I saw Sean Mullin‘s It Ain’t Over, an affectionate, unexpectedly emotional Yogi Berra doc, about a year and half ago. Now this Sony Pictures Classics release is looking for some awards attention, and is having an invitational screening at the Union Square Regal on Thursday, 12.7, with N.Y. Times contributor (and occasionally acidic HE commenter) Glenn Kenny moderating the post-screening discussion.

“Yogi Yogi Yogi,” posted on 6.13.22:

Speaking as one who grew up in the tristate area (New Jersey, Connecticut, Manhattan) and managed to attend a grand total of two Yankee games and no Mets games that whole time, I’m not what you’d call a diehard baseball fan. But I certainly knew and admired Yogi Berra (1925-2015), a legendary Yankee catcher (18 seasons), power hitter, “bad ball” hitter and shoot-from-the-hip philosopher whose peak years were in the ’50s and early ’60s.

Yogi Berra is one of the greatest sounding baseball names of all time, right up there with Moose Skowron, Goose Gossage, Miller Huggins, Ty Cobb, Bobo Rivera, Ryne Duren, Hoyt Wilhelm, Duke Snider and Mookie Wilson. (Berra’s birth name was Lorenzo Pietro Berra.)

There was always something simian about Berra’s size (he stood 5’7″) and facial features, but what a magnificent athlete. Named the American League’s Most Valuable Player Award three times, an All-Star player 18 times, played in 10 World Series championships (more than any other player in MLB history), a career batting average of 285 (struck or thrown out 7 out of 10 times — Mickey Mantle ended up with .298), caught Don Larsen‘s perfect game in Game 5 of the 1956 World Series, etc.

And what a TV pitchman! Yoohoo chocolate drink, Camel cigarettes, Florida Orange Juice, Kinney Shoes, Miller Lite, etc.

What does Mullin’s doc do with all this? Nothing miraculous but it always satisfies. Mullin just lays it out, decade by decade, straight and plain, St. Louis childhood to World War II to years of Yankee (and later N.Y. Mets) glory and into the coaching years, and always with an emotional gloss or spin of some kind.

Is it par for the course and familiar as fuck to share various affectionate, awe-struck observations from players, commentators and family members who were Berra fans over the years (Billy Crystal, Derek Jeter, Bob Costas, Vin Scully, Joe Torre, Don Mattingly, Joe Garagiola, Roger Angell, Bobby Richardson, Whitey Herzog, Tony Kubek, Willie Randolph, Ron Guidry and the Berra family — Dale, Tim, Larry, late wife Carmen and granddaughter Lindsay Berra)? Yes, but it works here. Of course it does…you want it.

Does the doc feature a villain? You betcha — Hannah-Barbera’s Yogi Bear, a revoltingly cheerful cartoon character who came along in 1958, and was hated by Berra and everyone else over the age of ten. Thank God the doc doesn’t feature “Yogi,” a 1960 pop tune by the Ivy Three.

The personal Yogi stuff puts the hook in. The 65-year marriage to Carmen (1949 to her death in 2014). Home life in Montclair. The TV pitchman career. The D-Day heroism. Yogi’s long feud with Yankee owner George Steinbrenner after the latter fired him as manager (and by proxy yet). Dale Berra sharing the intervention moment when Yogi and his brothers confronted him about cocaine addiction.

I’ve decided to devote a separate piece to the better-known Yogi-isms — poorly worded sayings that don’t sound right at first, but start to sound right the more you repeat them or think about them.

Unfiltered Robbie, rephrased in boldface by yours truly: “When Tom [Ackerly] and I sat down to read the script….I mean, oh wow, okay, I’m loving it…I mean, it began with a Kubrick reference…but it’s gonna be haard to persuade [the studio] to let us do this and I don’t know that this is what Mattel had in mind, but they’re nnever gonna let us make this because of the jokey, mock-ironic current of anti-straight-male misandry that runs all through it…it’s such a shame that this brilliant piece of writing will never see the light of day.”

