Directed by Eva Longoria and written by Lewis Colick and Linda Yvette (who based their script on "A Boy, a Burrito and a Cookie: From Janitor to Executive"), Flamin' Hot (Hulu/Disney+) tells the rags-to-riches story of Richard Montanez, the onetime janitor who allegedly invented Flamin’ Hot Cheetos.
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Early this morning a friend sent along his “top ten films of the 1960s” list, and it’s certainly a decent roster for the most part. Okay, better than decent. But he put The Guns of Navarone (’61) in his third-place slot, and that, I replied, is a definite no-go.
The first 45-50 minutes of J. Lee Thompson‘s WWII adventure thriller are terrific (the main title sequence + Dimitri Tiomkin’s score are bull’s-eye), but after the commandos reach the top of the cliff the film becomes rote and lazy and even silly.
How many Germans do they kill? Four or five hundred?
Two scenes are top-notch during the second half — (a) the S.S./gestapo interrogation scene with Anthony Quinn moaning and rolling around all over the floor and (b) the killing of Gia Scala for treachery. But the believability factor is out the window.
The more I watch this film, the more I’ve resented Anthony Quayle‘s “Roy” and his idiotic broken leg. Mission-wise Roy is a total stopper — an albatross around everyone’s neck. I don’t agree with Quinn’s assessment — “One bullet now…better for him, better for us” — but I almost do.
And the older I’ve gotten the more I’ve become sick of David Niven‘s demolition expert, who’s mainly an effete selfish weenie and a huge pain in the ass. Gregory Peck: “And what about the men on Keros?” Niven: “I don’t know the men on Keros but I do know Roy!” God, what an asshole!
A crackpot is a person whose views and philosophy are regarded as way too eccentric or fantastical to be taken seriously. A crankpot, according to Manhattan gadfly and all-around smartass Bill McCuddy, is a fellow who’s regarded as overly influenced by a skeptical sourpuss attitude about life and movies and whatever else — i.e., too Andy Rooney-ish.
Which, of course, is nowhere close to being a fair description of yours truly. For years I have claimed with a certain degree of sincerity to be a 21st Century incarnation of Klaus Kinski’s anti-Bolshevik in Dr. Zhivago — “the only free man on this train.” Okay, perhaps that’s putting it too strongly but it’s a reasonably close assessment, especially considering the general fanaticism out there.


Six years ago Marshall Fine’s Robert Klein Still Can’t Stop His Leg, a fascinating, highly engaging doc about one of the greatest anguished Jewish comics of all time, disappeared into the maw of the Weinstein Co. bankruptcy of 2017.
Lo and behold, Fine’s Robert Klein doc is now available to stream on multiple platforms for the first time ever.
Roughly a year before the Weinstein envelopment, I saw Robert Klein Still Can’t Stop His Leg, and fully concurred with all the then-current praise.
From “Speaking As An Honorary Anguished Jew, I Relate To Smart Docs About Authentic Specimens,” posted on 4.24.16: “Yes, I’ve been friends with Fine for a long time and yes, I’ve admired Klein since I was a kid but this is a fine (sorry) doc that imparts wisdom, feeling, perspective and smarts.”
“It serves as not just a personal look at Klein, but as something larger,” Showbiz 411‘s Roger Friedman wrote on 4.20.16. “It’s a real piece of history. What Fine and Klein have done here is make an excellent companion piece to the very good Joan Rivers doc of a few years ago, A Piece of Work. Since Alan King died rather young and abruptly, and nothing’s been done on Stiller and Meara, there is very little documentary record of the great Jewish comics who launched from the Ed Sullivan Show era.
“The doc is also very funny. Klein is incredibly endearing and corny, while at the same time maintaining an edge. That’s why he made 40 appearances on Letterman. I hope The Weinstein Company can give Still Can’t Stop His Leg a good release in major markets before VOD or Netflix. Like a Robert Klein show, the film is intimate and hilarious.”
In the late ’70s a smart Jewish friend and fellow cineaste told me I had more Jewish guilt than he. That was the beginning of my honorary Jewhood, which thrives to this day.
After less than three hours of deliberation, a Manhattan jury has found Donald Trump guilty in the E. Jean Carroll civil lawsuit trial -- not of clinical rape (which they felt had not been proved) but of (a) battery by way of sexual abuse and (b) lying on Truth Social that Carroll's accusations about having been assaulted by Trump inside a Bergdorf Goodman dressing room in early 1996 and therefore defaming her by calling her charge “a complete con job” and “a hoax and a lie.”
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Like any stable, decent, caring parent, Marcia Gay Harden, 63, recently emphasized her support of her three kids, and particularly their orientation or persuasion or however you want to put it.
Last weekend the Oscar-winning actress, 63, explained during a telethon for “Drag Isn’t Dangerous: A Digital Fundraiser” that (a) her three kids are “all queer” and (b) “they teach me every day.”
This is what I would say if my kids had chosen this path. Compassionate, fair-minded parents have no choice but to embrace their children and show respect for their preferred orientation and/or identities.
Harden: “My eldest child is non-binary, my son is gay [and] my youngest is fluid.”
Harden’s Wiki bio reports that daughter Eulala Grace Scheel (born September 1998) is her eldest, and that twins Hudson Harden Scheel (born a bio-male) and Julitta Dee Scheel (born bio-female) were born on 4.22.04. Harden and the kids’ father, prop master Thaddaeus Scheel, divorced in February 2012.
All queer, in short, and yet Harden seems to be drawing distinctions between non-binary, gay and fluid. I honestly wouldn’t know how to define those distinctions.

