Jeffrey Wells 
Poor John Milius is grappling with the big C. Here’s to a great eccentric gun owner, a great individualist, a great commentary-track raconteur, an allegedly devotional surfer and one of the most influential director-writers of the ‘60s, 70s and ‘80s. Salute!
How do you write about Lena Dunham’s semi-autobiographical Too Much, a 10-part Netflix series that popped on 7.10, without stepping on a land mine or stepping over the woke-terror line by addressing the elephant in the room?
You start by praising Dunham’s writing, I suppose. (Right?) The dialogue is well honed and just right — wise and zeitgeisty and agreeably settled-in and never less than perceptive. I immediately felt at ease because of this talent, this signature, this attitudinal stamp.
And because of Megan Stalter’s believably dug-in and disarming lead performance.
But we can’t just sail along and pretend that Too Much, despite its emotional precision and candor and generally elevated vibe, isn’t a chubbo sell-job.
The truth is that I briefly gasped when a shot captured a partially disrobed Stalter in profile. I didn’t gasp because I wanted to earn or ratify my ayehole credentials. I gasped because a voice deep inside went “holy shit!”
Remember when the great Shelley Winters (who once told me I reminded her of an old boyfriend) ballooned up in the mid ‘60s? In Jack Smight and Paul Newman’s Harper (‘66) she was candidly and unapologetically described with the “f” word. Imagine!
Remember James Mangold ‘s Heavy (‘96)? And Catherine Breillat’s Fat Girl (‘01)? Remember that moment in Sideways when Thomas Haden Church described Missy Doty as “the grateful type”? The Stalinists would never tolerate this terminology now..
Too Much is an engaging, faintly downish but agreeably hip and certainly chuckle-worthy feminist romcom that is also (I’m repeating myself but an emphasis is warranted) an attempt to normalize.
Normalize what? Well, what has always seemed to me and tens of millions of others like an exotic concept, which is that obese, whipsmart, Type-A women and lean, open-hearted, chubby-chasing dudes often hook up and wind up happily entwined or even married. Not to be spoil-sportish but this kind of thing is not by any stretch a common relationship occurence, not even among size-affirming Millennials and Zoomers.
We all understand the basic appeal of curvy, zaftig and even a little Rubenesque action. As far back as the ‘70s a friend used the term “tons of fun”, and I knew exactly that he was joking about, conceptually speaking.
Speaking as a trim guy from way back, how many overweight women have I “been” with? One. Okay, maybe two. (And I don’t mean obese.) Did I mostly steer clear of calorically challenged lassies because I’m a bigot? It sure didn’t seem that way back then (i.e., the 20th Century). Nobody “slept” with fatties.
Backstory–wise, Too Much is about a moderately fetching Dunham-esque producer-writer-whatever (Stalter) who moves to London in the wake of a traumatic breakup with a longtime Brooklyn boyfriend (the trimly proportioned Michael Zegen) who’s dumped her for a model-esque hottie (Emily Ratajkowski).
The main order of business is about Stalter falling for a poor, well-sculpted musician and kindred spirit (The White Lotus’s Will Sharpe) who, in a non-wokey, normal-seeming world, would almost certainly be seeing a girl more his own size and shape. Or at least a zaftig rather than a tubby tuba.
What happens between Stalter and Sharpe is the meat and essence of the show, of course. Most of it romantically resonates and touches bottom and all that good stuff. (Including, I’ve read**, one or two harsh stand-offs.) Dunham is grade-A all the way. But how do you get around those gasp moments?
** I’ve only seen the first three episodes
I felt so drained Wednesday night and Thursday by my recent diagnosis that I figured I couldn’t stand the combination of atherosclerosis plus watching James Gunn’s Superman. But now that I’ve settled into (i.e., accepted) the glumness of things, I guess I can handle a Superman viewing. That’s what I’m doing now. Suffering through the godawful trailers, I mean.
And now it’s time to face the consequences of too much sugar, generally not-great food choices, way too little exercise as all my free time goes into the column, and — I know this is borderline suicidal — occasionally chugging energy drinks because I’ve always loved the bolt and the buzz and the sheer fuck-off-edness…the old Don Logan thing.
All my life I’ve had an exceptionally strong and resilient constitution. I don’t smoke or drink and have kept my weight more or less in check, and so I’ve lived my life like a relatively unencumbered 37 year-old for the most part. Because I’m a lucky inheritor of strong genes. I’ve felt like an exception to the rule for decades. I don’t get sick or certainly not for extended periods — that happens to others and not me.
But over the last four days I’ve been grappling with news that I have…uhm, a heart issue…screeech! All of a damn sudden I have to hit the brakes on my 37-year-old lifestyle and divorce myself from a general presumption about being more or less bulletproof. I suddenly need to radically healthify the diet and perhaps even have a procedure or two — a plaque-arresting stent and a balloon angioplasty.
All I know is that I feel as healthy as always (okay, not like a 37-year-old but generally like an anything-but-frail, go-for-the-gusto type) but a recent diagnosis begs to differ. I’m not certain that my Medicare + United Health insurance package will cover the stent and the angioplasty but here’s hoping. My dad submitted to the latter in his late 60s; ditto a pair of boomer film journo friendos in the recent past.
…despite how good, bad or mezzo-mezzo the film or play may have been, great poster images have an attitude and energy field all to themselves.
I don’t even remember Beth Henley’s Nobody’s Fool (‘86), although Ivdud see Robert Benton’s Nobody’s Fool eight years later (‘94). But that Eric-and-Rosanna pic is perfect.
I’m getting ready for my 7 pm Superman screening. My mind and my heart are open to whatever.
