A 2K Criterion Bluray of Paul Dano‘s Wildlife pops on 5.26. An impressively composed debut effort and certainly well acted, Wildlife is arguably the most grotesque infidelity drama of the 21st Century, not to mention the most cruel of heart.

The Criterion web page calls this early ’60s small-town drama, based on a Richard Ford novel, “a deeply human look at a woman’s wayward journey toward self-fulfillment in the pre-women’s-liberation era.” The use of “wayward” alludes to a mother (Carey Mulligan) cheating on her absent firefighter husband (Jake Gyllenhaal) with a rich Uriah Heep (Bill Camp) while her teenage son (Ed Oxenbould) looks on. Indeed — Mulligan all but invites Oxenbould to take part.

One glance at Oxenbould tells you he couldn’t possibly be the biological son of Mulligan and Gyllenhaal. He couldn’t be a distant nephew. And yet — this is interesting — he could easily be the son of Dano and co-screenwriter Zoey Kazan, who’ve been romantically partnered since 2007.

Paul Dano’s Wildlife is not a three-character domestic drama about a peevish, beer-drinking father (Jake Gyllenhaal) regarding his wife and son (Carey Mulligan, Ed Oxenbould) from a distance. If the Criterion cover was honest it would show Oxenbould looking through a bedroom window with horror as he watches Mulligan doing it doggy-style with Bill Camp.

Some of the La Pizza regulars (myself included) got together on Zoom this evening to chat and swap Cannes Film Festival stories and, I guess, remind ourselves that journalistic bon ami is still a thing, even in these suffocating times. Thanks to Indiewire‘s Eric Kohn and Anne Thompson for inviting me to participate.

18 industry pallies in all — Eric, Anne, myself, Rajendra Roy, Jordan Hoffman, Eugene Hernandez, Brian Brooks, David Ehrlich, Ann Hornaday, Rebecca Keegan, Tomris Laffly, Svetlana Cvetko, David Scott Smith, Amy Nicholson, Charlie Olsky, Michael Lerman, Carl Spence, Sean Berney, David Nugent, Diana Drumm, Jacqueline Coley, Dusty Smith, Jeff Deutchman.

I made the mistake of asking early on if the 2020 Telluride Film Festival is going to happen or not. The gang wasn’t in the mood at first. They were more into hive humor — anecdotal, giggly, quippy. Then again the conversation at regular La Pizza gatherings over the years has mostly leaned in this direction so this was a good recapturing.

Okay, I felt a tad underwhelmed by all the goofing around. It was like chatting with friends in the high-school parking lot after classes have ended at 2:45 pm. I was once again a miserable 17 year-old who resented the in-crowd. Some were sipping wine and therefore “happy,” and I was doing my usual suppressed Klaus Kinski while trying to be a good sport, etc.

At the very end of the session Anne Thompson asked for predictions about Telluride. Some…okay, most seemed to say it’s not going to happen in the usual traditional sense, but on some kind of closed or private screening basis in Los Angeles and New York. Or something like that. Hoffman said he believes that of all the hot fall festivals Telluride is the least likely to happen.

Thanks again to Eric and Anne. It was nice to talk shit and share recollections. I chuckled a few times. No harm, no foul.

For years I dearly loved the ending of Killing Them Softly: “This guy wants to tell me we’re living in a community? Don’t make me laugh. I’m living in America, and in America you’re on your own. America’s not a country — it’s a business. Now fuckin’ pay me.”

But I began to feel differently when the feds and the state of California coughed up some dough to help me out. I’m sorry but I was affected by this, and almost moved.

“The oddity in all of this is the people Trump despises most, love him the most. The people who are voting for Trump for the most part…he wouldn’t even let them in a fucking hotel. He’d be disgusted by them. Go to Mar-a-Lago, see if there’s any people who look like you. I’m talking to you in the audience.” — Howard Stern earlier today, speaking to listeners of his Siris XM talk show and quoted by the N.Y. Daily News‘ Brian Niemietz.

James Gray‘s next film will be some kind of autobiographical drama called Armageddon Time, about Gray coming of age in Queens in the mid ’80s, and with two of the characters being 30something Donald Trump as well as his dad, the Queens real estate tycoon Fred Trump.

Cate Blanchett will play a significant role in Armageddon Times, which will be produced by RT Features.

Born to Ukrainian-Jewish parents and raised in Flushing, Gray was in his early to late teens in the ’80s. Pic relates Gray’s history at Kew-Forest School, where Fred Trump served on the board and where young incorrigible Donald was a student in the ’60s. Collider’s Jeff Sneider reports that “the school’s principal will be a central character, though it’s unclear if Blanchett will tackle that role or a different one entirely, such as the young protagonist’s mother.”

Do I want to see a film that even peripherally observes the ne’er-do-well activities of Fred and Donald? What is there left to say about those assholes?

If I was the actual Jeff Goldblum as opposed to the doppelganger in this Richmond street fight, I would be on the phone to my agent right now.

