Paramount’s Bluray of Mario Puzo’s The Godfather, Coda: The Death of Michael Corleone will run 157 minutes, or five minutes shorter than the original 1990 version. The newbie pops on 12.8.20.
Francis Coppola’s statement: “For this version of the finale, I created a new beginning and ending, and rearranged some scenes, shots, and music cues. With these changes and the restored footage and sound, to me, it is a more appropriate conclusion to The Godfather and The Godfather: Part II, and I’m thankful to Jim Gianopulos and Paramount for allowing me to revisit it.”
Yesterday (9.29) Widescreen‘s Anthony Francisposted on Facebook about some of his favorite death scenes. What follows are my reactions to some of these as well as a reposting of “Son of Brando Death Bubbles,” a riff about Marlon’s death scene at the end of The Young Lions (’58).
1. Marlon Brando‘s hacking cough death in Act Three of The Godfather (’72). Francis comment: “The man dies a monster — a mirror image of his true self.” HE comment: Vito Corleone does not “die as a monster” but as a kindly, animated old guy playing with his grandson. The scene in which Vito scares young Anthony by putting a piece of orange skin in his mouth is one of the most heartwarming moments in American cinema. That and the heart-to-heart scene with Al Pacino (“Wasn’t enough time, Michael”) is why Brando won the Oscar.
2. Christopher Walken shoots himself in the head in The Deer Hunter (’78). Francis comment: “One shot and with a smile, [Walken] becomes another casualty of war.” HE comment: I hated Cimino’s idiotic Russian roulette gimmick from the get-go, and have always refused to read anything into it. No lead character in a serious film has ever died for a dumber reason than Walken did in The Deer Hunter. Which I haven’t seen, by the way, since ’78 or thereabouts.”
3. John Hurt chest-burst death in Alien (’79). Francis comment: “The death that shocked audiences all over the world.” HE comment: Well, okay but people weren’t reacting to Hurt’s death as much as the realistic physical effects that made the chest-fever scene seem so vivid and traumatic. It wasn’t a death thing but a ‘holy shit, how did they do that?'”
4. Rutger Hauer‘s wings-of-a-dove death scene in Blade Runner (’82). Francis comment: “All those moments will be lost in time like tears…in the rain. Time…to die.” HE comment: “One of the saddest, gentlest and most beautiful death scenes in movie history.”
5. Josh Brolin‘s off-screen death in No Country For Old Men (’07). HE comment: “One of the strangest directorial cheats of all time…almost on a fuck-you level…you spend a whole film with a guy and then he gets blown away by some crazy Mexicans and we don’t get to witness it in real time?”
6. James Cagney‘s blown-to-kingdom-come death in Raoul Walsh‘s White Heat (’49). HE comment: “Better to go out with a big glorious bang than whimpering and anesthetized inside some padded cell.”
7. A lovesick, house-sized ape plummets 86 stories to his death in King Kong (’33). HE comment: “20 or 30 seconds before he lets go and falls there’s an expression on Kong’s face as he looks up at the planes. The look says “you fucking assholes…I’m in love and all you want to do is kill me…you’re such pricks, all of you…why didn’t you just leave me alone with Faye Wray back on the island? I would’ve taken care of her.”
8. Each and every electric-chair death in The Green Mile elicits HE contempt. As God is my witness I’ll never see that godawful film again.
9. William Holden‘s pointless and easily avoidable death in Sunset Boulevard. HE comment: Joe Gillis knows that Norma Desmond tends to react over-dramatically about everything, and he knows that she’s obsessively in love with him, and that the odds of her doing something rash if he announces he’s leaving her are high. If Gillis was smart he’d play it cool, leave her a sensible note, take the nice wardrobe and escape while she’s sleeping. And then go to the cops and say, “There’s an eccentric wealthy woman who may do something violent.”
10. Cagney’s dead-drop-flop at the end of William Wellman‘s Public Enemy (’31). HE comment: No comment required.
This is going to sound a bit strange, but late last night I experienced what felt like a kind of epiphany — a sense of myself and especially my hardnosed style of writing that that I’m suddenly not happy with on a certain level, and an idea that henceforth I need to dial that down. I’m not talking about abandoning my voice but chilling it down some.
