At the John Golden Theatre (52 W 45th St., New York, NY 10036) on 3.25.84. And it was opening night as all the big-gun critics were there (including FrankRich). The voltage in the room seemed to augment the play’s impact. I was in heaven.
Directed by Gregory Mosher, and starring Joe Mantegna, Mike Nussbaum, Robert Prosky, Lane Smith, James Tolkan, Jack Wallace and J. T. Walsh. And it was beautiful, brilliant, electifying, mesmerizing, historic.
Particularly Mantegna as Rick Roma — he owned that role the way Marlon Brando owned Stanley Kowalski and Humphrey Bogart owned Duke Mantee.
And the Alec Baldwin character wasn’t even in it…no Cadillac Eldorado, no set of steak knives as a second prize, no “third prize is you’re fired”….none of that.
I’m flirting with trying to see the new limited-run version with Kieran Culkin, Bob Odenkirk and Bill Burr. I know it can’t measure up to the original but maybe. I’ll play it by ear.
Joe Mantegna to N.Y.Times: “I’m reading this script — about leads and all this stuff — I didn’t know what the hell Mamet was even talking about. But the guy’s name is Ricky Roma. My name’s Joe Mantegna. He’s an Italian-American. He’s from Chicago. I certainly knew hustlers. I just had to fill in the blanks. When I walked on that stage, my feeling was: I am that matador. And I’m gonna kill every bull that comes into the arena.”
“But it’s a carefully crafted, nicely-made movie that at least aspires to some kind of character-based transcendence. It only works in spots, agreed, but the ambition alone contains a certain value. I’m giving it a C for overall delivery but an A- for effort.
“Speaking as a former LSD Hindu, it’s impossible for me to condemn a movie that tries to convey spiritual matters on some level or in some fashion. It also deserves credit for its conveying the simple enjoyment of things, and its grappling with how difficult it can be to forgive yourself for stupid mistakes and to show vulnerability and openness when faced with the possibility of a bountiful new relationship, and all that jazz.
“Does it feel nonetheless like a somewhat superficial Conde Naste Traveller thing, a taste of this and that spiritual hors d’oeuvre? Yeah, it pretty much does. But it’s reaching for more than what typical formulaic chick flicks provide. At least it’s making a stab.
“I didn’t ‘like’ a lot of Eat Pray Love, and I confess to checking my watch about six or seven times, but I at least respect what it tried to do, and I know that anyone who says it doesn’t handle at least some things fairly well is just not being fair.
“You can make fun of the fact that EPL has the general look, aroma, sound and vibe of a first-class ride made by the Ryan Murphy’s and Amy Pascal‘s of the world — people who live high on the hog and who have enlightened liberal attitudes about self-discovery. You can say that’s not enough and that the film is actually selling a kind of elitist elixir, but the song choices are nice (Neil Young!) and some of the dissolves and transitions are exceptional, and it has at least one exquisite scene about the eating of a sublime dish of fresh tomato pasta.
“And it has a great line about how guys never complain that much if the naked lady they’re making love to has a bit of a paunch.
Eat Pray Love can be a bothersome thing to sit through in certain…okay, more than a few ways. It’s tidy, shallow and ‘pretty’ when it needs to be darker and quirkier and more exposing in terms of the unsavory or unappealing qualities that we all share. But it’s well cut and luminous and even shimmering at times, and — even the haters have to admit this — very well performed for the most part.
“As much as I dislike who Roberts seems to be and my problems over the years with her affected acting style, she isn’t half bad in the Gilbert role. This may be the most genuine and deeply felt performance of her life. God, it almost physically hurt to say that!
“As Roberts’ settled-down romantic interest (i.e., once she arrives in Bali), Javier Bardem stands and shuffles around on rock-solid terra firma, and shows serious heart and vulnerability. In one fell stroke he’s completely counter-balanced his No Country for Old Men bad guy.
One of the reasons Evita works as well as it does (in my book it’s a great movie musical) is the editing, which really follows and fortifies the music. The late Gerry Hambling (1926-2013), a longtime collaborator with director Alan Parker, understands the cadence and discipline that goes into good cutting. Apply the Parker-Hambling aesthetic to the cinematography by Darius Khondji, and the result is just about perfect.
“Franco’s story could easily have been the skeleton for a lurid erotic thriller about a possessive rich American woman claiming ownership of a Mexican boy toy a decade or more younger than her. But the director and his actors play it with neither sensationalism nor melodrama. Instead, it’s a laser-focused study of the shifting calibrations in an uneven power dynamic, in which Jennifer is unwilling to concede the upper hand, ultimately becoming ruthless when the tables are turned.
