Posted on 2.1.21: The tone of Mariem Pérez Riera‘s Rita Moreno: Just a Girl Who Decided to Go for It is very “go, Rita… we love and cherish you”, etc. Which is great — it’s what every positive-minded doc about a long-haul, never-say-die actress should be like.

But it also plays the victim card over and over. It ignores the way things were when Moreno was coming up in the ’50s, and it tips in the direction of instructional 21st Century progressive feminism. It’s totally infused with “presentism” — judging the past by present-day standards.

It’s not about how Moreno’s life unfolded on a moment-to-moment basis when she was coming up and making her name and building her career, but about how badly she was treated and what assholes the various men were. Which they WERE, of course, but the ’50s were not a time of enlightenment as far as recognizing the full value of women in any realm was concerned. Moreno had a tough time because of that.

Yes, the film industry was sexist, exploitive, insensitive…unable or unwilling to see Moreno as a unique Latina with her own identity and contours. Yes, it was a bad place in many respects, but then again she was close to the top of the industry in the ‘50s.

How many dozens or hundreds of other Latina actress dancers were hungry to be cast in the roles that she landed? How many others were as talented? Or making as much money? (There was a reason that she got the Anita role in West Side Story rather than Chita Rivera, who played the spitfire character on Broadway.) How many Puerto Rican-born actresses were hanging out with Marlon Brando in the ’50s and early ’60s and running in that heavy company? Or attending the 1963 Civil Rights March? And having a side affair with Elvis Presley and rubbing shoulders with almost everyone who mattered back them?

Yes, she really got going as a stage and character actress in the ‘60s, ‘70s and beyond. Yes, she was on The Electric Company and Sesame Street and Oz. Yes, she’s costarring in the Norman Lear reboot of One Day At A Time, etc.

It’s a bit curious, by the way, that Riera has decided to ignore Moreno’s big scene with Jack Nicholson at the end of Mike Nichols‘ Carnal Knowledge (’71). It’s one of her hallmark moments, and yet Riera dismisses it because…you tell me. She also ignores Moreno’s Presley affair, which was basically about making Brando jealous.

Last night I finally got around to visiting the new Amoeba store at the corner of Hollywood Blvd. and Argyle (6200 Hollywood Blvd.). My last visit to the previous store (6400 Sunset) was sometime in February 2020, and I guess I wanted to say “hello again” to those old retail vibes. I thought it might get my blood going on some level.

I went straight to the Bluray section, of course, and discovered that their total inventory is but a small fraction of what they used to offer. Worse, DVDs and Blurays are mixed together in the shelves. I was close to tears.

I suddenly felt sorry for the place, and decided on the spur to buy something in order to help out. Then it hit me — the Help! Bluray! I’d seen this 55 year-old film exactly once, and for good reasons. But it’s been decades, I told myself, and it’s never been streamed, and I’d read that the disc reps a nice restoration effort so what the hell. But what a disappointment.

I’d forgotten how boring it is. Not for a single moment is the absurd premise — the inability of Ringo Starr to remove a huge valuable ring from his left-hand ring finger, and the inability of some “funny” Kali-worshipping fanatics to forcibly remove it — the least bit involving, much less amusing. Joke after joke and physical gag after physical gag just lie there. I watched it open-mouthed — “Jeez, this isn’t just weak…it’s partly awful.”

John Lennon‘s snide improvs (particularly some brief banter between he and a high government official played by Patrick Cargill) and the song sequences are the only things that work. Okay, I also like the bit in which a gnome-ish, Chico Marx-like gardener is shown to be living with the lads inside their spacious four-door condo, and who even steps in as a flute player during a performance of “You’ve Got To Hide Your Love Away.”

The Beeyattles were reportedly high during filming, but it doesn’t feel like a stoner movie. Imagine if the marijuana-for-breakfast thing had been deployed in some capacity — that at least would’ve delivered something or other. What a waste. They should have gone with the Joe Orton script.

Consider these excerpts from Vulture‘s “Scott Rudin As Told By His Assistants” story — a must-read. In and of themselves and for my money they convey a fuller, franker and more revelatory portrait of Rudin‘s explosive personality and management style (as well as the transactionally expedient showbiz value system) than anything Tatiana Siegel has reported thus far in The Hollywood Reporter.

