Jeffrey Wells If I could wave a magic wand, the Empire of Light cast — Olivia Colman, Michael Ward, Tanya Moodie, Colin Firth, Toby Jones, Monica Dolan, Tom Brooke, Crystal Clarke — would be a SAG ensemble shoo-in.
And what about the Tar guys? Cate Blanchett, Nina Hoss, Noemie Merlant, Mark Strong, Julian Glover, Sophie Kauer, Zethphan Smith–Gneist?
Last night a six–month–old Substack piece called “The Importance of Being Earnest,” penned by Sherman McCoy, was passed along, I blame the whole trend of irony-poisoned, meta-commentary dialogue on the Marvel/D.C. plague as well as Millennials and Zoomers in general. I for one would love it if sincere dialogue and plotting where to make a comeback.
Anyway…
After two or three days of radio silence about what actually happened to poor Jeremy Renner during that traumatic accident with his Snowcat, Collider’s Ryan O’Rourke has supplied some details.
What happened then? Renner was run over by the truck–sized Snowcat, treds and all, blunt force impact upon one of his legs or his chest or something. Possibly, one suspects, because he failed to secure the vehicle with the emergency brake. Or because the Snowcat had been taken possession of by Christine or HAL 9000.
“The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars
but in ourselves, that we are underlings.”
(Cassius, Act 1 Scene 2)
“Would that I find myself in hell with my back broken — a gentler fate than that which confronts me presently.” (Antony, Act 1, Scene 3)
“But for mine own part, it was Greek to me.”
(Casca, Act 1 Scene 2)
“Cowards die many times before their deaths,
The valiant never taste of death but once.”
(Caesar, Act 2 Scene 2)
“Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war.”
(Antony, Act 3 Scene 1)
“All right, ramblers — let’s get ramblin.” (Cassius, Act 2, scene 2)
I have an idea for a special photo-driven app or website. For a fair fee I will use your photos to create a funeral home lying-in-state photo. I will dress you in a black suit-and-tie or Pope’s robes. Think about it — nobody ever contemplates their after-death appearance (i.e., how they’ll look when their friends come to pay their respects). Now they can!
The good part of Critical Drinker’s rant (the part that rejoices at the notion of Hollywood Stalinist wokesterism coming to an end) begins at 6:45. Key quote: “2022 will be remembered as the year that the woke Hollywood bubble finally burst.”
Over the last 40 years I’ve naturally assumed that The Verdict’s opening-credits scene was shot in some Boston-area bar. I don’t know if this is true or not, but I read this morning it was actually shot in 7A, a NYC East Village bar (109 Avenue A) that closed in 2014. Update / correction: The Verdict bar location is 7B (aka Horseshoe Bar) at the corner of 7th Street and Ave. B. Still open for business.
7B: A History in Motion Pictures from Flight Crash Companion on Vimeo.
Against my better judgment I offered to take Jody to an IMAX 3D showing of Avatar: The Way of Water. This evening, I mean. Not at HE’s preferred venue (Loews Lincoln Square, which has a full-sized IMAX screen) but at a cheeseball Cinemark gladiator plex in Milford (fake IMAX, crawling with families).
I suspected that Cinemark would subject viewers to the same 20 to 25 minutes of trailers that AMC does, but I wasn’t sure. So I asked an overweight Millennial ticket-taker (bad complexion, awful tennis-ball haircut) how long the “interminable trailer crap” would run for, and the little wuss became upset at the c-word and walked away. He went over to the manager (male, 40ish, balding) and asked him to deal with me because he felt unsafe speaking to a customer who hates watching trailers and uses mildly vulgar terminology.
I didn’t like the OMTT because I hate overly sensitive Millennials as a rule. All he had to do was spit out the trailer running time — i.e., 25 minutes. Alas, behaving like a man was beyond his ability. We exchanged dirty looks.
After I’d been informed by the manager that the trailer bombardment would indeed run 25 minutes, I walked toward the popcorn counter. Mr. Sensitive Weight Problem came over, pointing and shouting “don’t you ever talk that way to me again! I’ll have you thrown out!”
What? I didn’t vocally reply but I went into a brief theatrical simulation of being scared. “Okay, that’s it…throw him out!”, the fat ticket-taker barked at a security guard.
The guard was older, calmer. “You got a ticket?” I showed him my dinky toilet-paper pass for IMAX theatre #8. “Okay,” he said. “The theatre’s right over there.” But I don’t want to be in the theatre right now, I replied, as I hate watching bombastic trailers. “Okay, but just step away to the side until the fat ticket-taker calms down,” he said.
All right, the guard didn’t actually say “until the fat ticket-taker calms down” but that’s what he meant. I nodded and strolled away.
The bottom line is that Millennials don’t always act like professionals. Their sensitive feelings are what matter the most. Which is why I’m not a fan.
