I’m very sorry about the death of David Crosby, 81, but he enjoyed one of the most amazing, up-and-down-and-back-up-again runs of any legendary rock star-slash-troubadour-slash-crazy man. I loved his truth-telling with all my heart. Sail on, brother.

Posted on 1.27.19: After catching yesterday afternoon’s screening of A.J. Eaton and Cameron Crowe‘s David Crosby: Remember My Name, I sent the following email to Crowe:

“Triple grade-A doc…the antithesis of a kiss-ass, ‘what a great artist’ tribute, but at the same time a profoundly moving warts-and-all reflection piece…hugely emotional, meditative, BALDLY PAINFULLY NAKEDLY HONEST…God! There’s a special spiritual current that seeps out when an old guy admits to each and every failing of his life without the slightest attempt to rationalize or minimize…’I was a shit, I was an asshole, how is it that I’m still alive?,’ etc. Straight, no chaser.

“And this isn’t because I’m partial to boomer nostalgia flicks or because so many are being shown here, or because I grew up with the Byrds (12-string twangly-jangly), Joni Mitchell, Crosby, Stills and Nash and that whole long lyrical–frazzled history. It’s about the tough stuff and the hard rain…about addiction and rage and all but destroying your life, and then coming back semi-clean and semi-restored, but without any sentimentality or gooey bullshit.

“For me David Crosby: Remember My Name has EASILY been the most emotional experience of the festival thus far. Not to mention [Crowe’s] best creative effort since Almost Famous.”

Crowe: “SO HAPPY you were there, thrilled at your reaction. How amazing that Crosby got up there [after the screening] and shared his total shock at what we’d put into the movie. Such a real moment. He was emotionally devastated up there for a good three minutes — I don’t know if you could see that. Felt like the audience wrapped their arms around him at that point, and then he was okay. Amazing.”

From Steve Pond’s Wrap review: “As much as the film celebrates Crosby’s creativity and gazes unflinchingly at his failings, it also functions as a valedictory, almost a requiem of sorts. Think of it as the film version of the final albums made by Leonard Cohen and David Bowie, who made wrenching final statements that they likely knew would be their last.”

Posted yesterday in The Wall Street Journal, written by Gary Giepel: “Here’s a new form of woke authoritarianism: a demand that you sign a loyalty oath to go to the movies.

“I attended Utah’s Sundance Film Festival before the pandemic, then started watching its offerings online. This year’s festival begins [today — 1.19], and I looked forward to seeing new, small-market films from my recliner. But when I logged in to buy tickets, I was stopped at the virtual door.

“The site wouldn’t sell me tickets unless I affirmed the festival’s ‘Community Agreement.’ Among other things, I had to promise to be ‘vigilant in the fight against the spread of COVID-19,’ to avoid ‘unwelcome sexual attention, harassment, stalking, and inappropriate physical contact of any kind,’ and to refrain from ‘abuse or intimidation including that related to race, gender, position, or wealth.'”

HE interjection: What the hell is wealth intimidation? [Sing to the tune of “Mama Don’t Allow“] “Mama don’t want no wealth intimidation ’round here…I said mama don’t want no wealth intimidation ’round here…we don’t care what mama don’t allow, gonna wealth intimidate anyhow!”

“What if I slipped up and engaged in ‘intimidation related to wealth,’ whatever that means? Someone could squeal using a ‘name-optional reporting form,’ and the complaint would be ‘taken seriously and reviewed carefully by Sundance Institute’s Safety & Belonging team.’ The team has the authority to impose ‘exclusion from Sundance Institute programs, platforms, or spaces—including a complete ban on further participation in any Institute program or event.’

“I asked if I could buy tickets without affirming the agreement and was denied via an anonymous email. The damage I might have done to someone’s sense of ‘belonging’ while watching films from my Indiana basement, 1,500 miles from Park City, Utah, apparently was too much to risk.

“As a classical liberal with conservative sensibilities, I was often challenged and sometimes offended by Sundance films. Good. Movies can open our minds and make us think—as most good art does. But this depends on the freedom to think for ourselves and question established orthodoxies without fearing anonymous informers and Orwellian enforcement teams.

