As much as I admire and enjoy the Jacob Burns Film Center — a truly first-rate, well-curated theatre for serious film buffs — I don’t like the 45 minute drive to Pleasantville, and that’s how long it takes from Wilton. A scenic journey for the most part, but those constantly swerving country roads plus the stressful Saw Mill River Parkway X 2 = 90 minutes plus a third of a tank of gas plus everything else.

I can always see the same films (and earlier) in Manhattan. The train is simpler and easier plus I can file stories as I go.

The Bedford Playhouse is only a half-hour drive, but the films are rarely choice and artified — they play the same popcorn fare that you can find at any multiplex.

As long as we’re acknowledging major anniversaries, Errol Morris‘s The Fog of War is now 20 years old. It won the Best Documentary Feature Oscar as well as the Spirit Award for Best Doc Feature. In my book it’s Morris’s best film, easily.

The Fog of War actually premiered on 5.21.03 (Cannes) but was screened in this country for the first time at the ’03 Telluride Film Festival.

I’m mentioning it because I’ve been thinking about great film scores, and for the last 20 years I’ve lietened over and over to Phillip Glass‘s original techno score. My favorite track, which arrives at the 1:08:13 mark on the YouTube soundtrack video, is titled “No Second Chance.”

Robert McNamara died on 7.6.09 at the age of 93.

With the Venice Film Festival’s Maestro premiere only two weeks away (9.2) and the overblown Schnozzgate finally starting to fade, I thought I’d drop this decades-old video of Leonard Bernstein speaking admiringly and, of course, knowledgably about the Beatles’ musical innovations.

Lenny focuses almost entirely on Revolver. 95% of then-current pop music was crap, he said, but 5% of it was sublime.

I wonder what Bernstein thought of the Left Banke‘s “Pretty Ballerina“?

Sex (especially great sex) can make strong men feel weaker or less driven, or at least persuade them to ease up to some degree. Among creative types post-coital drainage always slows your rivers down to a trickle. Okay, I don’t know how true this actually is, but it’s a well-established myth — i.e., “There goes another novel.”

From Jake Malooley’s “After Hours: The Oral History of a Cult Classic” — Air Mail, 8.22.23: