Four months ago I reported that a slightly more explicit version of Psycho would be available from a German video distributor. Nothing breathtaking, just a tad more explicit than the prudish U.S. cut, etc. Now it’s purchasable as part of a German Bluray Psycho box set for 129 euros.
The “uncut German version” is on disc #5, and is described as a “German Super-8 version.” Wait…the source is a shitty-looking 8mm print, and it’s dubbed in German? Forget it.
Universal Home Video should issue a new Psycho Bluray with this footage, of course, but they should also (a) remaster it in 4K and (b) offer an alternate boxy version (1.37:1) — the current Universal Bluray slices off acres and acres of visual information with an unnecessary 1.85 aspect ratio.
Last night I tried to watch John Lee Hancock‘s The Highwaymen via the Netflix Media Center. I signed in but no Highwaymen. There’s some kind of changeover going on. The new access to screeners will be accessible under a tab on the Netflix app called Preview Content. I already have a Netflix account so it’s not a problem, but in the meantime no Highwaymen — aka Kevin Costner and Woody Harrelson vs. Bonnie and Clyde.
The thing that will almost certainly elevate Beto O’Rourke in the minds of rural pudgeball voters is that he’s a real-deal, Bobby Kennedy-like humanist who’s not beholden to shrieking lefty Stalinists. If there’s one thing that Average Americans loathe and despise it’s doctrinaire white-male-hating p.c. crazies.
O’Rourke, who may announce his Presidential candidacy later this week, “has betrayed little concern about catering to his left flank. People close to him say a central takeaway from speaking to disparate audiences in recent months is that voters are far less ideological than some in the party might believe — supplying an opening, Mr. O’Rourke senses, for a unifying figure in a bog of partisan warriors.
“Robby Mook, Hillary Clinton’s campaign manager in 2016, said that Mr. O’Rourke stands apart as a politician who can ‘drive his own news,’ independent of Donald Trump, alluding to his history of social media-ready flourishes on the campaign trail.
“’It’s not just a matter of being authentic,’ Mr. Mook said. ‘It’s authentically taking on Trump and challenging political norms.’
“Still, most candidates considered to be top 2020 contenders tend to check at least one of the following three boxes: (a) a firm policy bedrock anchoring their campaigns, like the economic platforms of Bernie Sanders or Elizabeth Warren; (b) the potential to make history, like Kamala Harris or her female Senate peers in the field; or (c) deep experience and national standing, like Joe Biden.
“Mr. O’Rourke would appear to satisfy none of these descriptions, though his instinct for viral internet ubiquity and generational uplift may amount to its own category.
“His fans compare him to Mr. Obama or the Kennedys — a font of rangy inspiration — rarely dwelling on his record. But Mr. O’Rourke would enter the race without a signal achievement over six years as an El Paso congressman, nor an obvious big-ticket policy idea that might animate his bid.
I’m a stone worshipper of Mindhunter, the 2017 series that Fincher produced and partly directed (and which will re-launch with a second season later this year), and I definitely enjoyed the Fincher-produced House of Cards for the first couple of seasons. But I wouldn’t watch Love, Death and Robots with a knife at my back. Because in my mind an “anthology animation short” series is Otto Ludwig Piffle…take-it-or-leave-it esoterica for animation oddballs and navel gazers and guys who avoid sunlight and regular pedicures, and who look and behave like Pete Davidson and wear skeleton-feet sneakers.
Remember the old David Fincher? The guy who was one of the most dynamic, innovative, forward-reaching directors of narrative features (on the level of Soderbergh, Cuaron, Inarritu and Kubrick) and who was slugging it out in the boxing ring and at least trying to make stuff that really mattered? That Fincher has now retreated into a kind of Netflix cave. He hasn’t made a theatrical feature in over four years, close to five. The good but vaguely underwhelming Gone Girl (’14) was his last theatrical effort.
If you ignore Alien 3 (which I advise everyone to do), Fincher was on the feature-film stick for 19 years, and made four world-class knockouts — Seven (’95), Fight Club (’99), Zodiac (’07) and The Social Network (’10). He also made four above-average, stylistically-striking popcorn films — The Game, Panic Room, The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo and Gone Girl. I’m not calling The Curious Case of Benjamin Button a stinker, but I’ll never, ever watch it again.
Why is Fincher more or less hiding in his little Netflix cave? He’s following his heart and his muse, and I’m sure that’s a satisfying place to be, but what about the devout fan base (i.e., persons like myself?) It’s like Fincher has decided he can’t be “David Fincher” any more…like that was a phase and now he’s past it.
He obviously no longer believes in theatrical narratives. Because Hollywood itself no longer believes in same, and because the zombie executives won’t greenlight anything even remotely original, and because Fincher won’t make formulaic crap. And so he’s operating out of his own little creative bunker. He’s not even doing a Soderbergh — making modest but original features, working with Netflix but exploring new distribution schemes, shooting on iPhones, etc. He’s working and living in a realm that allows for creative freedom, but the absence of the old Fincher breaks my heart.
