Day: January 19, 2024

Farting Sasquatch Orifice Leakage

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Posted by Variety‘s Rebecca Rubin after a Friday night (1.19) screening of Sasquatch Sunset at the Sundance Film Festival:

“Jesse Eisenberg and Riley Keough star in Sasquatach Sunset, an absurdist comedy [that] follows a family of Yetis over the course of a year.

“With zero dialogue or narration but plenty of grunts, the film captures an immersive, ‘true’ depiction of the daily life of the Sasquatch. That apparently involves sex, masturbation, vomiting, flatulence and plenty of other gorey acts that aren’t fit to print.

“A smattering of audience members appeared to be too squeamish about these quotidian experiences, shielding their eyes during bloody moments and stomping for the exit at the Eccles Theater well before the credits began to roll.

“Others delighted in the gastrointestinally graphic sequences. One scene, involving liquids spouting out of every — and we mean every — orifice of the female Bigfoot, played to raucous applause in the room. Less than 15 minutes into the film, one moviegoer announced to nobody in particular, ‘This is the weirdest movie ever.’

“Sasquatch Sunset is the kind of movie you need to see to believe.”

Criminal Protagonists

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A friend suggested a list of the Ten Best American Crime Flicks of the ‘70s.

By which he meant films that spend more time on criminals than people trying to catch them, or no time with the catchers at all.

No cop movies, he said, which eliminates Dirty Harry, The French Connection, The Seven-Ups, etc. Also no period caper or con movies (The Sting, The Great Train Robbery), no historical gangster flicks (The Godfather I and II). Strictly contemporary crime pictures in which the protagonists are engaged in criminal activity. Hence Friedkin’s Sorcerer (desperate struggle over rough terrain) and Don Siegel’s Escape From Alcatraz don’t qualify. And no Juggernaut because it’s told almost entirely (98%) from the point of view of the catchers.

Three of his picks I immediately scratched off — Richard Brooks‘ $ (aka Dollars), Michael Cimino‘s Thunderbolt and Lightfoot (fuck Cimino) and Walter Hill‘s The Driver (too loud, brutalist, mechanical). Which left seven.

I then added seven more for a total of 14 films, all released between 1.1.70 and 1.1.80.

Three of my top ten opened in ’77 and ’78, but the other seven were released between ’71 and ’73. In order of preference…

1. The Day of the Jackal (’73)
2. The Friends of Eddie Coyle (’73)
3. Get Carter (’71)
4. Badlands (’73)
5. The Outfit (’73)
6. The American Friend (’77)
7. Who’ll Stop the Rain? (’78)
8. Charley Varrick (’73)
9. The Hot Rock (’72)
10. Straight Time (’78)

Slightly second tier but at the same time smart and engaging:

11. The Taking of Pelham 123 (’74)
12. The Getaway (’72)
13. The Silent Partner (’78)
14. Going in Style (’79)

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Proud Owner

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I’m going to stick my neck out by saying I’m probably the only tristate area guy with a Red River belt buckle and a “Kennedy for President” sticker on my car’s rear bumper.

“‘Moby-Dick’ on Horseback”

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I’ve never been able to give myself over to Sam Peckinpah’s Major Dundee, a 1965 Civil War–era western, and I’ve frankly stopped trying.

Was the 156-minute version ever seen by anyone except R.G. Armstrong? The 136-minute version is longer but is it necessarily, positively better? I’ve only seen the shortest version (126 minutes) with the Mitch Miller sing–alongers on the soundtrack.

I know two things — during the ‘60s, ‘70s and early ‘80s Peckinpah allowed his career to be stained and diminished by raging alcoholism, and that with the exception of three films (Ride The High Country, The Wild Bunch and Straw Dogs) everything he was involved in was to varying degrees colored by rage and snarls and waste.

Over the years his persistent asshole-ishness overwhelmed his creative visions, and people just got sick of him.

I own a Bluray of Bring Me The Head of Alfredo Garcia (‘74) and I’ve watched it exactly once. There’s a reason for that. The nihilistic finale leaves you with nothing. Maybe I should give it another go.

I’ve seen Cross of Iron (1977) once, and while I have a favorable recollection of James Coburn and Maximilian Schell’s lead performances, I mostly recall Gene Shalit calling it “a movie of bad.”

All this aside, I sure do envy Joe Dante for having seen the 152-minute version of The Wild Bunch (7 minutes longer than the official, definitive 145-minute Bluray) during the 1969 Bahamas press junket.

Dante recalls as follows:

Dead-End Insanity of “Nomadland”

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Frances McDormand‘s Fern was strong but mule-stubborn and at the end of the day self-destructive, and this stunted psychology led to an idiotic ending.

Her old white van was indisputably on its last legs, and 60ish David Straitharn, lonely but harmless, clearly would’ve settled for simple, no-big-deal companionship.

I’m sorry but there’s this notion out there that choosing a healthy or constructive path in life requires (a) not being a stubborn egoistic purist and (b) understanding that opting for common-sense security isn’t necessarily a death sentence or a prison term.

The curious ending of Nomadland refuses to acknowledge this. It basically says “better to die destitute and alone on a two-lane blacktop while shitting in a bucket in the middle of the night than to accept kindness and sensible adult friendship.”

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