For years I was fortunate enough to stay in a Napoleonic-era duplex apartment in Cannes’ old town section. Not cheap but affordable, and a five-minute walk to the Palais.

This year HE and World of Reel have luckily scored a reasonably priced pad — $2500 for an 11-day stay, and a 15-minute walk to the Palais — except it’s ugly and soul-less. It reminds me of Robert Duvall‘s living space in THX-1138.

Otherwise Cannes rents are completely ridiculous. The greed factor has gone through the roof. Especially since the pandemic.

Ray Mendoza and Alex Garland‘s Warfare (A24, 4.11) is just around the corner. Obviously one of those highly-charged, you-are-there tension pounders.

“This visceral, immersive real-time retelling of a 2006 Navy SEAL Iraq surveillance mission gone horribly wrong is as raw and direct as its title suggests. Co-directors Alex Garland and Ray Mendoza — a former Navy SEAL turned Hollywood stuntman who was present during the events depicted — craft an unflinching, sharply authentic snapshot of combat that’s not about honor and glory, but desperation, fear and survival. It’s not for the faint-hearted either.” — from Nikki Baughan’s 3.28 Screen Daily review.

I’ve twice watched the first two episodes of Seth Rogen and Evan Goldberg‘s The Studio (Apple TV+), and it felt like a delicious meal. It’s not a great series because it’s going for fast, accessible, character-riffing comedy without delivering a blistering satire of the recent, still-present Hollywood malaise (i.e., audience instruction by way of woke concepts and identity casting) but at least it’s a fast ride in the tradition of Howard Hawks‘ His Girl Friday and Billy Wilder‘s One, Two, Three.

When I wasn’t laughing or at least chuckling, I was certainly in awe of the whipsmart dialogue, rapid-fire pacing and awesome, extended-take choreography. I’m trying not to overpraise, but it’s still the best thing Rogen and Goldberg have ever produced. Okay, their previous product is a low bar to surpass.

Naturally a friend disagrees, and so we got into an argument this morning.

HE: “Rogen and Goldberg are obviously sharp and clever players. The Industry doesn’t even try to address or satirize the general woke malignancy, as you’ve accurately pointed out, but that’s no reason to piss on it or call it evil. It’s descended from the fast-and-furious tradition of His Girl Friday and One Two Three and not all that different from Robert Altman‘s The Player, attitude-wise. Fast, fleet, well-shot, well-directed…tight and propulsive.

“I prefer the first episode, but the second (‘Oner’) is fairly dazzling from a blocking and choreography standpoint. Yes, I also would have preferred something that addresses and laments woke derangement syndrome (and so would average viewers, I suspect) but Rogen-Goldberg were adamant wokeys a few years back and so, realistically, they couldn’t be expected to castigate a social movement that they were very much proponents of as recently as four or five years ago.

“It’s not hateful or venal to make a tight, energetic, hellzapoppin’ comic satire.”

Friendo: “To me it’s not funny. It’s like some lame skit night at the Scientology Center. There is no funny to be had if they can’t tell the truth about what Hollywood has been suffering from. This is not funny rat-a-tat-tat comedy. It can’t be because it is, like almost everything else, the Emperor’s New Clothes. Once you suss that out it’s not funny or even interesting.”

HE: “Agree about the lack of tough satiric observation, but the show is not evil because it ignores woke insanity.”

Friendo: “The second episode is about an ambitious one-take deal being shot near Silver Lake, and of course Sarah Polley is directing and Greta Lee is starring, and the guy who points out Hollywood’s woke tendencies, once, is Bryan Cranston‘s villainous studio boss. It’s scientology. What would be funny is if they were pointing out that they had to hire a female and maybe she wasn’t all that good. If they joked about any of this tippy-toe stuff or acknowledged any of it, it would be sort of funny because at least it would be the truth.”

HE: “I’m not calling it a great series, but I do I love the well-executed FORM of it — the pace, the discipline, the velocity. You’re addressing only the CONTENT.”

Friendo: “The form isn’t all that good either. It’s copycat. Movie nerds geeking on Scorsese. It’s Film Twitter: The Movie. Everyone over-acts. Not one funny actor in it IMO. Not one.”

HE: “Wow, you’re being brutal and unfair.”

Friendo: “And I am personally offended at your comparing it to The Player. That is unforgivable. Altman would never make that pandering sitcom shit.”

HE: “The general tone and attitude of The Studio is very similar to The Player. Why did they choose to call Cranston’s studio chief character ‘Griffin Mill’? Obviously they’re offering an homage — they’re showing respect for that 33 year-old film. I agree that The Studio lacks a socially corrosive viewpoint. It doesn’t even acknowledge, much less condemn, the pestilence of wokery. But it’s still fun to watch and a very commendable stab at a One, Two, Three-like comedy.”

No one will dispute that during his heyday as a powerful Hollywood and Broadway producer, Scott Rudin was often…okay, commonly believed to be an abusive employer. It all came to a boil in April 2021, which is when a Tatiana Siegel THR piece and a subsequent sensitive-wokester clamor led to Rudin withdrawing from the showbiz arena after acknowledging and apologizing for his behavior.

Now it’s four years later, and Rudin, according to a 3.28 N.Y. Times article by Michael Paulson, is looking to do a Louis C.K. and finesse a lowkey return.

Back in the days of peak woke terror (roughly ’18 to early ’24), those guilty of indisputably bad behavior were slapped with one of two kinds of punishments — (a) hangings and beheadings (Polanski, Allen, Weinstein…”go get yourself buried”) or (b) public whippings followed by a finite period of banishment.

When the Rudin thing exploded four years ago, the anger was so intense that I thought he might be the latest member of the Polanski club. Now not so much…sooner or later all things dry up.

I say this having been yelled at by Scott two or three times myself, but you know what? I shook that shit off. Did I like getting slapped around? No, but I didn’t whine or cry or mew like as kitten either. Like Lee Marvin‘s “Walker” might have concluded, I figured there’s always heat in the Hollywood kitchen, and occasionally getting yelled it is just part of the game.

Once upon a time the shouting, volatile, highly-demanding producer or swaggering “boss from hell” was a lamentable part of showbiz lore…Burt Lancaster‘s J.J. Hunsecker in Sweet Smell of Success, Alan King‘s Max Herschel in Sidney Lumet‘s Just Tell Me What You Want, the real-life Joel Silver and Harvey Weinstein, Saul Rubinek‘s Lee Donowitz in True Romance (based on Silver for the most part), Kevin Spacey‘s Buddy Ackerman in Swimming With Sharks, Tom Cruise‘s Les Grossman in Tropic Thunder, etc.

None of these characters were pleasant to be around on a 24/7 basis, but, as in real life, they had a dominating brand and tradition that you had to finesse one way or the other.

And then along came the sensitive, safe-space-seeking Millennials, and that Buddy Ackerman shit began to get old right quick.

The private exchange of affection and fluids is no one’s business except for the actual exchangers, and it certainly has no bearing upon the ability of a candidate for high office to serve effectively.

Outside of your #MeToo alarmists and two-faced hypocrite Republicans, who gives a damn if former New York State governor and current candidate for NYC mayor Andrew Cuomo and top assistant Melissa DeRosa had something going on two or three years ago? Or now even? So what?

Nobody knew about JFK’s compulsive womanizing in the early ’60s, and we all understand, of course, that aside from his rreportedly callous attitude about exploiting impressionable young women who worked at the White House, none of this even slightly mattered in terms of his Presidential duties and obligations. And if Pete Buttigieg runs for President in ’28, nobody should say a a single word…’nuff said.

Leave it there.