With all the Licorice Pizza buzz and the related topic of May-December love affair flicks, I was startled to read about Richard Donner‘s Lola (aka Twinky), a 1970 dramedy about a 38 year-old novelist (Charles Bronson) falling for and marrying a 16 year-old (Susan George, actually 19 during filming). Looks awful! Bronson’s character writes porn novels (!).

A much better film in this vein was Bertrand Blier‘s Beau Pere (’81), about a 30-year-old pianist (Patrick Dewaere) who has an affair with his 14-year-old stepdaughter (Ariel Besse) after her mother dies in a car accident. Can you imagine Twitter’s reaction to such a film? Can you imagine anyone even flirting with making it? Much, much worse that the Woody and Soon-Yi thing.

Yeah, I know — the Licorice Pizza situation isn’t exactly “May-December” but it’s close enough, I guess. A 25 year-old woman (Alana Haim) being attracted to a 15 year-old male actor (Connor Hoffman) doesn’t seem too beyond the pale, but it keeps Haim from getting entangled with Hoffman for most of the running time.

There was a slight age-inappropriate discussion with Luca Guadagnino‘s Call Me By Your Name (’17), due to Timothee Chalamet‘s Elio being 17 to Armie Hammer‘s Oliver being 24. But mostly no one cared.

Older women falling for younger fellas movies are much more palatable. And no one thinks there’s anything tragic or hurtful about teenage guys having it off with older women…c’mon. When I was 15 and 16 I used to dream about getting lucky with this or that female teacher. It would have been heaven on earth. And when I was in my 20s I used to dream about women in their 30s.

Best older women-younger dude movies: Simone Signoret in Room At The Top (’59). Adrien Lyne‘s Unfaithful (’02), The Mother (’03). Notes on a Scandal (’06), Rushmore (’98), The Reader (’08), Y Tu Mama Tambien (’01). Others?

On 11.12.17, a certain Call Me By Your Name clique — director Luca Guadagnino, myself, Tatiana, director Ferdinando Cito Filomarino, Amazon’s Scott Foundas and one or two others — shared a nice big dinner at Matsuhisa. Little did we know that the scourge of woke terror was just around the corner…

As yesterday (11.11) was Veteran’s Day, I’m allowed to quote my Marine Lieutenant dad, who slugged it out against Japanese forces (Iwo Jima) and had this to say: “No soldier ever gave his life for his country. They caught a bullet or shrapnel or just bad luck. People glorifying battlefield death as some kind of noble patriotic charity is…bunk.”

Guillermo del Toro and Kim Morgan (whom I’ve personally known for several years and ran into at a Telluride brunch three or four years ago) have been travelling around for two or three years and working together on Nightmare Alley (they co-wrote the script), and now they’re married…cool. GDT was married for 20 years to Lorenza Newton, mother of his daughters Marisa and Mariana. They separated in early ’17. Morgan was previously married to Canadian highbrow director Guy Maddin for four years.

HE is looking forward to seeing Nightmare Alley sometime in early December.

“Some of our greatest cinema challenges us to really confront our own hearts in the safety of that darkened theatre. That’s part of the purpose of filmmaking.” — quote from David Fincher and David Prior‘s Voir (Netflix, 12.6).

This trailer is an excellent exercise in movie impressionism. Congrats to Sasha Stone for managing to be a part of this thing, and for telling her Jaws story in a compelling way.

2021 Reality Check: Movies stopped challenging or even slipping into the hearts of filmgoers with any regularity a long time ago. The only current movies that even flirt with this aesthetic are King Richard, Cyrano, Pig, A Hero and one or two others. Voir is therefore a nostalgia flick to a certain extent. The dual purpose of 90% to 95% of movies is to (a) repeat and reenforce woke narratives and (b) enhance corporate revenue.

Voir is having its big AFI Fest on Saturday evening. I’m hoping to snag a Netflix press screener before long.

In Aaron Sorkin‘s Hollywood Reporter interview about Being The Ricardos, he says he told Nicole Kidman and Javier Bardem that he was “not looking for a physical or vocal impersonation” of Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz. Okay, fine — Sorkin’s creation, the director says what goes.

But try to imagine Sorkin directing a drama about the Kennedy White House, and he’s cast, say, Ben Affleck as JFK and Ben starts working on his JFK accent and Sorkin says “Naahh, that’s okay, Ben…you don’t have to do that…just use your own natural voice.”

Or if Sorkin was directing a movie about Abraham Lincoln‘s final days and he cast Ben Stiller as Lincoln, and as Ben was working on his down-home, high-pitched Illinois accent Sorkin said, “Naaahh, that’s okay, Ben…just use your own voice…just talk like you did as the night watchman in the Night at the Museum movies.”

I was very sorry to learn earlier today that former Herald Examiner film critic, screenwriter and all-around film devotee and popcorn genre fan David Chute, the ex-husband of IndieWire‘s Anne Thompson, passed on Monday, 11.8.

Here are Anne’s feelings, thoughts, recollections.

Anne and David married in ’83, divorced in ’97. They were/are the parents of Nora Thompson Chute, who was born in late ’89, her birthday being very close to Dylan’s.

Anne reports that Chute, 71, had moved back to Los Angeles four months ago after caring for his Maine-residing father for eight years, and that he succumbed only three weeks after being diagnosed with stage four esophageal cancer.

Back in ’89 and ’90, when Jett was 18 months or so and Dylan had just come along, my ex-wife Maggie and I visited Anne and David’s home on Hobart Street for dinners and whatnot.

At the time David was transitioning out of film criticism (calling himself a “recovering” veteran of that trade) and giving screenwriting a go. He was a big fan of Asian cinema, John Woo, George Romero, John Waters, that line of country.

I can’t say that David and I kept in touch or anything. We were never more than friendly acquaintances but I’d always respected his writing enormously, and had been a follower of his reviews and essays going back to the mid to late ’70s, starting with his work for the Boston Phoenix and Film Comment. When he was on his game and in his element and manning the controls, David was a hip heavyweight scholar — his name and signature really meant something. Plus he was funny, and he had a great-sounding voice — mature, settled, a bit of a Maine twang.

I’m very, very sorry.