I’ve spoken respectfully before about Clint Eastwood‘s Breezy (’73), a May-December romantic drama costarring William Holden and Kay Lenz. It’s modest and character-driven and entirely effective for what it is. I hate Holden’s ’70s wardrobe (orange sweaters, checked pants, elephant collars) and his real-estate hustler scowls a lot (Lenz’s hippie-chick character calls him “dark cloud”) but it’s an honestly felt, medium-range thing, and a better-than-decent effort on Eastwood’s part.

The pacing is natural and unhurried, and the dialogue is nicely sculpted for the most part. It was also the first film Clint directed in which he didn’t star.

I’m mentioning it because a Kino Lorber Classics Bluray will street on 8.25, or a week from today.

Here’s a Michael Atkinson riff about Holden and the brusque anxiety and rattled melancholia that always simmered in the characters he played — there, obviously, because they defined Holden himself.

“Truth be told, Holden’s character-role capacities ranged only from narcissistic American jerk to self-loathing American lug, but his best movies are implicit inquisitions into that personality — like Billy Wilder‘s Sunset Blvd. and Sabrina and Mark Robson‘s The Bridges at Toko-Ri.

“By the time of David Lean‘s The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957), a big-budget production looking for a disillusioned American Everyman sickened by his own lack of heroism, David Lean needed only go to Holden.

“There was that wonderfully rough voice, often poised on the edge of cynical disillusionment. There was that physique — athletic but on the verge of dissipation. And there was that face — smooth and innocent in youth, a little weathered and circumspect in adulthood, lined with worry, regret and beleaguered wisdom as he withered.

Postmaster general and Trump toady Louis DeJoy announced today that he would suspend USPS cost-cutting initiatives until after the 11.3 election.

DeJoy caved amid growing freakouts in every corner of the culture (Twitter, activists, state attorneys general, civil rights groups) about the distinct possibility that DeJoy’s changes could interfere with ballots by mail, which older folks are expected to use to avoid potential pandemic infection.

DeJoy: “There are some longstanding operational initiatives — efforts that predate my arrival at the Postal Service — that have been raised as areas of concern as the nation prepares to hold an election in the midst of a devastating pandemic. To avoid even the appearance of any impact on election mail, I am suspending these initiatives until after the election is concluded.” Retail USPS hours will not change, no mail processing facilities will be closed, USPS overtime will continue, etc.

DeJoy will face tough questioning before a virtual Senate hearing on Friday and a House oversight committee hearing on Monday.

Former President Bill Clinton will speak tonight as part of the Democrat’s virtual nominating convention. But the lustre has faded because Clinton is regarded as damaged goods by the hard-left wokesters, mainly because of his reputation as a hound and particularly his reported association with the late Jeffrey Epstein. An 8.18 N.Y. Times story says that Clinton is little more than a bystander these days, and that the party has passed him by. But he’s such a great speaker, his preacher-like phrasings are beautiful and I’ll always love the operatic arias that he delivers every so often. His 2012 Democratic Convention speech was such a high.

For the second time in 18 months, the somewhat tawdry maneuverings of actress Charlotte Kirk have become front-page news. For Kirk’s ambitious sexual shenanigans and quid pro quo demands have now brought about the resignations of two Hollywood studio chiefs — Warner Bros. Kevin Tsujihara in March ’19, and now NBC vice-chairman Ron Meyer.

The Hollywood Reporter‘s Tatiana Siegel (who co-reported the Tsujihara story with Kim Masters on 3.6.19) reported the Meyer-Kirk story this morning at 11:15 am.

Variety‘s Brent Lang and Gene Maddaus posted the same story six minutes later.

Meyer, 75, has tendered his resignation as vice chairman of NBCUniversal after disclosing he’d been “blackmailed over hush money payments” related to an affair with Kirk, who is now 28.

Land and Maaddus were told that the Meyer-Kirk affair happened in 2012, or roughly a year before Kirk’s involvement with Tsujihara.

Kirk, whose acting credits include Nicole and O.J., Ocean’s 8 and Vice, was 21 when she began a sporadic affair with Tsujihara, who was then 49. She was therefore 20 or thereabouts when she was seeing Meyer. Prior to her Tsujihara involvement Kirk had also reportedly been on intimate terms with Australian billionaire James Packer.