...the Williamsburg one has it all over the Los Angeles one, although they're both mildly amusing.
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For decades I never felt the slightest affection for Terner's Liquor (SW corner of Sunset and Larrabee). It was always just a common, overlighted liquor store with clerks who'd absolutely never been to college. I visited from time to time, but I always wanted to bolt as soon as possible. (I've been in liquor stores that had nice settled vibes...places that I felt vaguely soothed by.) Terner's was a soiled establishment.
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A couple of nights ago I was sitting through (i.e., not exactly watching) The Towering Inferno, and the truth of it hit me. When you break that film down there are three basic elements that make it work -- the lead performances by Steve McQueen and Paul Newman and the score by John Williams. Every other element is weak or annoying in some way. Too many explosions, unlikely complications, You could even call the film tawdry, but Williams score gives it a veneer of class. Williams had to know that The Towering Inferno was pricey pablum, but he pulled himself together, manned up and did the job. He sold it.
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In HE’s latest podcast, Jeff and Sasha jump into the latest sticky wicket — i.e., Pauline Kael, Laurence Olivier, Richard Dreyfuss, Othello, etc….an issue that has greatly disturbed Variety‘s Clayton Davis.
Recorded on May 7th…74 minutes.
I know he's presumed to be Next Big Thing, mostly because of (a) his wimpy, weepy dad performance in Aftersun, (b) his Stanley Kowalski on the British stage earlier this year, (c) his having been tapped to step into Richard Linklater's adaptation of Merrily We Roll Along, and (d) his forthcoming starring role as Lucius, the son of Connie Nielsen's Lucilla, in Ridley Scott's Gladiator sequel.
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World of Reel‘s Jordan Ruimy is conducting a critics poll of the preferred greatest films of the 1960s.
It not only broke my heart but caused great physical pain to not include The Hustler, Blow-Up, Rosemary’s Baby, Easy Rider, Breathless, Shoot The Piano Player, L’Eclisse, Cool Hand Luke, To Kill A Mockingbird, The Apartment, Repulsion, Psycho, A Hard Day’s Night, The Train, Butch Cassidy And The Sundance Kid, The Magnificent Seven, Bullitt, The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, Dead Heat on a Merry-Go-Round, Point Blank, etc.
It’s completely infuriating, but when you have to choose ten you have to be brutal, and it hurts so badly.
HE’s top ten of the ’60s: 1. Dr. Strangelove, 2. Midnight Cowboy, 3. The Manchurian Candidate, 4. L’Avventura, 5. Bonnie and Clyde, 6. 2001: A Space Odyssey, 7. This Sporting Life, 8. The Wild Bunch, 9. The Graduate, 10. Lawrence of Arabia.


“Not happening…way too laid back…zero narrative urgency,” I was muttering from the get-go. Basically the sixth episode of White Lotus Thai SERIOUSLY disappoints. Puttering around, way too slow. Things inch along but it’s all “woozy guilty lying aftermath to the big party night” stuff. Glacial pace…waiting, waiting. I was told...
I finally saw Walter Salles' I'm Still Here two days ago in Ojai. It's obviously an absorbing, very well-crafted, fact-based poltical drama, and yes, Fernanda Torres carries the whole thing on her shoulders. Superb actress. Fully deserving of her Best Actress nomination. But as good as it basically is...
After three-plus-years of delay and fiddling around, Bernard McMahon's Becoming Led Zeppelin, an obsequious 2021 doc about the early glory days of arguably the greatest metal-rock band of all time, is opening in IMAX today in roughly 200 theaters. Sony Pictures Classics is distributing. All I can say is, it...
To my great surprise and delight, Christy Hall's Daddio, which I was remiss in not seeing during last year's Telluride Film Festival, is a truly first-rate two-hander -- a pure-dialogue, character-revealing, heart-to-heart talkfest that knows what it's doing and ends sublimely. Yes, it all happens inside a Yellow Cab on...
7:45 pm: Okay, the initial light-hearted section (repartee, wedding, hospital, afterlife Joey Pants, healthy diet) was enjoyable, but Jesus, when and how did Martin Lawrence become Oliver Hardy? He’s funny in that bug-eyed, space-cadet way… 7:55 pm: And now it’s all cartel bad guys, ice-cold vibes, hard bullets, bad business,...

The Kamala surge is, I believe, mainly about two things — (a) people feeling lit up or joyful about being...
Unless Part Two of Kevin Costner's Horizon (Warner Bros., 8.16) somehow improves upon the sluggish initial installment and delivers something...
For me, A Dangerous Method (2011) is David Cronenberg's tastiest and wickedest film -- intense, sexually upfront and occasionally arousing...