The financial success of Super Mario Bros, Oppenheimer and Barbie aside…

Critical Drinker: “Last year was a bit of a turning point for all this stuff in Hollywood. We’re going to see more of it, for sure…[woke-injection bullshit] isn’t going to go away overnight, but it’s definitely reached a point where it’s no longer financially viable. Certainly in the superhero realm. Superhero fatigue, oversaturation of the market, declining quality, spreading themselves too thin, perhaps hiring people to direct and write for reasons other than merit. Plus the political dimension of it has become tiresome.”

Posted on 12.1.23

Two days ago Disney CEO Bob Iger admitted to having read the proverbial writing on the wall and more or less bullhorned the following “whoa, Nellie!” message to Disney wokesters, which I’ve conveyed here in HE-styled rhetoric:

“All right, enough, dammit…we have to face facts…the Critical Drinker has been right all along and we have to acknowledge the state of things, or at least I do…the new Disney law is “no more woke propaganda in our movies”

“We’ve clearly alienated Joe and Jane Popcorn in the parenting community and we really have to get back to being good old family–friendly Disney, and in case you’re not reading me, we’ll henceforth be re-assessing the advisability of using LGBTQIA and maybe even progressive femme-bot material in our animated features. We’ll be taking it one step at a time.”

Oh, you make me mellow / Oh, I make you mellow / Wrecking the sheets real fine / Heaven knows what you sent me, Lord / But God, this is a mellow time

Posted on 11.13.16: I don’t celebrate being one year closer to death as a rule, but it was nice to hear from all those software-prompted Facebook friends who wished me all the best (seriously, thanks) and it was extra-nice to be treated to grass-fed beef sliders, cole slaw and chocolate cake by HE’s own Svetlana Cvetko and editor-producer David Scott Smith.

It all happened at Mel’s on Sunset — an honest restaurant serving honest,’70s-era food.

The only problem was that the a.c. made the indoor climate feel like 45 or 50 degrees.

HE to waitress: “Wow, it’s nice and chilly here…good thing you guys are being considerate to your customers because it’s like 95 degrees outside, like Palm Springs in July.”

Waitress: “Oh, thank you. We aim to please!”

HE: “Uhm…I’m kidding? It’s 60 degrees outside, and it feels like a refrigerator in here? Does it have to be this cold?”

Waitress: “Oh, hah-hah…got it! I don’t call the shots, the manager does.”

HE: “Would you mind asking the manager to turn up the thermostat?”

Waitress: “I’ll ask her.”

HE: “And if she refuses, do you have some blankets?”

With HE’s own Svetlana Cvetko, just before blowing out the candle.

This Brett Ellis-Quentin Tarantino conversation was posted on 12.3.23, so I’m two months late. But this is real soul food, and I’m very glad that I finally got around to it.

Here’s Ellis’s intro riff, ending just prior to starting the conversation with Quentin. I’m not stealing anything as it’s mostly Ellis reading from “Cinema Speculation.”

…if a Hell or High Water-type film (the kind of film that could have been directed by, say, David Mackenzie and written by Taylor Sheridan)…if a film of this sort had been on the fall-holiday menu, I would have generally felt better. Alas…

Posted on 8.14.16: So who saw Hell or High Water and what are the reactions? The other day I called it the year’s best — is it? And how did the room feel, what was the after-vibe? Do you concur that it’s a social undercurrent drama disguised as a cops vs. bank-robbers movie? That it’s a meditative moralistic thing that stands up for the yokels? Or does it mainly play like a good, unpretentious Texas desperado flick? Should CBS Films be trying to sell it to red-state audiences or is it destined to connect only with blue-state urbans?

From my 8.12 review: “Any movie that rings the bell of people like me (somewhat educated, accomplished, well-travelled, blue-state values, Kooples T-shirts) as well as guys who live in the cocoon of lazy cynicism and insufficient brain-cell counts while wearing flannel shirts, cowboys boots, saggy Levi 501s and swigging Lone Star beer is definitely up to something.”

In an 8.14 Variety piece Owen Gleiberman writes that Hell or High Water is “a 2016 version of a 1970s movie…it transcends being a genre film [but also] respects how much audiences today crave genre elements.” He calls it “a crackerjack piece of entertainment” that “connects up to the most downbeat undercurrents of life in America today. That’s what gives the movie its ’70s flavor. It’s about poverty and insecurity, the gnaw of financial desperation, and the feeling that there’s no way out of it.”

