The recent European Union ruling that granted citizens the “right to be forgotten” from Google’s search engine surprised me when it was announced three or four days ago. I thought the power of the web assured that everything that was ever recorded would be eternally available to everyone — nothing redacted, no edits or omissions, open access forever and ever. And then suddenly the European Union says no — people have a right to bury certain skeletons and keep them buried, and that the solace which may or may not result from a certain sliver of their personal history being forgotten is to be respected. Presumably this new consideration doesn’t apply to sexual predators or war criminals on the lam, but otherwise there’s something compassionate about declaring that people are entitled to be left alone about past mistakes and embarassments. We all suppress unpleasant memories but who doesn’t have an episode or two they’d like to erase from the public record?

Did any HE regulars even see Tammy this weekend? It was so universally dismissed by discerning types as well as regular CinemaScore Joes that I would be surprised…what do I know? The word “dead” doesn’t mean financial ruin. It means that the movie doesn’t matter. No importance to anyone, not in the conversation, evaporated, etc. Melissa McCarthy has to move beyond the coarse schtick or she’ll be in trouble two or three films down the road. Tammy cost $20 million to make and will earn just shy of $33 million by this evening. But only $21 million by the strict Friday-to-Sunday standard. Compare this to the $34 and $39 million earned by Identity Thief The Heat on their respective opening weekends.

The Twilight Time Bluray of John Frankenheimer‘s The Train is pretty wonderful, but I was expecting that. There must at least 737 separate shades of gray and silver in this thing, not to mention the inky, to-die-for blacks. I’ve listened to Frankenheimer’s audio commentary (originally recorded for the old MGM/UA laser disc) a couple of times now. The Bluray offers fresh audio commentary from Paul Seydor, Julie Kirgo and Nick Redman. At one point Seydor or Redman (couldn’t tell which) quotes from Kate Buford‘s “Burt Lancaster: An American Life“, in which she noted that “the seducer Elmer Gantry and the control freak J.J. Hunsecker were closest to who Lancaster really was while the Birdman of Alcatraz character was the man Burt wanted to be.” As for the clip below, the best reaction shots happen when a character hasn’t time to react.

If it’s a choice between the occasionally caustic or callous Joan Rivers and CNN’s Fredericka Whitfield, I’m definitely with Rivers. At least Rivers is honest while Whitfield is my idea of a smiling corporate hatchet woman, pretending to be all alpha and perky and lah-dee-dah. Consider that crocodile smile and that half-animal, half-bird sound she makes when Rivers accuses her of being a hypocrite….”Nahhoo!” Whitfield might be the person she’s pretending to be or she might be something else, but she’s definitely putting on an act. In Rivers’ mind wearing leather shoes, eating hot dogs and wearing a fur coat are all equal sins in the eyes of PETA, and besides her fur coat is 15 years old so it’s okay. In July? It’s not the age of the coat but the metaphor. Wearing a fur coat is like wearing a necklace made of dried ears.

Way back on July 3rd (three days ago!) Movieweb.com‘s B. Alan Orange, which sounds to me like a fake name, passed along a possibly valid but nonetheless curious (i.e., possibly INSANE) allegation from “an anonymous source deep within the Batman vs. Superman: Dawn of Justice production.” The tipster claimed that an alleged shooting script (which contained “four new villains alongside Lex Luthor”) which had recently surfaced on Badass Digest is (a) fake — an alleged attempt to hoodwink the fanboy community or otherwise throw them off the scent of the real, still-under-wraps Batman vs. Superman script, and (b) was written by none other than Kevin Smith.

There are two…actually three things wrong with the alleged tipster’s story. One, the idea of a studio actually investing time and serious money to produce a red-herring “foiler” script is beyond ridiculous…a bunch of high-ranking, studio-connected nerds in black lace-ups who’ve crawled so deeply into the ass of their own mythology that they’re actually playing tradecraft fake-out games with lower-ranking nerds who then pass along the bullshit to even lower-ranking nerds?…WHAT? Two, I can’t imagine that Smith would accept a fee to write a fake anything (remember the humiliation that George C. Scott‘s General Patton felt when Allied command was using him to try and trick Germany into thinking that D-Day invasion would happen at Calais?) as this violates the Sacred Artist’s Code — i.e., lie to no one. And Three (and most tellingly), the fact that the Movieweb.com tipster refers to Warner Bros. marketing honcho Sue Kroll as “Susanne Knoll” obviously casts doubt upon the whole story.

