Always Regarded Askance

Friendo to HE: “Saturday Night Fever isn’t even that good, but the opening makes me think movies will never be this good again.”

HE to friendo: “My initial thought when I first saw it was ‘nothing good can come from a film in which the star (John Travolta) dresses this horribly’…those high-heeled boots, grotesque bell bottoms…that awful bridge-and-tunnel haircut.

“There’s glory in the Brooklyn disco dance numbers, of course, and the tearful ending works, but I despised guys like this back in the day.”

Plus Nik Cohn‘s original New York story was piped.”

Friendo to HE: “I know but that opening scene. Pure genius.”

The Mystery of “Ahno”

There’s a brief sequence toward the end of Maestro that’s fun and a bit sad. Leonard Bernstein (Bradley Cooper) and his aliing wife Felicia Montealegre are enjoying their three kids — Jamie (Maya Hawke), Nina (Alexa Swinton) and Alexander (Sam Nivola) — as they dance along to Shirley Ellis‘s “The Clapping Song.” The scene works, feels right.

It reminded me, of course, of Ellis’s other big mid ’60s hit, “The Name Game“, and how I never understood who the fuck “Ahno” is.

At the 1:06 mark Ellis sings the following:

Ahno!
“Ahno Ahno bo-bar-no
“Bo-na-na, fanna fo-gay-no
“Fee-fi-muh-mah-mo
“Ahno!”

Go ahead and listen — I’m not mishearing. The 1:06 mark.

Today I checked the lyrics online and discovered Ellis is supposed to be saying “Arnold,” except she doesn’t.

“Arnold!
“Arnold, Arnold bo-bar-nold
“Bo-na-na, fanna fo-far-nold
“Fee-fi-muh-mar-nold
‘Arnold!”

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Drooping Quasimodo Face

…with a little touch of Pietro Annigoni’s JFK portrait for Time magazine back in ‘62 or thereabouts This is what Bell’s Palsy has done since last weekend. For the time being my looks are destroyed — I can’t smile, my right eye sags, dogs howl when I pass by.

“A Larger Comedy of Appetites”

Froj “Grand Appetites and Poor ThingsAnthony Lane, The New Yorker, 12.1.23:

“One of the funniest things about Poor Things is the headline that appeared in Variety after the film’s première at the Venice Film Festival, on September 1st: ‘Emma Stone’s Graphic Poor Things Sex Scenes Make Venice Erupt in 8-Minute Standing Ovation.’

“Laying aside the giveaway verb — no eruptive dysfunction here — one can but marvel at the blush of puritan shockability in such a response. It’s a charming idea that the audience was stirred not by any dramatic skills on the part of the leading lady but exclusively by her valor as she dared to feign the gymnastic arts of love.

“There is indeed a fair dollop of carnality in Lanthimos’s movie, but it’s hardly a torrent. ‘Furious jumping,’ Bella calls it, in a fine example of her poetic plain speaking, and, having sampled it, she wants more. Sprawled in postcoital languor next to [Mark Ruffalo‘s] Duncan, she asks, ‘Why do people not do this all the time?’ — an excellent question to which I, like Duncan, have no satisfactory reply.

“What matters most is that the sex, pace Variety, is not some isolated bout of friskiness; it takes its place in a larger comedy of appetites, as Bella hungers to steep herself in experience. If she dislikes a mouthful of food, she spits it out. When she dances, she jerks like a doll gone mad.”


New Yorker illustration by Agata Nowicka.

Take This Napoleon To The Bank

Juror No. 2 director Clint Eastwood in full-codger, Gabby Hayes mode:

Hollywood Elsewhere would also like to submit to Ozempic, but it’s too costly.

This note is spot-on. You can’t logically think yourself into the realm of satori. You have to just let it in in a way that sidesteps your giant intellect.