The anxious accountant is played by Trent Moore. The way his character attempts to explain to Anton Chigurh the motive embraced by his just-murdered boss…”he feels…uhm, he felt that the more people looking…”…is perfectly delivered. I was wanted to say that in case nobody else has.

Posted on HE-Plus on 7.1.19 / money exchange rate updated: In North by Northwest Cary Grant‘s Roger Thornhill drops a lot of cash on a lot of random expenses — cabs, beverages, tips, bus tickets, dry cleaning. I’ve calculated that he spends a minimum of $275 in 1958 dollars, which comes to roughly $2522 in the 2021 economy. That’s a lot to be carrying around.

The film was shot in the summer of ’58, when the only credit card was Diner’s Club and no one had ever heard of debit cards. Thornhill, on the run from the law and unable to just stroll into a local bank for a withdrawal, had to pay for everything with pocket cash.

Roger Thornhill’s NXNW expenses / final accounting:

(1) Pays for cab from Madison Avenue to the Plaza hotel — call it $10 with tip as he’s also paying the driver to take his secretary to another destination; (2) Tips Plaza Hotel/Oak Room bellboy — another $5; (3) After the DUI adventure in Glen Cove and the visit to the Townsend estate, he and Jesse Royce Landis (his “mother”) somehow get back to Manhattan, presumably by cab — probably $25 or $30. ($45 so far)

(4) Back at the Plaza, he gives his mother $50 as payment for persuading the concierge to slip her a key to George Kaplan‘s room in the Plaza ($95); (5) Tips Plaza Hotel valet, looking for information — $5; (6) Takes cab from Plaza to U.N. building — call it $10 to be safe; (7) Presumably takes another cab to Grand Central following the U.N. knifing — $5 to $7. ($117.) (8) Doesn’t buy coach seat on 20th Century Limited, but once in Chicago Thornhill takes a bus to somewhere in southern Indiana farm country. Probably $12 or $15. ($132.)

After surviving the cropduster attack, Thornhill returns to Chicago with a free “ride” (i.e., stolen pick-up truck). Visits Eve at the Ambassador East. Pays AE cleaning service to have his dusty suit “sponged and pressed” — probably $10 or $12. ($144) Probably buys fresh dress shirt, underwear and socks — figure another $20. ($164)

Flies from Chicago to Rapid City with Leo G. Carroll‘s CIA “professor” — air fare covered by government.

Pays for coffee in Mount Rushmore cafeteria — a dime. Escapes from Rapid City hospital, takes longish cab ride up to Van Damm’s Mount Rushmore rental (a Frank Lloyd Wright original) — probably at least $20 or $25. And then pays for his and Eve Kendall‘s train fare back to NYC (call it $60 for two, maybe more).

Wait…I forgot about the Gibson and the brook trout Thornhill ordered in the dining car while chatting with Eve.

That’s a grand total of $250 minimum. Add $25 in random incidentals (penny-ante stuff) and you’re talking $275. In 2021 the value of a single 1958 dollar is $9.17, which translates into $2522 but let’s call it $2600….hell, make it $3K.

Who walks around with the equivalent of $3K in their wallet or money clip?

There’s no question that I saved my life when I embraced sobriety on 3.20.12. A growing sense of calm, moderation and spiritual clarity began to manifest within a year or so (certainly by early ’14), and I shudder to think of where my life would be if I was still slurping down the old Pinot Grigio on a nightly basis, not to mention the likelihood that my face would have acquired the shape of a saggy beach ball.

But if I’m being really honest, bathing in a nightly buzz-on used to be a fairly enjoyable thing. It always delivered a “wow, this feels good and I’m happy” attitude…a sense of excitement, good humor, irreverence, When I was younger, that is. In my 20s, 30s and 40s that settle-down feeling of warmth and fun and laughter that wine and the occasional mixed drink used to provide…that felt like a fairly blissful thing.

A friend told me six or seven years ago that I was funnier when I was drinking…that I laughed more, etc. I don’t doubt it.

Pete Hamill‘s “A Drinking Life” led me to sobriety, but it also contained eloquent passages about what a joy it was to drink with friends and share in that spiritual mirth.

I’m mentioning my history as a way of saying that I understand why Errol Flynn (1909-1959) ruined his life with spirits. He drank himself to death because he had a good time along the way. Alcohol allowed him to behave like…what, a reckless horndog, an elegant teenager, an international bon vivant? He liked going there.

Sometime in the mid ’40s Flynn was told by a doctor that if he didn’t cut back on his drinking he wouldn’t last the decade. Well, he made it to ’59.

