In short, the festival hasn’t even begun but from an ideological, social-political perspective thefixisalreadyin, more or less. Greta Gerwig + Lily Gladstone + Hirokazu Kore-Eda (Monster, Broker, Shoplifters) will presumably fill the role of the jury’s urgent humanist crusaders…the Batman + Robin + Commissioner Gordon social-inequity problem solvers…do the right thing, ”holy fruit salad!”, etc.
The only jurors I feel a strong cinematic kinship with are J.A. Bayona (TheOrphanage, Society of the Snow) and Nadine Labaki (Capernaum). With much chagrin HE admits to never having seen Omar Sy’s standout performance in TheUntouchables…my bad. EbruCeylan is the embedded screenwriting collaborator of her husband, director Nuri-Bilge Ceylan (Winter Sleep, About Dry Grasses).
HE comment #1: Dunaway’s career hit a kind of pothole when Mommie Dearest came out, agreed, but I just re-watched it a couple of weeks ago and certain portions are still a hoot. For my money the film is a hugely pleasurable serving of classic Hollywood Kabuki theatre.
I saw it with several gay guys at the old Columbus Circle Paramount screening room in late August of ’81, and on the down elevator they were all shrieking with laughter, and I don’t mean the derisive kind. They were in heaven…delighted.
Alas, Mommie Dearest has been called an “unintentional comedy” by none-too-brights for so long that it looks like up to me, and I’m sorry but that judgment is just as wrong today as it ever was.
The Mommie Dearest “comedy” is not unintentional. The film basically serves a form of hyper-realism with a campy edge. It’s extreme soap opera, at times overbaked but winkingly so with everyone in on the joke.
If director Frank Perry had modulated Dunaway’s performance, some of the great lines — ‘No wire hangers EVER!,’ ‘Don’t fuck with me, fellas!’ — wouldn’t have worked so well. Those lines are the stuff of Hollywood legend, right up there with Bette Davis saying “what a dump!” and Vivien Leigh saying “I’ll never be hungry again.”
HE comment #2: Dunaway has been a first-rate actress since the early ’60s, and at age 83 is still at it, of course. But her peak years were close to 15 — Bonnie and Clyde (’67) to Mommie Dearest (’81). Her other highlights include The Thomas Crown Affair (fellatio simulation with a chess piece), The Arrangement, Little Big Man, Puzzle of a Downfall Child, The Three Musketeers, Chinatown, The Towering Inferno (the second best ’70s disaster flick, right after Juggernaut), The Four Musketeers, Three Days of the Condor and Network (Best Actress Oscar…the absolute peak).
Please understand that while some superstars have enjoyed 20-year peaks (Cary Grant, James Stewart, George Clooney), 15 is far more common so there’s certainly nothing tragic or mortifying about Dunaway’s career cooling down in the early Reagan era. Remember also that she rebounded with her Barfly performance in ’87, and that she landed three Golden Globes in the ’80s and an Emmy in ’94.
Clark Gable’s hottest years numbered 13 — between ItHappenedOneNight (‘34) and The Hucksters (‘47). Humphrey Bogart happened between TheMalteseFalcon (‘41) and TheHarderTheyFall (‘56) — a 15-year run. Robert Redford peaked between Butch Cassidy (‘69) and Brubaker and OrdinaryPeople (‘80) — 11 to 12 years. Tony Curtis‘s hot streak was relatively brief — 1957 (Sweet Smell of Success) to 1968 (The Boston Strangler). Kirk Douglas also had about 15 years — Champion (’49) to Seven Days in May (’64).
Elizabeth Taylor had 15 years — 1950 (Father of the Bride) to 1966 (Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf). Jean Arthur — mid ’30s to early ’50s (Shane) — call it 15 years. Katharine Hepburn — early ’30s to early ’80s (On Golden Pond). Meryl Streep — 1979 (The Seduction of Joe Tynan) to today…over 40 years and counting.
It’s a basic creative and biological law that only about 10% to 15% of your films are going to be regarded as serious cremedelacreme…if that. Most big stars (the smart ones) are given a window of a solid dozenyearsorso in which they have the power, agency and wherewithal to bring their game and show what they’re worth creatively. Dunaway certainly managed that and then some.
