If you understand and agree with the concept of life improving as you get older (as long as you live it like Clint Eastwood, that is — amply funded, constant flexing of creative muscles, working out daily, cracking jokes and all that), leaving this mortal coil at age 70 is, I feel, a profoundly sad thing. Yesterday’s departure of 70 year-old actress Dixie Carter (Designing Women, That Evening Sun, Desperate Housewives) is noted in this context. A spokesperson wouldn’t say where or how, but husband Hal Holbrook‘s use of the term “tragedy” rather than, say, “quiet passing” suggests that she met with an unexpected, unfair-seeming affliction.

Looking north on Philadelphia’s South Carlisle Street near Morris — Sunday, 4.11, 8:20 am. Took Bolt Bus yesterday to visit Dylan, who’s close to finishing his sophomore year at University of the Arts.

Living room at 1647 15th Street, about two miles south of Philly’s tourist district.
How could the sharp decrease in Clash of the Titans dollars this weekend (off 68% yesterday morning) not be expected with the murky faux-3D? It’s hardly the fault of Sam Worthington (who, by the way, has a massive, buffalo-sized head, as do most movie stars). Clash was off 68% yesterday morning but the overall weekend drop may be less. Date Night, the #1 film, did $9.3 million Friday on approximately 4,600 screens for an average of $2021, or $2756 if you’re going by “engagements.”

Now that I’ve located some decent Chrysler building machine-gun footage from Larry Cohen‘s Q: The Winged Serpent, it should be a small matter for some enterprising CG whiz kid to find the right clips of Russell Brand and paste them onto one of the two cops who get eaten. (You first have to get past the Michael Moriarty-Cathy Clark argument scene at the beginning.)
This trailer is brilliant, by the way. Inspired. Particularly the transition from Richard Roundtree‘s line (“What I wanna know is, how the hell does this tie in with the murders and mutilations?) to Candy Clark‘s “whah?” expression.
This pic is more than a month old (snapped at Vanity Fair‘s post-Oscar bash) and no big deal, but I was struck by (a) Katy Perry‘s look of tingly delight and transportation and (b) a thought that it’s awfully nice to be the recipient of such a gaze. Then again these inner-light expressions tend to happen more often within the first few months of a relationship than after a year or two or three. Perry has been with Russell Brand, a three-time winner of the Sun‘s shagger of the year award, since September ’09, so that fits.

Then again Perry may have spotted the photographer, knew a shot was coming and decided to slightly “act” the part of a love-struck, recently engaged fiance. Just as Brand decided to act the part of a cool hawk-eyed hustler, scanning the room for his next opportunity.

President Barack Obama‘s likely nominee to replace retiring Chief Associate Justice John Paul Stevens is said to be solicitor general (and former Harvard Law School dean) Elena Kagan. The general understanding is that she’s (a) quite brilliant, (b) ideologically centrist if not conservative (Salon‘s Glenn Greenwald wrote yesterday that “replacing Stevens with Kagan would shift the Supreme Court substantially to the right on a litany of key issues”), and (c) openly gay.
If Kagan is in fact nominated Team Obama will be viewed as having gone the cautious if not vaguely chickenshit route, considering that Kagan’s conservative leanings will make it hard for Republicans to sqawk all that loudly and will deprive them of an election-year issue. Unless, of course, they want to play the anti-gay bigot card.
Yesterday’s posting about that Nike/Tiger Woods ad led me to an anonymously-penned piece about infidelity in the current Esquire. The opening reads as follows:
“I’ll tell you why I cheat. I need to. Infidelity makes me remember things. The details that expand to fill my life (my upcoming performance reviews, the aches and pains of training, the recovery of my 401(k) ) and the ones that deaden it (my guilt, my smug self-satisfaction, my fake epiphanies about my progress in this life) — all of that drops away when I look down at the naked spine of an unfamiliar woman, twisting slightly in the late-afternoon sunlight streaming onto the sheets of a Hampton Inn in some nameless suburb.
“This is the most absolute choice I can make. I am there on my own. Against every code, rule, and set of mores I pretend to obey. Against better judgment, against every lesson of hindsight and every shard of wisdom that comes with age, I have no regrets in that moment, because I am naked, or without pants, and I have chosen to be there. I have voted by my presence, declared it, and I feel the blood moving in me again. So it’s the blood. That’s who I am. That’s why men cheat.
“Men don’t cheat because they can. Men cheat because they must, because they need to. This is the male struggle. Need compels us to try again. Because copulation is not in any way about fate. It is not about two individuals destined to meet on some dark night. It’s about random collisions.
“If you cheat, you must believe this much: that fated love is a lie, and monogamous love a deception. If you cheat, these two sentiments are your guiding light. Doesn’t mean you’re incapable of love, doesn’t mean you don’t want what love — or even marriage — can offer. It’s just a paradox. You have what you believe, and it is never the lie. You train your sentiment to fit inside the lie. Your rules fit right inside that sentiment.”
“The odds greatly favor death coming with a sudden terrible shock,” a friend once told me, “or from a long agonizing illness.” Polish president Lech Kaczynski, his wife Maria, and several Polish political and military leaders have ducked the second scenario. Their plane hit a treetop as it attempted a landing in heavy fog this morning near Smolensk, about 225 miles southwest of Moscow, and then broke apart and exploded into flames. Awful. The mind reels.

