Former legendary porn star Harry Reems, best known for his costarring role in Deep Throat, has died in Salt Lake City of pancreatic cancer. Reems entered the Salt Lake City VA Hospital on March 5th and slipped into a coma, according to this report. Condolences to family, friends and fans.

Reems quit the porn industry eons ago. He reportedly had an alcohol problem but he turned things around in the mid ’90s by getting sober (which I relate to) and becoming a Christian (whatever works).

I spoke to Reems on the phone a little over eight years ago. I was writing a piece about Randy Barbato and Fenton Bailey‘s Inside Deep Throat, which was about to screen at the 2005 Sundance Film Festival, so I decided to impulsively call Reems at his Park City home. He was at the time a successful real-estate broker. It was obviously noteworthy that he would be smack dab in the middle of that year’s festival in more ways than one.

I found Reems through 411 and called after 9 pm on a Monday night. I hadn’t called to interview him right then, but to see if we could set something up. He was nice enough and chatted a bit, and said talking later would be fine. That never works, by the way. If you have someone on the phone, get what you can straight away. Don’t put it off. I never got in touch with Reems once the festival began due to the usual hurly burly and head-spinning.

Piers Morgan: “It did cross my mind, how many of these Senators, who, in my view, probably do think there should be an assault weapons ban, probably do think there should be universal background checks, but they have decided to go against their principle to protect their political seats. How many would change if one of their kids had been in that Sandy Hook school and gone through [Rob] Portman-like experience? In other words, it was right home to them and their families.”

Michael Moore: “Well, I think we all know the answer to that question. if a man with an assault weapon goes into the school where Harry Reid‘s grandchildren go to school tomorrow and kills his grandchildren, would he stand in front of that microphone at 5:00 and say, ‘I know how Dianne had to witness the mayor getting murdered and my grandchildren just got killed today but, you know, we can’t get it passed because we don’t have the votes.’ Would he do that really? I don’t think so.”

Danny Boyle‘s Trance (Fox Searchlight) opens in England on 3.27, here on 4.5 — two and a half weeks. It wasn’t screened at South by Southwest but they’re screening it now. No reviews or tweets so far. Twists, puzzlements, non-linear. David Poland‘s first question to Rosario Dawson and Vincent Cassel hints at this.

You’re hiding behind the shrubbery outside your former home as you watch your ex-wife have sex with some younger guy, and then the dog comes over and starts barking and you run for it. But if you’ve been busted by a dog you wouldn’t yell “heel!” as you run off because you wouldn’t want your ex to hear your voice. You’d run away as silently as possible. That’s why the scene isn’t funny. You have to do this kind of thing exactly right or it doesn’t work.

A similar scene happens in Paul Mazursky‘s Blume in Love when George Segal is snooping outside a therapist’s office and listening to his ex-wife, playing by Susan Anspach, share her thoughts. Anspach tells the therapist she’s sensing that Segal may be snooping outside; the therapist asks if she’d like him to check and she says yes. Cut to a shot of Segal running down the carpeted hallway as quickly as possible on the balls of his feet, anxious not to make a sound. That was funny.

I mentioned the Mazursky film because Stuck In Love obviously has the same ring and cadence. I’ll bet director-writer Josh Boone had it in mind at some point.

And by the way if that dog is one that you and your ex used to take care of together he’s not going to bark if he sees you outside the house. He’s going to come up and whimper and pant and want you to pet him. It’s even debatable if a strange dog is going to bark at you unless he’s an asshole, which admittedly some dogs are.

Last weekend Monuments Men director, producer, coscreenwriter and costar George Clooney was photographed entering Grill Royal, a swanky Berlin restaurant located right next to the Spree. He’s got a World War II German moustache, which for some reason reminds me of the moustache worn by Armin Mueller-Stahl in Avalon and The Music Box. I’m planning (as in expecting) to visit the Monuments Men set in early May.

George Clooney in Berlin on Saturday, 3.16; Armin Mueller-Stahl.

If you’re going to be stuck with a shitty movie, you want it to stink so badly that it becomes “funny.” You want people talking back at the screen, throwing empty drink containers and making howling-coyote noises. Then we can all relax and have a good time. I’ve enjoyed this kind of film. It’s a perfectly legitimate form of entertainment.

But there are two kinds of funny-bad. The first is when the actors convey to the audience that they know they’re in a turkey and that it’s cool for everyone to start hooting and making jokes. The second is when they seem to be conveying sincere belief in the material and are trying as best they can to sell it on a genuine level. Then it’s not that funny because you’re feeling tremendous sympathy, or more exactly pity. Don’t these guys realize they’re hurting themselves by acting in this piece of shit and looking like cheap whores?

