Sebastián Leilo’s The Wonder is a somber, better-than-decent, glacially-paced period drama.
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Ever since the accidental 8.20 car-bomb killing of Darya Dugina, the 29 year-old daughter of Vladimir Putin‘s Rasputin-like adviser Aleksandr Dugin, Ukrainian forces have been suspected of orchestrating the hit.
In a 10.5 interview with intelligence committee Democrat Jim Himes, a CNN anchor stated that “U.S. intelligence community believes that elements of the Ukrainian government authorized that car bombing.” (Note: It is believed that the explosion was intended to kill the father, not the daughter.) Without confirming this allegation, Himes replied that if it’s true “this raises the spectre of Ukraine having arguably [and] very clearly lost the moral high ground.”
Moral high ground? In a war? After the Bucha massacre? Is that a joke?
There is no morality in war save the absence of it. Once serious hostilities begin between combatants the idea of anyone occupying any moral high ground is ridiculous. As Russell Crowe‘s journalist character says in The Greatest Beer Run Ever, “This war is just one big crime scene.”
Union general William Tecumseh Sherman: “War is cruelty. There is no use trying to reform it. The crueler it is, the sooner it will be over.”
Do you want to defeat Russia in the Ukrainian conflict? Sean Connery‘s “Malone character” (from The Untouchables) has some questions.
Malone: “You said you wanted to get Capone. Do you really wanna get him? [If so], what are you prepared to do?”
Kevin Costner’s Eliot Ness: “Anything within the law.”
Malone: “And then what are you prepared to do? If you open the can on these worms you must be prepared to go all the way. Because they’re not gonna give up the fight until one of you is dead.”
Ness: “I want to get Capone! I don’t know how to do it.”
Malone: “You wanna know how to get Capone? They pull a knife, you pull a gun. He sends one of yours to the hospital, you send one of his to the morgue. That’s the Chicago way! And that’s how you get Capone. Now do you want to do that? Are you ready to do that? I’m offering you a deal. Do you want this deal?”
Ness: “I have sworn to capture this man with all legal powers at my disposal and I will do so.”
Malone: “Well, the Lord hates a coward.”
…we will fire your ass in the blink of eye. This is what is known as management-level wokester terror.
From 10.4 THR piece by Ashley Cullins titled “Moral Clauses: Why a Red Scare Tactic Revived in the #MeToo Era Could Lead to a Fight With the Guilds“:
Excerpt: “In the wake of #MeToo, employers across Hollywood turned to morals clauses as an attempt to deter bad behavior. While these provisions have been criticized by talent reps for being too broad and too subjective, there’s actually a bigger problem with their presence in many contracts: They’re prohibited by the directors and writers guilds’ collective bargaining agreements — and they have been for decades.
“’The origin was the Red Scare,’ says talent lawyer Linda Lichter. ‘Companies put them in contracts so they could fire people if they were accused of being a Red. They’ve come back in the context of #MeToo.’
The clauses — which use language such as “public disrepute, humiliation, contempt, scandal or ridicule” — essentially mean anything that makes a company look bad could be grounds for immediate termination. Or, as Lichter puts it, ‘If you don’t behave, we can fire you.’
According to attorneys, it’s not uncommon for the first draft of a morals clause to include problematic broad phrases, giving examples like “neglects to govern their conduct with regard to social conventions” or “shocks, insults or offends a substantial portion of the community.”
“’Early on with the #MeToo movement we saw companies and brands going very quickly to terminating people, and they wanted to be able to rely on their morals clause to do it,’ says entertainment labor lawyer Ivy Kagan Bierman. “In some cases, the clause as drafted didn’t allow it because it had to be proven.”
“Kagan Bierman says the language has evolved so companies don’t necessarily have to wait on proof — ‘There have been tweaks in the language, where it can be alleged to have happened, or believed to have happened.'”
I received a little pushback about yesterday’s riff about Florida governor Ron DeSantis wearing those awful white rubber boots during a tour of the coastal Florida areas devastated by Hurricane Ian.
I was informed that DeSantis is wearing standard-issue shrimp boots, which are common apparel for fishermen on shrimp boats. Moisture protection, snake protection.
My reply is that it doesn’t matter how many Cajun shrimpers own a pair of those Nancy Sinatra go-go boots — they look ridiculous.
Any allegedly straight male who wears white go-go-boots on a shrimp boat automatically causes his alpha male credentials too be questioned. And it WAS DeSantis’s Michael Dukakis on a tank moment (aka “Rocky the squirrel”).
If DeSantis was a MAN, he would have worn these black boots. If I was a shrimper, these would be my jam.
Christian Bale has been exceptional or certainly admired in several roles over the last 30 years. His finest performances, HE feels, are, in this order, the following: Dicky Eklund in The Fighter (’10), Patrick Bateman in American Psycho (’00), Dick Cheney in Vice (’18), and Bruce Wayne in his three Batman films (Batman Begins, The Dark Knight, The Dark Knight Rises).
