Peter Jackson’s They Shall Not Grow Old is an apparently impressive attempt to make World War I-era footage look as real and alive as possible — colorized, converted to 3D, “transformed with modern production techniques,” etc. Pic will have its world premiere at the BFI London Film Festival on Tuesday, 10.16. Apparently a U.K.-only cinema release. I’m presuming it’ll eventually screen or stream stateside. I’m a fool for this kind of thing.

I saw Morgan Neville‘s They’ll Love Me When I’m Dead today at Alice Tully Hall, under the auspices of the 56th New York Film Festival. It’s about Orson Welles‘ twilight years and particularly the making of The Other Side Of The Wind, which I saw and panned a week ago.

And the truth is that Neville’s 98-minute doc is far, far superior to Welles’ doleful, splotchy, scatter-gun talkathon, which runs 122 minutes. You’ll probably feel good and fulfilled after seeing Dead, and you’ll most likely feel like bees are buzzing around your brain after seeing Wind.

I’m sorry but Welles’ film is a chore and a headache to sit through while Dead is a cruise and a breeze — a movie about laughter, adventure, having fun, passing the time with wine and bear-hugs and film-talk bullshit and generally loving the ride and the cigars and being fat as a cow.

When creative inspiration departs and you’re left high and dry, you might as well enjoy yourself…right?

The word since Telluride had been “see Dead before Wind…it’ll make Welles’ film seem more fulfilling.” The word right now is “you can see Wind if you want but you almost don’t have to…Dead covers a lot of the same material and is more diverting and nutritious.”

I’m not advising a Wind bypass, but you don’t need to fret too much if you wait a few weeks before seeing it.

Neville knew exactly what he was doing when he cut Dead together while Welles’ completists (i.e., the guys who struggled to assemble and complete Wind as Welles would have wanted) were cobbling footage and to some extent grabbing at straws.

And both films cover a lot of similar turf — Welles’ largeness of spirit, his directorial legend, an examination of his dissipated career, a community of friends and colleagues trying to make sense of it all, etc.

There’s no question about it — They’ll Love Me When I’m Dead is an essential sit while Welles’ film…well, you should probably see it but don’t expect to find much enjoyment. I’m sorry but it’s mostly a head-scratcher, a spotty drag.

3 pm Update: “While the FBI will examine the allegations of Christine Blasey Ford and Deborah Ramirez, the bureau has not been permitted to investigate the claims of Julie Swetnick, who has accused Brett Kavanaugh of engaging in sexual misconduct at parties while he was a student at Georgetown Preparatory School in the 1980s, people familiar with the investigation told NBC News. A White House official confirmed that Swetnick’s claims will not be pursued as part of the reopened background investigation into Kavanaugh.” — posted by NBC News around 3 pm.

Earlier: Judge Brett Kavanaugh‘s goose is far from fully cooked. But at least the FBI’s “limited” investigation into “credible claims” of sexual misconduct on the part of the sadly intemperate Kavanaugh is now underway. Christine Blasey Ford and Kavanaugh’s 2nd alleged victim/witness, Deborah Ramirez, are being focused upon, but as of 3 pm Saturday afternoon I’m not aware that the FBI has reached out to Julie Swetnick aka witness #3, or her attorney Michael Avenatti.

In a sworn affadavit Swetnick has claimed she witnessed Kavanaugh and alleged co-conspirator Mark Judge take part in gang rapes of inebriated women, and claims she was a victim of one of these group assaults. (Swetnick hasn’t accused Kavanaugh or Judge of participating in this particular violation.) If the FBI doesn’t investigate Swetnick’s claims it’ll be clear that the fix is in — i.e., that the FBI has been told to steer clear of Swetnick for fear of what may be learned.

Early last summer I hired a Los Angeles-based guy to construct the HE-plus paywall. He knows his stuff and is quite thorough and exacting, but he has, in my view, a problem. A significant one, I mean.

He occasionally won’t respond if I reach out with an issue or a question. Sometimes he’ll get back right away, and at other times he’ll observe total radio silence — not a peep, not a word — for two, three or four days, or even longer. He went totally silent on me for over two weeks last month. Not “hey, man, I’m backed up but I’ll get back to you as soon as I’m clear”…nothing like that. He vaporizes when he’s in the wrong kind of mood, and then, when he shifts into engagement mode, he’ll respond.

In short, he’s technically knowledgable but infuriating to deal with.

A few days ago things finally boiled over. I conveyed my frustration to Mr. Dick, and he conveyed similar feelings. (I’m too pushy, he said.) We exchanged more words, and he basically said “I’m done…you’re too hard to deal with.” Took the words right out of my mouth!

But we were technically still communicating two or three weeks ago, which is when I asked this fascinating fellow to help me turn off the paywall mechanism in the right way so HE-plus could be a free site for a few weeks. He didn’t respond. I asked again the next day — nothing. A third time…zip. So I asked Sasha if she could possibly figure it out, and, being smart and resourceful, she did. The paywall protocol was turned off and I launched HE-plus a day or two later. Great.

But yesterday a guy wrote to say he tried to sign up for a year ($49), but that the system wasn’t working and/or was jerking him around. Thank God this hasn’t happened with others, but I figured if one guy is experiencing problems someone else may be also.

