In Chris Sanders‘ The Call of the Wild (20th Century Fox, 2.21.20), grumpy, gray-bearded John Thornton (Harrison Ford) bonds with Buck, a St. Bernard-Scotch Shepherd augmented with CGI, during a journey from California to the Alaskan Yukon. A much younger version of Thornton was portrayed by Clark Gable in William Wellman’s 1935 version. He was fairly young in the original Jack London novel also.

Pic was written by Michael Green (Logan, Alien: Covenant, Blade Runner 2049). Costarring Dan Stevens, Omar Sy, Karen Gillan, Bradley Whitford, Colin Woodell and Cara Gee.

Charming cats, old cats, sad cats, fat cats, etc. Ian McKellen‘s “Gus the Theatre Cat” is up to something…he alone got me.

Journo pally: “I know this woman who knew my father…she’s very smart, very attuned…and she told me the other day she hasn’t seen The Irishman because she feels that she’s seen this kind of thing before, and doesn’t want to wade into the same old thing for three and a half hours.”

HE to Journo Pally: “Does she read reviews? Has she spoken to anyone? It’s not Goodfellas. Everyone’s saying that. What’s wrong with her?”

Martin Scorsese to Jimmy Kimmel: “And [Robert De Niro] began to tell me about the [Frank Sheeran] character, he became rather emotional about it. And I said, ‘Now, that‘s something. If we’re going back into that milieu, which we were associated with in Casino and Goodfellas, this is something [through which] we could maybe learn a little more about ourselves, and go deeper. You know? Otherwise what are we doing? We’re just repeating ourselves.’ And so we took a chance.”

News flash: 77 year-old Scorsese doesn’t miss a trick, and he’s going to be just as whipsmart when he’s 87 or 97. Just saying.

I wouldn’t know what to say if I was talking to Awkwafina and Taron Egerton about movies. If she said “yeah, when I was young, I loved A League of Their Own…it was the first movie I remember seeing, and I watched Gorillas In The Mist every day, and I would cry for it when it wasn’t on”…if she were to say this I would nod politely and go “uh-huh…really?” but inside my mind would be melting over toast and becoming a grilled-cheese sandwich.

I would also react politely if Egerton were to say “for me it was anything with Michael Caine, and I was also obsessed with the Fucking Muppet Christmas Carol.” But inside I would be wondering if he and Daisy Ridley had ever gotten together and discussed the films of Cary Grant. No offense but it sounds like Egerton had an undernourished childhood.

Egerton is six days older than Dylan (dob: 11.16.89) and a year and a half younger than Jett (dob: 6.4.88), but by the time my boys were four or five they’d watched and enjoyed Lawrence of Arabia, T2: Judgment Day, Beetlejuice, A Nightmare Before Christmas, E.T., the Extra Terrestrial, the Indiana Jones films, The Birds, Kong Kong…they’d really gotten their feet wet.

HE to Awkwafina: “Have you ever watched The Bad and the Beautiful?”

Six days ago I posted about Christian Bale, Matt Damon and Adam Sandler wearing “whitesides.” I don’t want to beat a dead horse, and I know when I’ve been beaten. But before Adam Driver said a word to Charlize Theron my eyes immediately went south (couldn’t be helped), and I said to myself “oh, dear God.” There’s no stopping this. Everywhere you go, everywhere you turn…it’s like living inside John Carpenter‘s They Live.

Henceforth poor Eric Swallwell is going to have to deal with this unfortunate occurence at every junction, stopover and talk-show visit for the rest of his life. This is the culture ape cage we live in. Twitter always goes for the the low slovenly primal stuff — never the ideas or goals or accomplishments, but the whoopee cushions.

It can’t be stressed enough that Hollywood films with woke-ish feminist bisexual signatures (or shadings) might sound cool in p.c. industry circles, but Joe and Jane Popcorn have not been enthralled as a rule. Because they hate p.c. militancy, cancel culture, the forsaking of familiar tradition and the Sundance Film Festival as a brand…they hate it all with a passion. Elizabeth Banks, Kristen Stewart, Doug Belgrad, Elizabeth Cantillon and Max Handelman live in a certain realm (moneyed, precious, cloistered), and Joe and Jane live waaay across the canyon, munching on Cheetos and chili dogs and asking “what’s up with those guys?”

