Month: June 2023

Easily Among The Greatest, Especially in the ’70s

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I never saw any of Glenda Jackson‘s landmark performances on the Broadway stage — not her Nina Leeds in Eugene O’Neill’s Strange Interlude (’85) nor her commanding titular turn in King Lear (’19) nor her Tony Award-winning perf in Three Tall Women (’18). And I never saw her perform anything in her 20s, and before this morning I’d never even noticed her bit as a partygoer in Lindsay Anderson‘s This Sporting Life (’63) when she was 26 or thereabouts.

It probably goes without saying that I paid very little attention to her political career, which lasted from ’92 to ’15.

All I ever knew and loved about Jackson came from her sweet-spot period, which primarily occured in the ’70s and lasted roughly a decade (’69 to ’80). It happened between her Oscar-winning performance as the eccentric and perversely feminist Gudrun in Ken Russell‘s Women in Love (’69), which was made when she was 32 or 33, and her second and final escapist comedy with Walter Matthau, Hopscotch (’80), when she was 43 or 44.

Jackson’s most emotionally relatable ’70s performance, hands down and no debating, was Alex Greville in John Schlesinger‘s Sunday Bloody Sunday (’71), a melancholy romantic triangle film that happens to be one of my all-time favorites.

Other performing highlight films from this period included The Music Lovers (as Peter Tchaikovsky’s doomed wife, Nina), Mary, Queen of Scots (as Queen Elizabeth), Bequest to the Nation, the sophisticated romcom A Touch of Class (which resulted in her second Best Actress Oscar), The Romantic Englishwoman (’75), Hedda, House Calls (her first comedy with Walter Matthau), Lost and Found (her second outing with George Segal, released in ’79), and the title role in Robert Enders‘ Stevie (’78), about the British poet Stevie Smith.

Jackson passed today (Thursday, 6.15) at her London home. She was 87.

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On Verge of Letting Friedkin Thing Go

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Four days ago (on Saturday, 6.10) I tapped out my latest riff about the bizarre deletion of a brief scene in William Friedkin‘s The French Connection (’71), which was apparently done (it physically pains me to type these words) with Friedkin’s approval or at his behest.

The day before (Friday, 6.9) HE commenter “The Multiplex” had reported that “in Disney’s DCP asset list the currently-streaming version of The French Connection is listed as ‘2021 William Friedkin v2.'”

This info, I noted, “is seemingly fortified by a statement from The Criterion Channel, passed along by “The Connection” in another 6.9.23 HE story titled “HE to Friedkin re Censorship Fracas.” CC’s statement said that “according to our licensor [Disney], this is a ‘Director’s Edit‘ of the film.”

I spoke yesterday to a Hollywood veteran, and one of the things I asked him was “why the hell would Friedkin betray the original artistic intent of his own Oscar-winning film by approving the deletion of a nine-second scene that uses the N-word?”

His reply: “Well, he’s entitled to do this, and the original film hasn’t disappeared — it’s available on physical media even if the streaming version is missing the censored footage.”

And then he said something interesting: “I don’t think Friedkin is playing the same close attention to this matter that you are.” I took that to mean that Friedkin may not be paying super-close attention in general.

The industry veteran then suggested that I drop the matter. “But it sets one hell of a precedent,” I replied. “What if it happens again with another important film…another woke censoring issue of some kind? I should drop that also?”

And yet I haven’t heard zip from Friedkin (I wrote him about this a while back) so in classic journalism terms the story has stalled.

I had presumed that Glenn Kenny‘s article on the matter would appear in the N.Y. Times, but my presumption, I gather, is erroneous. Some other outlet will run it this week.

This sparked a thought in my head, however, which was “why the hell wouldn’t the N.Y. Times want to run a story about this?”

The Times movie section may not have been formally pitched on this story, but why, I’m asking myself, would the paper of record blow it off? Could it be because (I’m just wildly speculating) they’ve basically become a woke activist newspaper, and they don’t want to post an article that might faintly imply some kind of vague endorsement of a nine-second scene in which the N-word is used?

The central issue is nonetheless huge and unmissable — should a half-century old classic film, raw and occasionally profane and, yes, punctuated with racist dialogue here and there, be censored in order to fall in line with current woke dictates — which are only a temporary spasm of passing cultural socialism — or should The French Connection be streamed in its original form, as most anti-censorship types would argue, out of respect for the original creative intent that was decided upon in 1971, even if the director has recently capitulated to the wokesters?

It’s one thing to include a preface or intro of some kind to a recently altered film, explaining the reasons for a deleted scene, and quite another thing to just lop off a nine-second sequence without comment or explanation. It’s too big of a deal to try and sneak this through.

The story appears to have boiled down to one about cowardice, I regret to say. A story in which a willful, hard-charging, tough-minded director — a guy I’ve admired all my life — has suddenly, in his mid ‘80s, became a squishy go-alonger and a weak sister…an obedient slave to woke commissar mandate thinking.

That’s a big effing issue with all kinds of precedent-setting implications, and the N.Y. Times doesn’t want to touch it over…what, racial profiling concerns?