If Fincher is trying to get anything made in the realm of narrative features, I haven’t heard of it. Has he totally bailed or is there something he’s developing that might actually become something? I’m asking.
The first weekend is almost always about the marketing and never about the quality (or lack of). The second and third weekends tell the tale. Don’t tell me about this damn film — I tried to watch it but it quickly began to eat my insides out. It was secreting poison gas. I could only make it to the 80-minute mark.
Woody Allen used to play wimpy guys like Casey Davies, except the temporary karate class remedy would be dispensed with in a first-act montage and then Allen would move on to the actual story. Now “the karate class” is the whole thing. You can feel the thin-ness, the micro-focus.
Directed and written by Riley Stearns, The Art of Self-Defense (Bleecker Street, 6.21) costars Jesse Eisenberg, Alessandro Nivola and Imogen Poots. No interest, zip, forget it. That look of intimidation of Eisenberg’s face = later.
Theron plays Charlotte Field, a 40ish Secretary of State planning a run for the White House, and Rogen plays Fred Flarsky, a political journalist whom Theron hires to be her speechwriter, in part because she babysat for him “20 years earlier,” according to one review.
You think? In real life Rogen is 37 going on 55. He didn’t need a babysitter when he was 17 — Theron more likely babysat him 25 or 30 years ago, when he was 12 or 7. A quarter century ago Theron was 18 — a perfect babysitting age.
Long Shot screened last night at South by Southwest. Sight unseen, Hollywood Elsewhere agrees with Peter Debruge’s skepticism about this bizarre romantic pairing.
Debruge: “There are two high-concept male fantasies operating here: There’s the one in which a man-child finally gets to seduce the sexy babysitter, interwoven with another about the chances that the country’s most gorgeous/powerful woman — ‘I dreamed I was president in my Maidenform bra’ — might risk it all to be with someone like Flarsky.
“The odds? The movie’s new title says it all.
“More creepy than romantic, more chauvinist than empowered — and in all fairness, funnier and more entertaining than any comedy in months — Long Shot serves up the far-fetched wish-fulfillment fantasy of how, for one lucky underdog, pursuing your first love could wind up making you first man.
“Granted, society’s notion of what kind of romances are deemed acceptable is shifting awfully fast, so I could be wrong about this.. [But] there’s an alarming disconnect [in] whatever unconventional sex appeal Field sees in [Flarsky].
“If the sexes were reversed, Rogen would be the dumpy girl with curly hair and glasses waiting for his mid-movie makeover. But because Flarsky’s a dude, he doesn’t have to change at all; it’s Field who has to make all the concessions to be with him — which would surely be a point of contention in a properly engaged satire.”
I’ve been to the Musee Picasso twice in Paris, and while “Guernica” was hanging at MOMA I stood before it at least two or three times. How did I manage to enjoy these experiences, knowing what kind of a fuck Pablo Picasso was with his wives and lovers?
Simple — I put the bad stuff in a wooden box. It’s called compartmentalizing.
Same deal while watching Alfred Hitchcock films. How can I enjoy The Birds while knowing what Hitchcock put poor Tippi Hedren through during filming? Just shut it out. I’ve heard stories about others but I won’t go there. I can do this all night long.
History constantly reminds that a lot of famous, talented people have treated others cruelly, brusquely or otherwise brought pain or trauma into their lives. I wish it didn’t go with the territory but it seems to. Not always but often enough.
1966 dark green Mustang fastback (Steve McQueen, Bullitt); 1964 light-green Aston Martin (Sean Connery, Goldfinger); 1938 Plymouth DeLuxe (Humphrey Bogart, The Big Sleep and High Sierra); 1977 Pontiac Trans Am (Burt Reynolds, Smokey and the Bandit), 1963 Volkswagen Beetle (The Love Bug)…I don’t care about this. Not a big car guy. But I do hate the idea of Middle Eastern corporate architecture.
From N.Y. Post “Page Six” story by Derrick Bryson Taylor: Memes floating across social media show Kate Beckinsale, 45, and Pete Davidson, 25, engaged in some serious lip-locking while Queer Eye star Antoni Porowski awkwardly sits next to them. One meme shows Beckinsale in the middle with a caption over Davidson reading, ‘Guys with problems from childhood whom I can ‘fix.’” A caption over Poroswki reads, “Wholesome guys with good paying jobs who text back and have no baggage.” Beckinsale commented on it saying, “Antoni is gay, if that helps clarify at all #queereye.”
HE comment #1: The fact that Beckinsale openly (if very briefly) considered the idea of boning Porowski tells you she’s theoretically open to other potential boyfriends, which should give Davidson pause. HE comment #2: Davidson’s tattoos are appalling, absurd. (Especially that amateurish heart tattoo behind his ear.) And his fashion sense! Anyone who would wear skeleton sneakers with pink socks…forget it. I give this relationship another month or two, at most.
