Jeffrey Wells

Nightmare Scarves

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The dude who designed this ugly-ass, black-white-and-blue Soho scarf (top photo) should be fined if not arrested.

Not to mention the semi-ghoulish return of the “Castro clone” look of the mid to late ‘70s, complete with a rough-and-ready, “Don’t Stop Me Now” Freddie Mercury moustache.

Honest question: Who walks around with a folded scarf hanging out of a jacket’s side pocket? We all recall the colored-handkerchief signage from the leather-bar culture of several decades ago. Is the folded scarf thing a variation of some kind?

Something Wicked Has This Way Come

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As we all stand together before the gaping, fang-toothed jaws of AI engulfment, I’ve never felt more of an intense longing to see films that operate on the simplest renderings of dramatic or comedic or fantasy-seeking basics — movies that hopefully arouse the mind, trigger the heart and generally go deep.

Translation: AI is fine, but it has to be invisible.

Mr. Scorsese Dropped The Ball

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A fair and honest portrayal of Martin Scorsese’s life and career would acknowledge that Killers of the Flower Moon is arguably his worst film (yes, even worse than Hugo and Kundun) .

I’ve explained this numerous times, but this is because (a) KOTFM was driven by an all-but-total capitulation to glum woke theology, which meant that (b) Lily Gladstone’s Molly Burkhart had to be portrayed as not only gloriously imbued with God’s radiant and rhapsodic light but as a deeply fascinating character (not).

Scorsese had a great Eric Roth adaptation of David Grann’s 2017 novel to work with, but he and Leonardo DiCaprio were too afraid of offending the DEI fanatics by making Texas Ranger Tom White the central character.

KOTFM was therefore, Robbie Robertson’s haunting music aside, the least Scorsese–esque film to ever bear his name. It was about Marty dropping to his knees and showing obeisance to the early 2020s power of woke fanaticism.

Does Rebecca Miller’s Mr. Scorsese (Apple TV+, 10.17) acknowledge this? I haven’t seen it, but it sure as hell sounds like she doesn’t.

At Least I Was Able To Not Only Witness The Post-Peak Heyday of L.A.’s Thriving Entertainment Industry First-Hand

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…and derive a half-decent living from it while getting to know and laugh and trade insights with all kinds of top-tier creatives, hangers-on, wise guys, dazzling intellects, flamboyant fellows, gifted pretenders, crusty seen-it-alls, ruthless studio suits, seducers, flunkies, critics, screenwriters, Fast Eddie opportunists, soul-less sharpies, gimlet-eyed poker players, gladhanders, cool cats…at least I was able to bask in all this while savoring the glamour and the history while drinking from the trough. 40-plus years of this!

Statham Shameless

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Shelter (Black Bear, 1.30.26) is about Jason Statham’s “Mason”, a reclusive dude living in a remote setting by the sea. After saving a young girl from drowning in a savage storm, he unwittingly sets off a chain reaction that brings violence his way, forcing him to confront choices from the past, blah, blah.

Friendo:  “Isn’t this the plot of EVERY fucking Jason Statham movie??  

“It’s essentially a software program. A brooding, unassuming guy with a past he’s trying to forget (special forces soldier, government assassin, blah blah blah) must call upon his “special set of skills” in order to protect or avenge a defenseless innocent.  

“Every.  Fucking.  Movie.  Absolutely jaw–dropping.

“One presumes that Statham has asked himself, ‘Wait a minute, didn’t I (or was it Liam Neeson?) just make this movie last year?   And the year before that?  And the year before that?  And the year before that?  And…’”

Holy shit, Bill Nighy is in this!

For The Record

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From yesterday’s (10.1) Oscar prediction riff — “Twelve 2025 Films with Exceptional Craft, Serious Content, Emotional Heft”:

I might dismissively, grudgingly accept Sinners winning the compensation prize of a Best Original Screenplay Oscar, despite the fact that such a win would be ridiculous, of course.

Weapons over Sinners, Weapons over Sinners, Weapons over Sinners.

Noms but no wins for the absurdly overpraised, identity-propelled & deeply schlocky Sinners — noms but no wins for the absurdly overpraised, identity-propelled & deeply schlocky Sinners — noms but no wins for the absurdly overpraised, identity-propelled & deeply schlocky Sinners.

I am ready and willing to die on this hill. I would feel radiantly blessed and fulfilled if a lightning bolt would strike me down on a hilly golf course for this. Kill me, kill me, kill me. For I am the lamb.

Let every voter and every nation know that Hollywood Elsewhere is THE default worldwide takedown site for Sinners. For this effing movie is blood-soaked, fang-toothed, ground-up mulch…a ludicrously bloody Samuel Z. Arkoff vampire cunnilingus programmer…Oscar diminishment to it, Oscar diminishment to it, Oscar diminishment to it.   

https://hollywood-elsewhere.com/thick-rural-drawlin-mississippi-patois-cant-cut-through-it/

Leap of Faith

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Somewhere during One Battle After Another’s second act, Leonardo DiCaprio’s Bob Ferguson is fleeing the bad guys at night as he runs and leaps over a series of urban rooftops. Then he falls from one, crashing into a drooping tree branch on his way down (a drop of roughly 15 feet) and landing flat on his chest.

There’s no way Leo’s stunt guy could’ve jumped and landed like that. Too dangerous. (A 15-foot fall recently killed a female trapeze artist in Germany.) I’m guessing he was speedily lowered on a wire, which was then digitally erased. But the fall happens so quickly and is sufficiently obscured by the dark that the trickery isn’t noticed. This is the kind of clever, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it stunt that I really admire.

“Peacock acting”! Name other examples of this over the decades? Daniel Day Lewis in Gangs of New York, etc.

LSD Nasal Spray

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A well-educated friend mentioned the other day that within certain professional circles LSD is available as a spray…a misting spray that one can squeeze into the mouth or perhaps even the nostrils. She said it was “legal” in certain European countries, although Google disputes this.

When I contemplate the phrase “deep inside your mind and soul” I tend to think of thoughts, feelings and fleeting insights that are rooted in (a) the life experience and (b) the biological constitution of one Jeffrey Wells….all rolled up into one softball-sized wad of soft clay.

But to me the ultimate transportation enabled by LSD — satori, enlightenment, Godhead consciousness — is not about the personal but…put it any way you prefer but I’m calling it the universal, cosmic, eternal realms of forever.

It’s about transcending the psychological and sailing into the mystic. The chains fall away, and you become one with the sky and the stars.

It’s not about discovery as much as submission and acceptance. Not about “break on through to the other side” (Doors, Huxley) as much as “slip your piece under the towel, slip the key into the lock and just open the door and click…walk on through.” The general presumption is that the seeker needs to somehow “think” himself or herself way into the Godstream…nope. It’s more about just kicking back and letting it in.

More Sex With Heathcliff

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Fuck me hard and long, not to mention all squishy and sweaty, and I mean Emerald Fennell-style…shrieking like pigs and salivating like hungry dogs. But no accidental farting.

Diverse, Woke, Queer/Trans ComicCon

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Remember the old days when typical ComicCon devotees tended to be schlubby, dorky-looking straight guys with a generally horrific dress sense (shorts, low-thread-count T-shirts, black socks, sneaker slip-ons) and a tendency towards corpulence?