I’m posting this to remind HE’s The Last Of Us fans that there are many, many “meh” responders like me out there, and that a good percentage of us regard the idea of watching a 50ish bear get an offscreen blowjob from a slender, gray-haired 50ish bear with acute discomfort, to put it mildly.

Response to “Sylvain BL”: You’ve said that judging a limited series after watching three episodes is like judging a feature film after watching just 15 minutes’ worth. Well, let me tell you something: If a film is working and grooving and doing it right, I don’t need 15 minutes to comprehend this. I can tell this almost immediately, and certainly within 5 minutes.

Ask anyone who’s done script-reading for an agency or production company — a smart reader can spot a stinker within three or four pages. And if a script is going to be good, you’ll also know it almost immediately. It’s also known, of course, that well-written scripts can go off the rails in the second or third acts, which is why script-readers are unfortunately obliged to read scripts all the way through. But 98% or 99% of the time, if a script blows during the first five pages, it’ll never recover. And if a limited series doesn’t seem to be doing it quite right during the first three episodes, the odds of the series pulling a rabbit out of a hat starting with episode #4 or #5 are very low.

Inner Affleck to himself: “I hate this but I have to do it…Jesus, man up! Pretend that you’re having a half-decent time. Do you want to become the latest misery meme? Remember that Simon & Garfunkel thing?”

Everyone else: “That‘s pretending? You’re telling the whole world what you’re going through, bruh. You look miserable.”

@gabriellemassari #benafflecks pained facial expressions at #thegrammys ♬ Funny Song – Cavendish Music

Profuse apologies for my not posting our latest Substack chat earlier today, but don’t let that stop you.

George Roy Hill‘s Slap Shot (’77) has gotten better with each successive re-viewing. Nancy Dowd‘s screenplay is based on her brother Ned’s rough-and-tumble experience with the Johnstown Jets, a minor-league Pennsylvania hockey team. And yes, in the early to mid ’70s violence was a serious selling point with the low-rent fans.

But the film doesn’t feel “realistic”…not really or fully. It may take a while during your first viewing, but it gradually hits you that Slap Shot is a brilliantly sustained farce — partly a satire of crude, working-class lifestyles and sensibilities, and partly a kind of valentine to same.

Assembled and finessed to a fare-thee-well (dp Victor Kemper and editor Dede Allen are a dynamic duo), it’s a blend of grim blue-collar realism and coarse slapstick. The characters are all trapped in a kind of blue-collar, no-exit hellscape, but only a couple of them (the married malcontents played by Michael Ontkean and Lindsay Crouse) succumb to anything close to lethargy. Everyone else is indefatigable.

And the violence is hilarious. Damn near every line is about making fun of these yokels, and yet Hill and Dowd clearly love them. It’s almost spooky how intoxicating it all is. Except, that is, for the climactic striptease-on-the-ice scene, which I’ve never believed.

Above The Line‘s Jeff Sneider and Perri Nemiroff clash over Women Talking starting around the 53:00 mark. Sneider: “It’s number 10! It will win if every woman in the Academy votes for it. It won’t win because no men in the Academy will be voting for it. This is a bad movie…simple as that.” It gets even better at 56:30: Sneider: “It belongs nowhere near this [Best Picture] race…what a fucking boring waste of time!”

HE to Sneider, Nemiroff: Steven Spielberg‘s The Fabelmans has no chance to win…nobody hates it but nobody really thinks it’s all that great…it’s a semi-agreeable, very broadly acted family film (especially on Michelle Williams‘ part) which contains very little compelling material except for that concluding scene with John Ford / David Lynch. If it weren’t for the kneejerk Spielberg kowtow factor, it wouldn’t even be in the conversation.

HE to readership, Movie Godz, everyone within the sound of my voice: “Watch the skies…no. For the love of God and the betterment of civilization, stop Everything Everywhere All At Once…a grueling, agonizing, interminable piece of medieval torture …a harbinger of cultural ruin and a cinematic apocalypse if I ever saw one…all hail the GenXers and boomers who despise it with every fibre of their being, and there are many who feel this way.”

Guy Ritchie’s The Covenant (UA Releasing, 421) was shot a year ago near Alicante, Spain. It’s basically a “do the right thing” rescue mission flick. Recovering from a war wound, Sergeant John (Jake Gyllenhaal) is determined to save a local interpreter (Dar Salim) who once saved John. Somewhat reminiscent of Sam Waterston‘s Sydney Schanberg determined to save Haing Nor‘s Dith Pran in The Killing Fields.

I don’t trust Ritchie but let’s see what develops.