Son of Refrigerated Birthday

Posted on 11.13.16: I don’t celebrate being one year closer to death as a rule, but it was nice to hear from all those software-prompted Facebook friends who wished me all the best (seriously, thanks) and it was extra-nice to be treated to grass-fed beef sliders, cole slaw and chocolate cake by HE’s own Svetlana Cvetko and editor-producer David Scott Smith.

It all happened at Mel’s on Sunset — an honest restaurant serving honest,’70s-era food.

The only problem was that the a.c. made the indoor climate feel like 45 or 50 degrees.

HE to waitress: “Wow, it’s nice and chilly here…good thing you guys are being considerate to your customers because it’s like 95 degrees outside, like Palm Springs in July.”

Waitress: “Oh, thank you. We aim to please!”

HE: “Uhm…I’m kidding? It’s 60 degrees outside, and it feels like a refrigerator in here? Does it have to be this cold?”

Waitress: “Oh, hah-hah…got it! I don’t call the shots, the manager does.”

HE: “Would you mind asking the manager to turn up the thermostat?”

Waitress: “I’ll ask her.”

HE: “And if she refuses, do you have some blankets?”


With HE’s own Svetlana Cvetko, just before blowing out the candle.

Excellent Brett Easton Ellis-Quentin Tarantino Chat (Dated, Paywalled)

This Brett Ellis-Quentin Tarantino conversation was posted on 12.3.23, so I’m two months late. But this is real soul food, and I’m very glad that I finally got around to it.

Here’s Ellis’s intro riff, ending just prior to starting the conversation with Quentin. I’m not stealing anything as it’s mostly Ellis reading from “Cinema Speculation.”

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I Wish I Had A Pair of Cast-Iron Cojones

And could therefore use those Man in the Iron Mask testicles to project a more candid or even a blunt-spoken persona…the polite but somewhat gnarly, “sorry but this is what I really actually think” type of guy..the guy I really am deep down as opposed to the “nice guy” who wants to get along and be obliging with people.

I’m speaking about a tendency that I and others have…a tendency to defer and congeal and turn the other cheek when we do a podcast. We all cherish civility and politeness but you can’t let the “nice” instinct throw you off your basic game.

For me the real truth of things is more often in the writing, and not as much in the podcasting. Unless I’m attacked or challenged in some mildly aggressive way. Then I bring out the bullets.

I’m also starting to think that it might be better during this weekend’s Misfits podcast to have a group of three rather than four. There’s too much compeitition with four — three is better. Right now I’m trying to reach out to Jeff Sneider but you never know with that guy.

I Would’ve Been Happier in Late ’23

…if a Hell or High Water-type film (the kind of film that could have been directed by, say, David Mackenzie and written by Taylor Sheridan)…if a film of this sort had been on the fall-holiday menu, I would have generally felt better. Alas…

Posted on 8.14.16: So who saw Hell or High Water and what are the reactions? The other day I called it the year’s best — is it? And how did the room feel, what was the after-vibe? Do you concur that it’s a social undercurrent drama disguised as a cops vs. bank-robbers movie? That it’s a meditative moralistic thing that stands up for the yokels? Or does it mainly play like a good, unpretentious Texas desperado flick? Should CBS Films be trying to sell it to red-state audiences or is it destined to connect only with blue-state urbans?

From my 8.12 review: “Any movie that rings the bell of people like me (somewhat educated, accomplished, well-travelled, blue-state values, Kooples T-shirts) as well as guys who live in the cocoon of lazy cynicism and insufficient brain-cell counts while wearing flannel shirts, cowboys boots, saggy Levi 501s and swigging Lone Star beer is definitely up to something.”

In an 8.14 Variety piece Owen Gleiberman writes that Hell or High Water is “a 2016 version of a 1970s movie…it transcends being a genre film [but also] respects how much audiences today crave genre elements.” He calls it “a crackerjack piece of entertainment” that “connects up to the most downbeat undercurrents of life in America today. That’s what gives the movie its ’70s flavor. It’s about poverty and insecurity, the gnaw of financial desperation, and the feeling that there’s no way out of it.”

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Giamatti Must Be Rescued!

Don’t let the surprise triumph of Oppenheimer‘s Cillian Murphy at last Saturday’s SAG awards…don’t let that bizarre surprise define Oscar voting! Please! This is Giamatti’s year…don’t let the moment slip away!

“Our Generation’s Nixon-vs-Frost”

This morning Blocked and Reported‘s Katie Herzog and Brad Palumbo posted a discussion about last weekend’s Los Angeles sidewalk-cafe debate between the progressive-wokey, mask-wearing Taylor Lorenz and Libs of TikTok‘s conservative-minded Chaya Richik.

It’s asserted early on that Chaya, a Hebrew name, is pronounced “Haya.” That fits when you consider that l-chaim is pronounced “luh-hime.” The “ch” is basically an “h.”

Again, link #1 and link #2.

SAG Fashion Shame

It took me two full days to recover from some of the ghastly fashion choices I saw during last Saturday’s SAG awards telecast. I was literally groaning, shuddering in my seat, in some instances convulsing with disgust.

