Day: September 7, 2025

Nia DaCosta‘s reimagining of Henrik Ibsen‘s “Hedda Gabler” is set in the present, and among mostly white “swells” (a term that absolutely no one uses these days), and is sorta kinda lezzy as far as Tessa Thompson‘s titular character is concerned.

In 1891 Ibsen’s Gabler was newly married and bored, trapped in a flush marriage and a house that she didn’t want. In DaCosta’s film Nina Hoss‘s supporting character, Eileen Lovborg, is Hedda’s object of desire.

Woked-up Hedda was shot in early ’24, an eon ago in cultural terms, but the progressive feminist ethos (i.e., almost all men are dull, oppressive shits and women need to be free to muff-dive) has since turned and the wealthy sapphic thing….well, okay but right now girl-on-girl action isn’t as exciting and crackling-with-possibility, social-signpost-wise, as it seemed to be when droolin’ Joe Biden was president. Wokeys are in retreat, searching for tall grass…everyone hates them now. Life never stands still…a constantly moving train.

DaCosta did her career no favors with 2023’s The Marvels, but we all need to re-invent ourselves from time to time.

Hedda premiered last night in Toronto. It will have a token theatrical release on 10.22, and will begin streaming on Amazon Prime Video a week later (10.29)

I wanted to get to Copenhagen early (as in tonight) so I’d have a day and a half to get a fresh new passport as well as a brand-new bank card before my returning flight to JFK.

Tonight’s 8:05 pm SAS flight from Milano Malpensa to Copenhagen had several unbooked seats, I was told, but the desk agents said they couldn’t break the rules so I’m crashing this evening in the Malpensa-adjacent commune of Ferno.

A nice, friendly little rooming house. The landlady, a good soul, drove out and picked me up at Malpensa…an extra 20 euros.

In the old days they would let you fly standby on a try-your-luck, catch-as-catch-can basis, if you wanted to leave earlier for whatever reason…no longer. I would have those catch-as-catch-can days again.

A medieval church bell began ringing this morning at 7:30 am….wonderful.

Malpensa airport is a long way from Milan — 49 kilometers or 30 miles. The so-called “Malpensa Express” lops and chugs along like a freight train…no hurry. And the ride takes an hour! Malpensa is a little bit closer to the southern tip of George Clooney‘s Lake Como than it is to Milan.

Just because I failed to post a review of Iain Forsyth and Jane Pollard‘s Broken English doesn’t mean I wasn’t won over and in fact melted down. I caught a late-night screening at the Venice Film Festival, and have been thinking about it — warmly — ever since. It’s not a typical shake-and-bake summary of a pop star…a quirky individualist who seemed to live by the light of camera flashbulbs and was, for a certain period, a radiant, raspy-voiced pop poet and vocal stylist. I can’t wait to see it again.

This is generally true of feral reactionary racists, MAGA loyalists, sensible Average Joes and deranged woke fanatics alike, but thank God for that 3% who’ve been touched by God or vague inspiration or something greater than themselves…call them the clear light contingent.

HE commenter Howard Beale is certainly not among the CLCs. He is sadly a DWF, and I’m this effing close to booting his sick ass. A confirmed hater…spewer of venom.

In the fall of ’88 I had an experience similar to Alec Guinness‘s, as described below by Peter Ustinov. It happened in either Cork or Limerick, and it involved an Irish policeman and a parking infraction.

I was standing near our rental car when a friendly uniformed cop approached and asked if the car was mine. Yes, I said. “Well, I’m only askin’ because it’s parked in a red zone”, the cop said in a gentle Irish brogue, “and you might wanna think about movin’ it before too long, as you’ll probably get a parking ticket if you don’t.” I thanked him and promptly parked the rental elsewhere…no sweat. It was easily the most pleasant encounter with a parking cop in my entire life.