Presumably Richard Burton, Peter O’Toole, Richard Harris, Robert Mitchum, Tallulah Bankhead, Humphrey Bogart, Spencer Tracy, Peter Finch, John Barrymore, Montgomery Clift and all the other legendary Hollywood drunks had just as good a time getting bombed on a daily basis. Or maybe they were stuck in a rut and didn’t know how to get out of it, or they figured the bad moods and headaches would go away or something.

All I know is that drinking is a young man’s game, and that you have to think about cutting back if not winding down by your early to mid ’40s, and certainly with the arrival of the big five-oh.

HE took exception to last year’s trashings of statues of generally admired, relatively benign historical figures like Abraham Lincoln, George Washington, Ulysses S. Grant, et. al. But I agree 100% with the American Museum of Natural History’s Theodore Roosevelt statue (the one facing Central Park West) being removed because of odious symbolism — the horse-mounted Roosevelt, a believer in white superiority and eugenics, flanked by a Native American and an African American on foot.

The statue is toxic and needs to be retired — no question. But what would Robin Williams say if he were still with us? Not to mention Brian Keith? And what about the possibly vulnerable reputations of the Night at the Museum guys (director Shawn Levy, producer Chris Columbus, star Ben Stiller)? They didn’t mean any harm by having fun with Roosevelt’s manly rough-rider + conservationist legend, but now they’re absorbing a certain amount of…what’s the right term, “shade”?

6.22 N.Y. Times story, reported by Laura Zornosa: “The New York City Public Design Commission voted unanimously at a public meeting on Monday to relocate the statue by long-term loan to a cultural institution dedicated to the life and legacy of…former president Theodore Roosevelt.

“The vote follows years of protest and adverse public reaction over the statue as a symbol of colonialism, largely because of the Native American and African men who are depicted flanking Roosevelt on a horse. Those objections led the museum in June 2020 to propose removing the statue. New York City, which owns the building and property, agreed to the suggestion, and Mayor Bill de Blasio expressed his support.”

Okay, Jill Biden didn’t say the word “assholes” when she addressed the Nashville booers, but that’s what she meant — trust me. The bumblefuck factor has resulted in Tennesseeans lagging behind the national vaccination average — only three or four in ten have been vaxxed. Jerks.

Having been tasked by President Biden to engage with the southern-border immigration crisis, Kamala Harris has been repeatedly criticized by rightie belligerents (including the Flatulent Florida Fatass himself) for not visiting the southern border and doing the requisite photo-op and press conference, blah blah.

Harris resisted at first, but now she’s finally caved — Politico is reporting that she’ll be visiting El Paso on Friday.

Do you want to hear a game-changing maneuver that will shut those cheap fucking righties up for good? Harris and a couple of tough security guards need to secretly do a Brubaker — she and the two bodyguards need to change into some tattered Target clothing and slip quietly into Mexico (Laredo, say) and then make their way by bus or foot toward the U.S. border and try to cross illegally, mixing with actual illegals and coyotes and really experiencing the reality of the situation. First-hand experience.

“Do a Brubaker” alludes to incoming prison warden Robert Redford anonymously pretending to be a prisoner and absorbing the situation as he never could through the usual official channels. I could have said “do a Sullivan’s Travels” but most of the readership wouldn’t recognize the title.

Kirk Douglas‘s last brawny action film was Jeff Kanew‘s Eddie Macon’s Run (’82), which he made in his mid 60s. He continued to play strong characters in challenging situations into the early aughts (The Man From Snowy River, Tough Guys, Final Countdown, Greedy), but the rugged action stuff seemed ill advised after Eddie Macon — why push it?

Harrison Ford (born on 7.13.42) was different — Douglas was Douglas but Ford had his own path to follow, and so he continued to make action films into his ’70s. Alas, he fractured his ankle (or was it his leg?) during shooting of Star Wars: The Force Awakens in 2014, when he was 71. (More bad luck than age-related.) And then those piloting mishaps occured — the Venice golf-course crash on 3.5.15 (the plane’s fault, not Ford’s), and two strategic landing errors — one at John Wayne Airport on 2.3.17, and a second at Hawthorne airport on 4.24.20.

And now he’s suffered a shoulder injury on the set of Indiana Jones 5, and is taking a break from filming while the wound is treated.

We all admire Ford’s spirit and gumption, but he’ll be 79 next month — it’s not exactly a surprise that he’s succumbed to injuries and errors of judgment, is it? Same difference when Robert DeNiro, a year younger than Ford, damaged one his quad muscles last month while working on Martin Scorsese‘s Killers of the Flower Moon.

Part of the syndrome is psychological, I’m guessing. When presented with a physical challenge of some kind, older guys will say to themselves “I might be in my 70s but I feel like I’m 47…fuck it, I can do this, no sweat.” And then they do the thing and the body — surprise! — doesn’t perform as expected.