Invisible Stripes

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Yesterday an older placard-carrying Donald Trump protestor, dressed as a classic-style George Raft jailbird, ran in front of Trump’s SUV limousine and was quickly hustled off by security.

I immediately recalled a guy who wore the same outfit in front of the White House on Sunday, 10.21.73, or the day after the Saturday Night Massacre. — a guy in a Richard Nixon mask, I mean, holding an “Impeach Nixon” sign.

Munich Surfers Forever

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“The Eisbach (German for ‘ice brook’) is a small man-made river in Munich. Just past a bridge near the Haus der Kunst art museum, the river forms a standing wave about one metre high, which is a popular river surfing spot. The water is cold and shallow, making it suitable only for experienced surfers. The wave has been surfed since 1972.” — from the Eisbach Wiki page. (Video taken on 6.22.12 around 8:30 pm.)

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Best Venice Film Ever

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“Boxy Summertime Soothing,” posted on 5.30.20:

David Lean‘s Summertime is a concise story of a 40ish unmarried woman from Ohio (Katharine Hepburn) enjoying her first visit to Venice, Italy, and then falling in love with a covertly married native (Rossano Brazzi). But it’s primarily a glorious atmosphere film — a swoony, Technicolor dreamboat dive into the charms (architectural, aromatic, spiritual) of this fabled city.

The cinematography by Jack Hildyard (The Bridge on the River Kwai) is perfectly framed and lighted, and the fleet cutting by Peter Taylor ensures that each shot is perfectly matched or blended with the next.

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Blow By Blow

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The infamous airborne conflict between an inebriated Brad Pitt and a freaked-out Angelina Jolie, which happened aboard a private Nice-to-Burbank jet on Wednesday, 9.14.16, has once again been recalled, this time by Vanity Fair‘s Mark Seal (“Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie’s War of the Rosé“):

“[Jolie’s] complaint and the redacted FBI report suggest that the fuse was lit before they arrived at the airport, when Pitt had a ‘confrontation with one of the children,’ believed to be Maddox. After takeoff, Pitt allegedly ‘accused [Jolie] of being too deferential to the children.’ A source close to Pitt says he felt Jolie ‘was trying to drive a wedge between him and his kids.’

“On the plane, Jolie had a glass of wine. Pitt didn’t appear incapacitated, Jolie would tell the FBI, adding that he could drink a bottle of vodka without losing functionality. Ninety minutes into the flight, her cross-complaint says, Pitt told Jolie to ‘Come here,’ and directed her to the back of the plane away from the children. There, he ‘pulled her into the bathroom and began yelling at her.’

“He allegedly ‘grabbed Jolie by the head and shook her, and then grabbed her shoulders and shook her again,’ pushing her into the bathroom wall. Pitt also punched the ceiling four times.

“The commotion caught the attention of one or more of the children.

“’Are you okay, Mommy?’ they asked.

“’No,’ Pitt allegedly responded. ‘Mommy’s not okay. She’s ruining this family. She’s crazy.’

“When one of the kids confronted him, he ‘lunged’ at the child, according to the complaint.

“Jolie ‘grabbed him from behind’ to hold Pitt back, but he threw himself into the airplane’s seats to get her off him, the complaint says. As a result, she suffered injuries to her back and elbow. ‘The children rushed in and all bravely tried to protect each other. Before it was over, Pitt choked one of the children and struck another in the face. Some of the children pleaded with Pitt to stop. They were all frightened. Many were crying,’ according to Jolie’s complaint.

“Over the remainder of the flight, Pitt continued to rant, and at one point poured beer on Jolie and the children as they tried to sleep under blankets, Jolie claimed, adding that he caused $25,000 worth of alcohol damage to the interior of the plane.

“When the plane landed in International Falls, Jolie told Pitt she and the children were going to a hotel to rest, and they could resume their flight to California the next day. But Pitt wouldn’t have it, according to her complaint. Nobody was getting off the plane, he allegedly said, although he did reportedly disembark to smoke a cigarette before the plane continued on to Burbank.

“He eventually fell asleep, giving Jolie time to devise a plan. She spoke to her children first, asking them not to intervene, no matter what Pitt did. She then woke her husband up.

“As the plane landed in Burbank, Jolie told Pitt that she was taking the kids to a hotel, but Pitt allegedly refused to let the family leave the plane for 20 minutes. ‘You’re not taking my fucking kids,’ he yelled, according to the FBI report. And he ‘shook Jolie by the head and shoulders.”

“’Don’t hurt her,’ one of the children begged. He let her go, but not without calling Jolie a ‘bitch,’ her complaint claims.

“And the authorities were alerted. Representatives of DCFS were reportedly waiting on the tarmac when the plane arrived. Who contacted them, no one can confirm.

“According to a source close to Pitt, ‘Brad was drinking, and the confrontation got out of hand. He was absolutely wrong in how he behaved but immediately ​apologized and ​acknowledged that he had crossed a line, which he will always regret, and right away took steps to address this and try to make amends.’”