“Writing in the past tense about Sundance makes me sad. But more of us — patrons, donors and especially liberal-minded board members of arts organizations — have to learn to echo Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn: ‘No, not through me.’

“If we don’t, we can prepare for the Sundance loyalty oath to become the norm at cultural venues. And we should prepare our imaginations for whatever comes after that.”

In a 1.23 piece titled “It’s Time to Destroy the Old Myth of the Sundance Breakout for a New One,” IndieWire’s Eric Kohn has posted the following: “Don’t get me started on the loaded, right-wing propagandistic implications of the word ‘woke.'”

Kohn is not given to put-on humor and is, I presume, in a dead-serious mode. He actually believes that a term which is universally understood to signify the most malicious social and political cancer since the domestic Red Scare terror of the late ’40s and ’50s…Kohn actually believes that the word smacks of “loaded, right-wing propagandistic implications,” and is therefore illegitimate and hysterical and has traction only within the rightwing media realm. He therefore believes that anyone who uses the term is some kind of Fox News wackazoid.

There’s obviously no talking to Eric on this topic, despite the fact that I’ve known him for years to be an obviously bright and genuinely decent and considerate fellow.

But good God, Eric…c’mon. To deny the legitimacy of the word “woke” is to be with the crazies. Do you actually not see the parallels between the career-destroying anti-Communist right of the ’50s and the career-cancelling woke left of today? Have you ever read about the French terror of 1793 and ’94? You’re simply too perceptive to look around and say, “Naah, there are no similarities between the current terror and what happened in this country 70 years ago…none whatsoever. And there are zero Maximilien Robespierres among the progressive left. Only nutjobs like Tucker Carlson think there are any comparisons worth making.”

I know firsthand what it is to grapple with woke terror, and I’m not a rightwing dude at all. I’m a sensible center-left moderate who voted for Barack Obama, Hillary Clinton and Joe Biden, who believes in Pete Buttigieg in ’24, who listens to excellent music while driving, who has driven rented scooters all over Rome and Paris, who wears fine Italian shoes and high-end Zara T-shirts, who dropped acid roughly 15 times in the old days and experienced satori on the third or fourth trip by way of the Bhagavad Gita, who drives a nice VW Passat (black) and owns an excellent Bluray library and loves his 14-month-old granddaughter Sutton.

The anti-woke world is full of decent fellows like myself…good God, Eric. Come up for air. Wokeism is a mental virus, a cult…a form of insanity a la China’s Great Cultural Revolution of the ’60s and early ’70s. And most of the citizens of this country despise it with every fibre of their being.

…that I don’t want to hang with a 40ish therapist (Jason Segel) dealing with severe grief. (I’ve been grieving my whole life about what a shit sandwich life often tastes like.) If you’re a therapist and you feel swamped with grief because you’ve lost your wife, you need to bury it during work hours — it’s that simple. Weep and moan and act out all you want, but only on weekends and in the evenings. When you’re at work, keep that shit to yourself.

Because you don’t want to “breach ethical barriers” by telling your patients exactly what you completely think (which is a notion borrowed from Warren Beatty‘s Bulworth). I basically don’t want to hang with a big beefy crybaby. Or, if you will, a whineybaby.

Harrison Ford seems cool, and I especially like his pale green sweater. I presume the producers paid Ford an arm and a leg to do this.

An Apple+ TV series, Shrinking will debut on released on 1.27.23. The first two episodes will debut together, and the remaining eight will stream on a weekly basis.

Ford: “Nobody gets through this life unscathed.” Wait, is that another version of “into every life, a little rain must fall“?

I know nothing but a voice is telling me “beware the three top creatives on this series — Brett Goldstein, Bill Lawrence and Jason Segel.” I can smell trouble.

Two days ago Megyn Kelly attributed the following line to Jesse Kelly, whom I’m not a particular fan of: “I don’t mean to mock the MLK sculpture — every man wants to be remembered this way.”