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In an April ’16 Tom Hanks career assessment piece, I wrote than “once your cards have gone cold, it’s awfully hard to heat them up again.”

I added that “there’s nothing more humiliating than for a man who once held mountains in the palm of his hands having to push his own cart around the supermarket as he buys his own groceries and then, insult to injury, has to wait in line at the checkout counter.”

The piece was triggered by a Hanks quote from a Tribeca Film Festival discussion with John Oliver: “I peaked in the ’90s.”

Hanks had been respectably plugging along since the end of his late ’80s-to-early aughts heyday (The Road to Perdition was his last big score in that run). Holding on, hanging in there. But just a few months after the Oliver chat, his cards began to warm slightly. Then they got hot again.

Hanks’ less-is-more performance as the white-haired Chesley Sullenberger in Clint Eastwood‘s Sully was respectfully received; ditto his Ben Bradley in Steven Spielberg‘s The Post. But the strongest indication that his mojo was back came when Hanks improvised his way through a pause in a West Los Angeles performance of William Shakespeare’s Henry IV.

It seems like a fait accompli that Hanks will be be Best Actor-nominated for playing the amiable Fred Rogers in Marielle Heller‘s A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood (Sony, 11.22).

Six months later Hanks will star as Commander Ernest Krause in Aaron Schneider‘s Greyhound (Sony, 5.8.20), a World War II drama. Later that year he’ll star in Miguel Sapochnik‘s BIOS (Universal, 10.2.20).

Who knows if Hanks will star in Paul Greengrass‘s News of the World, a post-Civil War-era drama, but the project was certainly announced a few months ago.

At some point down the road Hanks will reportedly portray Colonel Tom Parker, the cigar-chomping, straw-hat-wearing hustler who did more to destroy Elvis Presley‘s life and career than anyone besides Elvis himself, in a Baz Luhrman-directed drama.

That’s quite an impressive lineup for a guy whose career had appeared to be in flatline mode only four or five years ago.

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Robert Pattinson is officially locked and loaded to play Bruce Wayne + alter ego in Matt Reeves‘ The Batman.

Reeves: “I’ve talked about making it a very point of view, noir-driven definitive Batman story in which he is investigating a particular case and that takes us out into the world of Gotham. I went on a deep dive again revisiting all my favorite comics. Those all inform by osmosis. There’s no continuation of the Nolan films. It’s very much trying to find a way to do this as something that for me is going to be definitively Batman and new and cool.”

With their criminal husbands suddenly out of the picture, a small crew of desperate women (Melissa McCarthy, Tiffany Haddish, Elisabeth Moss) decide to step into their shoes, pick up where they left off and prove their mettle in a brutal realm. So reads a potential synopsis of Andrea Berloff‘s The Kitchen (Warner Bros., 8.9), an apparently non-comedic period crime drama set in Hell’s Kitchen and based on a Vertigo comic book miniseries by Ollie Masters and Ming Doyle.

Marketing slogan suggestion #1: “This may sound like Widows II, but that was 21st Century Chicago and this is midtown Manhattan in the late ’70s. So in a way we were first even though we’re second.”

Marketing slogan suggestion #2: “Those Widows women were following in the footsteps of three very tough Manhattan forebears, and they didn’t even know it!”

No matter how you sell it, audiences are naturally going to say “this again?”

Widows was born a little over four years ago (March of ’15) when it was announced that Steve McQueen and Gillian Flynn would adapt the British ’80s TV series into a feature with McQueen directing. Two years later (February ’17) Berloff was hired by New Line execs to direct The Kitchen, which she’d previously adapted into a screenplay.

Widows began principal photography in on 5.8.17. The Kitchen began principal photography on 5.7.18. Widows premiered at the Toronto Film Festival on on 9.8.18 and opened three months later. The Kitchen, as noted, will open on 8.9.19.

The only thing could possibly save The Kitchen would be if it were filmed as a black comedy. With McCarthy and Haddish in the leads, that would seem like a natural way to go. But the trailer indicates that it’s mostly a straight violent drama (the musical theme is “Paint It Black”) with a few ironic asides (“What do you wear to a mob meeting? Do you get dressed up?”)