It’s located among the Fleur du Lac estates on 4000 West Lake Blvd. in Homewood, California, a couple of miles south of Tahoe City. Actually a greedy developer destroyed the main home years ago and put up condos. But the boat house is still there. I’ve visited a couple of Godfather filming sites in Sicily; I’d really like to set foot on Corleone turf stateside, if not in Tahoe then Vito Corleone’s walled-off estate on Staten Island.
A couple of days ago I stood up like Davy Crockett against Larry Karaszewski and his motley band of Nashville worshippers on Facebook. I held my ground, swinging Ol’ Betsy as General Santa Anna’s troops stormed and besieged.
It’s so bizarre that accomplished people who know what they’re talking about have remained Nashville fans. My initial “Okay, The Nashville Jig Is Up” piece ran on 12.14.13. Why didn’t Steven Gaydos jump into this when musketballs were flying and gunpowder was short?
Seriously and as far as it goes, I’m down with bears. I have a Werner Herzog-like appreciation of their ability or willingness to go homicidal at the drop of a hat. But as long as I’m able to keep a safe distance, it’s all cool.
Francis, Fax and James.
I’m Jeffrey Wells of Hollywood Elsewhere, and a friend of the late George Hickenlooper. I saw the 4K Hearts of Darkness earlier today at the Film Forum, and it looked absolutely wonderful. I know this restoration required a lot of hard work. Congrats to each of you, and especially to Eleanor Coppola in absentia.
But the “directed by” credit should be shared between Fax and poor George, rest his soul.
Here’s what people are reading on the HOD credit block on the HOD one-sheet and during HOD’s closing credits:
George said more than once to me, in fact, that he did the lion’s share of the editing work on HOD. And yet the credit block has always read “written & directed by Fax Bahr with George Hickenlooper.”
“With”? Was George Fax’s helper or assistant? Did he go out for coffee, make copies, run errands?
This is a very strange credit block assertion.
I’m only going by what George told me repeatedly, of course, but I don’t believe he lied or that he was delusional or anything in that realm.
Given the current credit block assertion that Fax was the senior creative force in the directing and writing (and also, one presumes, the editing and shaping) of HOD, is this what I should believe? Should I discount George’s personal testimony? Was George some kind of eccentric with an over-sized ego? I’m asking.
How should I report this?? I’m honestly perplexed. This really doesn’t seem right. — cheers, Jeffrey Wells, HE
“Fair Play For George Hickenlooper”, posted on 7.3.25:
With a dynamically enhanced, 4K-scanned and generally restored Hearts of Darkness opening at the Film Forum tomorrow, it’s an opportune time to remind the HE readership that while this 1991 doc about the making of Apocalypse Now uses the late Eleanor Coppola‘s footage and narration, the heavy lifting in the post-principal photography sense of the term was done by the late George Hickenlooper, whom I regarded as a friend, and Fax Bahr.
Here’s what Hickenlooper told me on 8.26.10:
“I think the more appropriate way to look at it is that Hearts of Darkness is Eleanor Coppola‘s story, but it’s not her film. Hardly. It’s her story. But that’s because I decided to make it her story.
“When I got involved with this project 20 years ago, Showtime was going to make it a one-hour TV special called Apocalypse Now Revisited. It was going to be basically an hour-long special about how they did the war pyrotechnics. It was going to be dull and stupid.
“At the time I told Steve Hewitt and my partner Fax Bahr. ‘Nobody cares about a making-of movie, especially one that is 14 years old.’ (Most of AN was shot in ‘76.) I argued that the film had to have an emotional component. At the time, no one was familiar with Eleanor’s diary ‘Notes.’ My father had purchased it for me on my 16th birthday [in 1979]. I devoured it up.
“When I got involved with Hearts of Darkness, I advocated using her diary as the narrative thread. I got incredible resistance from Showtime, and I fielded initial resistance from Eleanor. Not much, but some.
“Once I was able to convince everyone that the film would best be told through her narrative voice, it was then and only then it became HER STORY.
“Eleanor did shoot the footage in the Philippines back in 1976, of course, but she only stepped twice into our cutting room on the back lot of Universal. Twice. For a total of eight hours.
“I was there for a year, 15-18 hours a day. So it’s not a film by Eleanor, but I guess it’s sexier from a marketing angle to make it look that way.”
Hickenlooper elaborated upon the Hearts of Darkness history in a 2007 interview with laist correspondent Josh Tate.
In an 8.27.10 HE followup Hickenlooper stated that “the reality is that Fax Bahr hardly had anything to do with HOD. He was writing for the show In Living Color at the time. He spent a total of about three weeks out of the entire year in the editing room. Eleanor spent two days. It was me and the two editors (Michael Greer, Jay Miracle) for an entire year.”
James Mockowski, Film Archivist and Restoration Supervisor at American Zoetrope: “For the past 30 years, Eleanor’s 16mm behind-the-scenes footage has been three to four generations removed from the original elements. For this new release and restoration of the documentary, Francis decided to scan the original sources in 4K. The extensive excerpts from the feature are now presented in their original 2.39:1 aspect ratio, rather than being letterboxed into a 4×3 frame.”
Hickenlooper (Picture This: The Times of Peter Bogdanovich in Archer City, Texas, Some Folks Call It a Sling Blade (short), Dogtown, The Man from Elysian Fields, The Mayor of Sunset Strip, Factory Girl, Casino Jack) died in his sleep on October 29, 2010, at age 47.
Again, the link to the 2007 laist piece.
\
I have to see if the allegedly restored 4K Hearts of Darkness is all it’s cracked up to be. So I’m on the downtown IRT on this agreeably hot day, etc.
Posted on the eve of the release of the Hearts of Darkness DVD in 2008:
