Where is she now?

“In Paris. She’s a member of a bizarre, sado-masochistic sexual order…whips, chains, hot candles, that sort of thing.”

Three Chris Walken scenes from Paul Mazursky‘s Next Stop, Greenwich Village. Hot candles begins at 1:18. Abortion anecdote at 2:08. Ezra Pound at 2:08.

HE interview with Sofia Coppola, discussing the excellent Somewhere (2010) but also this and that. Early on Coppola mentions my resemblance to Walken.

A recent Emerson College poll, conducted between 10.14 and 10.16, has shown that among undecided voters (dumbshits, none-too-brights, slowboats) who decided on their presidential pick within the last couple of weeks, 60 percent voted for Harris while 36 percent decided in favor of Bloated Orange Fatass.

Why is this election (only two weeks left) looking like such a squeaker? Give me a sensible centrist candidate who hates wokesters and is dedicated to rolling back DEI, and I’ll vote for him/her at the drop of a hat.

But how rock stupid do you have to be to say “I think it’ll be better all around if we return the absolute worst president in U.S. history — a criminal authoritarian sociopath — to the White House”? The man is an animal, and his cult members are cool with that.

Speaking of elderly singers losing their vocal game, here’s a study in Frank Sinatra contrasts — the Pal Joey version of “Bewitched“, recorded at age 41 and easily one of Sinatra’s greatest vocal performances (especially starting at the 2:30 mark), and then shoot forward to an episode that happened in ’92 when a weakened 78-year-old Sinatra, three years younger than today’s Joni Mitchell and less diminished than she seemed the other night as he was singing standing up and holding his own solo. Yes, I’ve posted this before but it’s a great story.

Emilia Perez “possesses the profound ability to change the world”? This guy is riding the back of the tiger…triumphant trans progressive bandwagon ho! The gay mafia may not be calling the shots (that’s Lisa Taback‘s job), but they’re certainly pulling strings. Either way the fix is in.

HE to Facebook‘s Patricia Sullivan Webb about Joni Mitchell’s big show last night at the Hollywood Bowl, and more particularly the torrent of soft, gushing comments which didn’t address the reality of Mitchell’s situation:

“Why hasn’t at least one person tactfully acknowledged the plain, inescapable truth about Joni Mitchell’s singing at last night’s Hollywood Bowl?,” I wrote.

“Don’t get me wrong — I think It’s glorious that Joni performed live as best she could before an adoring throng. She obviously has the phrasing and the conviction and classic authority, and can get past some of her diminished abilities by ‘selling it’ like a pro performer. Your heart goes out.

“But her voice is gone…be honest. I’ve been listening over and over to those Asylum years tracks recently….c’mon. No comparison.

“I saw Frank Sinatra perform in Long Beach in the early ‘80s. His voice wasn’t what it had been, but he at least sounded like the Sinatra of legend.

“We all want to express love and compassion and gratitude to dear Joni, but Mitchell herself said several years ago that she can’t sing like she used to. Plus her voice is so much deeper now. I’m no professional singer but in the car or the shower I can sing just as clearly and whole-heartedly as I sang in my 20s. Mitchell can’t do that.”

Sullivan-Webb to HE: “Well, Mr. Wells, did you have a brain aneurysm which stole all your physical abilities from you? ‘Cause Joni did. And I will not judge any singer at nearly 81 to when they were in their 20s and 30s. Ny the time of Hejira, Joni’s voice after decades of smoking had deepened and she didn’t have the top notes she had in her first few albums. So what?

“Frank Sinatra performed with early dementia. That was painful to watch as he lost his place, started to re-sing songs he had just sung and struggled. He did not have his top notes but it was still by and large a Sinatra concert. Finally, his son convinced his money-grubbing stepmother to stop him from touring. She retaliated by making it very difficult for his children and grandchildren to visit him. There had to be a lawyer present. Horrific.

“Similar crap was pulled on Glen Campbell, whose 4th wife forced him to perform with full Alzheimer’s until he did not know his name and was pushed on stage to stand there as an exhausted, completely confused man who didn’t know where he was or why. He not only didn’t have his voice, he hardly had words.

