Jeffrey Wells No, not his treatment of Tippi Hedren. His failure, I mean, to respect the Lakota Sioux’s sacred Paha Sapa (Black Hills) in South Dakota. He did so by callously and obliviously staging the thrilling climax of North by Northwest atop the shamefully chiselled and misappropriated Mount Rushmore. Never forget that the British-born Alfred Hitchcock couldn’t have cared less. Sic semper auteurists!
I don’t feel like posting any more today. It’s 4 pm, and I wish I was experiencing the non-hurricane that’s currently soaking Los Angeles.
Against my better judgment I’ve decided to give Oppenheimer a second viewing at 6 pm. I’m almost sure I won’t like like it any better (it’s a very smart, well-crafted film but I wasn’t enraptured) but let’s see what happens.
The people who brought the Bullet Train pollution — director David Leitch, screenwriter Zak Olkewicz, producers Kelly McCormick, Antoine Fuqua and Leitch again — are walking cancer cells…pure poison. Motive-wise I’m excusing the cast (a paycheck is a paycheck) but they were all reprehensible regardless.
From HE’s 8.22 Bullet Train review:
Sex (especially great sex) can make strong men feel weaker or less driven, or at least persuade them to ease up to some degree. Among creative types post-coital drainage always slows your rivers down to a trickle. Okay, I don’t know how true this actually is, but it’s a well-established myth — i.e., “There goes another novel.”
From Jake Malooley’s “After Hours: The Oral History of a Cult Classic” — Air Mail, 8.22.23:
English was, of course, a second language for the Mexican-born Ricardo Montalban (1920-2009) so no demerits for the “it’s” possessive or the misspelled “than”. What mattered was that he meant it.
Excerpt from Pauline Kael’s review of Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan (‘82):
“[Ricardo] Montalban’s performance doesn’t show a trace of Fantasy Island. It’s all panache; if he isn’t wearing feathers in his hair you see them there anyway. You know how you always want to laugh at the flourishes that punctuate the end of a flamenco dance, and the dancers don’t let you? Montalban does. His bravado is grandly comic.” — Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, 1982
And that “thing” is that Maestro isn’t all that focused on Bradley Cooper’s Leonard Bernstein. Well, it is to a considerable extent, obviously, but Carey Mulligan’s Felicia has the spotlight. Duhh.
Speaking as a total freak for color snaps of classic era Times Square marquees and billboard ads, I was initially thrilled to find this color shot of the DeMille’s gigantic, two–sided PSYCHO wall promo.
Alfred Hitchcock’s seminal slasher pic opened on June 16th, 1960. 63 years ago hit films would play for several weeks or even months on end, but let’s presume this nocturnal image was snapped sometime that summer when interest was peaking.
The below comment exchange appeared Sunday evening (8.13) in “Mexican Obeisance Before Power,” otherwise known as the post in which Patton Oswalt settled the Barbie misandry dispute with one fell swoop…settled it with two drillbit words that will resonate throughout the known universe between now and the 2024 Oscar telecast — “manosphere piss–nado.”
“Sometimes there’s God, so quickly!!” — Blanche Dubois in A Streetcar Named Desire.
I was asked why joyful reactions to certain audience-friendly films seem to rub me the wrong way.
“I’m not sure I want to be rubbed by you at all, young lady” — from Joseph L. Mankiewicz’s Cleopatra (Rex Harrison to Elizabeth Taylor).
And if you decided to mutually celebrate this huge cultural event, this amusing rite of self-flagellation for straight guys, this exuberant swan dive into Hollywood-stamped misandry, would you wear peach instead of proper pink?
It’s one thing to gracefully go with the Barbie flow while simultaneously shrugging it off, but I would never pull this shit with my 15 year-old son…never. Unless he was really, like, hot to see it or something.
Justin and Xavier Trudeau, roughly six days ago:
I would probably be more interested in taking Jett and Dylan to see John Huston and Arthur Miller’s Misfit Barbie, but that’s me.
The Robert F. Kennedy, Jr. thing REALLY isn’t happening at this stage. He’s too eccentric, too admired by toxic Trumpies, too disliked by MSNBC’s Laurence O’Donnell, too caught up in conspiracy interpretations, and his speaking voice is impossible.
If Woody Harrelson had worn this hat a few months ago, okay, but it’s kinda crazy to align himself now after most of the thoughtful centrists have said “naah, later.” It calls his judgment into question.
COVID renegade Eric Clapton is another Kennedy admirer/donor.
Kennedy is polling decently (i.e., around 17% or 18%) because many Dems and independents are profoundly uncomfortable with re-electing an octogenarian President — a guy who will be 86 when he leaves office on 1.20.29. They’re terrified of another Woodrow Wilson presidency, and especially of Kamala Harris stepping in if, God forbid, something were to happen.
You know what I would respect and salute? If Woody had worn a Chris Christie hat. Christie is the only Republican primary candidate who talks straight about The Beast. An adaptable, transactional politician, okay, but one with actual balls.
