According to screen captures recently posted by DVD Beaver‘s Gary W. Tooze, the difference between the 2002 DVD of Henry Hathaway‘s Niagara (’53) and Fox Home Video’s 60th anniversary Bluray version is as follows:

If I was a big-studio production chief whose survival depended on greenlighting as many dumb-ass, CG-driven superhero-franchise-comicbook bullshit jizz-whiz movies (Batman Meets Superman, The Avengers: Age of Ultron, Edge of Tomorrow, Guardians of the Galaxy, Thor 2, Captain America 2, Suck My Dick 3) as possible, I would need to get a colonic every weekend just to get rid of the poisons in my system. To say I would be seething with contempt for the tens of millions of fanboys who pay for my lifestyle…that would be putting it mildly. Ahab’s last words would have nothing on me. On the other hand I would donate generously to liberal causes, and I would drive a hybrid and worship my children and eat as healthily as possible.

I’ve crashed contentedly at Airbnb apartments in New York, Paris, San Francisco and Prague. (And I almost snagged an Airbnb Telluride pad a few weeks ago.) Totally down with it. Hotels and motels can go suck it. Ditto Craigslist, which used to be my #1 go-to for temporary sublets. So I was naturally interested in this interview piece with Airbnb co-founder Brian Chesky by writes N.Y. Times columnist Thomas L. Friedman.

“I honestly urge you to seek Gravity which is right up your alley and one of Alfonso’s best films.” — Filmmaker friend who’s seen the whole thing.

“This is not a psychotic episode. This is a cleansing moment of clarity. I’m imbued with some special spirit. It’s not a religious feeling at all. It’s a shocking eruption of great electrical energy. I feel vivid and flashing, as if suddenly I’d been plugged into some great electromagnetic field. I feel connected to all living things. To flowers, birds…all the animals of the world. And even to some great, unseen, living force. What I think the Hindus call prana. But it’s not a breakdown. I’ve never felt more orderly in my life. It is a shattering and beautiful sensation. It is the exalted flow of the space-time continuum, save that it is spaceless and timeless and…of such loveliness.”

Tweeted last night by N.Y. Times reporter Brooks Barnes. I think it’s time to upgrade Barnes to permanent HE homey status.

I’m staying at the Island Guest House, a homey b & b on Long Beach Island. Except the wifi really sucks here. Pages are taking forever to load (even email is a pain) and it took me three to four minutes to obtain the embed code for this trailer. I hate it. I’m not going to let this ruin my day but I don’t want to post stuff any more. It’s too depressing. I’m going for a walk and then I’ll rent a bicycle and then hit the beach around 2 or 3 pm. Why would a b & b owner want to provide less than lightning-fast wifi? What’s the point in half-assing it?

Thing about it — a mafia family mixing it up with (and in some cases go up against) the locals in France is hilarious material. But the implied savagery in this trailer suggests that director-writer Luc Besson and co-screenwriters Tonino Benacquista and Michael Caleo went at it with a reductive, mafia-default, one-track mind. The Family opens on 9.13.13.

It was reported late yesterday that the MPAA has partially overturned its Butler ruling and will no longer prevent the Weinstein Company from using the word “butler” in the title of the forthcoming Lee Daniels film about a long-serving White House servant. The apparent intention is to call it Lee Daniels’ The Butler. I wouldn’t do that. I would want to suppress all awareness of who directed it. To me the auteur who brought you Shadowboxer (which wasn’t very good), Precious (which I found torturous due to Mo’Nique‘s performance) and The Paperboy (howlingly bad) is no drawing card. If I were Harvey I would call it The Bee. Seriously.

For me, President Obama‘s off-the-cuff, highly personal remarks about the Trayvon Martin-George Zimmerman case were close to spellbinding. I watched his 18-minute talk twice last night, and again this morning. It reminded me of listening to Howard Zinn riff during a Boston University lecture. No more teleprompter jokes for the rest of Obama’s term.