The fault, dear Brutus, lies with A24’s marketing team, which has insisted on selling the Nicole Kidman-Harris Dickinson film as an “erotic thriller.” Erotic it certainly is, but no one in their right mind would call it a thriller.
Friendo: “Don’t you think marketing this film as an ‘80s & ‘90s-style ‘erotic thriller’ a la Body Heat, Basic Instinct and Sea of Love may have been a SERIOUS miscalculation?”
HE: “Yes. Applying the ‘thriller’ label is completely ridiculous.”
Friendo: “This is how the producers or the releasing company were promoting the film: As a goddamn ‘erotic thriller.’ Which it most certainly is not. And those of us (like me) who believed the hype, were expecting — and YEARNING FOR — that kind of experience. Instead we got a bait & switch.”
To this day I’ve never felt great affection, much less enthusiasm, for Bob Dylan‘s “All I Really Want To Do“. Simply because of Dylan’s underwhelming performance of the tune. Even now I despise the Woody Guthrie way he sings the chorus…”all I really want to dooo-hooooo!”…like some yee-haw hillbilly.
But I adore The_Byrds’_version, which was released on 6.14.65, or only five days after Dylan recorded his version on 6.9.64, or seven weeks before his version was even purchasable on Another Side of Bob Dylan (8.8.64).
Cher’s version, which isn’t as good as the Byrds cover but is still more tolerable than Dylan’s, was released sometime in late May of ’65, or before Dylan recorded his own.
Cashbox-wise, Cher’s version outsold the Byrds. The listening public had no taste then and they still don’t.
“All I Really Want To Do” is basically a breaking-up-with-Suzie Rotolo song. “I’m just not into you sexually like I was before but I don’t want to hurt you either or, you know, cause you any grief” roughly translates into “I’m boning someone else now but let’s not go crazy about this…I’ll always care for you but maybe you should think about ‘seeing’ someone else yourself.”
Dylan’s mid ’60s recordings didn’t really sound all that wonderful…they lacked ripeness, fullness, polish and pizazz, technical edge…until Bringing It All Back Home, which came out in April ’65. From that point on he was truly the performing master of his own domain.
Posting a live, film-sourced GIF of the DeMille theatre’s electrified PSYCHO billboard (Seventh Avenue and 47th) in June 1960 is an HE milestone — never before have I seen this GIF, much less tried to share it. 63 and 1/2 years ago. A very big deal.
The I Don’t Care Girl (’53) was a biopic about Eva Tanguay, a vaudeville superstar who peaked from around 1900 to the early 1920s. 21-year-old Mitzi Gaynor wasn’t a good fit for a film with that title, as it suggested a woman with a provocational, sexually liberated, Isadora Duncan-like attitude.
As I noted in my 10.21.24 Gaynor obit, “Thespian skills aside, most popular actresses of the ‘40s and ‘50s activated or at least hinted at some form of inner heat…some kind of bedroom intrigue or fantasy. Whatever it was that Rita Hayworth or Lana Turner or Maureen O’Hara or Lizabeth Scott or Anna Magnani or Jean Simmons or Gloria Grahame or pre-CleopatraElizabeth Taylor or even Deborah Kerr had that indicated a vigorous or perhaps even a hungry-python approach to sex, Gaynor had almost none of.”
Ollie Brenner hates the hoi polloi like I do, plus he hates Nosferatu (“terrible fucking movie”). My kind of cinema bro. 100% approval.
Ollie on the scent of Dayton cinemagoers at a certain Regal cinema: “There’s a certain smell that encapsulates them. A certain aroma, if you will, that follows them around. Kind if like,…I don’t know. Like musky, but also lilke a rusty coin kind of smell, Showering maybe a couple times a week. A certain smell that bombarded my nostrils when we entered the theatre.”
12:47 pm: RaMell Ross’s Nickel Boys is a truly fascinating and innovative arthouse experiment during the first 30 to 45 minutes, delivering nervy and daringly out-there chops with its avoidance of traditional boilerplate camera strategies, going for broke with a tilt-a-whirl visual scheme .
But the determination to mostly go with a vaguely EmmanuelLubezski-ish strategy of having the camera or audience directly experience the lead protagonist’s POV wears down after a while, and what little narrative tension it has dissipates before long because Ross and Joslyn Barnes’ screenplay, based on Colson Whitehead’s 2019 novel, isn’t following a linear plot line, and the film basically goes on way too long (140minutes).
