Daily

…that the HE flame hasn’t burned brightly over the last 18 and 2/3 years. HE’s 20th anniversary will be celebrated on or about 8.20.24. If you include the old Mr. Showbiz, Hollywood Confidential and Movie Poop Shoot columns (and how could they not be taken into account?), the 25th anniversary of the launch of my online bang-bang will be champagne-corked in early October. The Mr. Showbiz launch happened sometime around 10.15.98.

“You were talking earlier about why woke ideology is so dangerous to the west…it’s because people in other parts of the world are not teaching their young children to hate their own country. And if [the American wokester mafia] continue to do this, how is the west going to do in the battle of civilizations? Because that’s what we’re in, right? The Asians want to thrive, the Russians want to thrive…and they’re teaching their children to be strong, to be confident, to go out there and learn science instead of, you know, equity and diversity.” — Konstantin Kisin on the most recent Real Time with Bill Maher.

(The HBO show, by the way, is now pausing indefinitely due to the writer’s strike.)

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Two observations about this morning’s coronation of Charles III and Camilla as the King and Queen of England.

(1) In the clip below you’ll notice at the 6:04 mark that Charles, royal sceptres in both hands, had to be helped to his feet by a pair of senior Church of England fellows, who then escorted him down the main aisle of Westminster Cathedral…slowly, slowly. If I’d been Charles, I would have spent many weeks strengthening my leg muscles and practicing getting to my feet without assistance, even while holding two sceptres and wearing a heavy bejeweled crown. The symbolism of a long-of-tooth fellow being helped to his feet is devastating.

(2) As they flanked their newly crowned monarch, it was immediately apparent that Charles (allegedly 5′ 10″) was significantly shorter than either of his attendants. Which made him appear less than commanding. It’s unbecoming for a king to appear frail and a bit shrunken, but that’s what we saw.

Royal Windsor men should stand straight and tall without assistance. Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, was six feet tall. And let’s not forget the medieval Edward I, who stood 6’2″.

The sum visual effect was that ruddy, pink-eyed, wrinkly-faced Charles, 74, is well past his prime. And yet, given the age of his mother and father at the the time of their respective deaths (96 and 99), Charles will most likely reign for a good 20 years or so, or, barring some unforeseen complication, until sometime in the early to mid 2040s. At which time William, Prince of Wales (born 6.21.82), will ascend to the throne, probably between the ages of 60 and 65.

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The practice of spontaneous sexual come-ons of an aggressive nature (i.e., sudden smooching, pussy-grabbing) has been “largely [common among male stars]…not always but largely…unfortunately or fortunately” — Donald Trump during a deposition about the E. Jean Carroll rape-charge case, taped on 10.19.22.

Carroll attorney: “You consider yourself to be a star?” Trump: “I think you can say that, yeah.”

A few seconds later: “[As far as having a sexual interest in a woman] you” — the Carroll attorney — “wouldn’t be a choice of mine either, to be honest with you. I hope you’re not insulted. I wouldn’t under any circumstances have any interest in you.”

Good God, the man has roasted himself. He’s not only admitted to having behaved like a spontaneous Caligula, but has stated that spontaneous Caligula-ism has been a normal thing among male “stars” (i.e., super-famous, super-powerful guys) since the beginning of human civilization.

In other words, Trump has more or less said, “What’s the big deal with a guy like me, theoretically speaking, spontaneously having it off with a woman like E. Jean Carroll in a Bergdorf Goodman dressing room? Stars have been historically entitled to do this for centuries….whadaya whadaya?” He’s actually said this!

How could the jury possibly find in his favor?

From 1.18.23 report by cnbc.com’s Dan Mangan:

“Former President Donald Trump recently mistook his rape accuser E. Jean Carroll for his ex-wife Marla Maples when being questioned about a decades-old photo of him and Carroll by her attorney for a defamation lawsuit, a newly public court filing shows.

Trump’s belief that Carroll, a writer, was actually his second wife Maples sharply undercuts the New York real estate mogul’s repeated claims that he would not have even had sex with Carroll because she is “not my type.”

Carroll, 79, first alleged in a 2019 magazine article that Trump, who was president at the time, had raped her in a dressing room at the Bergdorf Goodman department store in Manhattan in 1995 or 1996 after a chance encounter in the store.

Trump, 76, denied her claims, accusing Carroll of lying. He also said Carroll was motivated by a desire to generate sales of a book and political animus in making the allegations.

“She’s not my type,” Trump told The Hill news site in 2019.

Two nights ago and for the sixth or seventh time, I re-watched ‘s Moonlighting (’82). Not on Bluray but on the Criterion Channel. Excellent HD. I regard this 41 year-old film as a total comfort watch. It gives me just as much pleasure as, say, the first 45 minutes of The Guns of Navarone, which I never watch beyond the 45-minute mark, or past the point of the team scaling the 200-foot cliff in the driving rain + Anthony Quayle breaking his leg + Anthony Quinn saying “one bullet now — better for him, better for us.”

