Month: September 2026

Sweeping Spanish Gay Agenda Epic

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There’s obviously nothing wrong with being a “gay agenda”film, but to really and truly compete for a Best Picture Oscar a gay-agenda film has to be about more than a gay agenda. It has to be primal and from the heart and gut…it has to be on the level of Brokeback Mountain, which was about the necessity of going with true passion and not allowing social judgment to give you pause. Heath Ledger‘s Ennis del Mar was a tragic figure. Is there a tragic figure in La Bola Negra? I’m asking.

Son of Ample Cash on Hand

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Posted on HE-Plus on 7.1.19 / money exchange rate updated to 2026:

In North by Northwest Cary Grant‘s Roger Thornhill drops a lot of cash on a lot of random expenses — cabs, beverages, tips, bus tickets, train tickets, dry cleaning. I’ve calculated that he spends a minimum of $300 in 1958 dollars, which comes to roughly $3800 in the 2026 economy. That’s a lot to be carrying around.

The 1959 film was shot in the summer of ’58, when the only credit card was Diner’s Club and no one had ever heard of debit cards. Thornhill, on the run from the law and unable to just stroll into a local bank for a withdrawal, had to pay for everything with pocket cash.

Roger Thornhill’s NXNW expenses in 1958 / final accounting:

(1) Pays for cab from Madison Avenue to the Plaza hotel — call it $10 with tip as he’s also paying the driver to take his secretary to another destination; (2) Tips Plaza Hotel/Oak Room bellboy — another $5; (3) After the DUI adventure in Glen Cove and the visit to the Townsend estate, he and Jesse Royce Landis (his “mother”) somehow get back to Manhattan, presumably by cab — probably $25 or $30. ($45 so far)

(4) Back at the Plaza, he gives his mother $50 as payment for persuading the concierge to slip her a key to George Kaplan‘s room in the Plaza ($95); (5) Tips Plaza Hotel valet, looking for information — $5; (6) Takes cab from Plaza to U.N. building — call it $5 to be safe; (7) Presumably takes another cab to Grand Central following the U.N. knifing — $5. ($110.) (8) Doesn’t buy coach seat on 20th Century Limited, but once in Chicago Thornhill (a) pays train porter $25 for use of his uniform, and (b) takes a bus to somewhere in southern Indiana farm country. Probably $10 to $12. ($145.)

After surviving the cropduster attack, Thornhill returns to Chicago with a free “ride” (i.e., stolen pick-up truck). Visits Eve at the Ambassador East. Pays AE cleaning service to have his dusty suit “sponged and pressed” — probably $10 or $12. ($157) Probably buys fresh dress shirt, underwear and socks — figure another $20. ($177)

Flies from Chicago to Rapid City with Leo G. Carroll‘s CIA “professor” — air fare covered by government.

Pays for coffee in Mount Rushmore cafeteria — a dime. Escapes from Rapid City hospital, takes longish cab ride up to Van Damm’s Mount Rushmore rental (a Frank Lloyd Wright original) — probably at least $20 or $25. And then pays for his and Eve Kendall‘s train fare back to NYC (call it $60 for two, maybe more).

Wait…I forgot about the Gibson and the brook trout Thornhill ordered in the dining car while chatting with Eve.

That’s a grand total of $300 minimum. Add $25 in random incidentals (penny-ante stuff) and you’re talking $325. In 2026 the value of a single 1958 dollar is $11.60, so $325 in 1958 translates into $3708 in ’26 but let’s call it $3800….hell, make it $4K.

Who walks around with the equivalent of $4K in their wallet or money clip?

Sharply-Written, Well-Researched Hitch-Grant-Stewart Book That Should Have Been Published in the 1970s

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If you happen to be a long-of-tooth Alfred Hitchcock fan, Nat Segaloff ‘s “The Secret Hitchcock” is a smart, moderately stimulating, generally pleasant read.

It told me nothing I didn’t know or hadn’t read or “heard”, but Segaloff is a skilled writer who knows his stuff, and the book sedated me. It made me feel wise, seasoned and reassured.

