I knew gas prices were going down, but not to this degree.

The 2.24.23 release of Cocaine Bear (Universal), a heartless, cruel-minded thriller if there ever was one (or so it would seem), is fast approaching.

Posted on 8.1.22: In November 1985, a dead black bear was discovered in Chattahoochee National Forest. Nearby was a torn-open duffel bag that had apparently contained 75 pounds of Bolivian marching powder, and which had apparently fallen out of a smuggler’s plane. (Flown by Tom Cruise’s Barry Seal?) The clueless bear had eaten a good portion of the coke and overdosed.

The guy who found the bear’s ruined body didn’t alert authorities (one guess why) and it wasn’t until 12.20.85 when authorities discovered the carcass. A medical examiner at the Georgia State Crime Lab said that that the bear’s stomach was “literally packed to the brim with cocaine.”

Elizabeth Banks has directed a “character-driven thriller” about the poor bear’s misfortune as well as, one presumes, certain humans who quickly developed an interest in the free cocaine. It’s called Cocaine Bear (Universal, 2.24.23). The film costars Keri Russell, O’Shea Jackson Jr., Alden Ehrenreich, Jesse Tyler Ferguson and the late Ray Liotta.

The title alone suggests that Banks and her producers see the story as an opportunity for bear thrills, or at least partly that.

The body of this poor, poisoned animal eventually found its way to a taxidermist, and is now on display inside the Kentucky for Kentucky Fun Mall (720 Bryan Ave., Lexington, Kentucky). There’s a sign around the bear’s neck that refers to him as “Pablo Escobear.”

In short Kentucky bumblefucks regard the idea of a furry beast dying of a cocaine overdose as a hoot.

HE to Banks and Universal marketing: HE believes that the death of an innocent animal who died of cocaine ingestion is not in itself an opportunity to do “funny” or “thrilling”. It sounds to me like a metaphorical tale about our casual greed and cruelty and indifference to the natural order of things — about the fact that forest animals have a certain nobility while we have none.

I’m still deeply uncomfortable about Mike White‘s anal fixations (analingus, suitcase pooping), but last night I marched through episodes $2, #3, #4 and #5 of season #2 of The White Lotus, and I was impressed. I was vaguely irked by the wealth porn (alright already!), and Tanya McQuoid-Hunt (the wide-faced, buffalo-shaped Jennifer Coolidge, who looks like a dude in a blonde wig) is still pathetic and her husband Greg (Jon Gries) is still cruel and aloof, but otherwise I found the randy characters mostly appealing and compelling. And I thought “what a pleasure to take the measure of all these wealthy travellers…what great adult stuff.”

The 30something Ethan and Harper Spoiler (Will Sharpe, Aubrey Plaza) are easily the most miserable couple — hung-up, uptight, haunted. And their opposite number — the morally unconstrained Cameron and Daphne Sullivan (Theo James, Meghann Fahy) are the most accepting of their basic natures and seemingly happier for it. Poor Bert Di Grasso (F. Murray Abraham) laments that he’ll never see a naked woman again. His grandson Albie Di Grasso (Adam DiMarco) has a passonate fling with Lucia (Simona Tabasco), a local sex worker. Lucia’s friend Mia (Beatrice Granno), who has a great lounge-singing voice, winds up accidentally dosing the hotel’s resident piano player (a 50ish dude) with “Molly.” And the hobbit-sized Quentin (Tom Hollander) turns out to be the kindest and wisest of the bunch. It’s all good, (almost) every bit of it, and I can’t wait for the remaining episodes.

What does it mean when a plurality of mainstream media types decide that a certain critically lauded, high-profile biopic by a major-brand, boomer-aged filmmaker…a film that Average Joes & Janes are not exactly rushing out to see (the reception so far has been West Side Story-ish)…what does it mean when a film that, by the measure of Howard Hawks, has three good scenes (Judd Hirsch rant, Nazi war film shoot in the Arizona desert, John Ford barks out lesson about horizon lines) and several meh ones…a “good” but subdued Amarcord film that unfolds in a reasonably compelling fashion but isn’t, on its own story terms and minus the Spielberg coat of arms, what anyone would call a fascinating tale…

What does it mean when the go-along media bros decide nonetheless that this is the safest, most reliable, most steady-as-she-goes Oscar pony to get behind?

I’ll tell you what it means. It means that elite brand fortification matters to a lot of people. Speaking as one who’s been proud to self–identify as an honorary Jew since the ‘70s, I understand it all.