I'm sorry but my all-time favorite flamethrower scene is still the one in William Friedkin's Deal of the Century ('83)...the one in which Gregory Hines torches the enraged Latino guy's car. Because it's easily the most pleasurable.
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Kidman Tribute Friendo Commentary: “Nicole specifically named and thanked each and every director she’s ever worked with, and reminded the audience of her directors who’ve passed, including Sydney Pollack and Anthony Minghella.
“Thoughts from Meryl Streep and fellow Aussie Naomi Watts were exceptionally moving. Ditto a confessional from her husband, Keith Urban.
“‘Four months into our marriage, I’m in rehab for three months,’ Urban said, addressing Kidman and their two teenage daughters, who joined her on the red carpet for the first time. ‘Nic pushed [away] every negative voice, I’m sure even some of her own, and she chose love. And here we are 18 years later.’
“Cate Blanchett and Hugh Jackman tried a comedy routine via a prerecorded Zoom link with Jimmy Kimmel, but it was baffling and didn’t really come off.
“The audience seemed surprised that Mike Myers was an on-stage praiser of Nicole. His connection was never explained. But overall it was a room full of love and tributes, lapped up by a Hollywood-centric crowd seated at tables in the same theatre where the Academy Awards are presented.
“There was a Sunset Tower Hotel after-party that went on till the wee hours.
“AFI had sold tickets to Nicole’s fans from outside the business, and they filled the second-level balcony seats and got to watch the in crowd eating and drinking and toasting their Queen for the night.”
If only Joe Biden had decided to represent the executive branch in a sensible, forward-looking but moderately liberal way…if only he’d said “the woke stuff is fine and good, more power to them, but I’m trying to see to the interests of all the various groups that constitute this great nation of ours and not just the progressive wackos, and so I’m going to be a JFK-style, left-center President.”
If he’d done that Joe would be fine right now. But of course he chose not to, and that’s why that angry, beefy, working-class guy down below…just listen. He’s furious about hearing the same big-media narrative over and over….”white guys are bad news but all hail women, POCs and LGBTQs”…that’s why he’s saying what he’s saying.
"Can we just acknowledge how refreshing it is to see a President of the United States at an event that doesn't begin with a bailiff saying, 'All rise?'" jokes host Colin Jost at the 2024 White House Correspondents’ Dinner. pic.twitter.com/FyKMsNgPUn
I came along way too late in the 20th Century to savor the storied, once-glorious atmosphere of the RKO Radio Pictures lot (Melrose and Gower), which was right next door to the still-standing Paramount lot.
My only physical, professional association with the former RKO operation (the studio having peaked between the early 1930s and late ‘50s) was my horrific three-month stint as an EntertainmentTonight employee. E.T.’s offices were located near the Gower gate, and I worked there for twoorthreemonthsinthespringof ‘98.
It was absolutely the most hellish job I’ve ever had in my life, in part because I had to be at work at 5 am and in part because of the acutely political vibe under exec producer Linda Bell Blue. Everyone who worked there was “schemin’ schemin’ like a demon,” and after a while I began to daydream about shooting heroin into my veins.
HE to self during E.T. employment: “Will they fire me next month, next week…tomorrow?
“Why are people always speaking in hushed tones behind closed doors? Is the work I’m doing of any value to anyone? Will I always have to wake up at 3:45 am? Is it too late to learn a new trade?
The daily salt-mine vibe at Entertainment Tonight was the most horrifically political and terrifying I’ve ever known in my life, bar none. It was all about petty office power games and anxiety and who’s up and who’s down.
Nothing in that environment was the least bit calm or serene. Nothing was devotional. It was all about fake–performing in front of your co-workers in order to convince them that you wouldn’t say anything bad about them when they weren’t around.
Women were always conferring and plotting in their offices with the doors closed, and the subject was always other women who were huddling and plotting in their offices, etc.
I naturally wanted to keep getting paid, but half the time I wanted to stick my head in a gas oven. I was 40% upset when I was canned but 60% relieved.