After last night’s debate I was reading over some of my old stuff, and the strangest thing happened. I was suddenly stepping outside myself and reading the material like a 30something critic from England, and I was saying to myself, “This guy pushes too hard and uses too many adjectives. I could make him sound better by turning the current down and easing up on the pugilism.”
The combination of listening to Donald Trump bark and goad like a junkyard dog and then (this is going to sound really strange) watching Mervyn LeRoy‘s The FBI Story (’59), a total Eisenhower-era propaganda film that is nonetheless about basic middle-class decency and serving something greater than yourself…the combination of these influences seemed to open a door within, and all of a sudden I was saying “I have to stay as far away from caustic Trump vibes as possible, and I need to inject a little Jimmy Stewart into my soul.”
I know, I know…I’ll never be Jimmy Stewart or Tom Hanks either. I’m a sober, cat-loving Chris Walken from Connecticut by way of Next Stop, Greenwich Village, The Dogs of War, At Close Range and The King of New York. But I just knew last night that I needed more Stewart and less barking in my life.
The daily HE grind is a bear. It’s tough to push out four or five riffs or rants or reviews in exactly the right way. Sometimes a column piece won’t really read right until I’ve edited it over a 12-hour or even a 24-hour period, and then even then it sometimes feels a bit off.
I only know that I need to calm things down and not push quite so hard. I learned the value of “less is more” back in the ’70s, but I need to re-apply it. A voice is telling me this, or more precisely a whisper. Which is how inspiration always makes itself known.
To echo that great South African critic and cinematic seer Guy Lodge, “What a brand!”
Over the last 22 years Hollywood Elsewhere (including the early expressions on Mr. Showbiz, Reel.com and MoviePoopShoot) has gone through four phases.
First was the frank, occasionally tart, sometimes bludgeony attitude that began with the October ’98 launch of Mr. Showbiz, and which ended in April ’06 when I junked the twice-weekly column posting with “The Word” (short items) and shifted into a daily bloggy-blog format.
HE output increased greatly after that, and built up steam between ’06 and ’12 — a somewhat more gushy, stream-of-consciousness tone began to take over, and with that a certain…well, brashness-and-buckshot approach from time to time. Not always but now and then.
Phase Three began to take hold when I embraced sobriety on 3.20.12. The effects of a dry lifestyle are always gradual and drip-drip-drip (and sometimes one step forward and two steps back), but the wild and woolly era of ’06 to ’12 began to downshift in…I don’t know, ’13 or thereabouts. Certainly by early ’14.
Phase Four began in early ’18 when the wokester Robespierres began to seize the reins and go after transgressors, and despite the fact that my sins have never been about anything other than being overly mouthy and intemperate within the confines of the column, things became to get increasingly combative and punitive. A consensus began to take hold that I was some kind of obstinate shitheel and that I needed to dial it down and eat a little humble pie. More and more the title of this column became Hollywood Elsewhere: Under Siege.
It’s absolutely certain that Donald Trump will constantly lie and fabricate during tonight’s Cleveland debate with Joe Biden. Yes, Biden will have many opportunities to call Trump on his whoppers, but do I understand that absolutely no clarifying information will be offered to viewers as Trump goes into his usual b.s.?
Debate moderator Chris Wallace has toldN.Y. Times reporter Michael Grynbuam that fact-checking will be “a step too far” and that he doesn’t want to be “a truth squad“, and that it’ll basically be up to Biden to challenge Trump on this and that. Biden will therefore have to spend a good deal of his camera time shaking his head and saying that Trump is confused, a chronic liar or a dishonest sociopath, or a combination of all three.
Barely 100 people will attend in person. Each candidate has two minutes to respond to a question. No opening statements. The first question will be asked of Trump.
NPR’s Domenico Montanaro: “Debates can go very far south when a moderator isn’t in control. How and how much will he fact-check both candidates, Trump in particular, given that he can be so combative and is fine with running with things that aren’t true? How will Trump respond to Wallace pushing back?”