I’m sorry to say that Olympus Has Fallen is the second kind of bad. I wish it were otherwise. At best it has three or four good laughs and, okay, one of them (a sight gag involving the nation’s 16th President) is intentional. Otherwise it’s a low-budget, Shreveport-y, ultra-sadistic bullshit video-game version of a Die Hard-in-the-White House movie.

The main problems are (a) Gerard Butler‘s simplistic, one-note performance as White House secret service man Mike Bannon — all the wit and charisma of a linebacker in an NFL game, (b) sedative-style dialogue, (c) a mystifying devotion to wheezy cliches (a rugged defrocked hero gets to redeem himself through acts of manly valor, the supportive, teary-eyed wife following the hero’s saga from the sidelines, a coolly sadistic criminal mastermind, a middle-aged American turncoat in league with the baddies, a billowing American flag and the sound of crisp military drums during opening credits), (c) too many boot-kickings, (d) too many tough guys going “whugh!” and “uggh!” and “mughh!” as they fight hand to hand, (e) too many generic orange-fireball explosions and (f) way, way too many bullets fired.

I explained in my “Ten Shot Rule” piece that the fewer bullets fired in an action film, the better it tends be and vice versa. (The rule was based on Shane firing only about ten bullets.) Antoine Fuqua, the director of Olympus Has Fallen, never heard of the ten-shot rule. He seems to believe in an opposite equation. The more brutality, the better. And better still if you throw in several bad-ass, well-armed Koreans who know from martial arts.

In my 1.8.13 review of Ruben Fleischer‘s Gangster Squad , I reported that 478,446 machine-gun bullets are fired in that Warner Bros. film. I brought my counter to yesterday’s screening and Olympus Has Fallen fires off 512,754 bullets. If Fuqua had only kept the count down to 100,000 or less…if he only knew the value of restraint.

The film industry needs to take a restraining order on the guys who wrote this thing — Creighton Rothenberger and Katrin Benedikt. I’m serious. Or…whatever, invade their homes at 4:30 am and arrest them, put them in chains, put black hoods over their heads, drive them out to the desert and lock them into an underground jail cell and keep them there for a minimum of 18 months.

And talk about fallen — Fuqua has stabbed himself in the head with this thing. Olympus Has Fallen is at least four or five levels below John McTiernan‘s Die Hard. It’s like some kind of factory-level exploitation film made by the second cousins of Danny and Oxide Pang.

The fake White House (apparently built somewhere in Shreveport) looks like a fake White House. The front lawn is too small. The first-floor windows don’t look right.

The great Melissa Leo is beaten up and made to scream and howl and utterly humiliate herself. What was she thinking? She won her Oscar for The Fighter so she could collect a paycheck to act in a film like this? To what end? Mortgage payments?

The film starts [NON-SPOILER because it’s in the trailer] with a mindless car-accident scene in which future Democratic candidate for U.S. Senator from Kentucky Ashley Judd, playing the wife of Aaron Eckart‘s U.S. President, goes over the side of a bridge inside a limousine. At first the limo is teetering on the edge of the bridge Beetlejuice-style, and Butler rushes over to pull Eckhart and Judd out of the back seat. But Eckhart resists and holds his wife for a moment too long, and by the time Butler yanks him out it’s too late and Judd goes over the side. It is somehow decided that Butler allowed the First Lady to die so he’s subsequently taken off White House detail. Absolute nonsense.

Several months later Korean terrorists stage a ridiculous aerial attack on Washington, D.C. — blastaway, blastaway blastaway all! Into the valley of death rode the crazy Koreans! Good action sequences always stay within the realm of the somewhjat conceivable and never tip into the ridiculous, as this one does. Dut-ditty-dut-ditty-dut-ditty-dut-ditty-dut-dut-dut…budda-budda-budda-budda-budda-budda…BOOM! Bud-dut-dut-budda-DOOM!

The less said about the supporting performances by Morgan Freeman (who should never again play a Washington authority figure), Angela Bassett, Dylan McDermott, Robert Forster and Cole Hauser the better.

Here’s hoping this film doesn’t adversely affect Judd’s attempt to unseat Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell. I want her to win.

The invaders are led by Kang (Rick Yune), a Korean terrorist in really good shape with a narrow waist and serious arm muscles and a big buffed-up chest. Every time Yune was on-screen I was silently sneering and going “you third-rate asshole and your cheap macho bullshit…Alan Rickman played almost the exact same character 25 years ago and here you going through the motions…you think you’re up to something cool and you’re not…putz.”

