Who remembers Marc Webb and Allan Loeb‘s The Only Living Boy in New York (Roadside /Amazon, 8.11.17)? Did anyone see it? It opened almost seven years ago (i.e., eight months into the Trump administration), and a few months before the woke plague began to infect the urban liberal bloodstream.

I happened upon my review this morning and was wondering “wow, I wonder if anyone waded into this film….seven years ago is a substantial block of time.”

I found it pretty close to awful. I despised each and every well-heeled, Manhattan-residing character, but that’s a roundabout way of saying I loathed Loeb’s screenplay, which struck me as grating and precious.

Okay, I liked the line about Philadelphia being New York City’s most culturally vibrant neighborhood but that’s about it.

Loeb, remember, wrote the execrable Collateral Beauty, a Will Smith grief-recovery film which was also set in flush NYC environs. That touchy-feely ordeal was enough to condemn Loeb to a five-year sentence on a Southern chain gang, side by side with Paul Newman, George Kennedy and the others. Now he’s earned himself a life term on Devil’s Island with Steve McQueen and Dustin Hoffman. The man specializes in manipulative emotional goo.

Callum Turner is Thomas, a somewhat whiny, spectacle-wearing, 20something bore who’s attempting a career as a serious writer and who works as a Rizzoli-like book store to make ends meet. [News flash: No New Yorker can make ends meet in Manhattan on a retail-clerk salary.]

Thomas, who bears an extraordinary resemblance to a Northwestern timber wolf, is the son of Ethan (Pierce Brosnan), a mildly imperious book publisher, and a jittery mom, Judith (Cynthia Nixon).

Thomas is in a not-quite-there relationship with Mimi (Kiersey Clemons) who’s pretty and wise but (be honest) chubby and destined for Queen Latifah-like proportions by the time she hits her mid 30s.

Early on a grizzled 60ish alcoholic writer (Jeff Bridges) appears in Thomas’ Lower East Side apartment building and quickly becomes the kid’s avuncular wisdom-dispenser. Typical Bridges dialogue: “Schnorrrr-roar-urp-urp-schnorrrr-roarr-uhhrr,” etc.

A scene or two later Thomas and Mimi happen to spot Ethan having a cozy romantic dinner with Johanna (Kate Beckinsale), an extra-marital lover. Alarmed but also a tad aroused, Thomas begins stalking Johanna. They immediately start fencing and parrying, and before you know it Thomas is putting the high, hard one, etc.

Why is Johanna open to going stereo with Brosnan’s son? It doesn’t seem to make sense but she goes there regardless, and without telling Brosnan, of course, and so it’s dick dick dick dick dick dick dick dick dick dick dick dick dick dick dick dick dick for this mama-san.

And then in Act Three comes a semi-startling piece of news that alters the dynamic between these completely tiresome characters. You don’t want to know, trust me. My main reaction was “what’s with all the secrecy? Is this a Nathaniel Hawthorne novel in which mothers and wives have to hide secrets and atone for decades or at least carry guilt around for their past sins?”

We’ve all known for years that Hunter Biden is “a wrong one”…a bad seed, a rotten apple, a fellow of deplorable character. He needs to go to jail, wear the orange jumpsuit…no getting off easy. His dad obviously needs to throw him under the bus and “walk away”, if only for appearance’s sake.

We all have to pay the bills but…

[6:05 pm] TheRE waS a technical issue that surfaceed three or four hours ago…possibly a Disqus issue, possibly a WordPress plugin problem. Iengaged an excellent freelance WordPress person named Kim, and she’s remedied the problem to a certain extent. So we’re out of the woods as we speak. Thanks, Kim! For the time being, at least.

A handicapping friendo who didn’t see Substance in Cannes, and therefore was unsure about Demi Moore‘s chances of snagging a Best Actress nom, got in touch yesterday: “Does Demi Moore have a shot at a Best Actress nom?”

HE to friendo: “Moore soldiers through Substance, but it’s a smart body-horror exploitation film with a feminist sheen. Appreciation and respect, but no Oscar action. Okay, she might be nominated because of the metaphor of women suffering on the altar of wanting to looking younger, and because voters might figure Moore deserves an honorary gold watch because she’s a former Brat Packer in her early 60s. And because it’s a weak year.”