Sasha Stone and I have concluded that Tim Burton has only two casting options for his Attack of the 50 Foot Woman remake. One, a foxy POC chick with big boobies (Black, Asian, Asian) or — this is much better — persuade Taylor Swift to play the part. Better yet, cast Swift as a gay N.Y. Times columnist — Attack of the 50 Foot Lesbian.

Obviously younger auds are cool with Anyone But You, at least to some extent. After opening on 12.22 it’s still hanging in there five and a half weeks later, currently residing in third place domestically ($72,377,883) with a decent (if less than crazy humungous) worldwide gross.

Given the fact that Will Gluck‘s Australia-set romcom is absoutely awful to sit through, you’d figure it would be dead by now. Is this because Millennials and Zoomers have no taste? Or is it because Glenn Powell and Sydney Sweeney are seen as attractive world-class leads now and box-office watchers are just slow to catch on?

After catching Paul Thomas Anderson‘s hippie-dippie Inherent Vice (’14) I decided firmly and finally that PTA should never adapt another Thomas Pynchon novel. Because I absolutely hated the way Inherent Vice made me feel, plus I couldn’t understand at least 60% or 70% of the dialogue.

Alas, Jordan Ruimy is reporting that Anderson is now shooting another Pynchon adaptation, Vineland. It’s lensing in Northern California (Eureka, Acata, Humboldt County) with Leonardo DiCaprio as Zoyd Wheeler.

Instead of using the book’s 1984 setting, PTA’s film has apparently been re-set in the present.

Last night I caught episodes #1 and #2 of Feud: Capote vs. The Swans (Hulu/FX). and I was competely delighted by Tom Hallander‘s Truman Capote. It’s like Capote‘s Philip Seymour Hoffman is back among us, and it’s wonderful. The voice, body language, hat and scarves….perfect. Hollander will be Emmy-nominated and probably win…no question.

You might guess from the credit block that Hollander is playing a supporting role, but he’s absolutely the star. When Hollander’s on-screen, you’re riveted or at least sitting up in your seat. When the swans are front and center you’re paying polite attention and never bored, but at the same you’re waiting for Hollander to return.

The narrative is non-sequential, hopscotching around from year to year, era to era…1984, 1968, 1975, 1966, etc. Hollander is especially glorious in “Pilot,” the initial episode. Episode #2 (“Ice Water In Their Veins”) is about his immediate post-“La Cote Basque” downfall period…obviously sad, boozy and pathetic.

All the swan performances are first-rate with Naomi Watts‘ Babe Paley being the main stand-out. The other performances are completely satisfactory and professional — Diane Lane as Slim Keith (who was no longer slim in the late ’60s and ’70s), Chloë Sevigny as C. Z. Guest (Sevigny and Barry Keohgan are the queen and king of the bee-stung nose realm), Calista Flockhart as Lee Radziwill, Demi Moore as Ann Woodward and Molly Ringwald as Joanne (wife of Johnny) Carson. All completely convincing, no speed bumps or issues of any kind.

Jon Robin Baitz‘s screenplay is witty, amusing, blistering, spot-on. Gus Van Sant‘s direction is also top-=of-the-lone, and the animated credit sequence [see below] is luscious and haunting.

What can Team Trump possibly do to harm or compromise Taylor Swift? This is ludicrous.

There are millions of MAGA morons out there who actually think Donald Trump would somehow make this country a better place if re-elected. But there are many more millions on their side of the argument who understand who and what Trump is — a salivating dog, a sociopath, a criminal scumbag, an anti-democratic authoritarian — and plan to vote for him anyway.

Why? Because they absolutely hate progressive lefties, and are convinced Trump will make their lives miserable and may even undo some of their drastic social measures. Trump may destroy American democracy while doing so, but they don’t seem to care. They just want to stick it their cultural enemies, and for the cynical Trumpies nothing else matters.

MAGA spite voters despise wokesters for pushing an anti-white cultural narrative (i.e., all whites are evil, all people of color are beautiful), and for the atmosphere of political intolerance on college campuses today, and the pro-Palestian protests and the toppling of statues of Thomas Jefferson and removing of Abraham Lincoln‘s name from schools, an educational system that values DEI over merit and is stacked against smart kids who get excellent grades, a general adherence to fluid multi-gender wokethink, the teaching of gay and trans propaganda to soft-clay minds in elementary school classrooms, not to mention drag queens…pregnant men, sex change surgeries, trans men in women’s bathrooms, upscale department store shoplifting by hoodie gangs, six-foot-four trans dudes competing in swim meets against bio-females…all of that insane shit that has turned portions of this country into a left lunatic asylum over the past six years.