Excerpt from Richard Rushfield’s 11.18 Ankler diagnosis of what went wrong with Charlie’s Angels:

It feels wonderful to occasionally ignore WAZE woman’s driving instructions. Sometimes I dismiss her advice with a little profanity. Why? Because I can, and because it doesn’t matter either way.

Around 8 am this morning I was driving a 2018 Jetta up the 405. It’s a loaner from the guys at Pacific Volkswagen, which is were the VW Beetle is waiting on a repair of the right-rear window…you don’t want to know.

WAZE woman told me to get off the 405, which was bumper to bumper, and take an exit that would lead me to La Brea Ave. north. “I’m not doing that,” I told her. “I don’t care if it’s a slightly faster way to go…I’m not doing it.” She repeated the suggestion. “Get outta here,” I said.

A half-hour later I was heading north on residential back streets, avoiding Robertson and Doheny Blvd. traffic. I knew where I was going and how to get there. Part of the fun of following your own directions is occasional improvising — deciding at the last second to turn here or there because it feels right.

“Take a left on Sherbourne Drive,” she said. I ignored her. I did what I wanted. I love not following her directions.

At the same time I respect her persistence. No matter what I do or say or whether it makes any sense, she immediately adjusts and comes back with new suggestion, and without a hint of attitude.

It would actually be great if WAZE woman could be programmed with a little sarcasm, if she could somehow signal disagreement with a quip or two.

I’m glad WAZE woman is always at the ready…seriously. WAZE is a brilliant app; ditto Google Maps. They’ve goth gotten me out of some tight situations. But sometimes “she” tells me to do stuff that makes no sense.

My spirit wilted as I read “Sundance Wish List: 60 Films We Hope Will Head to Park City in 2020,” written by Team Indiewire. As I scanned the descriptions I came upon four that I’m half-interested in — Sean Durkin‘s The Nest, Dee Rees’ The Last Thing He Wanted, Behn Zeitlin‘s Wendy and Todd Haynes‘ Velvet Underground doc.

Otherwise, to go by Indiewire’s spitballing, we’re talking about the usual Stalinism in the snow…a festival that serves awareness as much as imaginings, observations, reflections and/or mind-bendings. The enforcement of visions of how the world needs to be, and the fulfilling of its own self-created image, and making real (at least temporarily) its own Neverland vibes.

Sundance is a default venue for progressive, Bernie and AOC-admiring Millennials and GenZ-ers with a smattering of wealthy boomers and GenXers…a place for the sharing of 21st Century, lefty-concentration-camp values…the right kind of legends…struggles and celebrations of women, LGBTQs, people and cultures of color, and a corresponding absence of anything that’s even a little contrarian in terms of, say, white-male experience or straight perspectives. The whole festival is a safe space, and anyone who’s afraid of being overthrown or cancelled or at least strongly challenged…well, it’s your call.

Last year there were eight Sundance films that mattered: Julius Onah‘s Luce, Dan Reed‘s Leaving Neverland, Gavin Hood‘s Official Secrets, Madds Brugger‘s Cold Case Hammerskjold, David Crosby: Remember My Name, Memory: The Origins of Alien, Steven Soderbergh‘s High Flying Bird, Jennifer Kent‘s The Nightingale and Blinded By The Light.

How many of these connected with Joe and Jane Popcorn?

I said this last year also, but I miss the old snide elitist Sundance vibe, that hippest-crowd-in-the-world clubhouse feeling that I remember oh so well from the ’90s and the aughts and…well, basically the Sundance that we all knew and loved up until People’s Central Committee vibes started to seep in around ’15 or thereabouts, certainly by ’16 and most definitely by the ’17 festival, more or less concurrent with Trump’s inauguration..

At the end of the day Sundance ’20 will screen at least four or five head-turners that will matter to those of us who appreciate conversational stimulation…they always do.

I’m sick of saying this repeatedly, but have you renewed your party membership card?…have you made friends with the Stasi agent who’s been following you on Twitter?

“You know you woke me…you woke me all night long.” — written by Muddy Waters, and recorded in ’62.