At the very least her chat with Oppenheimer‘s Cillian Murphy reminds that Murphy’s My Favorite Martian, alien-from-Betelguese performance in Oppenheimer was in fact a calculated performance. He’s actually human on his own terms.

Somewhere during its seven-month Broadway I saw David Mamet‘s Speed-the-Plow at the Royale Theatre (5.3.88 to 12.31.88). Jett was born on 6.4.88 — we probably attended an early fall performance,.

I’m thinking of it because at the time poor Joe Mantegna (who played Bobby Gould) was coping with the same affliction that is currently plaguing me. The late Ron Silver won a Tony Award for his performance as Charlie Fox, and the not-too-bad Madonna played Karen.

Fox: “It’s lonely at the top, isn’t it?
Gould: “Yeah, but it ain’t crowded.”

For some reason you can’t find a video of last Friday’s Real Time interview between Mamet and Bill Maher.

This is a scene from Alfred Hitchcock‘s I Confess (’52). Please notice what happens at almost exactly the 1:51 mark, and especially how Dimitri Tiomkin‘s score slightly intensifies when this thing (i.e., an arrival of a new character) occurs.

From Albert Brooks in Defending My Life (MAX, currently streaming):

Rob Reiner: “Any thoughts about what happens after you die?”

Brooks: “The first time I had a colonsocopy, I wanted one every day. It’s like the greatest sleep in the world, and if you woke me up a thousand years later, I wouldn’t have any idea. So I imnagine that’s what [death] is. It’s like having a colonoscopy…a big one.”

Woody Allen at the 2017 AFI Diane Keaton tribute, 5.6.17 — 5:00 mark):

“Diane and I walk the streets and talk about movies,. her love life…just general stuff. Life, death. She’s always had mortal fear of death, and I tell her there’s nothing to worry about because if you’ve ever had a colonoscopy…they give you an injection and you’re out and it’s black and peaceful and nice. And so death…is like a colonoscopy. The problem is that life is like the prep day.”

I’ve actually been thinking about this heavenly procedure because….ahh, forget it.

Rosen is the host — he panelists are Bill McCuddy, smiley-faced Perri Nemiroff and the candid Roger Friedman. A good bunch, good talk.

The Maestro section (starting at 5:08, ending around 9:40) is the best portion.

Bill McCuddy: “What we gotten from Maestro is a very, very good movie…it’s not a miniseriers. It’s a biopic about a guy I didn’t think I cared about until I saw this. And yet it’s very devoted to Carey Mulligan, who has the last shot in the film.”

Once upon a time The Spirit Awards were known as the “indie Oscars”. This handle was generally accepted between the early ’90s to mid 20teens. But that ship began to leave port when the woke Covid virus infected everything and especially after a Branch Davidian cult within the leadership overturned the apple cart by destroying gender acting categories.

I’m not kidding or exaggerating — talent + markeing & publicity are still playing along because “where’s the harm?”, but the Spirits have gone totally wacko, and nobody cares what they think (not really) because they’re encamped on planet Pluto.

That said, here are HE’s preferences. comments and predictions among the 2024 Film Independent Spirit Award nominations, which popped this morning — Tuesday, 12.5.

Best Feature

ALL OF US STRANGERS / (forget it — Andrew Scott is fine, but Paul Mescal‘s Van Dyke whiskers are a complete stopper)
AMERICAN FICTION / HE, should win, probably will win.
MAY DECEMBER / (even with the power of the Frirnds of Todd Haynes + the Branch Davidians can’t push this through to a win)
PASSAGES / (generally detestable)
PAST LIVES / (gentle, passive, under-energized….peaked last January)
WE GROWN NOW / (who?)

Best Director — i.e., where’s American Fiction‘s Cord Jefferson?

