Forgiveness is requested for not posting the usual HE quota today. I’m about to drive down to West Orange, New Jersey for some Jett-Cait-Sutton time. 90 minutes door to door.

Westport home of the late Arthur Kennedy (“Lefferts” in Elmer Gantry, “Jackson Bentley” in Lawrence of Arabia.} Also the designated “home” of Ricky and Lucy Ricardo in the mid ’50s.

This is how I like my action scenes to be shot and cut…atypically, I mean. And let’s hear it for that used-car guy who keeps an AR-15 handy! Producer-writer-star Bill Hader directed this…hats off! My only beef is with the psycho idiot shooting automatic rifle fire at Barry as he zooms by…what about all that lead being loosely sprayed at average drivers on the freeway?

I’m presuming that the IMAX presentations of Jaws and E.T., The Extra-Terrestrial will be showing up-rezzed, large-format versions. If I were in charge I would convert both into actual IMAX film and perhaps even boost the clarity with a 60 fps enhancement.

But you also have to ask “why?”

Jaws, shot in widescreen 2.39:1, isn’t going to fill the IMAX screens, and you don’t want to slice off the sides to make the image taller. And E.T. at heart is a little movie — it was never intended to be a wow experience. Super-sizing it isn’t necessary — it’s the modesty, the intimacy, the little kid personalities, the humor, the American suburban vibe.

Everyone knows about the myth of John Lennon‘s “lost weekend” — an allegedly boozy, party-animal, bachelor-on-the-loose period which lasted from the summer of ’73 until early ’75. Separated from Yoko Ono, living in Los Angeles with short-term girlfriend May Pang, romping around with Harry Nillson, Alice Cooper, Keith Moon and Micky Dolenz, collectively known as the Hollywood Vampires.

You’d presume that a documentary about this 18-month chapter, especially one actually called The Lost Weekend, would…I don’t know, catalogue the wild times and over-the-top-shenanigans and cocaine snorts and whatnot, and perhaps convey…oh, perhaps a meditation about the decline and fall of this ’60s wind-down, Hotel California, rich-rocker mentality, and how this sense of gradual drainage finally bottomed out and led to the birth of punk in ’75, or something along those lines.

There’s a Tribeca Film Festival screening tonight of Eve Brandstein, Richard Kaufman and Stuart Samuels‘ The Lost Weekend: A Love Story, and what a disappointment to learn from Roy Trakin’s 6.9 Variety article that it’s primarily a May Pang recollection-of-a-love affair thing and that it doesn’t really dig into the madman stuff.

Okay, maybe it does but Trakin’s piece discourages.

Most deflating passage: “Pang insists the celebrated Troubadour incidents — where John was thrown out of the iconic Hollywood club for heckling the Smothers Brothers and then for putting a sanitary napkin on his head — were anomalies in Lennon’s stay in Los Angeles, where he was relentlessly egged on by sidekick Harry Nilsson in particular.

“’John was drinking, but that was overblown in retrospect,’ says Pang. ‘The press keeps repeating the same stories over and over.'”

Second most deflating passage: “I decided it was time to reclaim my own history,” says Pang, 72. “It’s my version. I figured, if there was going to be a film about my life, I should be involved. Who better to tell the story than me? I lived it. These are my memories. No one experienced it like I did. Why should I let somebody else talk about my time with John?’”

Liz Cheney to deranged Republican legislators still on Team Trump: “You are defending the indefensible. There will come a day when Donald Trump is gone, but your dishonor will remain.”

Jurassic World Dominion is dino crap, all right. I was bored, distracted, texting, daydreaming, thinking about high-school girlfriends, etc. But what bothered me primarily — what has always bothered me about the Jurassic films — is the fact that only your ethically compromised bad guys get eaten.

If I knew that one of the caring, compassionate good guys might get chomped to death, I would sit up in my chair and pay a lot more attention.

There are eight good-guy characters in this film (played by Chris Pratt, Bryce Dallas Howard, Laura Dern, Jeff Goldblum, Sam Neill, DeWanda Wise, Mamoudou Athie, Isabella Sermon) and every one survives. Where’s the suspense in that? And this isn’t a spoiler, by the way, because ethical characters never die in these films…never!

White-haired Campbell Scott (who’s only 60 but looks older — he should think about visiting my Prague guy for neck work) plays the only twirling-moustache villain, and of course he gets it…big deal! Neill is pushing 72, but he’s aged much more attractively. In the third act, by the way, Neill wears one of the greatest looking color-combo outfits ever — a tan deerskin jacket with a matching deep royal blue shirt and tie…fantastic!

In fact everyone looks good in their own way. Everyone has dieted and is graced with perfect lighting and shot at just the right angle and wearing perfect coifs and killer wardrobes. They’ve all practiced their cool attitudes and poses in the bathroom mirror.

We all recall that the last entry, Fallen Kingdom, ended with herds of dinosaurs escaping into the forest. Now, in Dominion, they’re all over the world, grazing and feeding and hunting like elephants and giraffes and Bengal tigers. And of course there are evil people looking to exploit them, as well as good people looking to protect and shelter the poor beasts. Including the fucking raptors, mind.

And the question is, will I have the energy to pass along the basic story points or will I just say “due respect but go see it yourself”? The latter, I think.

The Bedford Arts Center is one of the finest movie theatres in the world. I saw West Side Story there last December and was blown away by the technological perfection. But the Dominion sound mix is awful. (And that’s on Universal, not the theatre.). The music and effects tracks were constantly competing with, and at times overwhelming, the dialogue. The characters sounded muffled, whispery — you couldn’t hear the damn consonants. I could hear some of what was said, yes, but it was a struggle. The roars, growls and yelps are fine, and the music blares. But the mix is shit.

I know that if I watch this crummy movie on Bluray or streaming in six months, the dialogue will be perfectly clear. Not to mention the subtitle option.

I’m speaking the absolute truth when I say that Neill’s deerskin and dark-blue-shirt outfit is the only thing that really turned me on about this film. Oh, and one other thing: A shot from a climbing plane above the coast of Malta in which…naaah, I won’t spoil it.

Like everyone else, I am giving Jurassic World Dominion an overall failing grade…sorry. But the hair, makeup and wardrobe guys deserve stand-up applause.

…a 4 pm showing of the worst dinosaur movie ever made, or so it has been alleged.



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