“In Joni, we have a nearly 81 year old legend who is in full control of her mind and her art. Most of her show was singing jazzy songs which reflect the music she prefers and was writing and recording for 20 years prior to her massive brain injury. People can be merciless to artists as they age, gain weight, change directions. However, the 34,000 people who showed up over two nights [at the Bowl] and spent beaucoup money to see Joni, hear her, buy her merch…they were entranced.

“We are generally a mean society about stars. We dissect them, we raise them up only to discard them. Troll comments are common. Tell it to Joni Mitchell’s face. She’d look at you and laugh. Joni has a powerful intellect. Last year, she performed at The Gorge. I couldn’t get there. She played to a sold out crowd of 20,000. I first saw Joni play at The Troubadour when I was 12 or so. Perhaps there were 250 people there. I did not meet her until I was 14 — a very long time ago.

“Comparing an elderly woman’s voice to her youthful one is like comparing a beautiful 30 year old woman to what natural factors make her look like 50 years later. I see Mick Jagger, Paul McCartney and other artists in their 80s and don’t expect them to look or sound as they did 40 years ago. To expect otherwise would make me foolish, wouldn’t it? And those guys haven’t defied death by a horrific illness as Joni has. I don’t believe any artist even in their 60s can reach the same notes they could in their 20s.

“You may be deluding yourself that your vocal proficiency is the same as it was in your youth. I will assume so having been around top artists my entire life and never hearing even one of them perform with the same ease and technical proficiency as they did at the height of their success.

“Joni’s show was a masterful interpretation of her music. Her lyrics are deep and her phrasing was perfect. We are friends but even if we weren’t, I feel honored to have seen her perform as a youth, in middle age and at this juncture of her life. So much of what she wrote as a youth was written with her being a vessel, as yet, not having had many of the experiences she has now lived. ‘Both Sides Now’ sung as a woman who truly has lived life on both ends of life is far more powerful than when sung by a young woman who is imagining what life will throw at them, rather than actually experiencing the highs and lows every one of us have if we are fortunate enough to live long having gone through many kinds of hellish experiences and not coming out of it bitter and angry.”

HE to Sullivan-Webb: “Patricia — Thanks for the straight, honest and very specific response. No one had offered anything close to this when I tapped out my original comment.”

…but the Critical Drinker breaks it all down with satisfying clarity. The key moment stars at 5:35. In response to the fan poster in question, Erivo could have said nothing, gone gracious or started a shit storm. She chose the latter.

Herewith a lesson in the moral values of Kim Kardashian. Or her convictions about moral relativity.

Kardashian basically feels that prolonged sexual abuse is as bad as murder — in her mind they basically balance or cancel each other out. She therefore believes that murder in response to prolonged sexual abuse is an understandable, perhaps even a semi-excusable response.

Kardashian therefore feels that Erik and Lyle Menendez, convicted in 1996 of the 1989 shotgun slaying of their parents, Jose and Kitty Menendez, for which the boys were sentenced to life without parole…maybe the brothers should be set free because they’ve been serving this sentence for 28 years (not to mention their many years in custody before the ’96 conviction) and…well, isn’t that enough, considering how Jose allegedly subjected Erik to acute sexual terror and blah blah?

This is more or less what Kardashian has told Variety‘s Marc Malkin and Emiliana Betancourt.

Have I explained that the sexual abuse rationale is total fucking bullshit? It is and always was.

Over a series of Vanity Fair‘ articles, Dominick Dunne certainly explained in great detail how full of shit the brothers were about this.

Kardashian to Malkin: “I think that they never got a fair second trial and I feel like ever since, for me, watching Ryan Murphy’s Monsters show it really opened up and showed me so much about abuse. Imagine if no one believed you.”

Los Angeles District Attorney George Gascon has announced that the Menendez brothers will be granted a hearing on 11.29.24 to reevaluate newly discovered evidence on their case. He has also said “they don’t deserve to be in prison until they die.”

Kardashian: “The DA’s office really should right the wrong that they did many years ago. It doesn’t mean that [the boys] shouldn’t have done time. It just means that I really believe that they deserve a second chance and they’ve done enough time.”