This, I told myself, is why 96% of the U.S.population (i.e., those who are straight hot-dog eaters and/or don’t work in the entertainment industry, and who don’t live in slavish obedience to the “suggestions” (i.e., commands) of eccentric fashion designers)…this is why average Americans loathe and despise effete male industry entertainers. Some at the SAG ceremony looked like permanent residents of Emerald City in The Wizard of Oz. Actresses can do whatever but dude-wise people want real men, which is to say non-eccentric, stylish but sensible, tone down the fucking feathers and affectations, etc.

But before sampling the worst, here’s one of the evening’s best-looking outfits, worn by Taylor Zakhar Perez, who plays the gay son of the U.S.President in Red, White and Royal Blue (Amazon Prime).

And now the awful-awfuls…

Robert Downey Jr.s’ gray horrorsuit…bizarre jacket slits, flesh-colored shirt without tie, baggy-ass pants and heavy, shiny-brown clodhopper shoes with light-brown soles. General Mireau, the man behind the forthcoming firing-squad execution of three babygirls, would like to include Downey’s fashion adviser in the line of fire.

One of the most self-satirizing fashion calamities of the night was worn by Queer Eye‘s Tan France, known for his silver-white pompadour hair. The instant I saw his 18-inch wide chopstick bowtie during the pre-show red carpet sequence, I muttered to myself “you fucking pretentious asshole.”

Abbott Elementary‘s Chris Perfetti…the curly red hair and giant-sized ears blended with the suit’s light malted brown color, the black cumberband and the peaked black lapels…totally sickening, and those godawful, reprehensible baggy pants…yeesh.

Comedian Alok Vaid-Menon…yeah!!

Rustin‘s Colman Domingo in a light pink and black tux…an outfit that needlessly underlined his sexual identity and in so doing compromised his cred as an actor of a certain chameleon mystique.

The light powder-blue Martian pants worn by Abbott Elementary‘s Tyler James Williams…imagine some guy in Montpellier, Vermont, or Guerneville, California, or even in Austin, Texas wearing pants like this to some formal-ass event.

Throw Babygirl Dudes Into “Paths of Glory” Slaughterhouse

If there’s any way that I, the honcho of Hollywood Elsewhere, can bring pain, anguish and acute suffering into the life of any actor who believes in a babygirl persona…if there’s any way I could make a babygirl howl in agony and weep and beg for mercy on his knees, I would flip the switch.

Death to all babygirls…death to Zoomers who believe in wearing black sequins and shorts on a red carpet and chunky black boots with knee socks and anything else that smacks of wimpy Zoomer anal-lube squishiness.

Brigadier General Paul Mireau (George Macready) in Paths of Glory: “Colonel Dax, I want you to choose three babygirls — one from each regiment — and have them prepare for a firing-squad execution tomorrow morning at 7 am. Don’t tell them that, of course. Tell them we need them to serve as judges for a fashion show featuring Pedro Pascal…whatever it takes.

“I can’t wait to see those little sweethearts tied side by side to a post, standing in front of sandbags with tears streaming down their cheeks.”

Feels Like a Demanding Sit

Honestly? The new trailer for Kevin Costner‘s two-part Horizon: An American Saga (Warner Bros., 6.8.24 and 8.16.24) seems all over the map. It feels vague. I can’t get a handle on it. Apparently it’s about covered wagon settlers and the usual hostilities from Native Americans as the settlers make their way west during the Civil War era, but it feels more like an eight-part Max miniseries than a sprawling, big-canvas two-part theatrical.

“Michael Clayton” Hitmen Were Straight

The names of the Michael Clayton surveillance guys were “Mr. Verne” (Robert Prescott) and “Mr. Iker” (Terry Serpico). I know faces and I can sense gaydar undercurrents, and there’s no way in hell either of them were gay. They just didn’t have that faintly swishy vibe, but if they did Verne would be a top and Iker would be an ambivalent bottom. But they weren’t so forget it.

Nobody Cares About Branch Davidian Spirit Awards

For months honest, down-to-earth people have been saying that Celine Song‘s Past Lives is fine but calm down. But agenda-driven critics, various friends of A24 and industry elites pushing gender and identity activism have refused to back down, and so Past Lives has won the Best Film award at the Independent Spirit Awards.

The Past Lives fix has been in all year long…we all know that…sensitive emotions, understatement, South Korean female director…locked in tight.

Once upon a time the Spirit Awards were known as the “indie Oscars”. This handle was generally accepted — indeed celebrated — between the early ’90s to mid 20teens. But that ship began to leave port when the woke virus infected everything starting in ’17 and especially after the leadership overturned the apple cart by destroying gender acting categories.

I’m not kidding or exaggerating — talent + marketing & publicity are still playing along because “where’s the harm?”, but the Spirits have gone totally wacko, and nobody cares what they think (not really) because they’re encamped on planet Pluto.

And you know what the tragic aspect is? The Spirit Awards couldn’t get back to normal (i.e., the way things were before 2016 or thereabouts) if they wanted to. Their feet are stuck in Crazyland cement and they can’t return as the trans community nutters and their friends would burn the tent down if the Spirits tried to modify. They’ve totally fucked themselves because now everyone (not just HE) thinks of them as the Branch Davidians of the award-season realm.

The Spirit organization will persist because of the liberal elite emotional investment factor, but they’re as dead as the Sundance Film Festival…they’ve woked themselves into a corner, and all they have to look forward are cast-iron woke chains around their ankles.