“They were the candy store years because there were drugs, stardom, the pill. I met a couple of girls in bed more than once, and I had sex in public places, like Studio 54.” — Dustin Hoffman, quoted in a Studio 54 piece on colorized.com.

The original Schrager-Rubell version of Studio 54 opened on 4.26.77 and closed on 2.3.80. Hoffman turned 40 on 8.8.77.

From HE review of Matt Tyrnauer‘s Studio 54 (“The Way It Was“), posted on 1.22.18: “Bob Calacello or somebody mentions how Studio 54 happened in a glorious period in American culture that was post-birth control and pre-AIDS. The film explains how liberal sexual attitudes were particularly celebrated by urban gay culture, which was just starting to sample freedoms that today are more or less taken for granted. Guys couldn’t hold hands on the street but they certainly could once they got inside Studio 54.

“But one thing you can’t say in today’s climate (and which Tyrnauer’s film doesn’t even mention in passing) is that the ’70s were also a glorious nookie era for heterosexual guys. It was probably the most impulsive, heavily sensual, Caligula-like period (especially with the liberal use of quaaludes) to happen in straight-person circles since…you tell me. The days of Imperial Rome?

“This kind of thing is now a verboten topic, of course, with the 2018 narrative mainly being about how guys need to forget ‘impulsive’ and turn it down and be extra super careful in approaching women in any context. But things were quite different back in the Jimmy Carter era. I’m not expressing any particular nostalgia for those days, but the new Calvinism of 2018 couldn’t be farther away from what the social-sexual norms were 40 years ago. Just saying.”

I’ll give Lightyear credit for its apparent interest in shaded lighting schemes and misty visual textures. There’s one shot that looks like Dagobah from The Empire Strikes Back. This aside, Disney-Pixar spinoffs of this sort are nothing but banal family fare + corporate jizzwhizz.

Edgar Wright‘s Last Night in Soho is “struggling” at the box-office. That’s the polite way of putting it. In fact it’s a flop. It cost $43 million to make plus God knows how much to market, and the total domestic haul is somewhere around $4.2 million. Last Night in Soho opened with $993K in the UK for a lousy eighth place showing. $2.296 million earned in 19 international territories…phffft.

The thinking seems to be that Soho might have performed better if it wasn’t up against Antlers and The French Dispatch. My personal suspicion is that Millennials and Zoomers took one look at the ’60s time-trip plot and figured it had nothing for them.

If you ignore the final 20 to 25 minutes, the finest werewolf film ever made is Mike Nichols‘ Wolf (’94). An adult, Manhattan-flavored, A-grade enterprise. Enjoyable performances by Jack Nicholson Michelle Pfeiffer, Christopher Plummer, James Spader. A first-rate script by Jim Harrison. Wesley Strick, an uncredited Elaine May. Who wrote the peanut butter scene?

But steer clear of the original The Wolf Man (’41). Produced and directed by George Waggner, it runs 70 minutes but feels like 110. Generally tedious, often boring, sluggishly paced, clunky dialogue. It’s obvious that Larry Talbot (Lon Chaney, Jr.) has something to do with the gruesome mutilations as they only begin when he arrives at his father’s (Claude Rains) mansion. Plus he acts guilty and shifty when the murders are discussed. Plus he has the jowly face of a drinker. Plus he’s a foot and a half taller than Rains — how’d that happen?

And it makes no sense that Evelyn Ankers would be “interested” in Talbot, as he’s clearly unstable with erratic, hair-trigger mood swings. (Ankers and Chaney didn’t get along off-camera.)

The best character is Maria Ouspenskaya‘s gypsy lady…she wants Larry to fulfill his wolf destiny…she’s in his corner, supports him, cares for him.

via GIPHY

Earlier today Alec Baldwin and his family were chased by paparazzi jackals in Vermont, and rather than duck and elude he pulled over and spoke to them about everything that’s going on. He’s obviously distraught and half-broken but also half hanging on and grappling with the situation like a reasoned adult. At one point he said that he doubts that Rust will resume production.

Orwell-speak, climate of terror, social justice warriors, hashtag fascists, etc.

I’m not saying all high-school girls are fickle and flighty, but a lot of them are. Or they were, at least, when I was an awkward, insecure WASP schlemiel.

I’ve mentioned this once or twice before, but in my senior year I had it bad for a luminous Irish blonde named Sally Jo Quinn. Short, slender, magnificent blue eyes, straight blonde hair, smallish feet, slender hands with chewed nails. No dad at home; just her single mom who worked as an administrative something-or-other at the high school. I can’t recall if the parents had divorced or if the father had died or what.

Anyway Sally had several concurrent boyfriends. I was fourth in line, I gradually learned. (Or was I fifth?) The others included a football jock (since deceased), a wealthy man’s son from Ridgefield (dead from drug overdose) and a local cop in his mid to late 20s. I was strictly backup. Scraps, leftovers. For someone already beset with low self-esteem, this situation fit perfectly.

Flash forward to the mid ’80s, when I had a brief thing with an extremely dishy lady who was dealing with an unstable ex. So unstable, in fact, that when I visited her one night he called up and came over and rang the bell (she told me to ignore him) and then started pacing back and forth on the front lawn, calling out to her and talking to himself and generally creating a neighborhood spectacle.

Girls sometimes choose badly, some guys can’t handle rejection, and sometimes you have to put up your dukes.

It did occur to me as this psychodrama was unfolding, of course, that anyone with a looney-tunes ex might be a little screwy themselves, or might be a little dishonest or manipulative or flaky. You are who you go out with.

This ex-boyfriend episode wasn’t enough to put me off (she was beautiful and curvaceous and breathtaking in bed), but it did give me pause. I know that if she’d had two ex-boyfriends knocking on the door I would have said “wow, this is really weird” and “something isn’t right.” And if she’d had three guys pleading for forgiveness and restitution I would have said “okay, she obviously likes guys fighting for her affections” and taken a hike.

Director-writer pally: “What’s interesting is that despite the forehead-slapping quality of Last Night in Soho…what’s interesting is how the whole industry and especially every young exec…they’re all still lined up to work with Edgar Wright.”

HE to director-writer pally: “They don’t care how shitty his films are? Okay, the first two thirds of Baby Driver works, but have you seen Last Night in Soho? Once you get past the concept and the 1966 time-trip design, it’s really awful. Stupid, crude, ham-fisted, tedious, repetitive.”

Director-writer pally: “Edgar is a really nice, engaging, genteel person and every comedy executive, especially in TV and streaming, hold him in messianic esteem. He’s Teflon — even Scott Pilgrim tanking didn’t harm his rep, and is now viewed as some sort of classic. The mantra from his fans is ‘he’s one of us.’

HE to director-writer pally: “Yes, Wright is very likable and personable, very easy to chat with, a good bullshitter. I’ve listened to Edgar in interviews. He talks a good game.

“Unfortunately, his movies (the first two-thirds of Baby Driver aside) are awful to sit through. So things like taste, clever plotting, refinement, dialogue that makes sense, cinematic coherence, directorial finesse…none of that stuff matters to these guys, you’re saying? Because Scott Pilgrim vs. The World s one of the worst films I’ve ever seen IN MY LIFE.”

I am a sensible, left-leaning, wokester-despising centrist who is deathly afraid Terry McAuliffe is going to lose the Virginia governor’s race because he dismissed parental concerns about their kids being subjected to wokester teaching curriculums and critical race theory.