Last night I re-watched my Bluray of J. Lee Thompson‘s Cape Fear (’62), which costarred Gregory Peck, Robert Mitchum, Polly Bergen, Martin Balsam, Telly Savalas and, as Peck and Bergen’s Tinkerbell-sized daughter, Lori Martin.

The Martin casting side, I’m a much bigger fan of Thompson’s version than Martin Scorsese’s 1991 remake, which costarred Nick Nolte, Robert De Niro, Jessica Lange, Joe Don Baker and, as Nolte and Lange’s daughter, Juliette Lewis.

The Martin casting made no sense because she was way too tiny to be the daughter of the 6’3″ Peck and the 5’5″ Bergen. And I don’t want to hear any bullshit about how normal it is for the daughter of an exceptionally tall father and an average-sized mom to look like the daughter of Mickey Rooney or Truman Capote. Don’t even try it.

Martin was 14 during filming in ’61 and is clearly pubescent, but she’s roughly the size of a seven- or-eight-year-old. The publicity photo wth Peck shows she was at least 18″ shorter, or roughly 4’10”. Most teenage girls reach their full height by age 15 so don’t try that crap either.

Will you look at that photo of Martin sitting next to Bergen? Martin looks like Howdy Doody.

Thompson reportedly wanted to cast Hayley Mills in the daughter role, and was unhappy about being more or less forced to cast Martin.

I’m very sorry to report that Martin died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound on April 4, 2010, two weeks before her 63rd birthday. Her Wiki page says she had “struggled with mental illness (bipolar schizophrenia) and illicit drug use in the decade after her husband died.”

All hail Marty’s St. Crispin’s Day clarion call, but in terms of mainstream theatrical venues the game hasn’t just been lost but forfeited, starting around the dawn of the Obama era.

I’m hugely grateful that elite cinema havens (Metrograph, Film Forum, Jacob Burns in Pleasantville, New Plaza, Elinor Bunin Monroe, Netflix Plaza, BAM, Alamo, Angelika) are part of our NYC-area culture, and that elevated film festivals (NYFF, Tribeca, Montclair, Woodstock) are still going concerns. But over the last 15 years or so the moronic masses have made their position clear.

As far as the megaplex gladiator arenas are concerned (excluding the odd-but-welcome Nolan-brand detour that was Oppenheimer), your average Millennial or Zoomer schlubbo is averse to paying through the nose for “cinema” in a theatre. I wish it were otherwise but apps and streaming are carrying the ball these days.

This isn’t to say that classic Marty-style cinema shouldn’t be “fought” for but…

“There is a term for Joe Biden, but not two.”

“If I’m on a plane and a voice says, ‘This is your captain speaking, Buzz Aldrin’…I’m getting off.”

“At some point, perception becomes reality. What matters is that voters think Biden is too old. What matters is that he’s going to lose.”

Posted on 9.24.23: Please read Cenk Uygur’s 9.22 Newsweek piece that argues a statistical likelihood that President Biden might lose to Donald Trump.

Plus a new Washington Post-ABC News poll (1,006 adults contacted between 9.15 and 9.20) has The Beast ten points ahead of Biden, 52 percent vs. 42 percent.

Not to mention this Hill opinion piece by Derek Hunter (9.20).

Since she began talking a few months ago and using this and that nickname, 22-month-old Sutton has referred to Joey as “Jo-Jo.”’ Yesterday morning, only a few hours after Joey’s sudden passing, she asked the above.

I was three when the reality of pet death sank in. Here’s what happened.

And 100% proud of having crafted this identity or calling card or however you want to describe it.

Will RFK, Jr.’s reported independent presidential candidacy siphon away more votes from Trump or Biden? That is the question. Let there be no doubt that RFK’s alleged plan to become the new Ralph Nader or Ross Perot is a total dick move. Odious, self-aggrandizing, shameful.

I don’t regard most of moviedom’s stand-out female villains as odious or reprehensible. Because most of those that come to mind are cartoonish — broadly drawn, lacking any semblance of realism or subtlety…fiendish stereotypes, outlandish behavior, etc.

Glenn Close‘s Cruella DeVille, Margaret Hamilton‘s Wicked With of the West, Angelina Jolie‘s Maleficent are histrionic, flamboyantly written comic-book figures…satirical cliches, basically created for children.

In Get Out, I didn’t believe Alison Williams‘ evil racist girlfriend for one single millisecond. Kathy Bates‘ “Annie Wilkes” from Misery (’90) is another over-the-top fanatic. Even Louise Fletcher‘s Nurse Ratched isn’t “real” — she’s more of a personification of a drab and repressive system that stifles the human spirit.

If you eliminate the third-act murder of Neil Patrick Harris, Rosamund Pike‘s “Amy Dune” from Gone Girl is slightly more real-worldish; ditto Close’s Alex Forrest from Fatal Attraction, although Alex isn’t demonic as much as tragically demented.

Honestly? When you tabulate all the thousands of films I’ve seen, the female character I’ve despised the most in terms of actual life-resembling behavior is Diane Venora‘s “Liane” Wigand, the spineless wife of Russell Crowe‘s Jeffrey Wigand in Michael Mann‘s The Insider.

The 1999 drama depicts Liane as a shallow, insulated security queen who leaves the embattled Wigand, taking their kids with her, when the going gets too tough.

Sidenote: Liane is a fictional creation — 23 years ago the ex-wife of the actual whistleblower, named Lucretia Nimocks, told N.Y. Post journalist Jeane MacIntosh “that’s not the way it happened at all.”

Liane is at the top of my list because I regard cowardice and disloyalty as the most abhorrent human qualities on the planet earth.