Jeffrey Wells

“An unexamined life is not worth living but an examined one is still no bargain” — Woody Allen line from Cafe Society.

Angsty Loner (i.e., me) to Mr. Lonelyhearts: I’m 17, a high-school junior, and miserable. Partly (mostly?) due to the fact that my hormones are raging while my experience with hetero physical intimacy has been, shall we say, limited.

Which doesn’t mean I haven’t emotionally suffered over this or that dashed relationship. I’ve eaten my heart out over…I don’t know, seven or eight girls since the third grade. Maybe more. And none of the objects of my desire have been more than semi-interested, if that.

Girls are fickle and flighty and all over the map, and at the end of the day I don’t seem to have what they want. Even temporarily, I mean. Before their mood changes.

So I know a thing or two about unrequited love or lust or, in the best of situations, a combination of the two that is casually, half-assedly or all-too-briefly reciprocated and then forgotten. One of these days or years the real thing will happen, and when it does…I’ll cross that bridge.

My current obsession is blonde and blue-eyed and a little scatterbrained. Or scatter-hearted. She likes me in spurts, and then some other guy moves in.

There are three others she’s enamored of. A cute, stocky, chubby-faced jock. A hippie-ish dude with longish hair, Brooks Brothers shirts and mocassins. And a local cop who’s 27 or 28. And then fourth-place me.

I rolled around with blondie on a bed of pine needles near the local reservoir…once. We made out at a party…once. She slapped me repeatedly at another party, which was her way of saying she wanted my attention. We’ve had some fun times.

But I’m strictly backup. So what do I do? Is there any path to salvation in this agonizing situation?

Mr. Lonelyhearts to Angsty Loner: I’m sorry but no, there isn’t. It sounds cruel to say this, but you’re just going to have to suffer through this infatuation and then eventually move on.

One reason you’re in fourth place (and not third, second or first) is that you’re probably radiating weak, squishy vibes. Probably born of low-self-esteem. If you have any moxie you’ll grow out of that but for the time being it’s your cross to bear.

High-school women are reticent as a rule, and they do hold most of the cards, and if they’re not that interested you can’t stop ’em.

The fact that she’s nursing relationships with four guys simultaneously is a red flag, of course. It means she has self-esteem issues of her own. It won’t kill you to pine for this flighty little blonde. It hurts, of course, but life is a never-ending stream of hurt and troubles. Get used to it. Pain makes you stronger if you can take it.

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I’m glad that David Fincher has spent several months restoring as well as upgrading certain aspects of Se7en…cool. I’m also glad that this effort has yielded a 4K Bluray that will pop on 5.3.

I’m sad that I can’t be there for today’s special TCM Classic Film Festival screening, but if a NYC screening happens between now and 5.3, perhaps Fincher will let the cool kidz know or put them on an invite list or something?

From 4.19 Bill Desowitz IndieWire piece:

I sadly understood when Vietnamese monks burned themselves to death in Saigon in the ‘60s, and I sadly understood when Norman Morrison self-immolated in front of the Pentagon in 1965.

But I don’t get why a guy has gone up in flames outside the building in which Mango Beast is being tried for illegally paying off Stormy Daniels and Susan MacDougal.

Maybe the burnt toast guy is some MAGA wacko, protesting the prosecution of his Lord and Savior by the Deep State?

If so, I’m thinking of a scene in The Godfather, Part II in which Michael Corleone is given pause over that Fidel Castro supporter who blows himself up and takes a Batista army officer with him. I have a bad feeling about this.

GRAPHIC:

Man sets himself on fire outside the courthouse at the Trump Trial in NY.

This MADNESS MUST END!

This entire sham trial is ripping our nation apart and causing mass scale, demonic chaos.

The left wants chaos. https://t.co/4NToi6rahr

— Mike Crispi (@MikeCrispiNJ) April 19, 2024

N.Y. Times update:

Okay, forget the MAGA wacko theory.

The just-revealed Cannes Film Festival poster is too shadowed and subdued…not striking or glammy enough. It’s a capture from Akira Kurosawa’s Rhapsody in August (‘91). Okay, fine…and?

I’m sorry but HE represents the voice of the people…the little people, silly people…greedy, barbarous and cruel.

If Nancy Sinatra says no, perhaps her sister Tina feels the same way?

Anyone with any respect for the biological reality of Francis Albert Sinatra as he walked the earth in the early ‘50s would find the proposed casting of the too-tall, too-wide-faced Leonardo DiCaprio in Martin Scorsese’s Frank-Ava biopic to be absurd.

World of Reel’s Jordan Ruimy caught this first.