A bit less than a month ago (5.26.21) a Sharon Stone interview by Zoomer‘s Joanna Schneller (“Sharon Stone On Healing Through Her New Memoir, Hollywood and the Idolization of Meryl Streep“) popped up. I’m sorry but it escaped my attention.

The money portion was about Stone complaining that Streep has been placed on too high of an industry pedestal, even if she’s better at certain kind of roles than Stone might be because, all things being fair and equal, Stone owns other kinds of roles and she might be under-valued all around, and yet Streep is shown too much deference, etc.

“‘If we worked in a supermarket, Meryl can’t always be the No. 1 checkout girl,” Stone says. “We’re all doing our jobs. Everybody gets to get better, and everybody gets to sometimes have that not great a day. Even Meryl.”

Translation: Many of us are “older”, yes, but our Wikipedia pages say I’m nine years younger than Streep, and I want a shot at some of the same roles she’s always routinely offered. C’mon…loosen up, adjust your thinking!

Yesterday Jordan Ruimy texted me: “Have you written about Sharon Stone’s comments on Meryl Streep? I only read about it today.”

HE to Ruimy: “11 and 1/2 years ago Stone told The Independent‘s Anita Singh that Streep looked ‘like an unmade bed.'”

Ruimy to HE: “Here it is — a Zoomer interview. The good stuff starts around paragraph 20.”

HE to Ruimy: “The article is dated 5.26.21…TOO OLD.”

Ruimy: “No one’s really covered it. Stone isn’t wrong.”

HE to Ruimy: “Casting jealousy and resentment. Generic industry stuff, last month’s news.”

This morning Ruimy texted the following: “Sheer coincidence, but IndieWire‘s Jack Sharf covered the Stone interview today — almost a month after publication.”

HE to Ruimy: “Jesus.”

If there’s one thing I loathe about screen villains it’s the tendency of screenwriters to simply portray them as evil incarnate — evil, rotten fuckface psychopaths who love dispensing pain and cruelty and almost cackle with glee when they can slug or plug someone…the sheer joy of ugliness for its own sake.

That kind of portrayal might be fun for third-rate actors, but in real life villainy has its reasons and rationales. When bad people look in the bathroom mirror they see a flawed but half-reasonable man/woman who’s just doing what he/she has to do to keep moving, keep earning and not get arrested.

In Quentin Tarantino‘s Jackie Brown, Samuel L. Jackson‘s Ordell Robbie — a smooth but ruthless gun dealer who lives in Hermosa Beach — is no one’s idea of a nice guy, but he has his reasons for doing what he feels he needs to do. He’s not a Satanic emissary with horns on his head, but a guy who’s simply trying to protect himself and stay alive and not get popped.

When Chris Tucker‘s Beaumont Livingston is arrested with a machine gun or two in his car (weapons that Robbie had smuggled or was about to sell or something in that realm), Robbie knows that Livingston will rat him out to escape a long prison sentence, and so Ordell has to kill him — it’s a straight case of his survival or Livingston’s. He’s not looking to kill Livingston because he loves committing murder — he’s dead certain (and he’s right) that if he wants to keep going as a gun dealer he has no choice in the matter.

Same deal with Robert DeNiro‘s Louis Gara, a none-too-bright criminal whom Ordell first met in prison, and a guy with a hair-trigger temper who’s impulsively and idiotically shot Bridget Fonda‘s Melanie in the Del Amo shopping plaza parking lot.

When Gara tells Robbie what happened and especially the part about the money gone missing and Gara not putting two and two together and realizing that Max Cherry’s presence near the department store dressing room meant something, Robbie knows that Gara is a loose-cannon dumbshit and untrustworthy and that one way or the other he’ll do something that will put Robbie in jeopardy. And so, Robbie quickly realizes, he has no choice but to kill Gara.

Again, it’s not that Robbie loves killing or that he dislikes Gara personally, but strategically Gara is an obvious liability and so he has to go. Robbie doesn’t pull the trigger out of venality but practicality — he’s just trying to save himself from ugly consequences around the bend.

I’m not saying Robbie is a sympathetic character, but at least you understand where he’s coming from. He’s cold and ruthless, but he has his reasons for doing what he feels he has to do. When he gets it in the end, you almost feel sorry for the guy. Not quite but almost.

Now that Jon Chu and Lin-Manuel Miranda‘s In The Heights has gone down in flames, what fate awaits the next POCs-singing-and-dancing-on-the-streets-of-New York musical — i.e., Steven Spielberg‘s West Side Story (20th Century, 12.10)?

More to the point, in what ways will Woke Film Twitter (or anti-Woke Film Twitter) try to bruise or take it down? In what ways might it be vulnerable or dismissable?