“When Fernando’s talent gets him a foot in the door at the prestigious San Francisco Ballet without her help, she’s rankled. Though not so much that she doesn’t resume the relationship and set him up as a teacher at the new studio. The desire between them is palpable when he returns to her home and is welcomed back with a steamy session on the stairs. But when first Jake and then her father figure out what’s going on, Jennifer takes steps to protect her position in both the family and the well-heeled arts community.
“The strict boundaries put in place by wealthy benefactors are evident in Michael’s cautionary chat with his daughter, carefully worded to address what he views as a distasteful situation: ‘I’m happy that you help immigrants. But there are limits. You know what I’m trying to say.’
“Dramatic events abruptly end Fernando’s ascent at SFB, landing him back in Mexico City, where a still intoxicated Jennifer soon follows. But the harmony between them is broken, notably after an eye-opening revelation that prompts Fernando to take drastic steps. That in turn leads to decisive retaliation from Jennifer, who does not respond well to humiliation.
“The escalating tension of that final act is as shocking and violent and viciously cold as anything in Franco’s filmography, which has seldom shied away from stark depictions of human cruelty — whether intimate in scale, like After Lucia, or encompassing explosive societal conflict, like New Order.
“As terrific as Chastain was in Memory, she’s arguably even better here playing a manipulative woman whose passion for Fernando is genuine — unbridled on the physical side and probably even sincere on a deeper emotional level, albeit with guardrails in place. It’s easy to see why the actress was eager to work with Franco again.
“She makes Jennifer’s impulsive final decision as startling as an execution sentence, though it strikes a blow that will cause more lasting pain. Her cut-glass cheekbones could draw blood.
“As an embodiment of a white person cushioned by money and privilege putting an upstart in his place, she’s chilling, even if she’s clearly also hurting herself.”
Other than the usual financial incentives, there’s one and only one reason to keep making semi-traditional James Bond films. That motive would be to trumpet a message of rogue defiance to the wokeys and woke go-alongers (Tomris Laffly, Justin Chang, Kathy Kennedy, Chalamet-like girlymen) that good old Bond shit — macho exceptionalism, subtle arrogance, shades of impudence and homicidal dispatch when necessary — still counts or matters on some level, at least in a nostalgic sense.
Do audiences of the mid 2020s have an active interest in seeing more Bond flicks? Good question.
25 Bondies have been released since 1962’s Dr. No. I happen to feel that Dr. No and From Russia With Love are still the best of the bunch — certainly the most freewheeling and least encumbered with the terrible burden of fortifying a major franchise. I regard the Daniel Craig Bonds as better than decent, but I’ve generally preferred the Mission: Impossible films overall. I wouldn’t be hugely distraught if the 007 franchise just gave it up and shut the fuck down. I’m not invested. I don’t really care anymore.
But if more Bond films are going to be made, as Amazon is apparently intending to do in the wake of having booted longtime Bond producers Barbara Broccoli and Michael G. Wilson off the bus with a lavish “go away” payment, they should be made with conviction and honest cynicism and maybe even a touch of reverence. No more apologies or equivocations. Own the Bond mythology like Mel Gibson owns Jesus of Nazareth.
This is highly unlikely, of course, with Amazon honcho Jennifer Salke, a feminist wokey who’s no fan of 007 (she is believed to have been the voice behind an incendiary quote — “I don’t think James Bond is a hero” — in a 12.19.24 Wall Street Journal article) and has allegedly not even seen any pre-Daniel Craig Bond films
It was announced earlier today that Amazon MGM Studios will gain creative control of the James Bond franchise, while Wilson and Broccoli will remain co-owners of the 60-year-old property.”
Eric Schwartzel and Jessica Toonkel‘s Wall Street Journal piece reported two months ago that a lack of movement on greenlighting a new Bond film had been caused by an “ideological split” between Salke on one side and Broccoli and Wilson on the other. I called it a “feminist wokey vs. semi-traditionalist Mexican standoff.”
Here’s what happened in the aftermath of that WSJ piece, says a guy wih an ear to the ground:
“Salke is an idiot, and she basically got herself into hot water over this having become a public spat. Her boss Jeff Bezos is a Bond junkie, however, and to get things moving he paid off Broccoli and Wilson with all the money in the world. Salke still gets to call the shots, but she’s bracketed by film pros and under more scrutiny from Bezos.”
Daily Mail, 12.20.24: “Broccoli has told friends that the people at Amazon are ‘fucking idiots.’ Salke is “reportedly demanding ideas for new Bond movies, although Broccoli has seemingly no interest in making them with the studio.”
Broccoli has told telling colleagues she doesn’t trust “temporary people to make permanent decisions”, according to Schwartzel and Toonkel.