I sat down a few days ago with Dawn of the Planet of the Apes director Matt Reeves at the Four Seasons. Here‘s the discussion. Reeves has a kind of joyous intensity about him — you can hear that pretty plainly. He expounds about some of the ideas and elements that went into Dawn and that’s fine, but there’s a Reeves metaphor that tells you more about the film, in a sense, than what he might say about it. During the exhaustive editing of Dawn, Reeves said, he decided to become a dapper (dare I say fastidious?) dresser, specifically a wearer of bow ties. It’s understood that Reeves, also the director of Let Me In and Cloverfield, is quite admired by the ComicCon crowd and guys like Harry Knowles. But the bow tie and the black polka-dot handkerchief in his breast pocket [after the jump] should tell you Reeves is not really “of” that realm and that crowd. And so the many ingredients, noticable and perhaps not-so-noticable, that Reeves has put into Dawn in order to make it special and distinctive are not “ComicCon-ish” (whatever you might imagine that term to mean) or particularly aimed at trying to please those enthusiastic but nonetheless low-rent geeks who congregate in San Diego every July. Reeves, in short, is up to his own game and singing his own tune. That’s all I’m saying, really.

A couple of weeks ago I bought some distressed black-leather motorcycle saddlebags for the new hefty-sized black Yamaha scooter. The fact that the bags were old and quite worn-down and looked like John Wayne might have used them during the shooting of Red River are what made them cool. It’s very hard to find Tom Dunson saddlebags today because 99.5% of today’s motorcycle owners prefer foo-foo metrosexual leather bags with a shiny showroom lustre and metal studs and complex stitchings that might have been designed by Vera Wang or Ozwald Boateng.

The original John Wayne saddlebags as offered by Rusty Chicken of Austin.

Typical metrosexual motorcycle saddlebags for effete Harley owners who’ve either forgotten or never knew or will certainly never know what rugged-ass John Wayne stuff looks like.

But guess what? The people in Austin who sold me the beat-up bags (they’re known as Rusty Chicken.com) cancelled the order and tossed the bags, they said, because they’re too dusty or grubby-looking or something like that.

When Hollywood Elsewhere is finally able to provide live, as-it-happens Google Glass coverage of various movie-related events and encounters, accompaniment could be provided by the just-announced Airdog drone. The idea would be to occasionally have a video camera autonomously follow me from 50 or 100 feet up as I walk along the Croisette in Cannes or bike to the Four Seasons for an interview or drive to the Arclight for a screening. The Airdog has a camera-equipped stabilizing rig, can fly for about 10 to 15 minutes on a single battery and can travel up to speeds of roughly 40 mph.

I saw Oliver Stone‘s Born on the Fourth of July tonight at the Aero. I was floored and close to tears when I first saw it in 1989, but now…well, it’s still very emotional and emphatic but it would have been a better film, I think, if it had been a tiny bit dryer and quieter from time to time. The angry cup runneth over…shouting, blood, saliva, spilled urine…but it cares and hits like a punch. I’m thinking particularly of the haunted look on the face of an older armless veteran during a 4th of July parade in Massapequa. I still find it a bit irritating (as I did 25 years ago) that not once does Tom Cruise‘s Ron Kovic ever mention what a huge strategic and political miscalculation the Vietnam War was, and how our belief in the domino theory led to horrific slaughter and the unleashing of the furies. All Cruise/Kovic ever says is that waging war and killing civilians carries bad karma, and that being turned into a paraplegic made him very, very angry — a lament that any World War II or Civil War or Korean War veteran could have shared. Cruise was 26 when Born was made, but during the first third he looks around 18 or 19 at most. And yet costar Willem Dafoe hasn’t aged much at all. Stone and Kovic spoke for about 25 minutes before the screening; both were greeted with standing ovations.

I love the “schedules permitting” qualification in this Aero listing. (Oliver Stone: “I’ll try to come by. I will. I’ll really try. But something might come up.”) I’m not a fan of big-deal holidays as a rule. I loathe crowds, traffic jams, long lines, packed restaurants, screaming kids, older men in shorts and sandals. I certainly never drive anywhere over the 4th of July holiday — I stopped that back in the ’90s. I might drive up to Mulholland west of Beverly Glen to watch the distant fireworks but maybe not. At least I’m not in Manhattan, which I hear is baking and muggy and generally horrible.

Every couple of years I search around for scenes from this 1971 Mike Nichols classic, but I can never find anything better than the Jack Nicholson-Ann Margret fight scene, which I last posted in 2012.

Longtime Nichols collaborator Dick Sylbert explained it to me once. Nichols had developed that static, carefully composed, long-take visual style that we saw in The Graduate, Catch 22, Carnal Knowledge, Day of the Dolphin and The Fortune. And then he withdrew from features for eight years after the double-flop of Dolphin and Fortune. He crashed. Some kind of drug-dependency issue was part of it, Sylbert said. Anyway, when Nichols returns with Silkwood in ’83 he’s abandoned the static long-take thing. He’s now into Phase Two — the great stylistic signature of his late ’60s to mid ’70s films is over.

From Todd McCarthy‘s 2014 Sundance review in The Hollywood Reporter: “The generically titled War Story is a rigorous and enigmatic behavioral study of a professional photographer traumatized by what she’s recently experienced in a combat zone. Fronted by an outstanding performance from Catherine Keener, who is onscreen, often by herself, at almost every moment, this challenging but not difficult second feature from Mark Jackson parcels out its information in gradual increments, forcing the viewer to infer rather simply receive most narrative information.