Without a permit or even a great deal of preparation, photographer Robert Sebree shot this legendary Sunset Boulevard snap of Farrah Fawcett, 52, on a warm morning in 1999.
What kind of crew did Sebree have? What was Farrah standing on? What painting was it based upon? What kind of stretch wrap? How was it lighted? How long did she pose? Any trouble with gawkers? In a 4.7.14 essay about working with Fawcett, Sebree reveals no technical shooting details at all.
Fawcett passed 10 years later from cancer, aged 62.
Earlier this evening I finally watched the new 4KSearchers. No more complaints. Among the most beautiful VistaVision restorations ever created, and certainly equal to the recently released NorthbyNorthwest4Kdisc. All hail the great WintonC. Hoch. The 70mm projected version I sawlastsummer at the MoMI in Astoria was nothing compared to this. Wowsah. Yowsah.
The 19-word sentence that concludes the very last paragraph of Ernest Hemingway “AFarewelltoArms” is, I’ve always felt, a thing of immaculate beauty. The paragraph that contains it is also phenomenal
Was it because both critics and ticket-buyers have rated Anoramuchhigher than Emilia Perez, and so the Golden Globe journalist voters, unhappy with this disparity, decided among themselves that they had to “correct” these mistaken opinions by puttingtheirGGthumbonthescale?
Doesitmeananythingtoanyonethat Anora has a 94% RT critic rating vs. Perez’s 76%? Joe and Jane Popcorn have given Anora a 90% rating while dismissing Perez with a 66% score. Do these assessments mean anythingtoanyone?
What happened last night was sickening, not just when it cane to Anora vs. Perez but the howling, Psycho-shower-shrieking, dog-barking absurdity of handing three major awards — Best Drama, Best Director and Best Actor — to TheBrutalist, Brady Corbet and Adrien Brody, respectively.
Where is the sanity in this? TheBrutalist is a shot of arthouse heroin into the forearm. It makes you slumber and sink into your seat…hell, collapse inside. It’s an epic slogathon, a thoughtful downer, a punishment flick, a psychological ordeal-and-a-half if I’ve ever endured one.
Last night Corbet boasted that “nobody was asking for a three-and-half-hour film about a mid-century architect on 70 millimeter.” And that’s still the case!
But after last night’s vote of GG affirmation, we’re all waist-deep in the mud of it…stuck with this great leaden load of big-movie pretentiousness…overture, intermission, a Lawrence of Arabia-type length …a godforsaken behemoth that takes much more than it gives.
The natural, obvious presumption when a talented accomplished person takes his/her own life is that a great deal of unhappiness, frustration and probably depression preceded it. I’m very, very crushed about this. The proverbial black dog has claimed another victim. Poor Aubrey Plaza must be going through hell right now. Deeply sorry.
And this is as it should be. Because of the horrible wacko karma that Jolie created when she hatched and orchestrated the virulent anti-Brad Pitt discord within her own family. She did this, and now she owns it.
The bottom line is that henceforth the idea of hiring or otherwise working with Blake “I Love Trouble” Lively and Justin “We Will Bury You” Baldoni on a movie or limited series…the mere thought of this is generating heebie–jeebieshockwaves among producers and studio execs worldwide.
Not to mention that below-the-title slogan — “What will they risk to touch the sky?” Words fail.
I should be more open-minded, I realize, in part due to Variety‘s Owen Gleiberman having put Skywalkers on his ten-best list. But that title is so repulsive that I really don’t want to see this film, ever. My life will not be even slightly diminished by my avoiding it.
Skywalkers opened last summer and nobody jumped up and down. Not in my orbit, they didn’t. Flatline flatline flatline. And then all of a sudden McCuddy and Gleiberman perform last-minute cartwheels.
There were six media-eyeball events that hurt poor PresidentCarter during his administration.
The first five inflicted different kinds of wounds. Most damaging was the failed, politically crushing attempt to rescue Iranian hostages. Then came Ted Kennedy’s 1980 primary challenge. Three, that silly story about the hissing rabbit allegedly attacking Carter’s fishing boat. Four, that “lust in my heart” quote from that Playboy interview. Five, being half–ignoredbyTVsportsreporters when he visited the Pittsburgh Pirates clubhouse following their 1979 World Series triumph.
But the sixth was the most damaging of all — collapsingfromheatexhaustion during a six-mile marathon on 9.15.79. If you’re going to compete in a marathon, do so like a serious athlete or not at all. And never, ever exhibit physical weakness.