But the Bale “performance” that made the strongest and most lasting impression, hands down, is “Bale Out: RevoLucian’s Christian Bale Remix!“, which popped in early ’09. A satirical dance remix of Bale’s Terminator Salvation rant (which happened for real in July 2008), it’s absolutely real, brilliant and unforgettable in a relentless sort of way. Every angry word is 110% genuine.
This is a distasteful subject, but I'll just mention it and be done with it. I've ridden on underground subway systems all over the world -- Paris, Boston, Berlin, Prague, Washington, D.C., Barcelona, London, Zurich, Rome, Munich, Frankfurt, Firenze -- and New York's subway system is the only one that has a serious problem with homeless urine stink. Okay, I might have encountered one or two faint whiffs in the Paris metro, but it's not a regular thing there. You can, on the other hand, absolutely count on The Unpleasant while waiting for the IRT, IRT Lex, R or IND trains in Manhattan. Is it because homeless guys in Barcelona, London, Berlin and Prague are slightly more sanitary? Is alcoholism less of a problem over there? Do the overseas subway systems use more effective (i.e., more fragrant) disinfectant or employ more clean-up crews?
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Okay, there's a vague resemblance between Casper Phillipson, who plays JFK in Pablo Larrain's Jackie and Andrew Dominik's Blonde, and the Real McCoy. The nose, the jawline and the eyes, to some extent, but at the same time Phillipson's eyes lack something important. In his off moments JFK's eyes had a haunted, hangdog quality -- a slightly gloomy and exhausted look that was captured by Time magazine illustrator Pietro Annigoni. There was a vibe about Kennedy in these moments that seemed to say "I'm probably not going to last into old age, and you know it as well as I." No offense to Phillipson but this grave undertone vibe is missing in his features. Gotta have that flickering awareness of death hovering.
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Any guy knows that if you put on a pair of tallish rubber wading boots, the color has to be olive drab or dark blue. Or black-and-yellow fireman boots. But what kind of clueless dork puts on a pair of white go-go boots a la Nancy Sinatra? That's more than clueless -- it's borderline suicidal from an image standpoint. And worse when you throw in the pot belly. If I was DeSantis I would drop at least 15 or 20 pounds -- he's too chubby to be a Presidential candidate. And while I'm working on the gut I would wear a midriff girdle under my shirt. Orson Welles wore one while playing the fresh-out-of-college Charles Foster Kane.
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As you begin to watch Park Chan-wook‘s Decision to Leave (MUBI, 10.14), there’s no denying that you’re being carried along by a masterful visual composer. Every shot is exquisite, a painting, an eye bath…and so perfectly balanced.
And during the first 30 to 40 minutes you can’t help saying to yourself “wow, this guy is really good” while at the same time hoping that it’ll amount to more than just a delicious film noir by way of a haunting mood trip.
And of course it doesn’t. As the first hour comes to an end it begins to hit you. This film is all visual swoon and superficial noir strokes, you realize — it’s not going to build or pivot or dovetail into anything. But it’ll look great every step of the way.
And then you look at your watch and go “oh Jesus Mary mother of God, there’s another 70 or 80 minutes to go!” And you realize that you’re stuck, and you descend into a feeling of being locked in an animal cage filled with straw. And you realize, of course, that the minutes are just going to drag on and on. You’d like to leave but you can’t because you’re watching a film by the great Park Chan-wook, and only a rank philistine would do such a thing.
I’m just saying that Decision to Leave is opening on a week from Friday, and that…oh, hell, do what you want. Some critics are nuts for this guy. But this film should ideally be called Decision to Avoid.
Following the big Toronto Film festival debut, the U.S. premiere of Decision to Leave happened at Austin’s Fantastic Fest (9.22 to 9.29) — that should tell you something.
Posted from Cannes on 5.23: With all due respect for Park Chan-wook’s smoothly masterful filmmaking chops (no one has ever disputed this) and the unbridled passion that his cultish film critic fans have expressed time and again…
And with respect, also, for the time-worn film noir convention of the smart but doomed male protagonist (a big city homicide detective in this instance) falling head over heels for a Jane Greer-like femme fatale and a psychopathic wrong one from the get-go…
The labrynthian (read: convoluted) plotting of Park’s Decision To Leave, though initially intriguing, gradually swirls around the average-guy viewer (read: me) and instills a feeling of soporific resignation and “will Park just wrap this thing up and end it already?”
Jesus God in heaven, but what doth it profit an audience to endure this slow-drip, Gordian knot-like love story-slash-investigative puzzler (emphasis on the p word) if all that’s left at the end is “gee, what an expert directing display by an acknowledged grade-A filmmaker!”
Being something of a clueless baseball "fan" (i.e., having not really followed the sport since I was 10 or 11), I was initially confused by last night's Washington Post story, written by Chelsea James, about Aaron Judge's historic 62nd home run against the Texas Rangers.
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