Obviously the assertion that Cleopatra was black, put forth by an episode in the Netflix African Queens series, is dicey at best.

The Egyptian queen (70 BC — 30 BC) was most likely olive-skinned, being a blend of Macedonian Greek ancestry (descended from Ptolemy I Soter) along with some Iranian blood. She almost certainly wasn’t black — that’s just some Jada Pinkett Smith-approved revisionist woke balderdash. There’s some kind of current Egyptian consensus that’s saying “no way.”

On top of which the dialogue and the acting in the Netflix doc are just this side of atrocious.

I think “Hitler” says it best: “Saying Cleopatra was black is like saying Jada Pinkett Smith is a faithful loving wife.”

Here’s the latest Jeff–and–Sasha Substack…have at it.

Once again, the link..

Alec Baldwin had been facing two counts of involuntary manslaughter over the the accidental killing of cinematographer Halyna Hutchin during the filming of Rust in New Mexico. But no longer.

He’s now out of the woods and standing clear and free. Two weeks before the start of the trial, criminal charges have been dropped against the guy.

We all knew it was a tragic accident, and that no reasonable person would argue that Baldwin loaded the western-style pistol. We all knew that the armorer, Hannah Gutierrez-Reed, was primarily responsible.

Baldwin’s lawyer Luke Nikas: “Mr. Baldwin had no reason to believe there was a live bullet in the gun, or anywhere on the movie set. He relied on the professionals with whom he worked, who assured him the gun did not have live rounds. We are pleased with the decision to dismiss the case against him, and we encourage a proper investigation into the facts and circumstances of this tragic accident.”

In the vicinity of the Colisseum, street peddlers have been selling this Roma Antica map to the tourists for decades. I bought mine (tightly rolled and shrink-wrapped) in ‘07, and for a good 15 years it hung on my dining room wall, mounted and framed.

I am eternally of this ancient city, or so I’ve always believed in my bones (or at least in my dreams). I actually lived there, I’m fairly certain, in one of my past lives. And what a comedown my lives have been ever since.

“So as through a glass, and darkly / the age-long strife I see / Where I’ve written and travelled in many guises, many names / But always me”

Eric Gravel‘s Full Time (Music Box) is a first-rate, expertly acted (Laure Calamy!), 100% genuine film about hard knocks and real, actual life, and is therefore worth about 20 Super Mario Bros or Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves combined, and at least 50 times whatever bullshit value you want to assign to John Wick: Chapter 4…I spit on all these films (especially Wick) and cherish the time that I spent with Full Time (aka À plein temps).

Even though, to be 100% honest, I found it spiritually exhausting toward the end. But that’s an intended effect.

The 40ish Julie (Calamy) can’t catch a breath, much less a break. She’s a divorced mom raising two toddlers in the too-far-away Parisian suburb of Collemieres (157 kilometers). She works as the top maid in a five-star Parisian hotel, having to leave super-early and always returning too late. And her husband is late with the alimony.

And then life gets even harder when a train strike hits. Julie has to beg, sidestep, wheedle, plead for assistance and bend the rules all the time just to keep her head above water. Raising two kids is a crushing responsibility for a single parent under the best of circumstances, but the strike makes life all but impossible.

Victor Seguin‘s cinematography and especially the editing by Mathilde Van de Moortel work hand in hand to create a thriller-like atmosphere. The cutting is straight out of the Bourne movies.

But when things take a turn for the worse at the two-thirds mark and — SPOILERS! — Julie loses her local childcare provider and especially when she apparently doesn’t land a better-paying job that she’s been interviewing for, I felt myself starting to wilt. I was rooting for this poor harried woman to somehow make it through, but I began to find it too exhausting and stressful…I just gave up.

Thank God things turn around at the end, but what a slog with the punishing commute and the two kids and the rail strike and doing it all alone…GOOD LORD!!!

It’s an excellent film nonetheless. I could easily see it again. Calmy’s performance is about as real and convincing as anything in this realm could possibly be.

HE to friendo earlier today: “Timothee Chalamet’s next actual film, I’ve read, is James Mangold‘s Bob Dylan thing. Allegedly an August start, according to Mangold. But the Kylie Jenner thing…why in heaven’s name would Chalamet, a man of at least some depth and aspiration, want to go out with an utterly empty vessel like Jenner, who does nothing except pose for semi-nude photos next to swimming pools and earn tons of money and party and so on? She doesn’t even act.”

Friendo to HE: “What’s his interest in her? Gee, I wonder.”

HE to friendo: “That’s it? Even in the throes of hormonal madness in my 20s and 30s, I always wanted to be with someone who had a little something internal going on…something in terms of exceptional style or artistic edge…a hunger for something more than just the usual temporary pleasures.”