David O. Russell‘s Abscam movie, which will open limited on 12.13 or nine months hence, began shooting yesterday in Boston. A 2010 version of Eric Singer’s script runs 134 pages so figure a two-hour running time, give or take. A three-month shooting schedule means principal wraps in late June. Three months of editing and it’ll begin test-screening in late September or thereabouts. Eight weeks for tune-ups and final scoring and whatnot, and then screenings for major critics begin around Thanksgiving.

I’ve been thinking about giving A&E’s Bates Motel a try, but I’m stalling. Freddy Highmore as a teenaged Norman Bates, Vera Farmiga as his highly conflicted mother Norma…okay. The widowed Norma buying the motel in foreclosure, she and Norman moving into the hilltop gothic Victorian…fine. Except it’s set in 2013 and all the moralistic underpinnings and innumerable 1950s details that made the original Psycho what it was have been tossed…or some of them have. A period-flavored contemporary thing.

The series, which began last night, “appears to be a victim of marketing stratagems,”Slant‘s Chuck Bowen wrote on 3.15. “Sure, Psycho carries the ‘brand recognition’ that studios appear to value above any and all common sense, but can viewers belonging to the all-important 18-to-30 quadrant be reasonably expected to tune in to a series inspired by a film from the 1960s?”

A 1960 film, he means, that adapted Robert Bloch’s 1959 novel that was inspired by the 1957 arrest of mass murderer Ed Gein. Plus the Norman-and-Norma backstory would have happened sometime in the mid ’50s.

“Executive producer Carlton Cuse (Lost) has called Bates Motel a ‘contemporary prequel’ to Psycho“…what bullshit. Bowen calls this “an evasive way of saying the show runners have borrowed the elements from the film that suit them with little regard as to whether they logically belong in a contemporary setting that’s otherwise informed by the most successful shows of the last 20 years.

“Unsurprisingly, given this opportunistic grab-bag approach, Bates Motel exhibits virtually no feel for time or place.

“Norman, though a contemporary teen, still dresses in the priggish 1950s mode — all hiked-up trousers, plaid button-ups and hand-me-down sweaters — that we associate with the Norman who once fatefully encountered Marion Crane. That could potentially make sense thematically, as Norman is meant to be a creature of another time, but occasionally we see teachers distractingly dressed as conservative school marms, while Norman’s bad-boy brother, Dylan Massett (Max Thieriot), broods in tailored, fussed-over duds that wouldn’t be out of place in the contemporary incarnation of 90210.

“Norma’s behavior is the least consistent, as she continually wafts back and forth between Norman and Dylan’s conflicting fashion senses: Occasionally she’s the oppressive asexual matriarch the film implied her to be, but she’s also capable of morphing into a sexy, chic, leather jacket-clad vamp when it occurs to the producers that a little cheesecake might be in order.”

So that’s why I haven’t watched it yet. Even though I could watch it right now on the A & E Bates Motel site. That plus the 65% Metacritic rating. But I have to admit I’m somewhat intrigued all the same.

Just noticed this: Check out the house-tour portion of the trailer and you’ll notice that Norman’s room is located in the wrong area of the second floor. In the 1960 film Vera Miles found it by taking a right at the top of the stairs as it was located across the hall from his mother’s large room. Now his mother’s large room has been subdivided and split into two — she has a smaller bedroom toward the front, and Norman’s small room is right to the left at the top of the stairs. So they messed with the original architecture. See what I mean? This why I’m reluctant.

Last fall Scott Foundas was graciously drop-kicked out of his Film Society of Lincoln Center/NY Film Festival programming position when Kent Jones was brought in to run the NY Film Festival. Two or three months ago he moved back to film criticism by taking the top film critic position for the Village Voice. And now Foundas has jettisoned the Voice gig to accept a new job as Variety‘s chief film critic, ranking above Justin Chang and Peter Debruge.

Formerly the top L.A. Weekly critic, Foundas left Los Angeles three (or was it four?) years ago when he took the FSLC/NYFF job, and he’ll remain there for Variety.

So who’ll land the now-vacant Village Voice film gig? Who trusts that the Voice will remain strong and vibrant enough to keep a major film critic on salary?

This is Hollywood to some people. One slippery rock and you’ll fall in…chomp! This town is a lot more about cowardice and complacency than predatory behavior. But as I wrote six years ago, there are some who believe that Life in the Big City is a “steaming cauldron full of rat’s tails and slithering serpents.” And sharks! Can you imagine waking up every day with that vision of things in your head?