Put another way, how could Berloff and her producers, Michael De Luca and Marcus Viscidi, have decided against making a black comedy version of more or less the same plot, i.e., “women criminals muscle their way into a brutally tough, all-male arena”? In what galaxy could they have decided “it doesn’t matter if we wind up looking like Widows II: Manhattan Moms in the marketing materials — we’ll carve out our own identity regardless”?

…is only an emotion away. Tatyana’s plane arrived this morning at CDG at 9 am. I RER-ed out to meet her around 8 am. She and Gleb are quality-time-ing as I tap out some items. We’re be dinner-ing at Cafe Soprano in a half-hour or so.

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A couple of days ago I half-lamented and half-predicted that very few critics would have the balls to even mention the fact that the reptilian star of Godzilla: King of the Monsters is a big-bellied, roly-poly fella.

The reason, I explained, is that in today’s French terror culture noting that this or that character is corpulent would be immediately suspected as a form of fat-shaming, which these days is regarded in the same light as racism or homophobia. So the safe thing, Godzilla-wise, is to keep quiet lest you be carted off to the Place d’Concorde.

I’ve just spent a couple of arduous hours sifting through 20 or 25 reviews of Godzilla: King of the Monsters, and can report that almost everyone has indeed sidestepped the Fatzilla factor.

Only two critics have exhibited cast-iron cojones in this regard — Variety‘s Owen Gleiberman and N.Y. Times critic Glenn Kenny.

Gleiberman: “Is it my imagination, or does it look like Godzilla has been hitting the dessert cart? I’m not merely speaking about his distended belly. The creature has been designed so that his head and neck, which used to resemble the top of the letter f, now sort of melt right into his torso. As a result, his face no longer pops in the same vivid anthropomorphic way. And that’s a miscalculation. If Godzilla looks a little chunkier than before, so be it, but you don’t want to watch a Godzilla movie thinking that his personality is slightly out of focus — that he’s not quite the same dude.”

Kenny: “As in the 2014 film, this Godzilla is a stouter fellow than we have seen in previous incarnations. While underwater, he resembles a giant electric eel with bourbon bloat.”

National Review critic Kyle Smith seemed to indicate agreement or at least amusement when he riffed early this morning about my Fatzilla thing.

Toronto Globe and Mail critic Barry Hertz seemingly went in the opposite direction, proclaiming that “the creature design is superb.”

The following critics have bypassed the obvious (i.e., chickened out): Time Out‘s Josh Rothkopf, TheWrap‘s Alonso Duralde, CNN’s Brian Lowry, the Empire guy, the Uproxx guy, the South China Morning Post‘s James Mottram.

Even N.Y. Post critic Johnny Oleksinki, who normally just blurts out whatever he’s thinking, played it carefully this time.

The red-pinkish caramel skies are my excuse for posting a touristy Arc de Triomphe photo. Although I’ve been coming here since the ’70s, last night was my first time ascending the monument’s circular metal staircase (my lungs and leg muscles were fine until the very end of the climb) and then finally standing on top and gazing all over, the late-night breezes gently slapping my face.

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So why the meager Booksmart business? You can call it a female reboot of Superbad if you want, but it has its own story, theme and attitude. It’s very well directed by Olivia Wilde, and it doesn’t just go through the motions. It delivers what seemed to me like an authentic, connected, well-crafted portrait of Los Angeles teen culture. Is it as good as Superbad? I think it comes reasonably close. Does it offer the same kind of zeitgeist-capture that Risky Business or American Graffiti managed in their eras? In a way it does.

Deadline‘s Anthony D’Alessandro: “We can’t ignore the small start of UA/Annapurna’s Booksmart, which is bound to see $7.8M over four days. The movie looked like a female Superbad, but more indie. Great reviews and solid exits, but no one is taking the time out over the holiday weekend to see it. Saturday’s $2.1M ticket sales were down 16% from Friday. Smart, R-rated, critically acclaimed teenage girl pics remain a tough sub-genre. Booksmart‘s bests plays were in big cities on the coast, especially in the west.”

Why has it underperformed? Is it because audiences generally prefer to watch guys perform this kind of rambunctious material? Or is it…what, the lesbian angle or something? (A possible factor outside the big cities, especially in the middle of the country.) Booksmart was supposed to be the film that would finally deliver serious coin to Annapurna, which needs a hit. I was suspicious of the ecstatic SXSW reviews, but this was an exception to the rule.