The only hiccup is that “The Secret Hitchcock” should have ideally been published 50 years ago, or at the very latest 40 years ago (between ‘76 and ‘86).

Back then everyone was more or less attuned to the legends of Cary Grant and James Stewart and the book would have been essential reading for intelligent film buffs the world over.

Nowadays the Alfred Hitchcock brand still “sells” (even Zoomers are faintly aware of his “master of suspense” rep) but the Grant and Stewart brands ain’t what they used to be. Unless, that is, the reader is 60 or older, in which case the whole Segaloff package is hunky dory.

I’m not putting Segaloff’s book down in the slightest, mind. I’m just saying the timing is off.

Gojira Whips Nolan’s Ass

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The more I think about The Oydssey, the more bummed out I feel. The financial success and critical acclaim it has enjoyed isn’t quite as depressing as the ridiculous hoo-hah that greeted Everything Everywhere All At Once, but it’s in that general ballpark.

Comforting agreement: “Of all the criticisms leveled at Christopher Nolan’s The Odyssey (apart from the one I have, which is that the entire movie is a frigging mess), the most resonant, to me, was the complaint that Nolan had made a mistake by leaving the Greek gods out of the story.

“Nolan certainly showed that you could make a version of Homer minus the gods; but he didn’t necessarily show that it could be done without losing a crucial dimension. Besides, if you can’t see gods at a movie of The Odyssey, where in God’s name are you going to see them?

“The answer is at a Japanese monster movie — more thrilling, by leagues, than The Odyssey — where the monsters possess an ominous majesty that’s not of this world, even as they’re in the middle of laying waste to it.”

Deepest, Saddest, Most Revealing Stallone Interview…Ever

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Lulu Garcia-Navarro’s 9.26 N.Y. Times interview with Sylvester Stallone is, no exaggeration, mind-blowing. It’s one of the most open-hearted, pain-excavating, soul-baring Hollywood celebrity conversations I’ve ever listened to.

And you know what? This is not just a promotional interview for Stallone’s “Steps: A Memoir” (William Morrow, 9.26), but also an historical emotional undertow torpedo that will enhance Peter Farrelly‘s I Play Rocky when it opens on 11.6.

I came to know Stallone a bit between the mid ’80s and early ’90s, and I’m telling you that none of what he says to Garcia-Navarro in this amazing interview was even vaguely detectable back in the old days. This is truly riveting stuff here. It’s heartbreaking.

I worked under Stallone in ’85 and ’86 when I was employed as a writer/publicist for Bobby Zarem and Dick Delson, who had formed a p.r. partnership and had landed Stallone as their star client.

So I knew Stallone’s vibe, hung in his orbit, watched him train, visited his Pacific Palisades home once or twice, did what I was told. But there wasn’t a lot of openness from the guy. He was guarded, sullen. When I was over at his place one evening I noticed an original Francis Bacon painting hanging in his foyer, and I said with some excitement, “Whoa, Francis Bacon!” Stallone’s total reply: “You got it.”

In ’92 I interviewed Stallone on the Italian Cliffhanger set (i.e., Cortina d’ampezzo) for the N.Y. Times. And a couple of years earlier I’d helped bring industry attention to a pair of screenplays that led to two of his better projects — Peter Lenkov‘s Demolition Man (’93) and Alexandra Seros‘ The Specialist (’94).

Posted on 6.26.26: Sly Stallone Starred in Two Truly Good Films — Rocky and First Blood. And three pretty good ones — Judge Dredd, Antz (i.e., voice-acted) and Creed. Okay, you can add Cop Land. And Thom Zimny‘s Sly is a straight-shooting, above-average doc. Seven in all. But that’s it. All the rest are compromised.

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Widow Bot Contemplates Six-Year Anniversary Blues

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I’ve no doubt that “Debbie N. of North Stamford” is a bot because no mature, thinking, perceptive woman would ask an online community if they have any ideas how she could best cope with the sixth anniversary of her husband’s sad passing.

Being 90% certain that “Debbie” is a cynical actor, I posted the following early this morning:

Six years since a loved one’s death and you’re STILL anguished and weak in the knees on this melancholy anniversary? You’re STILL saying “whoa, this is a really tough one”?

