In a 3.7.19 clip of Vincent D’Onofrio on the Rich Eisen Show (3.7.19), he recounts a making of Full Metal Jacket story that I’d never heard before today. It starts at 5:10, lasts for just under two minutes, and is definitely worth your time.

We all understand that Mickey Rourke‘s golden movie-star period spanned from ’81 to ’88 — Body Heat, Diner, Rumble Fish, The Pope of Greenwich Village, Year of the Dragon (“mood hair”), 9 1/2 Weeks, Barfly, Angel Heart, A Prayer for the Dying (“yes, fah’uhr”) and the respected, under-seen Homeboy.

The boxing period started sometime in the late ’80s, and then came the cheek implants and other facial tough-ups. Rourke began to look like a different person — that Diner guy hadn’t aged as much as suffered a transformation into something mottled and re-sculpted.

Then come a series of not-good-enough flicks — Johnny Handsome, Wild Orchid, Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man, Michael Cimino‘s Desperate Hours, White Sands, etc. Rourke briefly “came back” with his Oscar-nominated performance in Darren Aronofsky‘s The Wrestler (’08). My favorite Rourke moments of the last decade came from his YouTube putdowns of Donald Trump.

Rourke was exquisite in Body Heat — the right age, a perfect look, authentic street attitude, a gentleness. When I think of classic Rourke I think of the triumvirate of Body Heat, Diner and Angel Heart.

Pauline Kael on early Rourke: ‘He has an edge and a magnetism and a pure, sweet smile that surprises you.”

Bob Dylan on Homeboy: “[Rourke] could break your heart with a look. The movie traveled to the moon every time he came onto the screen. Nobody could hold a candle to him. He was just there, didn’t have to say hello or good-bye.”

Welcome back to Marvel Children’s Day Camp…a place for family, fables, hugs, caresses and reassuring fantasies…a Shangri-La for open-hearted saps and simpletons who want need simulations of magic and wonder in their lives. That craggy-voice narrator sounds a bit like Hyman Roth, but it’s Stan Lee, of course.

Actual YouTube comments: (a) “That was beautiful. The fact that the MCU started over a decade ago and yet we’re still glued to the screen is a feat in itself. Honestly wishing I wouldn’t die until I’m like 80 only if to see how it all unfolds”; (b) “I teared up when Black Panther: Wakanda Forever showed up. WHAT A F**KING GOOD TRAILER THIS WAS!”; (c) “I cried hearing Stan Lee talk…the man helped create a movement”; (d) “Did anybody else have the shivers for 3 minutes and 22 seconds like me?! MISS YOU, STAN THE MAN”; (e) “When I saw the title Black Panther: Wakanda Forever, I couldn’t hold back the tears.”

Judging strictly by certain vague and misty auras (promise, potential), the most intriguing films of 2021 seem to be In The Heights, House of Gucci, Canterbury Glass, Annette, Cyrano, The Tragedy of Macbeth, Cry Macho, Soggy Bottom, Being The Ricardos, The Card Counter, Don’t Look Up, West Side Story, The Many Saints of Newark, The French Dispatch (13).

The ’21 and early ’22 Oscar season begins four months hence. Roughly 40 films to keep an eye on, give or take. The order is random. Bring on the corrections!