Four years ago (4.16.19): Moonlighting (’82) is a finely chiselled, dead brilliant drama about four Polish guys (led by Jeremy Irons‘ “Nowak”) renovating their boss’s London flat during the time of the Solidarity crackdown in Poland.

Very matter of fact, very specific and situational but at the same time a political allegory that sticks the landing. As perfectly made as this kind of thing can be.

I love that moment when Jeremy Irons is lying on his bed and staring at a photo of his girlfriend / wife (Jenny Seagrove) and suddenly she seems to come alive within the frame, very slightly and somewhat erotically.

In a four-year-old riff I repeated the old saw about the world being divided into two camps — those who hear Moonlighting and think of Bruce Willis and Cybil Shepherd, and those who think of Skolimowski and Irons and Jenny Seagrove and that ending with those shopping carts crashing and sliding downhill.

There were 31 comments from the HE community; 27 were about how cool the TV show was. I rest my case.

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A reasonably decent HE parody piece, posted earlier today by Seasonal Aflac Disorder:

“I’m lying in the L.A. County morgue, literally and figuratively chilling, and I hate to admit I’ve left a much nicer corpse than some of my fellows filed in the other cabinets. What the hell with all the gas and sounds? Have some dignity, Jesus. They took out the vitals and weighed them yesterday on the scale with good numbers all around, much better than anyone else in here.

“The amount of obesity, male pattern baldness and poor dentistry — all avoidable with visits to Prague or Tijuana, respectively — that could have been avoided is irritating beyond belief. One young woman left a nice corpse, and honestly, I can tell she appreciated the work I put into myself. The morlock who catalogued my clothing could hardly appreciate my fine Italian loafers and carelessly threw them in the cardboard box, and in so doing wrinkled my linen slacks.

“So far the afterlife is fairly mezzo mezzo, if you know what I mean. I expected some big flash of white light or something, not a flowing-robed Jesus or bullshit like that, but c’mon! Death, honestly, feels a lot like Parasite when they let the maid back in…”

Everyone ages but people expect celebrities to do a better job of holding back the ravages of time. Or, failing that, to at least resemble their younger selves. That’s all they have to do — just bear a passing resemblance.

There was no mistaking who that tall, gray-haired fellow was, posing next to Elton John back in ‘75. Nor was there any recent difficulty in identifying that 61 year-old guy who’s been bravely coping with Parkinson’s for the last 25-plus years.

But the woman sitting beside him…

“Well, what was your latest ‘preneur’”

“She threw up in her mask. Now cut the bullshit, please. Just say it. She threw up in her mask.”

“Don’t be vulgar, Jean. Let us be crooked, but never common.”

“Now, very simply, is he there or is he not fucking there?”

“I’m Shiva, the god of death.”

“There’s nothing like a love song to give you a good laugh.”

“”You don’t understand. There’s nothing…there’s nothing there. There’s nothing there.”

“You’re greedy, unfeeling, inept, indifferent, self-inflating and unconscionably profitable. Besides that, I have nothing against you. I’m sure you play a helluva game of golf.”

/

…except in the matter of WGA strikes. A feeling in my bones tells me the just-begun work stoppage, which right now is only affecting the late-night talk shows, could last well into the summer. Or beyond that, God forbid. I read this morning that the dispute boils down to 2% of studio profit margins. But the real bugaboo is the generative AI factor.

There are hundreds of thousands of elderly Covid cowards STILL walking around with masks, and I mean OUTDOORS. Walking their dogs on a woodsy, tree-shaded path, and they’re totally MASKED UP. It goes without saying that I always give these gentle persons the HE stink-eye.

Legendary dp Vittorio Storaro (Apocalypse Now, The Conformist, The Last Emperor) is deploring a recent decision by Cannes topper Thierry Fremaux to not present Woody Allen‘s Coup de Chance at the 2023 Cannes Film Festival, which kicks off two weeks hence. Storaro shot Allen’s French-language film last year in Paris.

The quote comes from Jordan Ruimy’s World of Reel by way of Italy’s quotidiano.net.

“I am scandalized and indignant that Cannes has chosen not to present [Woody’s] latest film, all because of the accusations made by his wife Mia Farrow and her daughter Dylan,” Storaro said. “Need I remind everyone that Woody has already been acquitted of these charges twice? This #MeToo obsession continues [to our general misfortune]. Yes, it is bringing real systemic issues to light, but it’s also doing a lot of unjust damage. It’s a witch hunt that goes beyond the bounds of common sense.”

Storaro emphasized that Allen “deserves the Croisette” and would be there imminently if not for Fremaux’s political squeamishness.

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