One year after his passing — hurts, hard to cope with. Two years later — pain still lingers. Three years later — a bit easier to handle although memories still haunt and hover. But you’re still having a hard time after six years?

There’s a classic Zen saying, to be used whenever something shocking or traumatic occurs. Are you ready to hear it? The saying is “Okay…THAT happened.”

Because painful as it initially was, the traumatic six-year-old thing happened, and after 72 months of meditation there’s only one thing to say…THAT’S THAT.

Have you ever seen Moonstruck? The heartsick Nic Cage says “I love you” to Cher, and her response is to slap him across the chops and say “snap out of it!”

If you could somehow speak to your late husband and tell him that you’re STILL all torn up on the sixth anniversary of his death, he would say the following:

“I’m deeply touched, my nearest and dearest and loveliest, by what you’re going through — I miss our earth years also and am sorry as well, even though cosmic spirits don’t grapple with earthly emotions as a rule — but there’s another valuable Zen saying. It’s called ‘BE HERE NOW.’

“I’m sure you don’t need me or anyone else to remind you but I’m dead and you’re alive and pulsing on God’s good green earth. You’re in a good place — rich, robust, tumescent. Embrace it. Do this, I’m begging you. Because one day you’ll be an eternal cosmic spirit yourself.”

Annual anniversaries are over-rated.

I Don’t Do This Often

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…but if I notice a masked-up person inside an enclosed space (movie theatre, grocery/deli store, subway or MetroNorth car, bar/restaurant), I’ll occasionally think about going up to them and asking “so how’s the pandemic coming along?” Or “just out of curiosity, but do you wear your mask when you’re walking solo on a sidewalk or driving alone in your car?” Or “do you wear that mask while sleeping in your bedroom or on the couch in your living room?”

Have I ever actually gone up to a masked warrior and asked “so how’s the pandemic coming along?” No, I haven’t. But I’d like to summon the courage to do this. Because I kinda hate them.

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Nanny State

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In Fjord (Neon, 10.9), director-writer Cristian Mungiu’s decision to make the Gheorghiu clan (Sebastian Stan’s Mihai and Renate Reinsve’s Lisbet plus five kids) into devout Christians allows wokester critics to turn the movie into a fake either-or contest.

It allows wokesters to ask “what’s worse, an ardently concerned government that occasionally overreaches…or a family of conservative Christian homophobes?”

If the family wasn’t Christian, Fjord would have forced us to focus on the film’s true theme: that the woke nanny-state does not value — and in many ways wants to wreck — the traditional family.

Fjord is threatening to the woke mob because (Christian family aside) it’s an attack on the progressive nanny-state, and the woke femmebot consciousness behind it. That’s why Fjord is so relevant to what’s going on now in the U.S.

What touches off the storm is the fact that the overzealous authorities are driven to “protect” Vanessa Ceban’s Elia Gheorghiu — and the fact that Mihai confesses to having hit her lightly on the rump, something a non-Christian father could have done. The Christian thing therefore does come into play. But it’s not what touches off the whole situation.

I’m just sensing that the wokesters are going to watch this movie and say, “Unfair — we’re not anti-Christian bigots.” Which is a fair-minded response. The problem with wokesters isn’t that they’re anti-Christian bigots. It’s that they’re controlling fascists obsessed with turning everyone into “victims”.

That’s what these bastards do to Elia in Fjord. They make her into a “victim” who needs their “protection.” To the point that they would actually strip these children away from their family. That’s the fundamental obscenity of your generic wokester POV — not anti-Christian bigotry.

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“The Hounds Trust Thee Not”

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Werwulf (Focus Features, 12.25) is a Robert Eggers film, all right. Obviously a high-quality, heavy-atmosphere thing. Set in 14th-century England and entirely spoken in Middle English. Three of the old Nosferatu gang — Lily-Rose Depp, Aaron Taylor-Johnson, Willem Dafoe — are back for more. HE automatically swoons at the sight of any film shot and projected at 1.37:1.

“There wulf! There castle!”