Andrew Haigh, ALL OF US STRANGERS / no way
Todd Haynes, MAY DECEMBER / slight chance but doubtful
William Oldroyd, EILEEN / haven’t seen it
Celine Song, PAST LIVES / winner by deafult? The fix has been “in” for months but is diminishing.
Ira Sachs, PASSAGES / Nope

Best Lead Performance (gender neutral — all sexual persuasions and species are welcome on a “whatever you can hustle up” basis)

Jessica Chastain, Memory” / If it weren’t for American Fiction‘s Jeffrey Wright, I would vote for Chastain — her best peformance since Zero Dark Thirty.
Greta Lee, “Past Lives”
Trace Lysette, “Monica”
Natalie Portman, “May December”
Judy Reyes, “Birth/Rebirth”
Franz Rogowski, “Passages” (hateful)
Andrew Scott, “All of Us Strangers”
Teyana Taylor, “A Thousand and One”
Jeffrey Wright, “American Fiction” / should win but you never know with the Branch Davidians.
Teo Yoo, “Past Lives” (forget it)

Best Supporting Performance

Erika Alexander, “American Fiction” (not a big enoughh role)
Sterling K. Brown, “American Fiction” (playing a no-bullshit gay guy….could win!)
Noah Galvin, “Theater Camp”
Anne Hathaway, “Eileen” (haven’t seen it)
Glenn Howerton, “BlackBerry” / HE is split on preference between Howerton and The Holdovers‘ Da’Vine Joy Randolph — if there were gender categories both would win in their respective categories — Glenn is great in this.
Marin Ireland, “Eileen”
Charles Melton, “May December” / HE will never get the Melton thing — he;s caugth on in a way that defies any known standard or system of industry lkogic other than the fact that he;’s half-Korean on his mother-s side — fairly bizarre
Da’vine Joy Randolph, “The Holdovers”
Catalina Saavedra, “Rotting in the Sun”
Ben Whishaw, “Passages” (ixnay)

Best Screenplay

“American Fiction” or “The Holdovers” ought to win…equakl perference.

The rest: “Birth Rebirth”, “bottoms”, “Past Lives”, “The Holdovers”

Best International Film<./p> — where is The Taste of Things?

Friendo to HE: “Saturday Night Fever isn’t even that good, but the opening makes me think movies will never be this good again.”

HE to friendo: “My initial thought when I first saw it was ‘nothing good can come from a film in which the star (John Travolta) dresses this horribly’…those high-heeled boots, grotesque bell bottoms…that awful bridge-and-tunnel haircut.

“There’s glory in the Brooklyn disco dance numbers, of course, and the tearful ending works, but I despised guys like this back in the day.”

Plus Nik Cohn‘s original New York story was piped.”

Friendo to HE: “I know but that opening scene. Pure genius.”

There’s a brief sequence toward the end of Maestro that’s fun and a bit sad. Leonard Bernstein (Bradley Cooper) and his aliing wife Felicia Montealegre are enjoying their three kids — Jamie (Maya Hawke), Nina (Alexa Swinton) and Alexander (Sam Nivola) — as they dance along to Shirley Ellis‘s “The Clapping Song.” The scene works, feels right.

It reminded me, of course, of Ellis’s other big mid ’60s hit, “The Name Game“, and how I never understood who the fuck “Ahno” is.

At the 1:06 mark Ellis sings the following:

“Ahno!
“Ahno Ahno bo-bar-no
“Bo-na-na, fanna fo-gay-no
“Fee-fi-muh-mah-mo
“Ahno!”

Go ahead and listen — I’m not mishearing. The 1:06 mark.

Today I checked the lyrics online and discovered Ellis is supposed to be saying “Arnold,” except she doesn’t.

“Arnold!
“Arnold, Arnold bo-bar-nold
“Bo-na-na, fanna fo-far-nold
“Fee-fi-muh-mar-nold
‘Arnold!”

…with a little touch of Pietro Annigoni’s JFK portrait for Time magazine back in ‘62 or thereabouts This is what Bell’s Palsy has done since last weekend. For the time being my looks are destroyed — I can’t smile, my right eye sags, dogs howl when I pass by.