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I haven’t time to write anything now, but hats off to the father of rock ‘n’ roll, a guy who had it all and knew it all in the mid to late ’50s — a masterful singer-songwriter who played guitar like a ringin’ a bell, a guy who held mountains in the palms of his hands and owned it until…what, ’60 or ’61 or thereabouts? Okay, “Nadine” and “No Particular Place To Go” followed, but for the most part he cruised the nostalgia circuit from around that time on. He was the great Chuck Berry, after all — all he had to was show up, grin and perform “Maybeline”, “Sweet Little Sixteen”, “Roll Over, Beethoven” and “My Ding-a-Ling.” Play on, play on. Respect & condolences.

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Speaking as a fan of Niki Caro’s Whale Rider and McFarland, U.S.A., I’m wondering why there’s zero buzz on The Zookeeper’s Wife (Focus Features, 3.31). I’m hearing nothing, feeling nothing — not even after the 3.8 premiere in Warsaw or a 3.12 Cinequest Film Festival showing. I’ll be attending the 3.27 premiere at the Arclight. Shot in Prague in late ’15 and based on the book by Diane Workman, pic costars Jessica Chastain, Johan Heldenbergh, Daniel Bruhl and an assortment of exotic animals. Based on a true story about the hiding of Jews from Nazis by Warsaw zookeepers Jan and Antonina Żabinski.

Richard Linklater‘s Last Flag Flying, a kind of long-throw, post-9/11 sequel to Hal Ashby‘s The Last Detail (’73), is being research-screened in Pasadena on Wednesday evening. If it’s good enough to test-screen, why not take a whirl on a Cannes Film Festival showing? This is precisely the sort of little film that could actually benefit from a successful Cote d’Azur showing. Based on Daryl Poniscsan’s 2005 novel, it focuses on a reunion between Badass Buddusky, Mulhall (a.k.a. “Mule”) and Larry Meadows, who were played in Ashby’s film by Jack Nicholson, Otis Young (who died in ’01) and Randy Quaid. Flying stars Bryan Cranston (Buddusky), Laurence Fishburne (Mule) and Steve Carell (a much shorter Meadows…maybe he shrank in the Portsmouth brig?).

(l. to r.) Last Flag Flying‘s Laurence Fishburne, Bryan Cranston, Steve Carell.

(l. to r.) Randy Quaid, Jack Nicholson, Otis Young in Hal Ashby’s The Last Detail.

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A soldier shot and killed at Orly Airport? Okay, that’s it — cancel all flights! Bring the entire Orly travelling community to a screeching halt while we determine if this is part of a vast conspiracy, which of course it isn’t. Obviously. Bad guys have to be stopped, of course, but law enforcement’s highest priority when this stuff happens is to shut airports down. Update: Yes, Orly is now back in business but how many tens of thousands were affected? All because of one Muslim asshole (“I am here to die for Allah!”) who was on the terrorist watch list. Guys like this are always lone wolves.

“President Crazypants”, et. al. Jake Tapper (“I refuse to buy into that paradigm…there’s no bias when it comes to facts, and no bias when it comes to decency”). Barney Frank vs. Andrew Sullivan (“Boys!”), et. al. Friends, sane guys…Friday night comfort, an hour’s respite. Agreed — Gavin Newsom.

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Jeff to Alejandro: “Hope you and your family are well & well-travelled. When, pray, will your Mexican immigrant virtual reality film (yours and Chivo‘s, I mean) be viewable by guys like myself? How will the viewings work? To view the Real McCoy I’ll have to strap on a VR unit, of course, but where and how?

“No offense, of course, but I don’t particularly want to to buy a VR viewer just to watch your short. Will there be a HD or better yet a 4K version that I can stream down the road on my Sony 4K?

“Secondly, why can’t I stream The Revenant in 4K off Amazon? You can buy a 4K Revenant Bluray, but I don’t yet own a 4K Bluray player. Why can’t I just stream a 4K version? Have you watched Lawrence of Arabia via Amazon 4K streaming yet? It’s probably only 2K or a bit more due to compression and upconverting, but it’s quite brilliant.”

Terrence Malick‘s Song to Song opens today. I’ve been reading a lot of reviews in recent days, mainly in search of the best put-downs. The following Pete Hammond line is my favorite thus far: “Malick, in a rare interview, told a SXSW audience that he actually had about eight hours of footage and that Song To Song could have been a miniseries. God help us.” Again, my 3.11 review.

Old-school Hollywood acting and writing used to operate on this level all the time, calling bullshit on itself at every turn. Kirk Douglas getting angrier and angrier, then ending his tirade at Lana Turner with “get out, get out…GET OUT!” Atrocious but delicious. With the influence of Marlon Brando and Montgomery Clift peaking in ’52, this proscenium-arch approach to fake-sounding “dialogue” and soap-opera behavior was in its death throes, and yet in the context of a schmaltzy Hollywood melodrama like The Bad and the Beautiful it almost works. Okay, it works. Except there’s no believing it.

My loathing for the various imaginings of Damon Lindelof (Cowboys and Aliens, Prometheus, Tomorrowland, this godforsaken HBO series) won’t go away — it’s growing, spreading, metastasizing. If I could make Lindelof disappear from the planet by clapping three times, I would clap three times.

I’m not sure about doc footage mixed with renactments, but you tell me. The Playboy brand stopped being a hip thing…when, in 1966 or ’67? And yet Hugh Hefner‘s legend is safe and sound. He was a revolutionary in his time — a hugely successful publisher, entrepeneur and cultural game-changer. A pajama-wearing, pipe-smoking smoothie, a man who was probably blown 10,000 times, the king of the nascent sexual revolution of the ’50s and early ’60s. To have been an honored celebrity guest in Hefner’s Chicago mansion during the Eisenhower, Kennedy or early Johnson administrations! 20-something years ago I sat down with Hef at the L.A. mansion for a magazine piece about celebrity poker games. No babes, no boobs…just an interview on his living-room couch. Imagine if Hef was renowned as a master of cunnilingus in the same way Junior Soprano enjoyed that rep among his criminal cronies and sometime girlfriends. A little more than a decade ago I read a screenplay for a musical based on Hef’s life. I thought it was good but not quite there.

I’m often in touch with New Orleans filmmaker, documentarian and screenwriter Dave DuBos so I’ve no excuse for missing Mike Fleming‘s 2.8 Deadline story about DuBos’ forthcoming film version of Butterly in the Typewriter, based on Cory MacLauchlin’s biography of “Confederacy of Dunces” author John Kennedy Toole.

DuBos wrote the screenplay and will direct the New Orleans-set film starting in May.

Thomas Mann (Me and Earl and the Dying Girl, Kong: Skull Island) will soon begin inhaling pasta, ice cream and cheeseburgers to play the late Toole, who attained Victor Buono-like proportions before offing himself at age 31.

(l. to r.) Butterly in the Typewriter costars Susan Sarandon, Thomas Mann, Diane Kruger.

Susan Sarandon will play Toole’s mom; Diane Kruger will also star.

I love the notion of a butterfly in a typewriter — that darting, dancing, elusive thing that you’re trying to capture when you write. It’s from an unpublished O’Toole poem called “The Arbiter.”

As Dubos’s film is not an adaptation of “A Confederacy of Dunces” and was written about two years ago, the following HE article, posted on 11.16.12, doesn’t apply:

“Any widely admired screenplay that has not been filmed over the period of several years (like, for instance, the various efforts at adapting John Kennedy Toole‘s A Confederacy of Dunces) is either doomed to stay on the sidelines for eternity or it won’t pan out if it finally does get made. And the reason is that oft-referenced rule of creative potency.

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