Don’t let the surprise triumph of Oppenheimer‘s Cillian Murphy at last Saturday’s SAG awards…don’t let that bizarre surprise define Oscar voting! Please! This is Giamatti’s year…don’t let the moment slip away!

This morning Blocked and Reported‘s Katie Herzog and Brad Palumbo posted a discussion about last weekend’s Los Angeles sidewalk-cafe debate between the progressive-wokey, mask-wearing Taylor Lorenz and Libs of TikTok‘s conservative-minded Chaya Richik.

It’s asserted early on that Chaya, a Hebrew name, is pronounced “Haya.” That fits when you consider that l-chaim is pronounced “luh-hime.” The “ch” is basically an “h.”

Again, link #1 and link #2.

It took me two full days to recover from some of the ghastly fashion choices I saw during last Saturday’s SAG awards telecast. I was literally groaning, shuddering in my seat, in some instances convulsing with disgust.

This, I told myself, is why 96% of the U.S.population (i.e., those who are straight hot-dog eaters and/or don’t work in the entertainment industry, and who don’t live in slavish obedience to the “suggestions” (i.e., commands) of eccentric fashion designers)…this is why average Americans loathe and despise effete male industry entertainers. Some at the SAG ceremony looked like permanent residents of Emerald City in The Wizard of Oz. Actresses can do whatever but dude-wise people want real men, which is to say non-eccentric, stylish but sensible, tone down the fucking feathers and affectations, etc.

But before sampling the worst, here’s one of the evening’s best-looking outfits, worn by Taylor Zakhar Perez, who plays the gay son of the U.S.President in Red, White and Royal Blue (Amazon Prime).

And now the awful-awfuls…

Robert Downey Jr.s’ gray horrorsuit…bizarre jacket slits, flesh-colored shirt without tie, baggy-ass pants and heavy, shiny-brown clodhopper shoes with light-brown soles. General Mireau, the man behind the forthcoming firing-squad execution of three babygirls, would like to include Downey’s fashion adviser in the line of fire.

One of the most self-satirizing fashion calamities of the night was worn by Queer Eye‘s Tan France, known for his silver-white pompadour hair. The instant I saw his 18-inch wide chopstick bowtie during the pre-show red carpet sequence, I muttered to myself “you fucking pretentious asshole.”

Abbott Elementary‘s Chris Perfetti…the curly red hair and giant-sized ears blended with the suit’s light malted brown color, the black cumberband and the peaked black lapels…totally sickening, and those godawful, reprehensible baggy pants…yeesh.

Comedian Alok Vaid-Menon…yeah!!

Rustin‘s Colman Domingo in a light pink and black tux…an outfit that needlessly underlined his sexual identity and in so doing compromised his cred as an actor of a certain chameleon mystique.

The light powder-blue Martian pants worn by Abbott Elementary‘s Tyler James Williams…imagine some guy in Montpellier, Vermont, or Guerneville, California, or even in Austin, Texas wearing pants like this to some formal-ass event.

If there’s any way that I, the honcho of Hollywood Elsewhere, can bring pain, anguish and acute suffering into the life of any actor who believes in a babygirl persona…if there’s any way I could make a babygirl howl in agony and weep and beg for mercy on his knees, I would flip the switch.

Death to all babygirls…death to Zoomers who believe in wearing black sequins and shorts on a red carpet and chunky black boots with knee socks and anything else that smacks of wimpy Zoomer anal-lube squishiness.

Brigadier General Paul Mireau (George Macready) in Paths of Glory: “Colonel Dax, I want you to choose three babygirls — one from each regiment — and have them prepare for a firing-squad execution tomorrow morning at 7 am. Don’t tell them that, of course. Tell them we need them to serve as judges for a fashion show featuring Pedro Pascal…whatever it takes.

“I can’t wait to see those little sweethearts tied side by side to a post, standing in front of sandbags with tears streaming down their cheeks.”

I would actually feel fine about her not attending at all. Really. HE to Zendaya: I really don’t mean this in a hostile way. I’m just saying if you change your mind…no worries!