Ferociously ambitious young directors make this mistake from time to time, over-indulging their whims and darlings, etc. This doesn’t exactly constitute a felony but the film, which tells a sad and brutal tale about a notoriously corrupt Florida reform school in the ‘60s, is definitely hurt by RaMell’s over-reach.
Nickel Boys deserves an A for ambition, and the performances are quite good (AunjanueEllis-Taylor is the big stand-out) but it really does tax your patience and gradually runs out of gas, and a few plot events feel a bit confusing.
I’ve been swooning over Halina Reijn’s film since I first saw it two weeks ago, and these neghead responses have left me crestfallen. One of the absolute finest films of the year is a complete flop with too many women. A 54% grade is basically a thumbs down — it’s not much different than a 30% or 20% grade — fail! — people are holding their noses.
Remember that moment in Goodfellas when Joe Pesci shoves an ice pick into the back of the head of Chuck Low‘s “Morrie” Kessler, the hugely obnoxious wig guy who was part of the Lufthansa heist? And Morrie goes “ahrgggghhh“? That’s what happened to Madame Web on Rotten Tomatoes. Not to mention Metacritic.
…that the percentage of really good films he’s starred in has been fairly low. Hanks has said this plain and straight.
It’s a basic creative and biological law that only about 10% of your films are going to be regarded as serious creme de la creme…if that. Most big stars (the smart ones) are given a window of a solid dozen years or so in which they have the power, agency and wherewithal to bring their game and show what they’re worth creatively. We all want to be rich, but the real stars care about making their mark.
Most name-brand directors, producers and actors enjoy 12-year streaks when everything is cooking and breaking their way. Some directors and actors are lucky enough to last 15 or 20 years or even longer. Your task, should you choose to accept it (and I know I’ve posted about this before), is to list any number of Hollywood heavyweights and when their 12-year hot streaks (or better) happened.
I’m not talking about the ability to work or get work — I’m talking about the years of serious heat and the best years falling into place.
Cary Grant peaked from the late ‘30s to late ‘50s.
James Cagney between PublicEnemy and WhiteHeat — call it 20.
James Stewart between DestryRidesAgain and AnatomyofaMurder — 20.
Clark Gable’s hottest years were between ItHappenedOneNight (‘34) and The Hucksters (‘47).
Humphrey Bogart happened between High Sierra / TheMalteseFalcon (‘41) and TheHarderTheyFall (‘56) — a 15-year run.
Robert Redford peaked between Butch Cassidy (‘69) and Brubaker and OrdinaryPeople (‘80) — 11 to 12 years.
Elizabeth Taylor had 15 years — 1950 (Father of the Bride) to 1966 (Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf).
Jean Arthur — mid ’30s to early ’50s (Shane) — call it 15 years.
Katharine Hepburn — early ’30s to early ’80s (On Golden Pond).
Meryl Streep — 1979 (The Seduction of Joe Tynan) to today…40 years and counting.
Martin Scorsese is the king of long-lasting directors — Mean Streets (’73) to Killers of the Flower Moon (’22)…a half-century!
John Huston had about 15 years — 1941 (The Maltese Falcon) to 1956 (Moby Dick).
Alfred Hitchcock had 23 years — ’40 (Rebecca) to ’63 (The Birds).
Steven Soderbergh‘s had 23 years so far — 1989 (sex, lies and videotape) to 2012 (Magic Mike) and he’s obviously still kicking.
John Ford enjoyed 27 good years — ’35 (The Informer) to ’62 (The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance).
John Wayne had an amazing 37 years — 1939 (Stagecoach) to 1976 (The Shootist).
George Clooney‘s peak period lasted almost 20 years.
Tony Curtis‘s hot streak was relatively brief — 1957 (Sweet Smell of Success) to 1968 (The Boston Strangler).
Kirk Douglas had about 15 years — Champion (’49) to Seven Days in May (’64).
Richard Burton — 1953 (The Robe) to 1977 (Equus) — almost 25.
During my two viewings of A Complete Unknown I’ve understood and enjoyed a fair amount of Timothee Chalamet‘s Dylan dialogue. but only about…oh, 60% or 70% at most. But when I watch the YouTube teaser clips with headphones, I can hear each and every vowel and syllable. The Searchlight trailer makers have simply mixed the sound so you can really hear the words while James Mangold‘s feature mix…not so much.
Don’t tell me it’s my fucking hearing…the dialogue is sharper and cleaner in the trailers, and that’s all there is to it. No arguments and fuck off.
