A random, straight-from-the-shoulder discussion from earlier today (transcript):

Friendo: The biggest problem with Killers of the Flower Moon, which I’ve just watched for the fourth time, is that after all Lily has suffered and been through…after all that she doesn’t rip into Leo at the end of the film. The whole point of having the FBI involved is that we’re invested in their story so when they get the bad guy it’s satisfying. So we naturally expect some sort of catharsis from Lily. But it never comes.

HE: Correct. Lily is even gentle with dumb-ass Leo during their final scene. She gently caresses his cheek and listens to his regrets without saying shit, or saying much. Zero catharsis. Zero satisfaction.

Friendo: They set us up for a showdown at the end, which is the only reward for enduring her suffering. You need that scene…payback, revenge, retribution

HE: The idea seems to be that Lily’s spirituality doesn’t allow for any retribution or condemnation. It’s too coarse for her. She’s at one with the Spirit Gods.

Friendo: So either she’s ignorant and stupid. Or it’s bad writing.

HE: Inconclusive story strategy, I would say. Unsatisfying finale.

Friendo: Leo was in cahoots with men who killed her whole family, and then he poisoned her himself for months? Any intelligent person would flip out at a man who did that.

HE: Marty Scorsese and Eric Roth didn’t see it that way.

I flinch every time I buy Gillette Proshield replacement cartridges. Because they cost too much for what I’m getting.

The first shave is always very pleasurable, granted, but you can feel a very slight diminishment during the second shave — not as sharp or clean. And the third shave is the same or even slightly worse. The fact is that cheap plastic razors (also made by Gillette) work almost as well over the course of, say, eight or even ten shaves.

Why do I keep shelling out for these shitty, over-priced Gillette cartridges that are good for only one great shave? Because I like holding the metal Gillette shaving device. (What should I call it?) It feels good in my hand. I like the weight of it, and the little grooves and micro-bumps allow for a better grip. Otherwise the cartridges suck eggs.

Vasectomy four months ago, sex five months ago…

“Now that’s what I call cutting it close” — final line, spoken by hospital orderly, in Lover Come Back (‘62).

“Tonight you WERE the father” regarding a pregnancy that began FIVE MONTHS AGO…I get it but on the other hand I don’t. I would have written “five months ago you became a full partner in the creation of a child”…something like that. Even if it didn’t actually happen, according to Keith.

And after 100-plus minutes, feeling exhausted by this extremely wordy proximity…this lavishly written deep dive into the madness of excess — ferocious, insatiable and particularly owned by Elizabeth Taylor.…good God in heaven. Surface-skimming wasn’t the half of it.

I’m not letting partner-in-crime Richard Burton off the hook, but at least his difficult Welsh upbringing and actor-of-great-promise burden (his glory years began in ‘49 and pretty much ended with Cleopatra) left him occasionally guilt-stricken.

I’ll always love the title, however, and to think it came from a condemning 1962 editorial in L’Osservatore della Domenica, the Vatican newspaper.

Three guesses who doesn’t have clue #1 about the Burton-Taylor legend, and the first two don’t count.

From the fearless Susan Orlean, author of “The Orchid Thief”…..

Call it the Poor Things effect…Maggie Gyllenhaal’s The Bride!, a feminist Frankenstein flick set in 1930s Chicago…Guillermo del Toro’s Dr. Frankenstein for Netflix…Zelda Williams and Diablo Cody’s Lisa Frankenstein. That’s it, right? Just three?

I’m sorry but I never want to watch another video of anyone doing any kind of X-treme jumping from cliffs, mountaintops, supertall bridges…no more skydiving or flying-squirrel gliding or free-falling or parachuting or bungee-jumping…I’m imaging that I’ve watched hundreds of these things and henceforth am only interested in wipe-out scenarios, which of course I’m being facetious about as I wouldn’t wish injury or tragedy upon anyone…it’s just the relentless sameness, the monotony, the repetition, the X-treme plague of it all.

I always enjoy and often agree with N.Y. Times center-right columnist Bret Stephens, but I felt a little pissed off by what struck me as a Trump-friendly column (1.11.24), titled “The Case for Trump …by Someone Who Wants Him to Lose“.

I’m not going to re-hash the essay chapter and verse, but it’s fair to say that Bret’s opinions about wokesters (i.e., “the progressive left”) are mostly on-target.

True: “Academia, mostly liberal, became increasingly illiberal, inhospitable not just to conservatives but to anyone pushing back even modestly against progressive orthodoxy.”

True: “Trump and his supporters called this out, [and] for this they were called idiots, liars and bigots by people who think of themselves as enlightened and empathetic and hold the commanding heights in the national culture. The scorn only served to harden the sense among millions of Americans that liberal elites are self-infatuated, imperious, hysterical, and hopelessly out of touch.”

I also agree with Bret’s statement that Trump “shared the law-and-order instincts of normal Americans, including respect for the police, something the left seemed to care about on Jan. 6 but was notably less concerned about during the months of rioting, violence and semi-anarchy that followed George Floyd’s murder.”

Except it wasn’t months — the Floyd riots lasted four or five weeks, something like that.

But I really hate the way Bret has minimized, looked the other way at and otherwise normalized Trump’s sociopathic nature and his brutish, anti-democratic, flat-out criminal behavior.

Others feel this way or the Times wouldn’t have posted a follow-up dialogue between Stephens and Patrick Healy called “Three Questions for Bret Stephens About His Trump Column.”

Hugs and condolences for the family and friends of ’70s actress Tisa Farrow, who has passed at the age of 72. I knew her only from her brief performances in Woody Allen‘s Manhattan and James Toback‘s Fingers. Her line in Manhattan — “I finally had an orgasm, and my doctor told me it was the wrong kind” — is not the sort of line that you forget. It’s kind of legendary in fact.