University of Pennsylvania historian Mary Frances Berry to NPR’s Domenico Montanaro: “The people who just want to get rid of Trump will be satisfied if Biden shows up, if he doesn’t collapse in the middle of the debate, and whatever he says, even if it’s erroneous or a gaffe — like 200 million [who have died from the coronavirus] — they’ll dismiss that, and people will just give him a pass.”
It’s now 3:30 pm Pacific. The Biden-Trump debate begins at 6 pm or 9 pm Cleveland time.
None of us should begrudge Barry Jenkins for accepting a lucrative paycheck gig to direct a CG Lion King sequel. Like anyone else he needs a certain level of income to keep body and soul together, and there’s nothing wrong with cashing in on his reputation as an indie-level dispenser of vision, integrity and cinematic persuasion. We all need to sell out once in a while.
What Jenkins is doing is roughly analagous to Stanley Kubrick accepting a director-for-hire gig on Spartacus. That 1960 slave-revolt epic wasn’t Kubrick’s “own”, but he did a better-than-decent job with it and in so doing upped his industry cred, which allowed him to direct Lolita, Dr. Strangelove and so on.
Deadline, Variety and others reported earlier today that Jenkins will direct a Lion King sequel.
Jenkins will therefore be obliged to reiterate the basic idea behind the original, which is that the African wildlands are a kind of monarchy-styled, talking-animal neverland, and that all animal species (including those who are routinely killed and eaten by lions) are beholden to the “king” in the same way that the British used to be invested in the lore of the Royal family.
Zebras, wildebeests, buffalos, antelopes, gazelles and other grazing animals: “We admire your courage, Simba, and especially the way you fought to reclaim your throne from Scar. You are the King of the Pride Lands. All we ask in return is that if you happen to spot one of us in a field somewhere…uhm, we don’t know to put this exactly but if you happen to encounter one of your grazing subjects, perhaps you’ll give some thought to not tackling them, clamping your teeth over their windpipe and tearing their stomachs open so you can gorge on their intestines?
“We know this sounds ridiculous, but on the other hand…well, just think about it. We recognize your power and regality, King Simba, and we will always bow our heads respectfully when you walk by, but at the same time we hate the idea of being murdered and eaten. Yes, we know how this sounds. Please forgive us for not volunteering to be killed. How about this…if you happen to tackle one of us, could you please make sure that we quickly die from windpipe suffocation rather than agonizing disembowelment?”
Jenkins on the Lion King gig: “Helping my sister raise two young boys during the ’90s, I grew up with these characters. Having the opportunity to work with Disney on expanding this magnificent tale of friendship, love and legacy while furthering my work chronicling the lives and souls of folk within the African diaspora is a dream come true.”
Variety‘s Rebecca Rubin and Brent Lang have reported that the forthcoming sequel, which will be scripted by Jeff Nathanson (author of the screenplay for Jon Favreau‘s 2019 Lion King feature), may be a prequel to some extent.
Rubin/Lang: “Sources say the new movie will partly focus on the early years of Mufasa, the regal father of Simba whose death forms the emotional heart of the first film and its remake.”
Yesterday a doomsaying friend againpredicted a Trump victory “because the left has lost its mind. I don’t want a close election — I want a blowout. But what reasonable people who aren’t in the [liberal] bubble would look at the wokester fanatics on the left right now and say, ‘Yeah, I want those people in charge?'”
Lefty Twitter terrorists will not be “in charge” if Biden wins. They will seek to influence, of course. They will naturally persist in their militancy, as well they should because, apart from the fact that most many of them would like to bring career death and ruination to left-of-center types who have their own minds, many if not most of their views are fundamentally humanist.
The bottom line is that Amiable Joe is not beholden to them. He’s a 20th Century guy — a decent, respectful, soft-spoken, left-leaning centrist. Obviously far from God’s gift to progressives but a potential national blessing compared to the Trump malignancy.
As another friend said in response to the doomsayer, “Don’t you consider it at least possible that there are many, many people out there who — just like us — despise the woke left, are fully conscious of its disgusting trust-fund fascism, but hate Trump ten times more?”
“That’s the whole reason Biden was nominated: because he’s a liberal-centrist. I do not believe that people think he represents the woke left. I realize that you think people think he does, and that’s the disagreement.”