Siegel’s Rudin article is basically an indictment piece — the Vulture thing is an exploration with all kinds of traumatic side tangents.

Apart from the rage, physical assaults, flying potatoes and whatnot, lessons in two major films, Full Metal Jacket and The Bad and the Beautiful, apply to some extent.

Remember the feeling of chilly irony that followed Matthew Modine‘s shooting of the female Vietnamese sniper at the finale of Stanley Kubrick‘s 1987 war classic? Throughout the film Modine’s “Joker” had been depicted as a resident of his own sardonic, smart-ass planet, but after plugging the sniper Joker stops assessing from a distance and becomes, in the words of Rafterman, “fucking hardcore, man.” A portion of his humanity has left him or least been put aside and sealed away, but he’s also crossed over into the warrior realm — “I am in world of shit, yes, but I am alive and I am not afraid.”

This is what the #15 quote is basically about, rough and tumble-wise. Working for Scott Rudin is like carrying an M16 through the hills and rice paddies of Vietnam, in a sense, and so “the only way to succeed [is] to dedicate yourself to it fully, and that often meant losing your ability to see the situation for what it is…you start to lose your own humanity.”

Vincente Minnelli‘s The Bad and the Beautiful is about a ruthless, abusive producer (Kirk Douglas) who’s fucked over a trio of famous ex-colleagues (Lana Turner, Barry Sullivan, Dick Powell) in his climb to the top. The basic idea is that even though Douglas is a bad, brutal person in many respects, he still has a certain combustible spark and a relentless hunger to succeed that sometimes leads to making great films, and so, at the very end, his ex-colleagues still want to hear his latest idea.

I was personally shattered when I read a few months ago that Cate Blanchett wouldn’t be playing Lucille Ball in Aaron Sorkin‘s Being the Ricardos, but that Nicole Kidman would. I’m still very sorry about this.

Blanchett is more imbued with that combination of skill, genius, magnetism and whatever-else-you-want-to-call-it than Kidman is…sorry but it’s true. That same spark of nervy madness was in Ball herself, which is why Blanchett would’ve been a perfect fit. Plus the 53-year-old Kidman is too old to play Ball when she and Arnaz first met (during the shoot of 1940’s Too Many Girls, when Ball was 29 and Arnaz was 23).

Javier Bardem as Desi Arnaz will be great…love it.

“It’s the story of Lucille Ball, my actual mother…not Lucy Ricardo. There will be humor in the film, but it’s the story of the two of them and how they met, and what went right and what went wrong [with] their relationship, their love affair. So stop arguing about who should play it, her nose isn’t the same, she doesn’t look like her, she isn’t as funny….just trust us, it’s gonna be a nice film.” — Lucie Arnaz in a Facebook video, posted on or about 1.18.21.

Earnest congrats to the winners of the 2021 Independent Spirit Awards, and particularly to the Best Actor and Best Actress winners — Sound of Metal‘s Riz Ahmed and Promising Young Woman‘s Carey Mulligan. And an especially supportive back-pat for emcee Melissa Villasenor — smart material performed for a smattering of miked stage hands, amusing skits (Owen Wilson runs into a testy Frances McDormand)…unqualified HE approval.

And “sorry but tough shit” condolences for the multi-category-nominated Never Rarely Sometimes Always (seven noms including Best feature and Best Director), Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom, Miss Juneteenth, First Cow and The Assistant. Each of these films had gathered a certain amount of earlybird award-season heat, and then it all just melted away.

Why did Never Rarely vaporize so completely? I’ll tell you why. Because it’s an Indiewire movie — an understated, praised-to-the-heavens, Eric Kohn and David Ehrlich-approved Sundance flick, except even indie-world veterans don’t necessarily park their cars in the Ehrlich-Kohn garage.

Same deal with First Cow…totally stamped and sanctified by Kohn-Ehrlich, and where is it now? I’m telling you that Kohn-Ehrlich is an entirely separate planet…an entirely different solar system.