Friendo: “You know what would end all this Menendez bullshit sympathy?  Show the photos of the dead parents.  Show how they shot them to pieces with their blood and brains decorating the TV room.  Show the close up of their mother’s face blown apart.  They killed Kitty because if they only killed Jose they wouldn’t inherit anything.  So they shot her up too.  For the money — nothing else. Dunne and others pointed out where they got the “abuse” excuse from…their witchy attorney who used it before and probably afterwards.  They cribbed it from a book.  Plagiarism takes another bow.  Fuck them.”

Industry guy: “My wife and I responded to Karla Sofia Gascon and thought she was correctly placed in lead category. She plays the male role too. And brilliantly.”

HE: “Karla Sofia’s performance is supporting — a strong supporting performance, but definitely supporting. Why are you falling for the party line? She’s good but the hoo-hah is about her trans identity…be honest.”

Industry guy: “It’s not the trans woke thing. She’s great.”

HE: “I’ve seen Emilia Perez. I saw it in Cannes. Karla Sofia is fine but people need to calm down. On top of which her feet are too mannish. Too big and heavy.  She shouldn’t wear dresses — she should wear pant suits and pumps.”

Industry guy: “She captivated the Academy crowd last night.”

HE: “[Director] Jacques Audiard was smart and tactful enough to keep Karla Sofia’s bare legs and feet out of Emilia Perez.

HE: “Naturally the Academy schlubbos are going to turn out to witness the novelty of seeing the first serious trans Best Actress contender do a personal appearance. But let’s not confuse curiosity and polite, vigorous applause with real, deep-down enthusiasm.”

Industry guy: “She was mesmerizing, playing both trans and man. Easily the audience’s favorite character. Last night’s screening was not Cannes or a festival crowd but the actual Academy voters. En masse completely different to most venues.

HE: She’ll obviously be nominated, but please. The Academy wouldn’t dare express anything but excitement and acceptance.”

Industry guy: “The after-screening foyer discussion was all about Karla and disappointment with the ending shootout.”

HE: “The shootout finale was forced…doesn’t work.”

Industry guy: “There seems to be tremendous excitement for this film. Four Academy members emailed me today, asking if I knew how they could get into the Egyptian premiere tonight. It’s oversold.”

HE: “They need to calm down. Their reactions are partly honest enthusiasm, and partly suppressed fear. No one wants to sound unappreciative or even ambivalent about trans wokeism. Being perceived as insufficiently enthusiastic is tantamount to seeming transphobic. No one wants to die on that woke gallows so they ADORE Emilia Perez, which — I’ve said this all along — is a good, commendable, sometimes very exciting film.”

HE: “Karla Sofia’s legs look like Dave Bautista’s legs, shaved. Calves and foot-wise, she’s Arnold Schwarzenegger.”

Industry guy: “This was too big a crowd to not be genuine. Her legs have nothing to do with the performance.”

Friendo: “The trans acceptance thing makes Academy members feel good — it’s like religion to them — it transcends ordinary life. But you are right. There is no chance anyone can be honest.”

Industry guy: “The audience foyer discussion was all about the brilliance of Karla’s performance as a man. She’s the center of the film. And she totally wins the viewer over. We don’t give a rat’s arse about Rita the lawyer. She’s functional. Not the lead.”

HE: “I saw it in Cannes. The Academy membership was too dumb to attend the recent Anora screening in any strength, but they poured into the Emilia Perez screening in droves. They’re frightened sheep. If James Carville was a woke-minded Netflix marketing consultant, his Emilia Perez slogan would be ‘it ain’t the performance, stupid…it’s the woke-trans bounce of it all.'”

Industry guy: “I was there when many hundreds of Academy voters watched and responded. The best actress race is between Karla Sofia and Babygirl‘s Nicole Kidman.”

HE: “Viewer truth (my own) vs. the reactions of baahing sheep….baaaahhh!”

Industry guy: “The sheep will decide.”

HE: “Funny.”

Industry guy: “Sheep always win, even if it means following the others to the cliff and then jumping.”

Before last night I had never watched Joshua Logan, Buddy Adler and Leon Shamroy’s South Pacific (‘58) in its entirely. I watched the whole thing (2 hours, 37 minutes) on my iPhone 15 Pro Max with JBL headphones — obviously an irreverent and sacrilegious way to watch a film shot in large-format Todd A-O. But at least it sounded good.

