Respect, hats off, proof of character.
Jeffrey Wells
Always Hated This Anatomical Term
And I’ll never want to grapple with any Viggo Mortensen specificity in this regard, and yet I’ve never been able to suppress the label of “Russian penis movie”…it is what it is. The likelihood of re-watching this thing isn’t likely.
Remnants of Herzog, Blank
I turn around and things that happened 20 or 30 years ago rise to the surface like air bubbles…they appear of their own volition…who am I to ignore that faint popping sound?
Brief Mechanical Upset Stomach
After visiting Jett, Cait and Sutton in West Orange last Sunday, the VW Passat suffered a seizure (call it a coughing fit) while driving back to Wilton. I was afraid of a painful financial gash, but the total tab (including an oil change) was only $418. I’ll be training down to New Rochelle Auto Care this morning to settle up and retrieve.
Going Pink
Friendo to HE: “If I buy you this shirt, will you wear it in Cannes?”
HE to friendo: “Absolutely! But I’d have to wear the jacket also.”
Seriously…if WB is selling the pink Barbie jacket in a men’s size I’ll snap it up in a second.
Fragments
There’s absolutely no need or interest in another Magnificent Seven…zero. We’ve already had three — Akira Kurosawa‘s Seven Samurai (“54), John Sturges‘ The Magnificent Seven (’60) and Antoine Fuqua‘s mediocre remake of a remake from 2016. You know what I’d like to see remade? Howard Hawks‘ Red River (’46).
Instant Dismissal
A young woman who addresses perfect cosmic unity and infinite design, regarded in certain primitive circles as “God”…let me start again. Anyone who addresses the grand altogether as some sort of nice fella or…whatever, as an all-pervasive, all-powerful emotional counselor with a kindly personality and the will to listen to and empathize with the plight of earthly humans…c’mon, man. That’s YA stuff.
“Marnie” Neighborhood Values
In 1964 Alfred Hitchcock regarded this picturesque Baltimore seaport neighborhood as grim and down-at-the-heels. This is where Louise Latham’s Bernice, the emotionally constipated, man-hating mother of Tippi Hedren’s lead character, resided. By today’s standards, of course, it’s a prime location — red-brick row houses, great harbor view, sea air, cool cafes.
Nobody Out-Grumps HE
Yesterday some Facebook entity representing Joni Mitchell posted an attractive photo of the fabled singer-poet, taken in ‘83. The comments were adoring but shamelessly so — a torrent of rapt, falsetto-voiced religious worship. I tried to point this out, and of course my remarks drew scorn.
“Past Mitchell Capturings,” posted on 7.20.19:.
Bud Light Plank Has Been Walked
Sam Spade to Brigid O’Shaughnessy: “Don’t be silly. You’re taking the fall.”
Ever thus to trans ideologues! Bud Light marketing vp Alissa Heinerscheid has paid the price for her terrible woke folly.
There are many HE commenters who called the Bud Light / Dylan Mulvaney thing a tempest in a teapot. They are now anxiously in search of tall grass. If they were men they would admit their error, but of course they won’t. Three of them are named below — one of them is Pete Miesel.