Before we start it’s fair to consider the possibility that West Side Story won’t be attacked by anyone — that it’ll be received as a better-than-decent and possibly even excellent musical by Zoomers, Millennials, GenXers and Boomers alike. They all might say “yes!…hail this darkly flavorful, excitingly performed, heart-massaging interpretation of Stephen Sondheim, Leonard Bernstein and William Shakespeare‘s stage musical, which opened at the Winter Garden theatre a lonnnnnng time ago — 9.26.57.

A more likely reaction is that Boomers and GenXers will approve, but Millennials and Zoomers will dismiss it as a sentimental relic of a world that no longer exists.

Another possible reaction is that critics and urban cultural progressives will shrug and say “again?” Their complaint might be that the material was been performed and re-performed and revived too many times, and that it’s just too familiar and shop-worn, and that we’ve been West Side Story-ed to death.

Wokesters might feel alienated by the film’s tragic theme — prejudice and tribalism invite tragedy. Because their view is that whites and only whites are to blame for racial hatred in any given situation, and that the Manhattan-residing Puerto Rican immigrants of the story are pure victims. In Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet (which West Side Story is a musical remake of) the Montagues and the Capulets are equally guilty of spewing tribal hate.

A small contingent of Twitter morons will probably try to revive the “Ansel Elgort was guilty of sexual assault!” conversation, which was ludicrous to begin with. The alleged victim, who called herself “Gabby,” was a legal and consentable 17 when her relationship with Elgort happened in December 2014. It was an empty Twitter drama, but that’s never stopped the #MeToo and safe-space Twitter mob when they lose their shit about whatever.

Will the same agitators who complained about In The Heights ignoring the presence of Afro-Latinos in Washington Heights…will they make a comeback and repeat the same colorist gripe about West Side Story?

Will Puerto Rican artists and activists post angry tweets about West Side Story not conveying cultural authenticity in its portrayal of Puerto Rican immigrants in Eisenhower-era Manhattan, and/or that it presents an offensively negative portrait of Puerto Rico? Remember that the beloved musical conveys negative views of Puerto Rico in “America”, an ensemble tune that is chiefly sung by Bernardo’s sexy g.f. Anita (respectively played by Chita Rivera, Rita Moreno and Ariana DeBose in the original stage show, the 1961 film version and the 2021 remake). The sassy lyrics weigh the pros and cons of life in New York City vs. San Juan.

What else could screw things up for West Side Story?

I for one would love Spielberg’s version to succeed — I’ve long felt that Robert Wise‘s 1961 Oscar-winning film feels too “Hollywood” and lacks authenticity — too much bright red paint on the sides of tenement buildings, etc. I suspect that Elgort and Rachel Zegler‘s performances as Tony and Maria will deliver and then some. Ditto Ariana DeBose‘s Anita, David Alvarez‘s Bernardo and Mike Faist‘s Riff.

Rachel Zegler (i.e., “Maria” in Steven Spielberg‘s West Side Story) seems like the right choice to play Snow White in Disney’s forthcoming live-action musical version, which Marc Webb will direct sometime in ’22. Beautiful, sings like a bird, etc.

There are just two problems. One is the name Snow White, which obviously reeks of racist arrogance and entitlement. Wouldn’t it make more sense in this day and age to call her Snow Brown? (I could roll with that.) Secondly, how will Webb and producer Marc Platt handle the whole “Prince Charming awakening Snow White from a deep coma with a kiss is wrong because it’s non-consensual” thing? Snow White is right on the edge of death, and yet it’s bad bad BAD for Prince Charming to have awakened her because she had no say in the matter because she was in a coma…of course!

Yes, a completely bonkers attitude or viewpoint but welcome to the 2021 lunatic asylum.

Which is the more odious viewing prospect — Coke Daniels‘ Karen, a horror-thriller based on the “Karen” meme (entitled racist white woman) or the latest “The New Normal,” a Washington Post video essay, hosted by Nicole Ellis, that focuses on toxic whiteness?

Karen is a BET Jordan Peele joke, but the Ellis video strikes me as vaguely horrifying — the scourge of fair-skinned evil. Democrats would have 60% of this country accept blame as the enemy within, and the only way the prosecution will back off is if we go through these rituals of admitting guilt + self-abasement. We bad.

Friendo on Nicole Ellis/WaPo video: “So the Democrats, aware that the right is glomming onto Critical Race Theory as the leverage they will need for 2022, are defending and doubling down on CRT. The same thing happened with Defund the Police heading into the ’20 election. Those who objected were too scared to speak against it and the loudest voices defended it until the election. This is much worse — the media and so many others are making this seem to be what the entire Democratic Party is about and what they want America to be about. I am not sure this can be stopped.

“Does this or does this not look like an informercial for a cult?”