2020 “friendo” comment about Never Rarely: “Sidney Flanigan‘s profound ambivalence about what she’s about to go through, her deep desire not to do it, because there is in fact a live human in there…this element is literally the only drama in the film. That’s what’s so hilarious about the woke film-critic-industrial-annoyance-complex not getting it. What do they think the movie is about? If their left-wing boilerplate interpretation were accurate, it might as well be a movie about two teenagers hopping a bus to go to New York City to pay $500 in unpaid parking tickets.”

Best Feature: Nomadland (Searchlight Pictures) / HE reaction: No shit?

Best Director: Chloé Zhao, Nomadland (Searchlight Pictures) / HE reaction: Ditto.

Best Screenplay: Emerald Fennell, Promising Young Woman (Focus Features) / HE reaction: Respectfully disapproved because of the last-minute, pull-the-rug-out Bo Burnham character abandonment by way of a twist.

Best First Feature: Sound of Metal (Darius Marder, Amazon Studios) / HE reaction: Total approval.

Best First Screenplay: Andy Siara, Palm Springs (Neon/Hulu) / HE reaction: Are they fucking kidding us? Am unsubtle, unfunny, second-rate, hand-me-down Groundhog Day?

John Cassavetes Award (for best feature made under $500,000): Residue / Writer/Director: Merawi Gerima.

Best Supporting Female: Yuh-Jung Youn, Minari (A24) / HE reaction: Plucky grandma burns the barn down…terrific.

Gold Derby‘s Tom O’Neill, Indiewire‘s Anne Thompson, Variety‘s Tim Gray and Deadline‘s Pete Hammond deliver their final Oscar predictions. Nobody cares, nobody wants to care, it’s an asterisk year, a shoulder-shrugger, smallest all-time audience, etc.

Significant quotes: (a) “There are so many reasons why Nomadland is secure, and Chicago 7 is not…I think it’s possible that The Trial of the Chicago 7 could go down winning nothing, or only one Oscar for Best Editing”; (b) “Vanessa Kirkby isn’t in the running…I would also suggest that Andra Day isn’t either…I completely discount the Globes”; (c) “We’ve heard that in Academy polling Viola Davis and Andra Day are tied, and could therefore be splitting the vote”; (d) “Moods change, time passes…a month ago I would’ve predicted Carey Mulligan winning [the Best Actress Oscar]… but that momentum is gone…the heat is off her.”

HE comment about Viola Davis possibly winning: Her performance is a fatsuit lipsynch exercise…it simply isn’t good enough…it’s all bluster and “don’t fuck with me”…If she wins (which appears likely) everyone knows Chadwick Boseman will win Best Actor, and that Ma Rainey will probably win for Best Costume and Makeup. Perhaps some will rationalize that it’s better to spread it around and give the Oscar to someone other than Viola.

In a 4.22 Kim Masters piece for the Hollywood Reporter titled “Why Some Hollywood Execs Are Hoping for Scott Rudin to Return,” “reps and executives” who have worked with Rudin offer four arguments or rationalizations in favor of not ripping his stripes off.

Here they are with HE commentary following each one:

(a) “I’m not condoning the behavior, but it’s hardly news that Rudin is a horrendous bully and if you worked for him, it’s on you.”

HE response: Honestly? He/she is right. Nobody looking to work for Rudin could possibly do so blind — everyone knows what his reputation is, and Rudin would never hire anyone dumb enough (or babe-in-the-woods enough) not to know.

(b) “I’m not condoning it, but there are very few people with [Rudin’s] level of taste and access to material.”

HE response: He/she is not wrong. In today’s Taika Waititi-level world, there are very few upmarket, aspirational, Tiffany-level producers left in this business.

(c) “I’m not condoning it, but he trained a lot of people who went on to have successful careers.”

HE response: True.

(d) “What are we going to do, cancel everyone?”

HE response: No, of course not — only the seemingly guilty will be tried, convicted and forced to walk the plank.

Masters kicker: “A source who has been in touch with Rudin says he’s ‘genuinely sorry the talent will have to answer for him.’ There’s good reason for that beyond whatever empathy he may be capable of mustering. Rudin knows where he’s vulnerable; if talent feels compelled to flee, that’s the final curtain.”

Posted on 6.24.17: I’ve said this two or three times, but the older I’ve gotten the more I’ve come to realize that Franc Roddam‘s Quadrophenia — loosely based on the Who rock opera and basically the story of Jimmy Cooper (Phil Daniels) and his identity, friendship and girlfriend issues — belongs in the near-great category.

