I understand and accept that James Stewart was a Republican, at least after his flying and bombing service during World War II. And I accept that this native of Pennsylvania was a cornfield religious fellow as far as it went.
But the trailer for Aaron Burns‘ Jimmy, which will open on 11.6.26, indicates a vibe of hardcore patriotic conversativism that feels a bit…forced? As in a tiny bit MAGA-ish?
“Based on the untold true story of Jimmy Stewart”? Untold in what sense? I’ve been reading about the Stewart saga, chapter and verse, for decades.
For me the most stirring aspect of his creative life was how WWII not only toughened him up but prompted him to explore life’s dark inner recesses. The sardonic, romantically foolhardy Philadelphia Story guy grew into Vertigo‘s haunted Scotty Ferguson.
“They confirmed it? Wow…well, I feel badly for the family if that’s the case. That’s too bad. I haven’t seen anything. I don’t know anything about it. That’s too bad, but I just know nothing about it.”
Wiki exceprt: “Kristi and Bryon Noem were married in 1992 in Watertown, South Dakota. They have three children. In 2011, when Noem was elected to Ciongress and moved to Washington, her family continued to live on a ranch near Castlewood, S.D. Noem is a Protestant. Her family has attended a Foursquare Church in Watertown.”
HE comment, posted on 12.16.23: “I don’t want to say that Keohgan’s bee-stung nose is the mark of Satan, but there’s something gargoyle-ish about this guy.
“Saltburn is what sold me on this notion.
“Warlock eyes, bulbous nose…a leprechaun from hell with a sizable schlong. He’s a figure from a Heironymous Bosch painting. His portrait could be hanging in Roman and Minnie Castevet’s living room.”
AI sez: The term “bee-stung nose” in relation to Barry Keoghan refers to a recurring, subjective observation from some viewers and critics regarding the unique shape of his nose, which some perceive as having a swollen or flared appearance, particularly in roles like Saltburn. This description is often used to describe his distinct facial features.
Public Observation: Various commentators have noted the distinct appearance of his nose, with some online chatter humorously or critically describing it as a “bee-stung” look.
Facial Features: While some viewers have described it as a “hot take” or a specific “ick,” it is a frequently mentioned observation of his appearance, especially in 2023 and 2024 discussions surrounding his film roles.
Physical Incidents: It is important to note that Keoghan was reported to have suffered serious facial injuries in an assault in 2021, though this is not specifically linked to the “bee-stung” observation.
Note: The phrase “bee-stung” is typically used to describe full lips, but in this context, it is being applied by commentators to the shape of his nose.
The deranged and demonic Max Cady has been terrorizing the same Georgia-residing, three-unit family for 64 years now…
The opener was J. Lee Thompson‘s 1962 thriller with Gregory Peck and Robert Mitchum, the second was Martin Scorsese‘s 1991 version that costarred Nick Nolte and Robert DeNiro, and now a third effort in a 10-episode, Apple TV miniseries costarring Patrick Wilson, Amy Adams and Javier Bardem as Max.
Exec produced by Martin Scorsese, Steven Spielberg, Nick Antosca, Alex Hedlund, Darryl Frank, Justin Falvey, Morten Tyldum, Bardem and Adams…paychecks all around!
These ten plus Pawel Pawlikowski‘s Fatherland (formerly 1949) for a grand total of 11. With the possible exception or inclusion of James Gray‘s Paper Tiger, you can forget any sort of significant American presence this year.
I personally would prefer it if Joel would stick to his own time and place — mid-to-late 20th Century America with smartass dialogue and noirish moods. No historical settings, no previous centuries.
It’s Cristian Mungiu, not “Cristi.” Sounds too much like Kristi Coulter.
In the early ’80s I was the managing editor of The Film Journal, and as such was occasionally invited to long-lead screenings. The Warner guys let me see an early cut of The Shining, for example…a cut that included the famous hospital visitation scene between Barry Nelson and Shelley Duvall.
I was also invited by Team Paramount to see an early cut of Raiders of the Lost Ark, and it contained footage of Harrison Ford‘s Indiana Jones hanging on to the side of a Nazi submarine as it travels to the Aegean Sea island where the big finale occurs.
In this version Indy didn’t slip inside the sub by pretending to be a German, mind. He hung on to it like Gregory Peck‘s Captain Ahab hangs on to the scarred, harpooned white whale in Moby Dick. When the sub reaches the island the implication is that Indy rode it like a human barnacle for hundreds of miles.
Yeah, I didn’t believe it either but I saw this footage with my own two eyes.