1. Paul Thomas Anderson‘s Soggy Bottom

2. Aaron Sorkin’s Being The Ricardos

3. Joel Coen‘s The Tragedy of Macbeth

4. Wes Anderson‘s The French Dispatch

5. Guillermo del Toro‘s Nightmare Alley

6. Andrew Dominik‘s Blonde

7. David O’Russell‘s Canterbury Glass

8. Adam McKay‘s Don’t Look Up

9. Denis Villeneuve‘s Dune

10. Sean Baker‘s Red Rocket

11. Edgar Wright‘s Last Night in Soho

12. Robert Eggers‘ The Northman

13. Leos Carax‘s Annette

14. Joe Wright‘s Cyrano

15. James Gray‘s Armageddon Time

16. Jane Campion‘s The Power of the Dog

17. Ridley Scott‘s The Last Duel

18. Terrence Malick‘s The Way Of The Wind

19. Paul Schrader‘s The Card Counter

20. Clint Eastwood‘s Cry Macho

21. Paul Verhoeven‘s Benedetta

22. Mike Mills‘ C’mon C’mon

23. Taika Waititi‘s Next Goal Wins

24. Celine Sciamma‘s Petite Maman

25. Steven Spielberg‘s West Side Story

26. Mia Hansen-Løve‘s Bergman Island

27. Tom McCarthy‘s Stillwater

28. Alan Taylor‘s The Many Saints of Newark

29. Jeremy Saulnier‘s Rebel Ridge

30. Kogonada‘s After Yang

31. Ruben Ostlund‘s Triangle of Sadness

32. Steven Soderbergh‘s No Sudden Move

33. Ridley Scott‘s House of Gucci

34. Jon Chu‘s In The Heights

35. Lin Manuel Miranda’s Tick, Tick…Boom!

36. Pablo Larrain‘s Spencer

37. Joe Wright‘s Cyrano

38. Olivia Wilde‘s Don’t Worry, Darling

39. Maggie Gyllenhaal‘s The Lost Daughter

40. Steve Chbosky‘s Dear Evan Hansen

This is nearly two weeks old (4.22) but worth highlighting anyway.

It’s Paul Schrader (The Card Counter, First Reformed) speaking to The New Yorker‘s Richard Brody, and if you’re the type of person who wishes that serious theatrical adult-angled features will somehow rebound when theatres come back, what Schrader says is, of course, hugely depressing. But what else is new?

Schrader: “I see four venues for theatrical. (1) Extreme spectacle, which is like 4DX—or like that van Gogh immersive experience that’s coming. That you have to go out of the house for. That’s a reason to go out of the house; (2) Children’s movies, of course, because you want to see your kids laugh with other kids, and that’s really for the parents more than the kids; (3) Date-night movies, which is horror and a certain kind of teen comedy, and there’ll still be a place for that. And (4) what we now call Club Cinema, which is where you have a membership. This is like the Burns or the Metrograph or the Film Forum or Angelika.

“They’re all event-based. And I think those places will come back. But the normal mall cinema or multi-cinema, I think that’s a real struggle.

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“They say that 50% of New York restaurants won’t reopen. That’s certainly true, also, of the movie theatres. And so we are rethinking that whole concept, and it’s a rethinking going across the board, because it’s also happening to the Oscars. What do the Oscars mean anymore? Does anybody care anymore? Will the festivals have the strength that they used to have?

“And this idea of the two-hour serious movie, which evolved in many ways as a reaction to television, where the film companies all had agents in New York looking for the new serious book…From Here to Eternity, we’re going to do that.” And that’s gone now. Nobody’s looking for the new serious book. And to make a movie today, a quality movie, let’s say a movie like Hud or The Hustler, that movie’s just not being made. Now, there is quality long-form but I think the serious two-hour film [is a commercially shaky proposition].

“I have a film that’s opening [The Card Counter], which fits in that mold. And I’ve been thinking of writing a new script after that, and I just find myself wondering, ‘Who will make such a film?’

I almost always get up early (between 6 and 7 am), and that’s usually after having gotten five or six hours of sleep. Even though it’s better for people (especially those with demanding, stressful jobs) to get 7 or 8 hours my eyes are almost always open in the quiet morning hours, when things outside are mostly still and semi-shadowed to some extent.

Sometimes I’ll even awaken at 4 or 5 am. There’s no point in trying to go back to sleep so I just turn the phone on and start the usual chores — editing and refining the material I wrote the day before, responding to commenters, figuring what to write about next.

But after doing this for two or three hours, or around 8 am, that sleepy John Lennon feeling returns and I’ll go under again for an hour or so. My body tells me this without fail — “You need this…do it until 8:45 or 9 am.”

The homework period is always blissful, and I’m so grateful that I get to settle in and experience this portion of peace and security every morning.

