A husband or boyfriend, weak or guilty or both, begging for help or forgiveness or both from a wife or girlfriend who’s angry and disapproves but still loves him. And who’s the up-to-no-good silhouette guy in the doorway?

You don’t hear much about A Hatful of Rain these days. An addiction drama, it was co-written by Michael V. Gazzo (aka “Frank Pantangeli”) and directed by Fred Zinnemann. Shot in black-and-white Scope (2.39:1). Don Murray, Eva Marie Saint, Anthony Francoisa and Lloyd Nolan costarred. Music by Bernard Herrmann.

And the second most romantic scene Tom Cruise ever performed, the most romantic being the Jerry Maguire finale (“You had me at hello”).

What makes this Born on the Fourth of July scene so poignant is that it seems so unreal. You’ve got a naive and patriotic nerd who doesn’t attend the Massapequa High School senior prom because his dream girl (Kyra Sedgwick) is going with another guy, but at the last minute the nerd runs through a rainstorm to attend on his lonesome. He strolls soaking through the gymnasium, finds the dream girl (who of course is bored with her date), asks her to dance and then kisses her, and she’s totally into it.

Awkward high-school romances never experience this kind of perfect romantic climax…I know this for a fact! I went through high school and it was nothing but frustration and heartbreak. But that’s what makes this scene so sweet. Because we want to believe it even though it’s bullshit. (And I don’t care if this actually happened to poor Ron Kovic — it’s still a fantasy.)

Released on 12.20.89, BOTFOJ cost $17.8 million after reshoots. The blistering, well-reviewed anti-war drama grossed over $161 million worldwide, and received eight Oscar nominations, including Best Picture and Best Actor for Cruise; Stone won for Best Director. It also nabbed four Golden Globe Awards — Best Motion Picture – Drama, Best Actor – Motion Picture Drama, Best Director and Best Screenplay.

Today it wouldn’t even open in theatres, and if it did the teens and 20somethings who blew off West Side Story would ignore it. But they would definitely support Spider-Man: No Way Home.

A couple of friends invited me to join them for dinner during the 2014 Cannes Film Festival. I forget the name of the place but it was near a busy walk-street crossroads and adjacent to other eateries, and it had lots of outdoor tables and exquisite food and quite the vibe. You had to be somewhat in the know to know about this place, and I remember approaching and noticing as I scanned the crowd that Jane Campion, the festival’s jury president, was sitting and smiling and laughing with a table of friends.

The reason I spotted her as quickly and easily as I did were those two signatures — that shock of thick white hair and those dark-rimmed glasses.

If legendary caricaturist Al Hirschfeld was still with us, you know what his drawing of Campion would look like. How many famous people over the decades have been known for their dark-rimmed glasses? Campion, Phil Silvers, Woody Allen and who else? I’m asking.

The thing that Campion and Guillermo del Toro have in common is that GDT’s films have often focused on monsters while Campion’s latest film, The Power of the Dog, focuses on one particular monster, Benedict Cumberbatch‘s Phil Burbank.

…in a reasonable, persuasive, non-obsessive, open-hearted way, I will certainly do that. But only for the right reasons. Just because I passionately want to hate a film doesn’t mean I will hate it. If a movie works on its own terms, so be it. I am capable of recognizing and acknowledging that. But if I can find a fair-minded way to dump on this fucking film, I will do so.

Not that it matters, of course. For the degradation of taste and the all-but-total elimination of adult ticket-buyers who are more or less down with the idea of driving to the plex to experience an occasional serving of smart, soulful prestige cinema…those appetites and that tradition are dead and buried now, and Kevin Feige is one of the guys with a shovel, wiping the dirt from his hands as he walks from the grave.

For the 17th or 18th time, if I could cause the MCU to self-destruct by clapping three times, I would clap three times and shout “whoo-hoo!” while doing so.

You know that 90% of the critics are go-along whores…totally untrustworthy in the realm of superhero stuff…they don’t want to come off like negheads or outliers. Only haters like myself are trustworthy because we don’t give a shit.

“From hell’s heart I stab at thee…for hate’s sake I spit my last breath at thee…oh damn thee, whale!”