…if Ridley Scott’s Napoleon (Columbia/Apple, 11.22) was still called Kitbag? I haven’t loved a movie title this much in a long time. Imagine those hundreds of thousands of Joe and Jane Popcorn types reacting in the usual ADD dumbshit way…”Kitbag…fuck is that?…let’s see something else.”
The Kitbag title was abandoned sometime in January ’22, or roughly 21 months ago.
The political rehabilitation campaign for former New York governor Andrew Cuomo began last night. Unfairly sandbagged by Millennial #MeToo-ers, or so the legend now goes.
In my original ecstatic review of David Fincher‘s The Killer (10.15), I noted that it could be (or even appears to be) be a form of self-portraiture — a seeming reflection of Fincher’s basic nature as well as my own. Here’s how I put it:
Last night (Friday) Paul Schrader took a half-swipe at The Killer, allowing that while it’s technically impressive it’s mostly an example of a film being “all hat.” Schrader also noted that Michael Fassbender‘s constant narration makes him “the Chatty-Kathy of hit men.”
facebook commenter William Speruzzi took exception to Schrader’s “all hat” remark, stating in no uncertain terms that if Fincher has ever made a film about self-portrayal, The Killer is the strongest in this regard.
Frank J. Lauta, the father of my ex-wife Maggie, passed a little more than a week ago. Maggie and our sons Jett and Dylan are attending a memorial service for Frank in Hamlin, New York — a suburb of Rochester. I’ve been watching a live–stream for the last hour or so. I’ve just posted the following on the church’s website:
“Frank was a good citizen, a kind soul and a compassionate human being. He was the father of my ex-wife, Maggie, and therefore ‘family’ for roughly four-plus years (‘87 through ‘92). We had sporadic contact for a few years. We all vacationed in the summer of ‘91 in Cape Cod when his grandsons (Jett and Dyian) were toddlers. I was honored to know him and his wife, Jeanne.
“I’m sorry that Frank never met his great-granddaughter, Sutton (daughter of Jett), but she’s part of him and he will always be part of her. Goodbye and farewell, Frank…you’re part of the infinite stream now.”
The Fifth Estate‘s Geoff Leo has uncovered documented proof that Buffy Saint Marie is not an indigenous Canadian ((Piapot Cree Nation), despite her having claimed decades ago and throughout her life that she was adopted and “probably born” on the Piapot First Nation reserve in Saskatchewan.
Various bios have referred to the 82-year-old Buffy as Algonquin, full-blooded Algonquin, Mi’kmaq and half-Mi’kmaq. Leo, however, has found her birth certificate, which states that she was born Beverly Jean Santamaria in Stoneham, Massachusetts on 2.20.41. Her parents are/were Albert and Winifred Santamaria.
Buffy is now bonded with other “pretendians” including the late Sacheen Littlefeather, Sen Elizabeth Warren and producer Heather Rae.
Until recently and for over four decades, Buffy Sainte-Marie has been regarded as the first Indigenous Oscar winner for co-writing “Up Where We Belong” from 1982’s An Officer and a Gentleman. There goes that distinction!
The Native American community can at least take comfort in the apparent fact that Killers of the Flower Moon‘s Lily Gladstone is a genuine member of Montana’s Blackfeet tribe. Specigically Gladstone is “of Piegan Blackfeet, Nez Perce, and European heritage and grew up on the reservation of the Blackfeet Nation. on her mother’s side of the family she’s a firs cousin, 4 times removed, of 19th Century British Prime Minister William Ewart Gladstone. One of Lily’s paternal great-great grandfathers was Red Crow, a Kainai Nation chief.
As far as I can discern Elvis Mitchell‘s “try-hard” shoes, worn during last Tuesday’s Academy q & a for David Fincher‘s The Killer, are made by Prada. A Prada web page describes them as “Monolith brushed leather lace-up shoes,” and says they cost $1270.
Before this mnorning I’d never seen Michael Epstein‘s 86-minute Hitchcock, Selznick and the End of Hollywood (11.1.99). I love Gene Hackman‘s narration! Epstein obviously reveres Hitchcock and thinks less of Selznick. Basically a story of creative conflict, Hitchcock vs. Selznick, the power of producers vs. directors and the end of Hollywood…how the power of the producer decreased. I immediately felt enveloped.
I need to finally watch Michael Ritchie‘s The Bad News Bears, I suppose, because a friend assures me it’s coarse and offensive and about as politically incorrect it could’ve been back then. But also hilarious.
That’s right — I never saw it. I ducked it like a champ. I thought I had seen it at first, but then I searched my memory but couldn’t find any shards.
Is it as coarse and un-p.c. as friendo is claiming? I’m asking.
If so, I would seriously pay $50 if L.A. Times critic Justin Chang would re-watch it and review it the way he’s just reviewed The Holdovers.
Friendo: “This movie showed how racism was in the 1970s. Meaning that no one took it that seriously — they made fun of it. This kind of film could never be re-made today. Everyone in the cast is mocked. It’s 100% politically incorrect. Every racial slur imaginable. N-word used freely. But absolutely hilarious. Tatum O’Neal as an 11 year old who smokes and talks about being on the pill. If only someone had the guts to make it today as it was then. A great little movie.”
Nobody loves Albert Brooks more than myself…nobody. I’ve worshipped him since the early ’70s…a long time. In fact, please listen or re-listen to this relaxed 2012 phoner I did with him…sounds good, nobody’s trying too hard, only 11 years old.
Rest assured I’ll be watching Albert Brooks; Defending My Life (HBO, 11.11) without fail, but I wish these tribute docs could occasionally be different or surprising in some way. You know what I mean. I wish they could somehow unfold without the same old talking heads delivering the same old praise cliches. Make no mistake — Brooks deserves all praise and more, but he also deserves ingenuity and unusualness from his admirers.
I would rather watch an essay piece in which some bright person analyzes Brooks’ best material (stand-up, SNL, self-directed movies, performances for other directors) and then ties them all together…ties his life together in terms of universal themes and how his films reflected the changing zeitgeist, etc. I’d like to see an Albert Brooks tribute doc that’s conceived, written, performed and directed by Brooks himself…how about that?
Almost exactly 13 years ago I riffed about films that have dealt with death in a “good” way: “The best death-meditation films impart a sense of tranquility or acceptance about what’s to come, which is what most of us go to films about death to receive, and what the best of these always seem to convey in some way.
“They usually do this by selling the idea of structure and continuity. They persuade that despite the universe being run on cold chance and mathematical indifference, each life has a particular task or fulfillment that needs to happen, and that by satisfying this requirement some connection to a grand scheme is revealed.
“You can call this a delusional wish-fulfillment scenario (and I won’t argue about that), but certain films have sold this idea in a way that simultaneously gives you the chills but also settles you down and makes you feel okay.
“Here’s a list of seven top achievers in this realm. I’m not going to explain why they’re successful in conveying the above except to underline that it’s not just me talking here — these movies definitely impart a sense of benevolent order and a belief that the end of a life on the planet earth is but a passage into something else. I’ve listed them in order of preference, or by the standard of emotional persuasion.
“1. Martin Scorsese‘s The Last Temptation of Christ. 2. Stephen Frears‘ The Hit. 3. Brian Desmond Hurst‘s A Christmas Carol. 4. Warren Beatty and Buck Henry‘s Heaven Can Wait. 5. Henry King‘s Carousel (based on Ferenc Molnar‘s Lilliom). 6. Tim Burton‘s Beetlejuice. 6. Michael Powell‘s A Matter Of Life And Death, a.k.a. Stairway To Heaven. 7. Albert Brooks‘ Defending Your Life.