I for one didn’t revisit Fatal Attraction on the occasion of its 30th anniversary, which happened three and a half years ago (9.16.17). But others have in the interim, and the #MeToo view is basically that even though Glenn Close‘s Alex Forrest was damaged and unstable and jumped the gun as far as Michael Douglas‘s Dan Gallagher was concerned, she was coming from a no-bullshit emotional place, and she had a point.

Gallagher, a married attorney, saw an opportunity for some hot recreational sex (the kind that married people generally don’t have as a rule) and a brief revisiting of his hormonal hound-dog past with an enticing woman while his wife was out of town, and he went for it.

But almost right out of the gate Forrest began asking him why he was cheating. In some corners the new thinking is “was Alex really so wrong to want something real from the guy? She wasn’t some predatory psycho — she was hurting and off-balance, agreed, but it was the mid ’80s, she was 36 years old and she didn’t want to be treated like a sex poodle. She was simply putting her cards on the table.”

Hollywood Elsewhere re-watched Fatal Attraction two or three nights ago, and here’s the basic deal, #MeToo or not.

Forrest was way out line to even fantasize that a weekend (36 hours, give or take) of great sex and spaghetti and opera and more sex plus a suicide attempt…she was way out of line to think that there was even a slight basis for a serious extra-marital affair between herself and Gallagher.

The rules are the rules, and everyone knows that the first night or two of sex between consenting adults is strictly about sensual abandon and intoxication…under the best of circumstances and with the right person the initial stages of a sexual escapade can be a glorious and ecstatic escape from the regular grind of living and working and carrying the weight of it all.

And this rule goes double if not triple if one of the parties is married. In such a situation there’s always an assumption that this is strictly a one-timer or a one-weekender…all sane adults understand this.

If, on the other hand, the affair continues and the married man or woman becomes more and more attached to the non-married lover or vice versa, then it’s cool for the unattached person to ask “what are we doing exactly? Because I’m not into recreational, gymnastic sex for its own sake…I’m interested in having a real-deal relationship with someone I truly care for so where are we exactly?”

That kind of conservation is completely normal and par-for-the-course after the affair has been going on a while. But you can’t broach the subject after only a night or two. That’s crazy — totally bonkers.

Which is why Gallagher froze and said “oh, shit” to himself at the 42-second mark in the above scene, or right when Forrest said “so what are you doing here?”

Today is technically the tenth anniversary of the killing of Osama bin Laden, as the infamous al-Qaeda mass murderer breathed his last at 1 am Abbottobad time on 5.2.11. The choppers bearing the Navy Seals took off a couple of hours earlier in Afghanistan. President Obama announced the killing on 5.10 from Washington, D.C., which is twelve hours behind Abbottabad.

This is as good a reason as any to re-submit to Kathryn Bigelow and Mark Boal‘s Zero Dark Thirty (’12), one of the finest films of this century and probably the greatest military-intel drama ever made.

For the sin of honestly telling the story of how Bin laden’s hideout was discovered (omitting CIA-sanctioned torture of suspected Al-Qaeda and bin Laden confidantes would have been a lie) Bigelow’s film was savaged by a cabal of Academy lefties (including many in the press), and so it lost the Best Picture Oscar to Ben Affleck‘s Argo, which, due respect, was a far less accomplished film and full of inventions and falsehoods.

Today (5.2) CNN’s Jim Acosta didn’t lament the well-ingrained tendency at Fox News to report b.s. — rumor, heresay, invention, flat-out lies. For the first time in my recollection he called it “bullshit“, and not once but twice (between 1:45 and 2:02).

Maybe other mainstream news anchors have been using agreeably frank language from time to time and I haven’t been paying attention. If so, when did occasionally salty terminology first break the ice on a major-market outlet?

The first time I heard a well-known news anchor say “bullshit” was in a fictional context — Peter Finch‘s Howard Beale in Network, roughly 45 years ago.

4 pm update: Before anything else, consider information supplied this morning by Lee Hill, a British-residing HE reader and Terry Southern biographer who stated that the Dr. Strangelove pie-fight sequence exists on film and is currently being stored in British Film Institute archives.