A close vote would drain the blood from my face. The apparent fact that Trump has retained the allegiance of slightly more than 40% of registered voters is horrifying in itself. But the numbers are not indicating a cliffhanger of any kind. I for one regard this 9.29 N.Y. Times poll as relatively trustworhty.
A 9.28 Paul Krugman quote from “Trump’s Debt, His Future and Ours“: “How much will the revelation that he has always been a fraud hurt him? Many of his supporters will probably refuse to acknowledge the truth, perhaps because they won’t admit to themselves how completely they were scammed. But assuming that the news will have no effect at all is probably too cynical. And remember, Trump is running behind Biden, so he has to do more than keep his base — and this may not do much to win over undecided voters.”
As part of a week-long tribute to the recently departed Michael Chapman, Trailers From Hell is highlighting three brief Chapman commentaries, including Rod Lurie‘s 2013 riff on Martin Scorsese‘s Taxi Driver (’76).
Chapman’s impressionistic lensing of this moody portrait of increasingly delusional loneliness, and how a certain Manhattan cab driver is gradually engulfed by a vaguely hellish and spooky city with all kinds of needles and provocations…we all know the drill. But I have two quibbles with Lurie’s patter.
One, Taxi Driver is not “as depressing as a dying nun.” It’s hauntingly alive and pulsing and tingling with dread. “Depressing” is when a film depicts a relatively flat and oppressively defined realm of regimentation and submission from which there’s no escape.** “Depressing” is when a stuck, not-very-smart character is without nerve or options. Robert De Niro‘s Travis Bickle, one senses early on, is definitely a guy with options. They just happen to be of a powder-keg variety.
Two, Lurie suggests that Bickle’s “are you talkin’ to me?” is a steal from Shane — a line that Alan Ladd said to Ben Johnson inside Grafton’s Saloon and General Store. The line was actually “are you speakin’ to me?“, a slightly more refined form of inquiry. Plus it was ad-libbed by De Niro, and I seriously doubt if George Stevens’ 1953 western…aahh, who knows?
The difference between “talking” and “speaking” was pointed out in a scene from David Mamet‘s Glengarry Glen Ross:
Aaronow: Yes. I mean, are you actually talking about this or are we just…? Moss: No, we’re just… Aaronow: We’re just “talking” about it. Moss: We’re just speaking about it. (Pause.) As an idea. Aaronow: As an idea. Moss: Yes. Aaronow: We’re not actually talking about it. Moss: No.
Tatiana has been on a Grace Kelly kick for a couple of weeks now. Partly because she’s an admirer of three or four Kelly performances**, but mostly because she’s preparing a short video on the late actress, who was born on 11.12.29 and would be 91 today had she not been killed in a 1982 auto accident.
Today we visited two Los Angeles locations where Kelly lived — a Bel Air hotel suite rented in ’53 or ’54, and a Pacific Palisades home (321 Alma Real) that Kelly rented sometime during ’55 and perhaps into early ’56. (It’s hard to pin this stuff down.)
To make the experience complete, Tatiana wore an outfit similar to the one Kelly wore in the opening scene of Rear Window. We also figured that as long as we were exploring Bel Air bungalows, why not settle in for some vittles?
Probably my favorite photo of the late actress — zero makeup, no glam, no effort to “sell it”
Kelly rented this simple, tree-shaded Spanish-style bungalow sometime in ’55. A hop, skip and a jump away from the mouth of Santa Monica Canyon.
The profitable Variety and the money-losing The Hollywood Reporter are now (or are soon to become) sister publications run by the same outfit.
Variety and Deadline owner Jay Penske (PMC or Penske Media Corp.) has inked a deal with MRC, a media and production company founded by Modi Wiczyk and Asif Satchu, to operate The Hollywood Reporter, Billboard and Vibe under a new shingle called PMRC.
Variety excerpt: “PMC will lead daily operations of an expanded entertainment and music brand portfolio under the PMRC banner that will bring two Hollywood trade institutions under the same roof for the first time. Billboard, Vibe and the Reporter will join PMC’s Variety, Rolling Stone and Music Business Worldwide.
