago. The only current movies that even flirt with this aesthetic are King Richard, Cyrano, Pig, A Hero and one or two others. Voir is therefore a nostalgia flick to a certain extent. The dual purpose of 90% to 95% of movies is to (a) repeat and reenforce woke narratives and (b) enhance corporate revenue.

Voir is having its big AFI Fest on Saturday evening. I’m hoping to snag a Netflix press screener before long.

Accents, Schmaccents

In Aaron Sorkin‘s Hollywood Reporter interview about Being The Ricardos, he says he told Nicole Kidman and Javier Bardem that he was “not looking for a physical or vocal impersonation” of Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz. Okay, fine — Sorkin’s creation, the director says what goes.

But try to imagine Sorkin directing a drama about the Kennedy White House, and he’s cast, say, Ben Affleck as JFK and Ben starts working on his JFK accent and Sorkin says “Naahh, that’s okay, Ben…you don’t have to do that…just use your own natural voice.”

Or if Sorkin was directing a movie about Abraham Lincoln‘s final days and he cast Ben Stiller as Lincoln, and as Ben was working on his down-home, high-pitched Illinois accent Sorkin said, “Naaahh, that’s okay, Ben…just use your own voice…just talk like you did as the night watchman in the Night at the Museum movies.”

Best ’21 Films By Quality Alone

6:45 pm Update: Forget Oscar handicapping, including my own. Forget the always reasonable and perceptive award-season handicapping by THR‘s Scott Feinberg. And extra-double-triple forget the Gold Derby whores and the bizarre insular world of ClaytonVariety ass-smooch” Davis. For here, on the basis of quality alone, are the best films of ’21 so far. Plus the middle rankers and stinkers. What am I forgetting?

TOP OF THE POPS (13 — in descending order))

King Richard — the only serious grand-slam homer + wowser crowd-pleaser of the year
Parallel Mothers
Cyrano
The Last Duel
Power of the Dog (
impossible to remember)
Dear Comrades
New Order
Riders of Justice
Attica
No Time To Die
Zola
Quo Vadis Aida
A Hero

VERY GOOD (6)
Pig
Stillwater
No Sudden Move
The Dig
In The Heights
The Card Counter (
except for Tiffany Haddish)

NOT BAD (12)
Licorice Pizza
Bergman Island
House of Gucci
CODA
Candyman
Free Guy
The Little Things
Summer of Soul
Titane
St. Maud
The Woman in the Window
Those Who Wish Me Dead
(except for the stupid ending)

RESPECTABLE FILM BUT WAY TOO SCUZZY: Red Rocket

HAVEN’T SEEN ‘EM: Drive My Car, Passing, Benedetta, Mass, The Lost Daughter (five demerits because Maggie Gyllenhaal wore violet bell bottoms to San Vicente Bungalows tastemakers screening) + Michel Franco‘s Sundown.

STINKERS (11)

Jungle Cruise
Annette
Dune
French Dispatch (
very well made but infuriating)
The Green Knight
Black Widow
Old
Lamb
Nobody
Godzilla vs. Kong
The Tomorrow War

Passing of David Chute

I was very sorry to learn earlier today that former Herald Examiner film critic, screenwriter and all-around film devotee and popcorn genre fan David Chute, the ex-husband of IndieWire‘s Anne Thompson, passed on Monday, 11.8.

Here are Anne’s feelings, thoughts, recollections.

Anne and David married in ’83, divorced in ’97. They were/are the parents of Nora Thompson Chute, who was born in late ’89, her birthday being very close to Dylan’s.

Anne reports that Chute, 71, had moved back to Los Angeles four months ago after caring for his Maine-residing father for eight years, and that he succumbed only three weeks after being diagnosed with stage four esophageal cancer.

Back in ’89 and ’90, when Jett was 18 months or so and Dylan had just come along, my ex-wife Maggie and I visited Anne and David’s home on Hobart Street for dinners and whatnot.

At the time David was transitioning out of film criticism (calling himself a “recovering” veteran of that trade) and giving screenwriting a go. He was a big fan of Asian cinema, John Woo, George Romero, John Waters, that line of country.

I can’t say that David and I kept in touch or anything. We were never more than friendly acquaintances but I’d always respected his writing enormously, and had been a follower of his reviews and essays going back to the mid to late ’70s, starting with his work for the Boston Phoenix and Film Comment. When he was on his game and in his element and manning the controls, David was a hip heavyweight scholar — his name and signature really meant something. Plus he was funny, and he had a great-sounding voice — mature, settled, a bit of a Maine twang.

I’m very, very sorry.