Earlier: This morning I stumbled upon a fascinating article by Dr. Strangelove co-writer Terry Southern. Titled “Notes From The War Room“, it contains several inside-baseball stories about the making of Stanley Kubrick‘s 1964 classic comedy, and particularly a blow-by-blow description of the pie-fight scene:

“[Then] we began shooting the famous eleven-minute ‘lost pie fight,’ which was to come near the end of the movie. This footage began at a point in the War Room where the Russian ambassador is seen, for the second time, surreptitiously taking photographs of the Big Board, using six or seven tiny spy-cameras disguised as a wristwatch, a diamond ring, a cigarette lighter and cufflinks.

“The head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Air Force General Buck Turgidson (George C. Scott) catches him in flagrante and, as before, tackles him and throws him to the floor. They fight furiously until President Merkin Muffley intervenes: “This is the War Room, gentlemen! How dare you fight in here!”

“General Turgidson is unfazed. ‘We’ve got the Commie rat redhanded this time, Mr. President!’

“The detachment of four military police, which earlier escorted the ambassador to the War Room, stands by as General Turgidson continues: ‘Mr. President, my experience in these matters of espionage has caused me to be more skeptical than your average Joe. I think these cameras” — he indicates the array of ingenious devices — “may be dummy cameras, just to put us off. I say he’s got the real McCoy concealed on his person. I would like to have your permission, Mr. President, to have him fully searched.’

“‘All right,’ the President says, ‘permission granted.’

“General Turgidson addresses the military police: ‘Okay boys, you heard the President. I want you to search the ambassador thoroughly. And due to the tininess of his equipment, do not overlook any of the seven bodily orifices.’ The camera focuses on the face of the ambassador as he listens and mentally calculates the orifices with an expression of great annoyance.

A few years ago I ran a list of the five worst cinematic parents of all time: John Huston‘s Noah Cross from Chinatown, Daniel Day Lewis‘s Daniel Plainview from There Will Be Blood, Chris Walken’s Brad Whitewood from At Close Range, Faye Dunaway‘s Joan Crawford in Mommmie Dearest and Marion Lorne‘s Mrs. Antony (mother of Robert Walker‘s Bruno) in Alfred Hitchcock‘s Strangers on a Train.

And then a real motherfucker of a dad I hadn’t thought of in a long time popped into my head: Karl Malden‘s oppressively demanding John Piersall, the father of Tony Perkins‘ Jim Piersall, in Robert Mulligan‘s Fear Strikes Out (’57).

I decided to stream an HD version the other night on Amazon, in part because I wanted to savor the detail of a black-and-white film shot in VistaVision. It looked pretty great, but God, Malden played such a fiend I couldn’t believe it. His son’s glories and accomplishments were never enough. The film throws a semi-happy gloss on their relationship at the end, but Malden is the kind of papa you need to keep at a certain distance until he’s dead.

But you know what? The Malden-Perkins relationship is almost exactly the kind of thing I have going on with the little man in my chest who’s never fully satisfied with anything good that I do. He’s always saying “okay, that’s pretty good but don’t get smug and coast on your laurels. You could probably do a little better than you’ve done so far, as you know. Because while you have talent and drive, you could use a bit more of each. And what about tomorrow’s agenda? And don’t forget to buy groceries and call the cleaning lady,” etc.

Please post your favorite dads and moms. The deceased Mrs. Bates in Psycho. Angela Lansbury in The Manchurian Candidate and All Fall Down, for sure. Harrison Ford in The Mosquito Coast. Who else?

The latest trailer for Apple TV’s The Mosquito Coast says it all — it’s obviously been made for ADD idiots who need a lot of noisy gunfire and threats of violence and death to stay interested.

A non-adaptation of Paul Theroux’s 1981 novel about a cranky, hyper genius who despises modern life, the seven-part series premiered last night, although I couldn’t be bothered to watch.

L.A. Times critic Robert Lloyd says “it’s as if someone decided The Catcher in the Rye might be improved by some chase scenes, a gun battle and a jailbreak, and that Holden Caulfield would be a more compelling character if he knew how to use a Coke can to get out of handcuffs.”