“The second joint venture calls for MRC to use its content production assets — which include Dick Clark Productions — to develop new content and business opportunities drawn from stories and other intellectual property culled from across PMRC brands.”
I asked some folks for a little speculation. “What might actually happen with the merger?”, I wrote. “What do your nerve endings tell you? Whenever companies or publications merge there are always people who get cut loose. Always. And we all know The Hollywood Reporter has been hemorrhaging money for a long time.”
Informed guy #1: “Variety is in excellent financial shape, and THR, as you said, has been hemmhoraging money for a long time. So I would expect that there’ll be changes there. But I think Penske wants to save THR, not kill it. And this, in the long run, is its best chance of being saved.”
Default fundamentals apply when a director assesses another director’s work. Political, fraternal, instinctual. If a deep-down reaction is, say, one of genuine if slightly muted admiration for the craft, theme and/or performances (or for all three), the director will always brush aside the “slightly muted” and amplify the love. Always accentuate the alpha — there could never be a reason not to. So we’re naturally obliged to regard all such testimonials with a grain of salt. That said, Aaron Sorkin‘s assessment of David Fincher‘s Mank is encouraging as hell.
There are three distinct 21st Century nouveau riche approaches to interior design…three vomit-bag aesthetics favored by socially insecure people with too much money and no taste to speak of. A generally over-sized feeling, gold everything, too many drapes, questionable paintings, gaudy chandeliers, imitation ancient-Rome statues, huge windows, 14 foot tall ceilings, etc.
The offense-givers are (a) Kardashian Splendor (i.e., way too much conspicuous luxury, every nook and cranny designed and furnished like a luxury hotel, the exact opposite of distressed bohemian), (b) Uday and Qusay Hussein Palatial — Middle Eastern gold-and-marble kitsch, more conspicuous luxury, too many mounted 4K flat screens, large fountains and jacuzzis, and (c) Aggressive Putin, or the home stylings of an ostentatious Russian gangster — the main idea is to announce to the first-time visitor, “Look how much man money I have!…trust me, what I’ve spent on this place is only a fraction of my total holdings.”
Yesterday I posted about an 85-minute doc, Meeting The Beatles in India. The piece was titled “I’ll Kill You, Lennon, You Bastard.” A comment from Variety‘s Chris Willman mentioned that a portion of the doc briefly dealt with allegations about sexual misbehavior on the part of Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, and yet Willman passed along observations from others that this portion may (emphasis on the “m” word) have been removed from the PPV version.
This morning I wrote a Facebook note to Paul Saltzman, director of Meeting The Beatles in India, which Gathr is now offering PPV streaming access to the film. I also wrote the film’s publicist, Maggie Begley.
“Paul — Greetings from Jeffrey Wells of Hollywood Elsewhere. On 9.9 Variety‘s music critic Chris Willmanreviewed your Meet the Beatles in India doc. I riffed on the film yesterday, and here’s what Willman said in the HE comment section:
“‘When I reviewed the film, I made mention of a section toward the end that brings up the allegations against the Maharishi and then explains it away to sabotage by Magic Alex that spoiled a good thing.
“‘I then heard from people who watched the film upon its PPV opening that said this section I described was no longer in the film, and viewers were left thinking that everything ended happily. I’d be interested to hear from anyone else who saw the film which cut they saw.’
Willman is a totally reliable, first-rate journalist so I’m taking his word for this, or at least regarding what he says he’s been told. Have you in fact removed the referred-to portion of your doc? If so, do you have any comment or explanation as to why this was done?
“The Maharishi is portrayed only in a positive light, although there’s a passing reference to the nasty song Lennon wrote about him immediately after the sojourn, ‘Sexy Sadie,’ before Saltzman fleetingly addresses the still hot-button topic of why some of the group members fell out with the guru, which had to do with the Maharishi allegedly making moves on women in the compound. The apologia offered by Saltzman and Lewisohn is that a peripheral figure in the Beatles’ entourage, ‘Magic Alex,’ spread false stories about the holy man, though [Alex] told a very different accounting of the fallout (and sued The New York Times over a description similar to the one offered here) before he died in 2017.”
