…but this is an interesting photo, and saying this doesn’t make me a terrible person. And look at those hands.
Jeffrey Wells
Done With “Night Country”
I’m watching episode 3 of True Detective: Night Country, and despite my attachment to the legend of Jodie Foster I really am done with it. Just not for me, bruh. It’s too dark, too buried, too “lemme outta here”, too labrynthian, too snowy, too grimy, too scowling, too complex and drawn out…too much of a nativist celebrationist thing, too chanty, too indigenous, too face-painty, too cheek-studdy, too “all the men except one good-looking young cop are appalling or fleshy or ugly rednecks or deep-down diseased”…too rank-smelling, too unattractive, too downish, too frostbitten, too sullen, too grubby, too “ya wanna fuck?”, too haunted and too many hoodie parkas…angry women, bruised women, resentful women, horrified women, dead women, hell-bent women…fine, good, you can have it…later.
Live “Vertigo” Performance at Geffen Hall
…as reported by Paul Schrader in a Facebook thread. Devotional comments by all, and then along came Davey Holmes…
Cold-Weather Films Not Blanketed By Snow
The vast majority of well-regarded films shot in frigid temperatures share a basic visual trait — snowscapes.
The highest ranking members of this fraternity include Fargo, The Revenant, The Hateful Eight, The Dead Zone, the ‘51 and ‘82 versions of The Thing, The Shining, Cliffhanger, Snowpiercer, Everest, Misery, Society of the Snow and, last but not necessarily least, the currently unfolding True Detective: Night Country.
But there have been damn few shot in miserably cold climes that aren’t swamped in whiteness, and there may, in fact, be only two of these: Elia Kazan’s On The Waterfront (‘54) and William Freidkin’s The French Connection (‘71).
I’m not saying there aren’t more that qualify in this regard; I’m saying I can’t think of any.
HE to Woke Stalinists: Please Re-Cancel Me For Watching “The Pianist” at Film Forum
I realize that only a morally bankrupt admirer of a director who behaved selfishly and hurtfully 45 years ago would even flirt with paying to see Roman Polanski’s WWII-era masterpiece, but…
Play It Again, Guys
Native American history, identity and (if the New Academy Kidz along with Variety’s Matt Donnelly have their way) inevitability.
Sorry but the concept of merit needs to step aside; bigger, more important social fish need to be fried.
But Leonardo DiCaprio never had a shot at a Best Actor nom. No way. Certainly not after that “idiot” quote from Paul Schrader got around.
Racist Museums Forced To End Cruel Depictions of Historic Native American Cultures
No more Iron Eyes Cody-resembling Native American mannequins wearing deerskin and moccasins, living in forest-shrouded teepees and armed with spears and bows-and-arrows….displays of this sort in various museums are now history, thanks to the sensitive policies of the Biden administration.
Perhaps museums could replace these horrific displays with depictions of suburban habitats of middle-class Americans during the Eisenhower, Kennedy and LBJ administrations? You know…white-bread types watching 18-inch black and white TVs while eating dinners of meat loaf and mashed potatoes?
Joseph Conrad’s “Youth“
When I was a young buck I had this primal thing for Jovan musk cologne, which hit stores sometime in the mid ‘70s. The scent did something to me, and perhaps for me. I had this possibly bogus idea, you see, that occasional Jovan slap-ons might have upped my batting average, which was in the .350 to .400 range during the Ford, Carter and Reagan administrations.
Yesterday I bought a reduced-cost bottle of the stuff (CVS discount) and the scent just time-travelled me…whoooosh! Decades were erased in a flash. I was suddenly Marty McFly, driving my 1975 VW Fastback and wearing flared jeans and puka shells and Frye boots. Aromas are as good for time travel as Rod Taylor’s valour-seat, spinning-wheel device in George Pal’s The Time Machine (‘60).