If you want to be opportunistic about it, Kirk’s story could become a movie in and of itself. Bringing about the downfall of two big-time studio chiefs could be sold as kind of “Blonde Ambition gone bad” tale. Hell, Kirk could play herself.

The script of Unhinged (Solstice, 8.21), the Russell Crowe road-rage film that’s been theatrically postponed 16 or 17 times, basically stinks. The story just shovels it on, and all you’re left with is cruelty, ugliness, sadism and just fucking nutso behavior. It’s been decently directed and edited, but compelling internals are completely missing. No wit, no humor, no compelling theme, no humanity, no pivots, no grace, no cleverness…nothing.

Yes, it’s been competently…you could even say smartly directed by Derrick Borte. But to what end?

I want to put this delicately because crude overstatement is always a bad approach for any writer, but Unhinged is shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, double-shit, triple-shit, quadruple-shit, dogshit, cowshit, horseshit, catshit, mouse shit, raccoon shit, elephant shit, giraffe shit, hyena shit, etc. Which is a roundabout way of saying it makes you feel like shit.

Because it takes a fascinating, universally understood premise of the modern age and completely scuttles it as far as Crowe’s character, a bearded beach-ball named Tom Cooper, is concerned. The premise, of course, is that with enough anxiety and pressure we could all become road ragers or hair-trigger types because life is extra-stressful these days and so on.

The Unhinged trailers (which we’ve all been looking at for months) have made it clear that Crowe will be playing a rage-hound, but not, we quickly discover, in some kind of “Michael Douglas buckling under the weight of a cruel world in Falling Down” way.

The key with a film of this sort is to universalize the situation. That way the audience can invest their own experiences and maybe recognize or (heaven forbid!) feel a little something.

The filmmakers could have done the usual-usual by introducing Cooper as some kind of victim whose cork is about to pop — some guy who’s been hurt or fired or fucked over or whatever. And then watch him snap and unravel. Perhaps with a dab of humor or an occasional wink of the eye. A familiar strategy, yes, but one that would have engaged to some extent.

Instead, Carl Ellsworth‘s script announces right from the start that Tom Cooper is basically Karl “Madman” Mundt — a brutal murderer on meds, a froth-mouthed menace to society, a sweaty maniac. Aaarrrgghhh! Look at my glaring eyes! Look at how angry I am and what an out-of-control fatass I’ve become! Remember when I gained weight to play Jeffrey Wigand in The Insider? Well, I’m at least 150 pounds heavier now and I don’t give a shit because all I want to do is vent! As in kill, torture, chase, terrorize, set people on fire, etc.

So when Tom gets into a relatively minor traffic altercation with divorced mom Rachel Hunter (Caren Pistorius) and her antsy, sitting-in-the-back seat son Kyle (Gabriel Bateman), there’s no intrigue or tension or anything because we know where this is going. And then your lids begin to lower and you start checking your Twitter feed.

The incident begins when Rachel honks too loudly and aggressively at Cooper’s pickup truck when he doesn’t quickly react when the light turns green. Then she refuses to apologize when Cooper pulls up alongside, explains that he’s been having a bad day, offers an apology and asks Rachel to reciprocate. Because of this one tragic mistake….ahhh, forget it. It’s obvious from the get-go that Unhinged doesn’t care about understandable motivations and provocations. It’s just a soul-less, crazy-ass exploitation film.

Precisely. Exactly. That’s what scared me in 2016, and what is still quietly scaring me about the forthcoming election. Because 40% of voters are still inclined to vote for The Beast, despite his having clearly shown himself to be the worst, most indecent, most treasonous and reprehensible President in U.S. history.

In other words, 40% of the electorate are beasts in their own regard. Primarily, I suspect, because of underlying racism. Because they fervently believe that the country they grew up in during the ’50s, ’60s, ’70s and even the ’80s is being overrun by “the other.” It’s awful and horrifying, but these people will almost certainly never see past themselves. They’re just going to have to die off — that’s the only way out of this.

I truly believe that the writing is on the wall as far as the Trump crime family is concerned. I believe that Biden-Harris will be elected on 11.3. But I don’t know that, and I will be on pins and needles until it happens, God help and protect us.

$15 and change. A yogurt shop that also sells masks and hand sanitizer. Santa Monica Blvd. and Palm. I’m posting this because of the colors.