In Once Upon A Time in Hollywood, we’re informed that Leonardo DiCaprio‘s Rick Dalton starred in Bounty Law, a black-and-white TV series that ran from 1958 to 1963. Early on we’re shown a quick Bounty Law TV promo, with Dalton turning and staring at the camera as in “yup, that’s me and I’m definitely cool.” But he doesn’t do it quite right. He doesn’t sell that studly “I own this shit” thing. Leo basically looks like he’s waiting for Tarantino to say “cut.”

There’s a measure of irony in the obviously gifted, Oscar-winning Leo not doing this kind of thing as well the less talented, non-Oscar-winning Chuck Connors in that opening-credits blam-blam sequence for The Rifleman.

Posted on 10.31.17: “If Chuck Connors never did anything else, that look he gives the camera after firing off 12 shots from his specially modified Winchester 44-40 model 1892 would be enough. He doesn’t glare, doesn’t scowl, doesn’t smirk, doesn’t grin or suggest any kind of cockiness, and yet that look in his eyes manages to say ‘this is what I do, take it or leave it — I drill guys over and over, pretty much every week, and yet I’m even-tempered and respectable and so the law’s always on my side…pretty good deal, eh?’

“But who ever heard of a Winchester that fires 12 shots in a row? Look at it — where would 12 cartridges even fit?”

I’ve been visiting the Eiffel tower off and on for decades. A year ago a pair of ten-foot-tall glass barriers were erected to protect the monument from possible terrorist attacks. The structure is safer now, but it feels like a tragedy. From 1889 to 2018 the Eiffel tower and the grounds beneath it were open and accessible to everyone — now it feels like a a place of paranoia and a metaphor for the menace that we all realize is out there and possibly preparing to strike at any time. We all want to feel safe, but it’s shattering to see this once-egalitarian atmosphere suffocated in a sense. By erecting these walls the French government has basically announced that Islamic terror has established psychological dominance. Imagine the atmosphere in Washington, D.C. if the U.S. Capitol and the White House were to be surrounded on all sides by similar barriers. This is the world we live in now, and it’s heartbreaking.

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The new trailer for Jennifer Kent‘s The Nightingale (IFC Films, 8.2) is framed within a 1.37:1 aspect ratio, and yet none of the reviews I’ve read since last September’s Venice Film Festival have even mentioned it.

A.A. Dowd review, posted on 1.27.19: “’This is not an easy sit,’ we were told [by a Sundance] programmer. But even this warning didn’t seem to properly brace the crowd for…nearly two-and-a-half hours of relentless, unspeakable violence, [which] provoked distressed walkouts. Judging from some overheard post-screening grumbles (‘I thought it was going to be scary, but then it wasn’t‘), plenty of those who stayed for the whole thing were expecting something closer in spirit to Kent’s The Babadook, which premiered at Sundance five years ago. What they got instead was ceaseless, numbing brutality — a Western revenge yarn of such heightened cruelty and suffering that it basically demands to be read as allegory.”

The designer of the first-rate Nightingale poster deserves a salute. Haunting and oddly beautiful.

I knew Tommy Lee Jones would be a star of some magnitude after watching him play Coley Blake, a hard-luck loser and accused murderer, in Michael Miller‘s Jackson County Jail.

An above-average exploitation flick, Jail was produced by Roger Corman and released by New World into subruns and drive-ins in the spring of ’76.

Donald E. Stewart‘s script is about a Los Angeles ad exec named Dinah Hunter (Yvette Mimieux) who’s wrongfully arrested in shitkicker country and then raped in a small-town jail cell. She and Blake break out of the slam and go on the run. It gradually becomes apparent that Blake, who wears the shell of an outlaw nihilist, carries shreds of decency and compassion.

Blake’s bitter signature line, spoken to a surly cop, is “I’ll play what’s dealt.”

Jones’ big climactic scene happens at the end of the clip (starting around 8:30). Blake is running from the law during a small-town 4th of July celebration. The cops shoot him two or three times in the back. He staggers and falls to the pavement alongside an American flag. Blake dies with a long exhalation of breath, just like Stephen Boyd‘s Messala in Ben-Hur.

When the film ended I knew right away that Jones, 29 when the film was shot, was X-factor and waiting to happen.

You can stream Jackson County Jail on Amazon, but only in standard def.

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