Obviously voting to spite the other side is a nihilist thing…unwise, adolescent, stupid, submental. I’ve never voted to spite the other side, and I never will.

Luca Guadagnino’s Queer, an adaptation of William S. Burroughs’ early ‘50s novel that will star Daniel Craig as a “top” roaming around Mexico, will debut at the 2024 Cannes Film Festival.

I’ve been given a copy of the script but have only read two pages so far — a scene in which Craig’s “Lee” character is fucking a young Mexican lad.

This is why I’ve said Craig is playing a top but what do I know? I know that “Lee” is self-portraiture — a stand-in for the guy Burroughs was 70-odd years ago, presumably after his Junkie period.

In the comment thread for “Chang Elbowing Lane Aside,” Kristi Coulter attempted to cast doubt upon the indisputable woke mindset of New Yorker editor David Remnick, who has drop-kicked Anthony Lane in order to bring in Justin Chang as senior film critc,.

Coulter: “David R has been running The New Yorker since 1998 and isn’t known for kowtowing to thought police of any stripe. He’s probably just trying to keep TNY relevant to its readership, so it can continue existing.”

HE to Coulter: It might be better if people who comment on The New Yorker actually read The New Yorker, as I do.

Excuse me but Remnick ‘doesn’t kowtow to the thought police’? The New Yorker has become one of the main branches of Woke Central over the last seven years. Remnick’s shift in that direction has been particularly egregious because The New Yorker is one of the few places that would have the freedom to resist it.

The more I think about this, the more riled I am by the fundamental shifting formation of the film-critic world that’s taken place over the last two months — the instillation of the light-touch Alissa Wilkinson at the N.Y. Times, and now Justin Chang at The New Yorker.

Both are 40ish Millennial orthodox art-head disciples who do not rock the boat.

The drop-kicked Anthony Lane wrote a mixed review of Flowers of the Killer Moon. Can you imagine Chang or Wilkinson doing that? Not on this earth. The opportunities for that kind of dissenting view coming from a powerful place in mainstream media are, like, vanishing.

Excerpt from Lane’s Killers of the Flower Moon review:

…inside Geffen Hall while the film runs without the standard 1959 mono track. Tracks #33 through #48 comprise a grand mood symphony…anxiety, suspense, tingling dread, thundering uncertainties…all in one movement.

…for HE to post regular recollections of what the film business looked, sounded, felt and tasted like before the terror — i.e., before 2017 but mostly focused on the glorious ‘90s (the indie revolution), the aughts (last stabs before superhero plague) and the early to mid teens (Zero Dark Thirty, 12 Years A Slave, Drive, The Social Network, Moneyball, Carol, Manchester By The Sea).

In other words: rather than overdose on cursing and condemning the present darkness (although I will never abandon this hard but necessary duty) it might be better to invest more energy into shining a light upon the above-mentioned good times (‘90 to ‘17 or just shy of three decades) and thereby possibly inspire a longing for films that aspire to more than just delivering “content” as well as persuading at least some of the fiercely progressive descendants of Maximilian Robespierre and Josef Stalin to possibly ease up on their social justice crusades and just…you know, try to make good movies that are less “instructive”?

Then again I wouldn’t want to descend into the pit of too-much-nostalgia…all right, fuck it, I’m not changing the game.

Amiable Guy to Madonna: “Do you want to talk at all off-camera?”

Warren Beatty to Amiable Guy: “She doesn’t want to live off-camera, much less talk. There’s nothing to say off-camera, Why would you say something at all if it’s off-camera?”

Alek Keshishian‘s Madonna: Truth or Dare (’91) is a seemingly intimate, fairly interesting chronicle of Madonna’s backstage life during her 1990 Blonde Ambition tour. She was pretty much Taylor Swift back then.

Beatty and Madonna were quite the attractive couple. They had begun their relationship during the making of Dick Tracy in ’89, when he was 52 and she was 31. Their union lasted for roughly 15 months, which is a decent run in that realm. Madonna and Beatty probably had more to say to each other 34 years ago than Swift and Travis Kelce do now.

The second best scene in Truth or Dare was when Madonna simulated giving a blowjob with a water bottle. Swift would never do that, or certainly not for posterity. Plus the fan base wouldn’t approve.