Here’s a paragraph from a Wiki synopsis that dodges an explanation of how Jones manages to get to the island without the bad guys getting wise. Key line: “Jones covertly boards the U-boat.”
Initially posted on 3.28.21: There’s nothing glorious and soul-cleansing about being executed by Roman arrows. Plus it would hurt like hell, and death probably wouldn’t come quickly. Plus one of the archers might aim poorly and shoot me or my fiance in the eye. Or I might get an arrow in the groin.
If I’d been in the sandals of Marcellus (Richard Burton), a confirmed Christian and deeply in love with the gentle Diana (Jean Simmons), and if Caligula (Jay Robinson) had demanded that I renounce the teachings of the executed carpenter known as Yeshua of Nazareth and the nascent religion he’d recently come to stand for, I would say “damn straight, your excellence.”
What difference would a few words make one way or the other? It’s deeds and convictions that count. The court of Caligula is pure political theatre, and therefore meaningless. Moral relativism is the only way to travel.
HE solution in a nutshell: (a) Renounce Christ out of one side of my mouth, (b) Diana and I are then free to move to Capri and live a life of Christian leisure (mountain hikes, sailing, swimming + eating dates, grapes and fresh fish), and (c) Caligula would soon be killed anyway by the Praetorian Guard.
What glorious purpose would Diana and I serve by going to our deaths? You know the answer. The answer is “nothing.”
The secondary answer is “martyrdom might look like an act of transcendence at the end of a 1953 20th Century Fox release, but in real life it isn’t worth it.” Because you know what? When you’re dead it’s simply lights out…no choir, no shining cosmic light, no Godly white clouds…you’re just dead.”
King Kong’s Los Angeles premiere at Grauman’s Chinese happened on 3.24.33, or 93 years ago. That night $3.50 was roughlyequivalent to $86 in today’s currency.
“While Chris Sarandon carries immense pride for this breakthrough role, he also acknowledged he would never land the Leon part today. ‘And rightfully so,’ he adds. ‘It should be somebody who’s more authenticallyaligned with the character, but I’m very proud of it.’” — from interview posted by People‘s Angela Andaloro on 10.4.25.
Bullshit, Chris! Sarandon is great in this scene. Acting is acting, and a gifted actor’s default orientation or sexual preference has very little to do with the ability to channel a character fully and profoundly. If they’re goodenough, I mean.
I’m very sad and sorry about the debilitating disease (Alzheimer’s) that began to enfold poor Mary Beth Hurt back in the teens. And about her death, which was announced on Facebook earlier today.
I’m also sorry that I never caught any of Hurt’s Manhattan stage performances (Trelawny of the Wells, Crimes of the Heart, Benefactors), which were earnestly praised.
I was re-watching Woody Allen‘s Interiors (’78) only three or four days ago. It’s not one of my favorite Woody’s (feels too “written”, too on-the-nose), but Hurt’s portrayal of Joey, a creatively frustrated 30something who wants to be a top-tier writer but hasn’t quite the talent for it, got to me back then.
Because I was feeling some of the same things in ’78. I wanted very much to break into the Manhattan film-critic fraternity, but I was beset by doubts about my ability to write well enough, which was basically rooted in a lack of confidence, which came from my low self-esteem, which came from being the pissed-off son of an alcoholic.
Like Joey and God knows how many others I would type and type and re-type, over and over and over, the 8 1/2 x 11 paper in my typewriter caked with smudges of white-out. It would take me forever (two or three days!) to bang out a simple 750-word review.
Hurt’s performance was moving but disturbing because Joey’s story, I had decided during my initial viewing, was sorta kinda my own. I felt a certain morose affinity.
Yes, I managed to climb out of that awful fraught place (took me a couple of years) but…well, I’ve said it.
Hurt was downishly believable (and therefore memorable as hell) in Joan Micklin Silver‘s Chilly Scenes of Winter (’79); ditto George Roy Hill‘s The World According to Garp (’82).
I’ll never forget that scene in Garp in which Hurt’s Helen, a college professor married to Robin Williams, accidentally decapitates her younger boyfriend’s schlong while she’s blowing him in the front seat of his car, an accident caused by an agitated Williams slamming his vehicle into the rear of the boyfriend’s auto.
When I finally pass, I don’t want it to happen in godforsaken Jersey City. I want it to happen on a cobblestoned street in Montmartre, preferably in the mid-summer. Or somewhere in northern Italy or in the Czech Republic even. Or somewhere in the California desert.