“Whatever the next role is,” I would say, “the producers have to agree to include a scene in which my character gets into an argument with some bare-chested asshole and does exactly this when push comes to shove.

“I don’t care if it’s a Wes Anderson film or Jurassic Park VII or whatever…we have to build on the lore of this thing. It’s trending all over and I need to be this guy. Kids all over the world are going ‘whoo-whoo!’…this kind of thing happens very rarely.”

Agent to Goldblum: “Wait…you could be the next Liam ‘Paycheck’ Neeson!”

Jeff Goldblum had enough of shirtless guy’s shit pic.twitter.com/KA0DbKdEr7

— KFC Radio (@KFCradio) May 12, 2020

I don’t turn on but Tatyana does, and so a couple of days ago I brought home three store-bought joints. Three flavors, horn-shaped, about $15 bills each. Plus a tin of cannabis-infused gummies.

She began with the strawberry-flavored one, and the aroma was wonderful. It smelled so good I was almost tempted, but I can’t. But what a business, what a brand, what a profit margin. When I was spry and bushy-tailed an ounce would run $20, and if you were busted for dealing bricks you could do serious time.

I watched Howard Hawks‘ Hatari! last night. I don’t know why but I did. Hugely incorrect from a conservationist perspective, of course. Colorful, occasionally diverting, irritating at times. John Wayne, 55, was too old for Elsa Martinelli, 27, who nonetheless did a decent job of filling the shoes of the proverbial “Hawks woman.”

I for one got off the Hawks boat after Hatari (’62), but his output between Scarface (’34) and Hatari is mostly unassailable. My favorites are the same as everyone else’s — Scarface, Twentieth Century, Bringing Up Baby, Only Angels Have Wings, His Girl Friday, Sergeant York, Ball of Fire, Air Force, To Have and Have Not, The Big Sleep, Red River, A Song Is Born, (NO to I Was a Male War Bride), The Thing from Another World, The Big Sky, (NO to Monkey Business), Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, Land of the Pharaohs, Rio Bravo. His greatest period was between ’32 and ’62 — a 30-year hot streak.

Posted from Prague four years ago (5.24.16).

If things were normal the annual La Pizza journo gathering would’ve happened a few hours ago, and the 2020 Cannes Film Festival would begin tomorrow (Tuesday, 5.12).

Of all the highly anticipated films that might’ve premiered at the now-cancelled 73rd festival, Leos Carax‘s all-sung Annette is the one I’m sorriest about missing.

Boilerplate: “The lives of a provocative stand-up comedian (Adam Driver) and his world-famous soprano wife (Marion Cotillard) take an unexpected turn when their daughter Annette is born — a girl with a unique gift.” Can someone at least tell me what the “gift” is?

Other missed hotties (some possibly Covid-stalled in post): Wes Anderson‘s The French Dispatch, Clio Barnard’s Ali & Ava, Stacey Gregg’s Here Before, Harry MacQueen’s Supernova, Ninja Thyberg‘s Jessica, Valdimar Jóhannsson‘s Lamb, Stephane Brizé’s For Better Or Worse, Bruno Dumont‘s On A Half Clear Morning, Sylvie Verheydes‘ Madame Claude, Mia Hansen-Love‘s Bergman Island, Emmanuel Carrère’s Between Two Worlds, Antonin Peretjatko‘s Old Fashioned, Giovanni Aloï’s The Third War, Franka Potente’s Home, Nanni Moretti‘s Three Floors, Sergio Castellitto’s A Bookshop In Paris, Pilar Palomero’s The Girls, Kirill Serebrennikov’s Petrov’s Flu, Tom Shoval’s Shake Your Cares Away…it’s just a shame.

The people who made this know their craft. Who’s the narrator…Peter Coyote? Joe Biden‘s best truth-to-Trump ad yet.

“Donald Trump just doesn’t understand: We have an economic crisis because we have a public health crisis — and we have a public health crisis because he failed to act.”

I had another burgundy/maroon meltdown today. I’m sorry but it was awful. I was waiting at a stoplight in Westwood when a blond-haired Millennial walked in front of me with a maroon/burgundy double assault — lace-up sneakers plus a cardigan of some kind. Animal dislikes are hard to explain and impossible to rationalize, but they’re driven by something fierce and primal.

I have nothing to add to last year’s burgundy/maroon rant (posted on 5.9.19) but if I was some kind of Emperor or Dictator I wouldn’t ban the wearing of burgundy/maroon. That would be oppressive, tyrannical. I would, however, impose serious fines. Wearing of maroon/burgundy jeans: $250 fine plus mandatory attendance of six (6) classes explaining the basics of tasteful color coordination and what not to wear under any circumstance. (It doesn’t end with burgundy/maroon.) Wearing of burgundy sneakers, scarves, ties, T-shirts, windbreakers: $250 fine. Wearing of maroon/burgundy sport or tuxedo jacket: $350 fine.

I said last year that I’m okay with hand-crafted burgundy or cordovan dress shoes. That hasn’t changed.