Polish president Lech Kaczynski, Barack Obama in 2009.
Kaczynski, 61, was arriving in Smolensk “for a ceremony commemorating the murder of more than 20,000 Polish officers by the Red Army as it invaded Poland,” a N.Y. Times story reports. TV footage “showed chunks of flaming fuselage scattered in a bare forest. An official with the Russia’s Investigative Committee said possible causes were bad weather, mechanical failure and human error.
“The crash came as a staggering blow to Poland, killing what may be a tenth of country’s top leadership in one fiery explosion.”

Polish president Lech Kaczynski and wife Maria


Put Le Gouffre Aux Chimeres in the Babelfish French-to-English translator and it comes out the other side as The Pit of Dreams. To hepcat Americans, of course, this 1951 Billy Wilder film has always been (and always will be) Ace In The Hole. Taken in lobby of Manhattan’s Film Forum — Friday, 4.9, 9:40 pm. (HE logo art by Carl LaFong.)

Russell Crowe is credited as co-producer of Robin Hood (Universal, 5.14) alongside Brian Grazer and director Ridley Scott, and is nothing if not proud of the on-screen result, writes the Sydney Morning Herald‘s Peter Fitzsimons.

“So proud that this will be the first of his many films that he will allow his sons, Charlie and Tennyson, to watch. ‘I think it would be confusing for them to see me in films, just as it is confusing for them to see people stop me on the street and ask for autographs,’ Crowe says. ‘But I want them to see this one. Really, all kids have gotta see Robin Hood. It is important to grow up with that thing in your mind.'”
A concept, he means, of a “really normal” fellow with an aptitude for exceptionalism.
“Robin is not a superhero,” he explains. “He doesn’t have a cape. He’s normal. He’s just a bloke. But he’s a man who’s seen a lot of things and understands how it all works. [Going back and forth to the Crusades] he’s been through France, been through Italy, seen the control of the church, been through Greece and he understands that democracy works. He’s seen all of the great empires of his time, come back to his own country and realizes that his own people are the poorest of all, and that things must change.”
In short, Robin Hood is not a film for the likes of Newt Gingrich, Sarah Palin, Michelle Bachman, etc. For Robin Hood is about nothing if not a certain economic fairness, the redistribution of wealth, forcing the moneyed elite to do the right thing by society’s lessers. Sounds an awful lot like socialism to me!
The pump don’t work ’cause The Vandals took the handles. On top of which they’re being sued by Daily Variety for appropriating the font and style of the Daily Variety logo for a parody logo used on the cover of their tenth album, Hollywood Potato Chip, which they decided upon as “a commentary on the materialistic culture of Hollywood,” a statement on the band’s website says.
Anyway, the band reports that Variety attorneys are claiming “it is still on the internet and they are suing us for this. We agreed not to use this logo anymore and we have no product for sale with this logo so their claims that we are intentionally using it and harming the Daily Variety are ludicrous.”


“Not happening…way too laid back…zero narrative urgency,” I was muttering from the get-go. Basically the sixth episode of White Lotus Thai SERIOUSLY disappoints. Puttering around, way too slow. Things inch along but it’s all “woozy guilty lying aftermath to the big party night” stuff. Glacial pace…waiting, waiting. I was told...
I finally saw Walter Salles' I'm Still Here two days ago in Ojai. It's obviously an absorbing, very well-crafted, fact-based poltical drama, and yes, Fernanda Torres carries the whole thing on her shoulders. Superb actress. Fully deserving of her Best Actress nomination. But as good as it basically is...
After three-plus-years of delay and fiddling around, Bernard McMahon's Becoming Led Zeppelin, an obsequious 2021 doc about the early glory days of arguably the greatest metal-rock band of all time, is opening in IMAX today in roughly 200 theaters. Sony Pictures Classics is distributing. All I can say is, it...
To my great surprise and delight, Christy Hall's Daddio, which I was remiss in not seeing during last year's Telluride Film Festival, is a truly first-rate two-hander -- a pure-dialogue, character-revealing, heart-to-heart talkfest that knows what it's doing and ends sublimely. Yes, it all happens inside a Yellow Cab on...
7:45 pm: Okay, the initial light-hearted section (repartee, wedding, hospital, afterlife Joey Pants, healthy diet) was enjoyable, but Jesus, when and how did Martin Lawrence become Oliver Hardy? He’s funny in that bug-eyed, space-cadet way… 7:55 pm: And now it’s all cartel bad guys, ice-cold vibes, hard bullets, bad business,...

The Kamala surge is, I believe, mainly about two things — (a) people feeling lit up or joyful about being...
Unless Part Two of Kevin Costner's Horizon (Warner Bros., 8.16) somehow improves upon the sluggish initial installment and delivers something...
For me, A Dangerous Method (2011) is David Cronenberg's tastiest and wickedest film -- intense, sexually upfront and occasionally arousing...