It had been so long since I’d entertained even a passing memory of Mitzi Gaynor that when I learned of her death three days ago I couldn’t think of anything to say.

But this morning I happened to watch this passage from South Pacific, and I went “oh, yes…of course…now I remember.” Gaynor wasn’t a great actress or any kind of sultry sexual presence, but she had heart…a current of wide-open emotional sincerity that just won everyone over. Movie-wise she peaked between the mid ’50s and early ’60s.

To be fair, this was a modest win. I hate to to admit this but it was.

I was pushed into playing trumpet when I was ten or thereabouts. I never loved playing the damn thing…no joy in the blow. I nonetheless took trumpet lessons and played in school bands. Innate-gift-wise I was certainly never Bix Beiderbicke. For a reluctant, undisciplined kid, my trumpet-playing abilities were, at best, mediocre.

(Ditto my swimming skills when I competed in freestyle and backstroke in my early teens…ditto my drumming when I played with a couple of rock-blues bands when I hit my early 20s…I was ultimately only good at writing and acting and, during my hound-dog days, unbuttoning blouses.)

When I was 11 or thereabouts I took part in an elementary school concert, performing for fellow students, teachers and visiting parents. Myself and another kid playing some simple-ass tune. Because I wasn’t much good to begin with and because I didn’t practice hard enough, I choked when the big moment arrived. My playing was tolerable for a beginner, I suppose, but I went off-key a couple of times, whining like a dying cat or one being strangled.

I felt embarassed by this public failure, naturally…so much so that after it was over I felt a sudden instinct to let the audience know that I knew as well as they did that my playing sucked balls. And so two or three seconds later and just as I pivoted to go back my onstage seat amid my fellow band members, I formed a pistol with my thumb and right index finger and shot myself in the right temple.

The next day the school music teacher, a fairly cool guy with a sassy, sardonic sense of humor, bawled me out for “breaking the fourth wall”, so to speak. I told him that my playing was so mortifying that I had to cop to it…I had to admit to the listeners that I knew my future probably wouldn’t have much to do with trumpet-playing.

That same come-what-may, fuck-it, let-the-chips-fall impulse manifested decades later when I became a stream-of-consciousness movie columnist in ’98, or 26 years ago.

I’m perfectly willing to put aside my gut feelings about Paul Mescal (i.e., primal repulsion)** when I finally see Gladiator II on 11.22, which opens a full month from now.

Do I trust the junket whores? Of course not. Do I trust Clayton Davis‘s opinion? I’d frankly rather not. Am I more inclined to trust Guy Lodge? Yes.

All this aside I want Gladiator II to make money and become a huge success. It’ll be good all around if this happens. I don’t need people to agree with me about Paul Mescal. Really, I don’t.

Back in the news, one day later https://t.co/QoxV4FfYqI pic.twitter.com/OTt0l7pEcs

— Guy Lodge (@GuyLodge) October 19, 2024

#Gladiator2 is ABSOLUTE CINEMA. Denzel, Mescal, and Pascal all ooze raw intensity with a charismatic edge. Epic in scope, with some of the greatest action sequences in movie history. This sequel honors the legacy of the original, while forging new paths. FIVE STARS ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ pic.twitter.com/H3UiVPui2a

— Boston Brand (@DeadmanBostonB) October 19, 2024

** I recently asked the friendly Paramount team about seeing Gladiator II at tomorrow night’s NYC all-media, and they ghosted me. They’re no doubt figuring “Wells isn’t going to let go of his Mescal hate and will therefore trash Gladiator II no matter what so why even show it to him?”

Yesterday I was advised to jump into the “Cynthia Erivo offended by Wicked fan poster even though it’s only imitating the original Broadway poster” thing. I didn’t think it was important enough to stop my day and even briefly ignore Sutton, etc. Erivo’s hair-trigger reaction was obviously excessive; ditto JoeL, the “SHOW HER EYES YOU FUCKING MONSTERS” guy. Is there anything more to say?

I’ve changed my mind, by the way, about hating Wicked sight unseen. I know I’ll dislike it but I’ve decided to ease up on the instant dismissal impulse.