“Blackbird is a politely made film in search of meaning it’s never able to find.

“We’ve seen a similar version of every element here before: the give-no-fucks terminally ill matriarch who quips rather than mopes, the repressed married sister who clashes with her freewheeling younger gay sibling, the reserved teen who finally comes out of his shell, the lesbian girlfriend whose interests include football and beer and the loyal husband who suffers in silence.

“It’s boringly reheated and writer Christian Torpe, who also wrote the Danish film this is based on, doesn’t have much in his arsenal other than a few lame attempts at gallows humour and so relies heavily on the actors to do the heavy lifting.

“But Kate Winslet is miscast, Susan Sarandon is coasting, Sam Neill is sleepwalking and Mia Wasikowska, an extremely talented yet recently underused actor, is stuck playing the sort of role she should have grown out of by now.

“Also, are we really still associating rebellion with being gay and having a buttoned-up lifestyle with being straight? A far more interesting dynamic would have switched the sisters’ sexuality but that would have required thinking outside of a very small box.

“The most interesting actor on screen is a soulful Lindsay Duncan as Lily’s old friend; a more interesting film would have focused on that pairing above the undercooked family drama that unfolds. It’s never really possible to buy into the characters as a family given how thinly etched their relationships are to one another, and so when the inevitable fireworks arrive, it’s more like someone waving a sparkler in your face.” — from Benjamin Lee’s Guardian review, posted on 9.17.19.

…and allow us to carefully explain the gist of the humor in Mel Brooks‘ Blazing Saddles. Without which some of you might take to Twitter to scream about systemic Hollywood racism, etc. 1974 audiences didn’t need a tutorial, but you do. What does that tell you?

Yesterday it was hot all across the Southwest, Los Angeles included. Hot and somewhat humid. I showered quickly around 5 pm, and despite the air-conditioned living room climate I had to wait and wait for my hair to dry. I needed a drive on the rumblehog. I went downstairs, turned the ignition key, revved the engine. I then decided on the spur that it was too hot to wear headgear. So I took off with my white helmet under the seat….”fuck it.”

With my faintly damp hair getting whipped around as I motored north through quiet, tree-lined streets, it was one of the most glorious sensations I’ve felt in months.

The angel on my right shoulder was saying “okay, you’ve had your fun, now pull over and put the helmet on.” But the devil on my left shoulder said, “No, don’t…this is way too pleasurable, let’s keep going.” Block after block, slowly cruising, my eyes peeled for the bulls. I became braver and braver. I crossed La Cienega and ducked into another side street. I was ecstatic about the wind fluttering through my Prague follicles; the feeling of coolness and the scent of this and that…absolute heaven.

After a while I began to think that getting a ticket might not be so bad. Well, it would but I was so delighted to re-experience a portion of what it was like to be 16.

It used to be okay to ride around without a helmet. California’s mandatory helmet law kicked in on 1.1.92. Warren Beatty rides his Triumph without one in Shampoo.

I’m fairly certain that the Will Smith and Kevin Hart remake of Planes, Trains & Automobiles is going to disappoint on this or that level, and may even generally suck eggs across the board.

The 1987 John Hughes original is about the uncomfortable pairing of a sardonic, somewhat snooty advertising executive (Steve Martin) and an overweight, irritatingly folksy shower- curtain-ring salesman (John Candy) on a miserable, zig-zaggy trip from New York to Chicago just prior to Thanksgiving.

A flush, well-dressed sophisticated elitist vs. a fat, amiable, hand-to-mouth vulgarian who smokes.

Smith, I’m presuming, will take the Martin role and Hart will play Candy. Is Hart up to playing a coarse vulgarian? And who will play Dylan Baker?

Favorite Martin Line: “You can start by wiping that fucking dumbass smile off your rosy fucking cheeks. Then you can get me a fucking automobile. A fucking Datsun, a fucking Toyota, a fucking Mustang, a fucking Buick…four fucking wheels and a seat!”

2nd Favorite Martin line: “It didn’t occur to you so I get to sleep in a puddle of beer.”

Variety‘s Dave McNary reports that pic “will be a modern update of the original”, blah blah. Hart’s HartBeat Productions and Smith’s Westbrook Studios are developing the remake, blah blah.