Hands down it delivers one of the craziest, most live-wire recreations of mad generational fervor and ’60s mayhem.

“Quadrophenia is the closest thing England has produced to its own Mean Streets” — from “Quadrophenia: Jimmy vs. World” by Howard Hampton.

I first saw Quadropehnia at Manhattan’s 8th Street Playhouse when it opened in November ’79, at the height of my often unemployed “am I even good enough to attempt to be a journalist?” weltschmerz.

For me, Quadrophenia supplied my first encounter with Sting. Dandied up in flashy threads, his hair dyed platinum blonde, Sting played a kind of celebrity mod figure called “Ace Face.” I knew of The Police in ’79, of course, but I didn’t really tune into them until ’80.

During a 3.31.15 interview with Police guitarist Andy Summers (the subject was Can’t Stand Losing You: Surviving the Police), it killed me to learn that The Police performed a CBGBs gig one night in the fall of ’78. Two shows in fact, and that not many people attended the second show, Summers said. I was living at 143 Sullivan Street at the time, and I could have just walked over and seen them up close. Kick me.

I’ve reminded once or twice how Roddam forgot to change the letters on a movie marquee while shooting a crowd scene, and so we read, however briefly, that Warren Beatty‘s Heaven Can Wait and Randal Kleiser‘s Grease — both released in the summer of ’78, when Quadrophenia was shooting — are the current attractions.

There’s a plan for Martin Scorsese to produce and John Carney to direct “a George Gershwin-inspired musical drama” — not a Gershwin biopic — called Fascinating Rhythm.

4.22 Variety excerpt: “An original musical, Fascinating Rhythm will draw creative influence from the life and music of Gershwin. However, the film is not expected to be a biopic. Instead, the story is centering on a young woman’s magical journey through past and present New York City. The Gershwin estate is on board and the movie will feature his music throughout.”

Excuse me but I always thought the famed Gershwin tune (written in 1924, when Gershwin was 25 or so) was called “Fascinatin’ Rhythmn.”

How many Millennials and Zoomers have even heard of Gershwin? You know the state of education in this country. What would be the point of learning about him anyway? MZs were born toward the end of the 20th Century and into the early 21st — why should they know or care about some Russian-Jewish musician (born Jacob Bruskin Gershowitz) who was born in Brooklyn in 1898? Some guy who never went online in his life, not once.

I’d like it understood that I hand-wrote an essay about the life and music of George Gershwin when I was nine years old. I included my own drawing of him. I’d been instructed by my third-grade teacher (Mrs. Phaff) to compose a paper on a classical musician. I complained to my mother that I was bored by the usual stuffy composers (I hadn’t yet discovered Peter Tchaikovsky), and so she turned me on to Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue.” When I came back with my Gershwin essay Mrs. Phaff frowned and even scolded me somewhat. Gershwin, she said, was “too pop, too modern” — she’d been expecting a paper on Schumer or Handl or Mahler. My mother was enraged when I told her this.

I was going to title this article “Cancel Sam Peckinpah,” but that might sound too extreme. Then again why not? The idea (one that I’m sure the “safeties” would agree with) is that by posthumously cancelling the late, impassioned, gifted-in-the-’60s, booze-addled, cocaine-snorting, notoriously abusive director and keeping him jailed in perpetuity, it would send a message to current industry abusers that they’d better clean up their act or else.

And let’s not stop at Peckinpah‘s memory alone — let’s also cast suspicious eyes upon his film critic admirers, his biographers, his fans, the Criterion Collection execs who approved the Bluray of Straw Dogs, director Rod Lurie for his Straw Dogs remake, anyone who owns Blurays of Ride The High Country, Major Dundee, The Ballad of Cable Hogue, The Wild Bunch…you get the idea. Round ’em all up.

You can’t just cancel the residue of this horrible man — you have to erode and possibly even destroy the lives of those who’ve sought to keep his memory alive. Have you ever gotten down on your knees and tried to remove crab grass from your front lawn? You can’t fuck around. You have to be merciless.