@jordycray Cynthia is not here for the edits! #wicked #wickedmovie #cynthiaerivo #arianagrande #wickedtok #wickedthemusical #celebrity #popculture #popculturenews #hollywood #fyp #foryou ♬ "Voice of an angry cat" – song sound sun

@butthatsmyopinion Is she over-reacting? #wicked #wickedmovie #wickedthemusical ♬ original sound – But That’s My Opinion

If — I say “if” — Kamala Harris loses the 11.5 election in a squeaker, it’ll be because of “all the young dudes.” And because she’d never so much as glanced at, much less mentioned or addressed, a concern that many bumblefucks share deep down, to wit:

Is she a woke cult member or what? Does she believe in DEI as a sacred mythology or text? And does she go along with the marginalizing and diminishment of young males in particular, and white dudes especially?

Scott Galloway: “The far right has a vision of masculinity [that ] is not aspirational…it’s be coarse, it’s be cruel….it’s quite frankly be a little bit misogynist. The far left’s vision of masculinity is ‘be more like a woman.’ And that doesn’t work either.”

…or more precisely a girl who’s reached the age of 35 months, you can’t do anything else. You really can’t. She takes over and that’s that. Which is why I haven’t posted a damn thing today.

Earlier today I obliquely discussed the “whoa, mama” finale of Edward Berger’s Conclave.

When this moment arrived during tonight’s Montclair Film Festival screening, the entire audience responded with mostly pleasurable surprise….damn near the whole place went “whoa-hooaahhwwwhhh!” When this same moment unfolded during the first Telluride screening, the reaction was subdued…some quiet “hmmm” and “uh-huhm” responses but very few.

Nobody will be able to discuss this until Conclave opens commercially on 10.25, and to be extra fair not until it’s played for at least a couple of weeks.

Warning: Habitual spoiler whiners are advised to see it as early as possible. Move it or lose it.

Incidentally: Earlier this evening I was about to post a riff titled “Worst Theatre Seat of My Entire Life.” Dyian and I were seated in upper-balcony “heaven”…row W, and I mean waaay up there with very small seats and no leg room. The movie screen looked like a standard business envelope…it was like watching a film on a 13-inch MacBook Pro from the other side of the room. And the festival had the chutzpah to charge $35 each for these wretched seats.

At least the sound was strong and distinct.

And that seems to go double for Leigh Whannell‘s Wolf Man (Universal, 1.17.25).

I feel soiled just knowing that Blumhouse “product” is out there, swirling around.

N.Y. Times film critic Alissa Wilkinson isn’t what you’d call a yay-nay type of gal. She likes to steer clear of judgments, preferring to write in a circumspect way, observing this and taking note of that.

So it’s significant, I think, that she’s totally tumbled for Sean Baker Anora.

No spoilers: For the most part Edward Berger’s Conclave (Focus, 10.25), a present-tense, Vatican-set drama about cardinals choosing a new pope, sounds and behaves like a fairly traditional film.

And then the finale comes along and it’s like “whoa, mama.”

Without getting into specifics, the film is saying that the usual, centuries-old schemings and plottings won’t do, and that advanced countries are shifting into another mode or mindset.

Which is why, if you ask me, a majority of younger straight guys aren’t supporting Kamala Harris —- they can feel the subtle shifting of the cultural plates, and are sensing they’re being shunted aside. The tactile, under-educated screen obsessives, I mean.

There’s a final shot of two young nuns clucking happily about something…this kinda says it all.

Friendo: “Yeah, I get it, but all I’m saying is that it ends on a super-woke note.”

HE: “I’m not 100% delighted by the general shifting into an era of seismic change…a primal passing of the torch…but we can’t deny that this is clearly what’s starting to happen all over.

“Conclave is a cultural canary in the coal mine.”

“A typical progressive woman would say ‘WHAT? Women and LGBTQ wokesters are making a few inroads, but the world is still overwhelmingly run by dudes.’ But times are changing. The earth is moving under our feet.”

Catching my second viewing of Edward Berger’s Conclave tomorrow evening (Friday, 10.18) —- the opening-night attraction at the Montclair Film Festival.

On top of which Halloween weekend requires the wearing of a mask…no?