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 this afternoon to Madame Web on Rotten Tomatoes. Not to mention Metacritic.

The Sasquatch makeup is pretty good, I have to say. I’m pretty sure I can spot Jesse Eisenberg under the stringy hair and prosthetics but I can’t identify Riley Keough. (Her name accompanies an image of one of the beasts, but I can’t “see” her.) The other two actors are Nathan Zellner and Christophe Zajac-Denek.

Sundance, Berlin, SXSW…Bleecker Street will release Sasquatch Sunset on April 12th.

Variety‘s Rebecca Rubin posted on 1.19.24:

I wasn’t paying attention to this “Dunkin’ The Dunking” ad during the Super Bowl…

1:40 mark:

Teenager to Ben Affleck: “Jennifer Lopez‘s husband…that’s cool.”

Affleck to teenager: “I had an influence myself.”

Teenager: “So what do you do?”

Affleck: “Aahhh, I do some…acting and writing and directing of movies, which were a kind of longform entertainment popular in the…20th Century.”

Jennifer Lopez is 54 (born on 7.24.69) and she doesn’t look a day under 32. Ben is 51…no biggie.

The expression on Mark Ruffalo‘s face in this Zodiac interrogation scene…his expression alone in this 5 minute, 48-second scene is ten to fifteen times better than his whole performance in Poor Things. Better in that it conveys an immense amount of information…he doesn’t move a muscle but his face is quaking with emotion and arousal and implication.

And that vaguely moaning, faintly growling sound we hear as the suspicion factor begins to build…fascinating. And the watch.

My God, what a brilliant film Zodiac is! All four guys in this scene are note perfect — Ruffalo, Anthony Edwards, Elias Koteas, John Carroll Lynch.

Plus Ruffalo is at least 20 to 25 pounds lighter in Zodiac than he is in Poor Things so there’s that also.

The snow is thick and icy and slippery…love it as long as I don’t slip and fall and bruise my ribs like I did in the Sierras a few years ago. This is the kind of Hollywood snowfall you dream about…the kind of snowfall tailor-made for a horsedrawn sleigh with jingling bells…a snowfall straight out of The Magnificent Ambersons.

Putting aside Travis Kelce’s unfortunate troglodyte behavior, which is a whole problem in and of itself and one that would give pause to any woman of brains and perception, he is now facing a deck of cards that will probably not pan out in his favor.

For when his fame and power inevitably begin to recede with age, Taylor Swift will begin to value him less. Unless, that is, he somehow becomes a troglodyte macho movie star like John Cena, in which case things will probably be fine. (I honestly don’t think he’s smart or clever enough to fill those shoes — he’s too much of a Midwestern oaf.)

We all know Taylor’s deal as she seems to go through boyfriends like potato chips and uses relationship breakups as song-lyric fodder and probably is, in all likelihood (although I’m obviously not claiming familiarity with her deep down stuff), a fair–weather lover.

Hey, the world’s full of them.

I’m not trying to pigeonhole Swift, but she seems like a leggy, musically banal version of Mary Astor, Tallulah Bankhead, Isadora Duncan…it’s all about impulse and dough and the lyrics in her head.

“A woman must have everything” — a mid ‘70s Joni Mitchell lyric that is probably even more true in 2024, especially when it comes to super-famous, glammy, high-earning, high-maintenance women.

They’re obviously exciting wowser types (hoo-hah!) but they’re mainly about their own self-articulated dreams and creations and are always “hungry for those good things, baby” (Paul Revere and the Raiders w/ Mark Lindsay) and are not your true pallies — if you want a friend, get a dog or turn to your mom or your older sister or the bruhs you’ve known since your teen years.

Super-wealthy, power-pop Swiftian girlfriends can only be happy and satisfied with boyfriends and husbands who are just as rich and powerful as they are and preferably more so. (Think Elizabeth Taylor and Mike Todd in the mid to late ‘50s)

At best they’re your social ally and mutual sexual celebration partner for as long as the BMW engine is highly-tuned and rumbling along and the good times are flush, but when the music begins to quiet down and the electric generator dynamic begins to downshift into a mild, mid-range hum, watch out.

For “that’s when your heartaches begin” (a Fred Fisher–William Hill–William Raskin song, sung by Elvis Presley).

Joni Mitchell, Paul Revere, Mark Lindsay, Elvis Presley, Al “hoo-hah” Pacino, Isadora Duncan, Elizabeth Taylor…they’ve all been through it.

In short, the Kelce-Swift romance isn’t long for this world unless they get down, get married and have a baby…this is the only thing will save them…the only profound product of their union. A baby will also mean an end to the great sex, of course, but that’s life.

If I were Swift I would find a guy more like Brock Purdy, but that’s me.

There’s nothing uncool about emotional fire and exuberance, but Travis Kelce behaved yesterday like a bellowing three-toed sloth. If you ask me he not only embarassed himself but Taylor Swift in the bargain. No sense of class or modesty. And I don’t like the Marine boot-camp hair and the long bushy-ass beard.

If I was in Swift’s boots I would be seriously re-thinking the situation. Who wouldn’t?

Brock Purdy is cooler, modest and moderate, better looking and a great quarterback.