So I reached out once again to Mr. Dick because I didn’t know who else to turn to, and for some inexplicable reason he responded this time. He told me that the reason the payment system isn’t working at 100% capacity is that “someone turned off the paywall” a week or so ago, but that it hadn’t been done properly and that’s why this or that person might be experiencing problems. I asked if he could fix the problem as a kind of paid farewell gesture, but he went back to radio silence again. I then asked if he could please refer me to someone he might know who understands paywall protocol. Again, nothing.

So in the midst of everything else I have to cover on a daily basis, Mr. Dick is now forcing me to conduct a brand-new, start-from-scratch search for a WordPress paywall technician. Right in the middle of a public process that isn’t working as it should, and all because he’s been refusing to conduct his business in the manner of any run-of-the-mill professional. What a great guy!

If anyone reading this knows anyone with any expertise in WordPress paywall maintenance, please get in touch. Thank you.

Steve Bannon is a “bad guy”, obviously, but at least he’s a smart one, and every now and then he’ll say something that’s more true than not. Bannon #1: “If Bernie Sanders had an ounce of Michael Avenatti‘s fearlessness, he’d have been the Democratic nominee and we would have had a much tougher time [in the 2016 election].” Bannon #2: “If the Republicans lose the House, [Trump’s] gonna get impeached.”

A vague recollection (and correct me if I’m wrong) is that during the Jefferson Airplane heyday of the mid to late ’60s, Grace Slick was the headliner — magnetic, contrarian sexy, tough-talking, decent pipes. But Marty Balin‘s voice was the band’s greatest instrument. Rivers of feeling, conviction, white-guy soul…that half-wailing, half-pouring-his-heart-out thing. “My Best Friend” and “Today” were prime examples. They fit Balin’s voice like a glove and vice versa. Why is it, then, that when I heard about Balin’s death my first two recollections weren’t about his singing? One, the fact that Balin was knocked out cold by one or two of the Hell’s Angels “security” guys during the disastrous Altamont concert of August ’69. And two, the animosity between between Balin and Slick (even though they re-teamed for Jefferson Starship from the early to late ’70s) was apparently fairly toxic from time to time, hence that infamous Balin quote. I don’t know what killed the poor guy, but rest in peace and safe travels.

Update: The Senate Judiciary Committee approved Judge Brett Kavanaugh but the Democratic members + Arizona Senator Jeff Flake are suggesting a delay of a Senate floor vote on Kavanaugh, pending a one-week maximum FBI investigation into numerous allegations.

pic.twitter.com/lZDRtMTD2Z

— C H I L I (@heyitschili) September 28, 2018

Republican Arizona Senator Jeff Flake allegedly knows better, and will most likely burn in the fires of his own, personal, bathroom-mirror hell for his announced vote to confirm Brett Kavanaugh.

From the Guardian: “Shortly after Jeff Flake released a statement saying he intended to vote to confirm Brett Kavanaugh’s nomination to the Supreme Court, two women confronted the Arizona Republican senator in an elevator, identifying themselves as sexual assault survivors. One of them told her story and repeatedly asks Flake if he thought Kavanaugh was telling the truth in denying the allegation that he sexually assaulted Dr. Christine Blasey Ford.”

I’ve mentioned from time to time how Tony Gilroy‘s Michael Clayton (’07) has, for me, gotten better and better over the years. And yet somehow I didn’t have the brain cells or cinematic perspective or innate insight to recognize Clayton‘s specialness when it opened 11 years ago. I didn’t realize it was (and is) one of the greatest, most on-target films about big-time lawyering and corporate corruption ever made. In this regard I would call Gilroy’s film even-steven with Michael Mann‘s The Insider.

[Click through to full story on HE-plus]

In the wake of Christine Blasey Ford’s emotionally devastating testimony about the trauma she suffered at age 15, I began to think about my own rocky emotional life and traumatic episodes during my teen years.

I’m in no way comparing what I went through (even cumulatively) to what Ms. Ford allegedly suffered through at the hands of the teenaged Brett Kavanaugh and Mark Judge.

I’m just saying that almost all teenagers go through a series of unpleasant and in some cases traumatic trials and gauntlets, and that being a teenager can feel like a cross between a Eugene O’Neil or Edward Albee melodrama and a kind of low-simmering horror film. I could probably come up with a better, more interesting analogy, but you get the idea.

[Click through to full story on HE-plus]

From just-posted Indiewire piece, “A Star Is Born Is a Crowdpleaser, But Does That Make It an Oscar Frontrunner?“:

“As the fall season continues to come into focus, A Star is Born remains the one movie with massive commercial potential coming out at the height of Oscar season. But the Bradley Cooper-directed update to this famous rags-to-riches saga has already become an internet meme weeks before its release. As the movie continues to gain traction, there are still many questions about its long-term appeal: Will Cooper’s movie dominate a dense season or is it dwarfed by some of the more audacious contenders?”

HE translation: In the face of Kris Tapley‘s fascinating, almost humorous refusal to walk back his early proclamation about Cooper’s undoubtedly well made crowd-pleaser, Indiewire (i.e., Eric Kohn) feels there’s enough credibility to the burgeoning notion that A Star Is Born has been over-hyped in terms of its Best Picture or Best Director chances…there’s certainly enough cred to discuss and kick it around.

Indiewire‘s Anne Thompson says in the below discussion that while A Star Is Born is good for this or that nomination, whether or not it wins “is a whole different discussion.” Kohn claims that in the popular movie realm, Black Panther has a stronger team of horses than A Star Is Born. This may be true.