Anyway, I wrote yesterday that even in her prime South Pacific star Mitzi Gaynor, who passed last Thursday (10.17) at age 94, wasn’t any kind of sultry sensual presence. HE commenter K. Bowen took issue with this. I elaborated this morning:

“Gaynor had narrow, smallish eyes but her spritzy, bubbly, open-hearted manner was engaging. She had that gamine athletic thing going on, and was obviously quite pretty in her youth. She had a certain prim sexual appeal. Slim dancer’s body, approvable boobs, great gams. But earthy she was not.

“Gaynor seemed innately kind and caring, but there was something a tad antiseptic going on, at least in her South Pacific performance as Nellie Forbush — a proper, disciplined quality that felt Doris Day-ish or even Gale Storm-y, a quality that seemed to emanate from the bland, hemmed-in aesthetic of the ‘50s.

“And I don’t even know how to process Nellie’s bizarre racist repulsion when she learns of Rosanna Brazzi’s Emile de Becque having been married to and sired two kids with a fetching Polynesian woman who died some years earlier. Toward the end Nellie actually says the words ‘her color’…weird and ugly.

“Thespian skills aside, most popular actresses of the ‘40s and ‘50s activated or at least hinted at some form of inner heat…some kind of bedroom intrigue or fantasy. Whatever it was that Rita Hayworth or Lana Turner or Maureen O’Hara or Lizabeth Scott or Anna Magnani or Jean Simmons or Gloria Grahame or pre-Cleopatra Elizabeth Taylor or even Deborah Kerr had that indicated a vigorous or perhaps even a hungry-python approach to sex, Gaynor had almost none of.

But she had conveyed so much in the way of heart and kindness and a certain open-hearted decency, plus a strong one-man-woman quality. You just knew she wasn’t the type to cat around, and that’s attractive. (Well, whadaya want me to say, that a woman prone to catting around is attractive?)

It had been so long since I’d entertained even a passing memory of Mitzi Gaynor that when I learned of her death three days ago I couldn’t think of anything to say.

But this morning I happened to watch this passage from South Pacific, and I went “oh, yes…of course…now I remember.” Gaynor wasn’t a great actress or any kind of sultry sexual presence, but she had heart…a current of wide-open emotional sincerity that just won everyone over. Movie-wise she peaked between the mid ’50s and early ’60s.

To be fair, this was a modest win. I hate to to admit this but it was.

I was pushed into playing trumpet when I was ten or thereabouts. I never loved playing the damn thing…no joy in the blow. I nonetheless took trumpet lessons and played in school bands. Innate-gift-wise I was certainly never Bix Beiderbicke. For a reluctant, undisciplined kid, my trumpet-playing abilities were, at best, mediocre.

(Ditto my swimming skills when I competed in freestyle and backstroke in my early teens…ditto my drumming when I played with a couple of rock-blues bands when I hit my early 20s…I was ultimately only good at writing and acting and, during my hound-dog days, unbuttoning blouses.)

When I was 11 or thereabouts I took part in an elementary school concert, performing for fellow students, teachers and visiting parents. Myself and another kid playing some simple-ass tune. Because I wasn’t much good to begin with and because I didn’t practice hard enough, I choked when the big moment arrived. My playing was tolerable for a beginner, I suppose, but I went off-key a couple of times, whining like a dying cat or one being strangled.

I felt embarassed by this public failure, naturally…so much so that after it was over I felt a sudden instinct to let the audience know that I knew as well as they did that my playing sucked balls. And so two or three seconds later and just as I pivoted to go back my onstage seat amid my fellow band members, I formed a pistol with my thumb and right index finger and shot myself in the right temple.

The next day the school music teacher, a fairly cool guy with a sassy, sardonic sense of humor, bawled me out for “breaking the fourth wall”, so to speak. I told him that my playing was so mortifying that I had to cop to it…I had to admit to the listeners that I knew my future probably wouldn’t have much to do with trumpet-playing.

That same come-what-may, fuck-it, let-the-chips-fall impulse manifested decades later when I became a stream-of-consciousness movie columnist in ’98, or 26 years ago.