It goes without saying that if Peckinpah was somehow time-throttled out of the ’60s and ’70s and into the present environment that he wouldn’t last five minutes. So why not pretend that he’s still here and act accordingly? Why not send a clear and thundering message that Peckinpah-like behavior will never, ever be tolerated in this industry again? What does the fact that Peckinpah died 36 and 1/2 years ago have to do with anything? In a way he’s still “here”, still among us.

Okay, I’m partly kidding. Peckinpah was definitely a drunken, sexist, coked-up beast (particularly in the ’70s and early ’80s), but he did make a few brilliant films and if you know anything about the movie-making craft you know it’s damn hard to make even a decently mediocre one. Plus the annoying fact that life has never been especially tidy in the corresponding or delineation of great art vs. gentle people and vice versa. But if I was serious you know that a significant percentage of Twitter jackals would approve.

I was inspired to write this by an HE commenter named “Huisache“, whi posted the following sometime this morning in the “Duelling Thompson Sagas” thread:

Huisache: “With the exception of Straw Dogs all of Sam Peckinpah’s films are messes of one magnitude or another, with Bring Me The Head of Alfredo Garcia the biggest mess of all.

“The Getaway is enjoyable but the Slim Pickens ending is emblematic of Peckinpah’s resort to just saying ‘screw it, how do I get out of this mess? It was just nailed on. Sam had a mess and he called Pickens for help and the old feller bailed him out with a glorious good-ole-boy bit.

“I saw the film when it came out and was living in the area where it was filmed in central Texas. I thought it a very enjoyable mess and the Pickens ending a hoot. But that’s all the film is — an enjoyable hoot. Acting like it’s some kind of worthy project is a bridge too far.

HE to Friendo #1: “So please tell me if Carey Mulligan has a decent chance of winning or not. I will be dismayed if Viola Davis (fatsuit, lip-synch, curious SAG acclaim) or Frances McDormand (again?) win. Mulligan is significantly ahead among Gold Derby-ites, as you know. But did Claudia Eller screw the pooch when Variety offered that groveling apology?

“Variety‘s Clayton Davis has completely dismissed Mulligan — he says it’s down to McDormand vs. Davis vs. Andra Day. I would love to see Mulligan win if only to see Clayton wipe egg yolk off his face.”

Friendo #1 to HE: “[I suspect that] Clayton writes a fair amount of bullshit [much of] the time. I guarantee you he has no idea what he is talking about but claims to as if it is fact, based on a couple of conversations with publicists pushing their agenda. I don’t believe he has much outreach at all with [Academy] voters, or not as much as he claims.

“Statistically Carey and Frances would seem to have the best chance. Both are in widely seen Best Picture nominees. Viola has a decent shot but there has never been both a Best Actor (Chadwick Boseman) and a Best Actress winner from a film that wasn’t Best Picture-nominated.

“The Best Actress race remains very fluid. I am still predicting Carey, but the Variety review thing with Dennis Harvey has zero visibility among Academy voters — a non-issue.”

HE to Friendo #1: “The Variety apology thing has zero visibility? Justin Chang and the National Society Of Film Critics officially admonished Variety for this. Many stood up and defended poor Dennis Harvey. How could your rank-and-file Academy voters be completely oblivious to this?”

Friendo #1 to HE: “Rank-and-file Oscar voters barely focus on the films, much less the white noise of this or that critic.”

Friendo #2 to HE: “Carey can absolutely still win.”

Friendo #3 to HE: “Voters will be split. There will be those who want to make history to top the 2001 win of Halle Berry as the only black actress to win. Their votes will be divided between Andra Day (younger, more fully realized performance, playing a beloved icon, the second time two black actresses have been nominated and one was playing Billie Holiday) and Viola Davis (veteran, beloved, has the Denzel Washington voting bloc behind her — she’s overdue after being snubbed in 2010).

“The second split will be between those who are voting ‘on performance’ only and they will be split between McDormand (star of the Best Picture frontrunner — it is extremely rare for a Best Actress and Best Picture to match, not since 2004) and Mulligan — the star of the second most nominated (in crucial categories).

“Mulligan or McDormand should have won SAG, but Davis took it regardless. When they were all together Day won (Globes) and then Mulligan (Critics Choice, which doesn’t matter as much).”