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Gauche, Classless

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HE to Rose “tranny tits” Montoya: In one fell swoop, flashing your boobs on the south lawn of the White House degraded all gay and trans activists across the globe. Indeed, the whole progressive left community. And it certainly degraded President Joe “whoops!” Biden.

It goes without saying that the words “you should be ashamed of yourself” can’t apply because you’re obviously incapable. Either you understand the concept of class or you don’t. You’ve made it clear which camp you’re in, girly.

Female friendo: “Rose said she would not have been in trouble for baring her breasts if she was a straight woman — the hoo-hah is only over the fact that she’s trans. HELLO, YOU BLITHERING IDIOT…you now claim to be a woman so welcome to life as a woman. We can’t and don’t do that!”

John Lennon: “And you think you’re so clever and classless and free / But you’re still fucking peasants as far as I can see.”

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Poetry of Brutality & Apocalyptic Gloom

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The great Cormac McCarthy — the guy who dreamt up the ice-cold perversity of Anton Chigurh and came up with the line “if it ain’t it’ll do until the mess gets here” — has passed on to the next realm.

I’ve only read three of his books — “Blood Meridian or The Evening Redness in the West” (’85), “All the Pretty Horses” (’92) and “No Country for Old Men” (’05).

A wonderful writer — his sentences are truly magnificent in their construction and economy.

Believe it or not, McCarthy was actually young once…full head of dark hair and everything.

I remember almost nothing about Billy Bob Thornton‘s All The Pretty Horses movie, which came out 22 and 1/2 years ago. A lot of people have spoken about making a movie of “Blood Meridian”, which many regard as his masterpiece, but nobody’s ever done it. In my view the Coen brothers‘ No Country For Old Men (’07) is the finest McCarthy adaptation of all. I expect I’m not alone in that assessment.

Dirty Filthy Jersey

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The window of a westbound New Jersey Transit train, covered in grease and slime…you can hardly see through it. The maintenance of Metro North trains is much more disciplined. Don’t even mention European trains in the same breath.

Cannes Critics Have Two Faces

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I’m still really angry at those Cannes critics who dismissed or otherwise pooh-poohed Jean-Stéphane Sauvaire‘s Black Flies. It’s nothing phenomenal or earth-shattering, but is bruisingly efficient and sufficiently good for what it is — a jarring, hard-hitting, you-are-there NYC paramedic trauma film.

Black Flies occupies the same general atmospheric turf as Martin Scorsese‘s Bringing Out The Dead (’99), which of course was critically praised because critics know they’re obliged to give any Scorsese film the benefit of the doubt and then some.

If Scorsese had never made Bringing Out The Dead but had produced and/or collaborated to some extent on Black Flies, Cannes critics — almost all of them fickle, posturing snobs — would have been much more supportive.

Raoul Walsh’s “The Tall Men”

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Call Me Kate, the Netflix doc that I finally caught last weekend, reports that upon her first meeting with Spencer Tracy in mid ’41, prior to their costarring in Woman of the Year, the 5’8″ Katharine Hepburn said, “You’re not very tall, are you?”

Tracy stood around 5’9″, or an inch taller than Hepburn so what the hell was she talking about? Tracy was four inches shorter than the 6’1″ Clark Gable, granted, but at the same time was no one’s idea of a shrimpy shortypants. He was an inch taller than Humphrey Bogart and way taller than the bowling-pin-sized Alan Ladd. Tracy was the same height as Kirk Douglas, whom I hung out with a bit in ’82 and who never struck me as height-challenged.

So where’s the wit or pizazz in Hepburn saying to Tracy “yo, bruh…how come you’re not taller?” Kind of a dumb-ass comment.

Nonetheless the line got around (i.e., was repeated during parties and story conferences) and it turned up three or four years later during the filming of The Big Sleep (’46). Twice, in fact. Martha Vickers‘ “Carmen Sternwood” says to Bogart’s Phillip Marlowe, “You’re not very tall, are you?” and Marlowe replies, “Well, I try to be.” A few minutes later Bogart/Marlowe confesses to Lauren Bacall‘s Vivian Sternwood Rutledge that he’s “not very tall…next time I’ll come on stilts, wear a white tie and carry a tennis racket.”

For the record, the classic-era stars who were, in fact, height-challenged included Mickey Rooney (5’3″), James Cagney (5’5”), Alan Ladd and Dustin Hoffman (‘5’6″), Bing Crosby, John Garfield, Gene Kelly, Stanley Kubrick and Al Pacino (5’7″) and James Dean, David Hemmings, Frank Sinatra and Humphrey Bogart (5’8″).

Among the tallest classic-era actors were Sean Connery, Errol Flynn, Henry Fonda, James Garner, Cary Grant, Burt Lancaster and Joel McCrea (all 6’2″), Gary Cooper (6’2 1/2″), Fred MacMurray, Gregory Peck, Randolph Scott and James Stewart (6’3″) and Clint Eastwood and John Wayne (6’4″)

Hollywood Elsewhere stands six foot and 1/2 inches. I reached that height sometime around 14 or 15. I’m taller than most other film critics and columnists, and my shoulders are also broader than most.