Variety’s Tatiana Siegel, posted on 4.17:

HE agrees with Nancy — the proposed Leo–JLaw casting doesn’t cut it:

On 11.23.11 or 12 and 1/2 years ago I wrote that Martin Scorsese and Leonardo DiCaprio (then 37) were apparently seriously interested in a Frank Sinatra biopic with Leo playing the relatively short-statured Hoboken crooner.

I was relieved when this idea fell by the wayside as DiCaprio’s physical characteristics don’t even vaguely echo Sinatra’s (zero facial resemblance, Leo is way too tall and not skinny enough, the timbre of their speaking voices couldn’t be further apart).

But now this crazy idea is back again with Variety’s Tatiana Siegel filling in some of the details.

The focus will be on the volatile early ‘50s chapter of Sinatra’s career (seriously slumping as a singer and an actor, embroiled in a torrential marriage to Ava Gardner) and how he was finally rescued and restored by his Pvt. Maggio performance in From Here to Eternity (‘53).

Except the about-to-turn-50 Leo (DOB: 11.11.74) is too old to play Sinatra in his late 30s, plus he’s still the wrong size and shape and everything else.

Plus Jennifer Lawrence can’t possibly pull off an Ava Gardner performance…not in the cards.

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After 25 years on the job, senior NPR editor Uri Berliner has resigned due to being “disparaged” by newly installed NPR honcho Katherine Maher, whose commitment to over-the-waterfall woke derangement syndrome is already the stuff of legend.

A 4.16 Daily Mail article tells me that as far as Sydney Sweeney is concerned, producer Carol Baum (Dead Ringers, Father of the Bride, The Good Girl) and Hollywood Elsewhere park their cars in the same garage.

It’s nice to be agreed with by persons of taste and accomplishment, but when Baum asked her USC students to explain Sweeney’s appeal not one of them had the courage to say “formidable rack”?

Warner Bros. and Martin Scorsese’s The Film Foundation have produced a 4K digital restoration of John Ford’s The Searchers, and in the process created a new 70mm print.

The latter will be screened five days hence — Sunday, 4.21, 3:15 pm — at Hollywood’s Egyptian, as a closing-day presentation from the TCM Classic Film Festival. Alexander Payne will offer a few thoughts.

No screenings for NYC film cognoscenti? Nothing planned for MoMA or FSLC’s Walter Reade? Or at the Film Forum or at Pleasantville’s Jacob Burns? Odd.

There’s just one problem. The Searchers is rife with problematic depictions of Native Americans. Wokesters certainly won’t approve. Don’t even speculate what Lily Gladstone might say.

…that could been used for the forthcoming Criterion 4K Bluray, the Criterion guys chose the most rotely familiar (i.e., the dullest) and certainly the gayest.

I would have chosen a two-shot of Tom Cruise’s Joel Goodson and Joe Pantoliano’s Guido, the killer pimp. Or the car dealership guy saying “who’s the U-boat commander?” Or Cruise saying “what the fuck!” to Richard Masur’s moustachioed college-entrance guy.

I like the original theatrical cut — it’s perfect. You can have Paul Brickman’s director’s cut

“Paul Brickman‘s Risky Business reflected and in some ways defined the early ’80s zeitgeist (Reagan-era morality, go for the greenbacks, the receding of progressive ’70s culture).

“And it brought about an ungodly torrent of tits–and–zits comedies, so numerous and pernicious that they became a genre that forever tarnished the meaning of ‘mainstream Hollywood comedy.’ But Risky Business was a perfect brew.

“The Tom Cruise-Rebecca DeMornay sex scenes were legendary, the vibe of upper-middle-class entitlement was delivered with natural authority, Joe Pantoliano‘s Guido is arguably a more memorable character than his Ralph Cifaretto in The Sopranos, and the opening dream sequence is just as funny and on-target in its depiction of encroaching doom as Woody Allen‘s Bergmanesque train-car sequence at the beginning of Stardust Memories.

“I had an invite to a special Risky Business screening at the Beverly Hills Academy a week before the opening, but I blew it off because a girlfriend was visiting that night and things were hot and heavy at the time. I wound up catching it ten days later at a theatre in Westwood, and I remember saying to myself after it ended, ‘Wow, what I was thinking when I missed that screening?’

“I remember sitting at the long-ago-shuttered Joe Allen (Third Street across from Cedars Sinai) a month or two after Risky Business opened, and noticing Cruise and DeMornay sitting at a darkly lighted table together, apart from the crowd.

“HE’s all-time favorite sex scene is the one on the Chicago “L” between Cruise (by anyone’s measure an unlikely participant in this realm) and DeMornay. It’s perfect because like any transcendent sexual encounter it feels levitational — orchestrated, finely tuned, rhythmic, musical. It multiplies and compounds the sexual train metaphor that Alfred Hitchcock created in that last shot in North by Northwest, and it ends with that perfect (i.e., very subtle) electric train-track spark.”

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