From “Robert Redford: The Biography” by Michael Feeney Callan, page 40:

Why would WeHo natives vandalize a bus or smash the windows of a cop car? I’m not feeling the groundswell. Choppers in the air, sounds of distant sirens, etc. This is WeHo, guys…what am I missing? I feel the George Floyd sadness and revulsion, but not (is it okay to say this?) necessarily locally. All politics is local. WeHo is WeHo…you know. Gay stuff, metrosexual stylings, Pavillions/Gelson’s, rumblehogging, Mulligatawny take-out, etc.

A line of police officers facing protesters on Third Street just west of Fairfax, where some people have climbed and vandalized a bus https://t.co/4CEtKhwZCr pic.twitter.com/9QXkTlYnYv

— KTLA (@KTLA) May 30, 2020

HBO Max software managed to take two payments from me last night, or twice what anyone would want to pay. They won’t actually take the money until June 5th, but right now they have two signups from me at $14.99 a pop.

My apparent mistake was signing in on an HBO Max iPhone app. I created a username and a password, and gave them my secondary bank account info. I started searching around, and was soon sold on the idea of watching David Lean‘s Summertime.

So I went to the HBO Max app on the 65-inch Sony HDR and tried to sign in. It didn’t recognize me. Tried again…nyet. Third time…same. Then it prompted me to sign in with my Apple username and password. Huh?

I gradually realized that HBO Max was using previous sign-in information that I’d supplied for HBO Now, which I’d abandoned several months ago. Until recently not that many people knew that HBO Max was a direct permutation of HBO Now with the same $14.99 per month fee. User-wise, the HBO Now app had simply switched its identity to HBO Max.

In any event I was infuriated that the system had failed to understand or recognize that I’d just signed up on my phone. If my HBO Max username, password and bank info was in the system, it should be in the system from any device and in any corner of the world. But no dice…thanks, guys!

So in order to watch Katharine Hepburn do her spinster-in-Venice I signed up a second time with my Apple ID, which is linked to another bank account and which is used for Apple music purchases.

I’ll eventually figure this out, of course. It’s just a matter of cancelling one of the sign-ups, but why the hell didn’t HBO Max recognize me when I tried to access content via the TV app? I think I hate these guys.

Although The Beast and pathetic vp toady Mike Pence attended today’s historic Space X launch at Cape Canaveral, no one should even flirt with the idea that the Trump administration had anything to do with the privately funded Falcon X rocket lifting off successfully, and the two-man capsule now being in orbit.

SpaceX intends to eventually take wealthy tourists into orbit for a fee of “tens of millions” each, or so I read somewhere. The ultimate idea is to fly astronauts and bucks-up tourists to Mars — to safely land there, wander around like Matt Damon, take videos and then return. Most of us are presuming that the first Space X mission to Mars…let’s put that aside for now.

N.Y. Times excerpt: “It was a moment of triumph and perhaps nostalgia for the country, a welcome reminder of America’s global pre-eminence in science, technological innovation and private enterprise at a time its prospects and ambitions have been clouded by the coronavirus pandemic, economic uncertainty and political strife. Millions around the world watched the launch online and on television, many from self-imposed quarantine in their homes.”

Again — Donny Fatfuck had nothing to do with it.

Last night I got suckered into sampling HBO Max on a trial basis (no billing until June 5). The fairly immense library melted me down. Five minutes after signing up I decided to watch David Lean‘s Summertime (’55), which I’d never seen in HD before.

A concise story of a 40ish unmarried woman from Ohio (Katharine Hepburn) enjoying her first visit to Venice, Italy, and then falling in love with a covertly married native (Rossano Brazzi), Summertime is a swoony, Technicolor dreamboat dive into the charms (architectural, aromatic, spiritual) of this fabled city.

The cinematography by Jack Hildyard (The Bridge on the River Kwai) is perfectly framed and lighted, and the fleet cutting by Peter Taylor ensures that each shot is perfectly matched or blended with the next.

A cleavered 1.85 image of Summertime vs. the 1.37 version.

But I was especially pleased by the 1.37:1 aspect ratio and all the extra glorious headroom that comes with that. It goes without saying that I was also delighted by the fact that a few years ago 1.85 fascist Bob Furmanek had expressed profound irritation with Summertime‘s boxiness. I’ve read that Lean preferred the 1.37 version over the cleavered 1.85 version, which is what Furmanek and his fascist allies reflexively wanted to see.

Furious, fuming Furmanek = ecstatic HE.

Seven years ago David Brayton explained the whys and wherefores on alternateending.com:

“David Lean professed a preference for the 1.37:1 open matte version, giving it the fairly inarguable aura of authorial intent. Looking at the film, I think it’s pretty obvious why he felt this way. Simply put, the 1.85:1 version of the movie is about people while the 1.37:1 version is about Venice. As a direct result of shooting this movie, Lean fell in love with Venice for the rest of his life. [It seems apparent that] he preferred the version that showed off the city to greater effect for that reason.”

I just hope that all of the building fires and shattered windows and tear gas pellets that rocked so many cities on Friday night don’t wind up scaring the weak of heart and seekers of order into voting for The Beast a few months hence.

I’m not a marketing genius and certainly no expert in deciding what kind of poster works best in terms of sparking enthusiasm and putting butts in seats. I just know what looks cool and right, and I’m telling you that Rod Lurie‘s The Outpost (Screen Media, 7.2) is much, much better than the just-released poster suggests.

Forgive me but the one-sheet makes it look like a Cannon release from the mid ‘80s. Like some Chuck Norris or Michael Dudikoff film being sold at the AFM or in the Cannes market.

Lurie’s film delivers on a level far above that, trust me.

Outpost costars Scott Eastwood, Orlando Bloom and Caleb Landry Jones are not movie stars and yet the poster is saying “we’ve got three heavy-hitters here, and together for the first time!”

Screen Media needs to create an alternate poster — something classier and artier, maybe some kind of son-of-Saul Bass visual concept. Something that says smarthouse drillbit. I’m sorry but the current poster says “Menahem Golan & Yoram Globus present!”

HE is asking all gifted photoshop artists to whip together a Bass-styled poster. Something that looks like the one-sheet for Exodus or The Man With The Golden Arm…something in that realm.

Julie and Tom announced today that the 2020 Telluride Film Festival is happening fuh sure. A five-day festival instead of the usual four — Thursday, 9.3 to Monday, 9.7. As in “take that Rocky Mountain shit to the bank.” As in “we cool, not afraid, doin’ it.” I’m not in the least bit concerned as Telluride festivalgoers are grade A, refined, well-educated, approvable — wealthy or X-factor or industry folk with months of safe behavior behind them. I expect to see all kinds of stylish face masks.

So if Minneapolis hadn’t exploded three or four days ago over the death of George Floyd, uniformed cop Derek Chauvin might not have been charged with third–degree murder and manslaughter? Do I have that right?

The other three cops will skate, of course. They all heard Floyd’s distress over Chauvin pinning his neck with his knee for eight minutes, and any one of them could have saved Floyd’s life.

But almost every time I look at a recent photo of Ryan Gosling, I’m struck by his (no offense intended) appalling dress sense, and more particularly the color combos. I wouldn’t wear a forest green sport coat with wide-ish lapels over a half-white, half-caramel golf shirt with a knife at my back.

If memory serves Gosling has also been captured in a burgundy tuxedo jacket. Nothing to be done, of course. It’s just that some people have a knack or gift for getting it wrong.

And by the way: another Wolfman flick?