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I’m sorry but my all-time favorite flamethrower scene is still the one in William Friedkin‘s Deal of the Century (’83)…the one in which Gregory Hines torches the enraged Latino guy’s car. Because it’s easily the most pleasurable.

HE’s #2 is the Once Upon A Time in Hollywood poolside scene in which Rick Dalton immolates Manson Family psychopath Susan “Sadie Glutz” Atkins. #3 is Sigourney Weaver torching Mama Alien and all of her eggs in James Cameron‘s Aliens (’86). #4 is vAl Pacino using the “flame” word during his Scent of a Woman third-act rant. #5 is Mel Gibson flamethrowing the bad guys in The Road Warrior. #6 is the singed hair-and-wardrobe scene in John Carpenter‘s The Thing (’82).

And the others are…

I came along way too late in the 20th Century to savor the storied, once-glorious atmosphere of the RKO Radio Pictures lot (Melrose and Gower), which was right next door to the still-standing Paramount lot.

My only physical, professional association with the former RKO operation (the studio having peaked between the early 1930s and late ‘50s) was my horrific three-month stint as an Entertainment Tonight employee. E.T.’s offices were located near the Gower gate, and I worked there for two or three months in the spring of ‘98.

It was absolutely the most hellish job I’ve ever had in my life, in part because I had to be at work at 5 am and in part because of the acutely political vibe under exec producer Linda Bell Blue. Everyone who worked there was “schemin’ schemin’ like a demon,” and after a while I began to daydream about shooting heroin into my veins.

HE to self during E.T. employment: “Will they fire me next month, next week…tomorrow?

“Why are people always speaking in hushed tones behind closed doors? Is the work I’m doing of any value to anyone? Will I always have to wake up at 3:45 am? Is it too late to learn a new trade?

The daily salt-mine vibe at Entertainment Tonight was the most horrifically political and terrifying I’ve ever known in my life, bar none. It was all about petty office power games and anxiety and who’s up and who’s down.

Nothing in that environment was the least bit calm or serene. Nothing was devotional. It was all about fake–performing in front of your co-workers in order to convince them that you wouldn’t say anything bad about them when they weren’t around.

Women were always conferring and plotting in their offices with the doors closed, and the subject was always other women who were huddling and plotting in their offices, etc.

I naturally wanted to keep getting paid, but half the time I wanted to stick my head in a gas oven. I was 40% upset when I was canned but 60% relieved.

…that what Bill Maher was talking about last Friday night is happening in schools? That it’s real? And that shaping the soft-clay minds of young kids on trans issues has become a mainstream public-school thing…stamped, signed and endorsed by the Democratic Party?

He really thinks all is well, and that my seconding what Maher said the night before last is…what, some kind of obsessive, fear-driven thing on my part?

Friendo sez…

Again, here it is.

I’m sorry but Hitchcock’s continuity person on North by Northwest should have been canned.

Termination error #1: Roger Thornhill’s scrawled message on the inside cover of his R.O.T. matchbook was composed within three lines, but when Eve Kendall reads it on the couch downstairs it has four lines.

Termination error #2: Several matches are missing when the message is initially written, but when Eve reads it the match supply is restored to full capacity.

Errors copied — not discovered by me.

Like I said a few days ago, Todd Phillips‘ Joker: Folie a Deux (Warner Bros., 10.4) is a total ironclad lock for a Best Picture Oscar nomination…ditto Lady Gaga for Best Actress.

Remember that Sylvester Stallone didn’t insult any Tulsa King background people to their face. Nor did he share his reportedly unkind comments with various people on the Atlanta-based set.

According to Variety’s Kate Aurthur, Stallone shared said opinions only with director Craig Zisk, privately. The unspecified remarks made their way to Facebook via a second-hand eavesdropping — an overheard conversation that was passed along.

Is Stallone an elderly Republican tough guy who doesn’t adhere to woke social standards? Yes. Did he share views about allegedly unattractive extras that certain parties found offensive? Apparently. Should Stallone henceforth strive to share less ruthless opinions about the appearance of this or that coworker? Yeah, he should.

Friendo: “So Civil War is woke-infused propaganda masquerading as neutral drama. And the only ones calling it ‘even handed’ are likely woke as fuck. Correct?”

HE: Mostly correct, yes, although it’s not really “woke-infused propaganda,” although it could be so argued in certain respects.

My first major thought upon leaving the theatre last night was that the lying–by–omission on the part of many if not most of the South by Southwest critics is fairly shocking. Some of those bastards flat–out lied through their teeth.

What the final third of Civil War boils down to is an anti-Trump and anti-MAGA jeremiad. The finale of Alex Garland’s dystopian war film really hates with a capital H, and you can’t help but admire it for not softening the tone or diluting the rage. Call it morally ironic if you want…I don’t care.

The ending is so arousing that I almost experienced a boner.

Apart from a curious, less-than-involving focus upon the two leading photo-journalist characters (Kirsten Dunst’s hard-bitten veteran and Cailee Spaeny’s young and emotionally-driven pup), the first two-thirds seem to be mostly even-handed and matter-of-fact in a Battle of Algiers way.

But when the already notorious Jesse Plemons scene (around the 60 or 65-minute mark) arrives, and especially when the big finale happens, it totally becomes a “hooray and goo-rah for the lefty rebels!” thing, and that’s all there is to it.

Okay, you can argue “but it’s full of tragedy and irony and horrible devastation so how can you call it a ‘hooray for the lefties!’ thing?” Yes, it is rife with somber, morally ambiguous irony, but Civil War certainly reveals its true colors at the end.

It also shows a certain significant character to be a weeping, whimpering coward, and I for one think it’s truly wonderful for this.

“Yes, there’s still a long way to go, and [there’ll be almost certainly] more horrendous shit to endure over the coming few years. But I genuinely believe we’ve seen the worst of it. In fact, I would say the scale of change has been quite abrupt.

“Something like Disney’s Strange World, released just over a year ago, would probably not be greenlit, produced or released today….”

…when I brought it over two weeks ago.

Last night I watched episodes #6 and #7 of Steven Zallian’s Ripley, and what a soothing, transporting dream trip this series is…a silky and serene monochrome soul bath…a reminder of how much better life was and still is over there in certain pockets, and (this is me talking and comparing, having visited Italy six or seven times) what an ugly and soul-less corporate shopping-mall so much of the U.S. has become this century…the contrasts are devastating.

Ripley is an eight-episode reminder that there really is (or was during the mid-20th Century) a satori kind of life to be found in parts of Italy and Sicily, better by way of simplicity and contemplation and quiet street cafes, better via centuries of tradition, pastoral beauty and sublime Italian architecture…grand romantic capturings of Napoli, Atrani (the same historic Amalfi Coast city where significant portions of Antoine Fuqua’s The Equalizer 3 were shot), Palermo, Venezia and Roma.

Life doesn’t have to be dreary and banal and soul-stifling, Zallian is telling us in part…you can find happiness standing downstream, as the great Jimi Hendrix once wrote, especially if you’re an elusive sociopath living on a dead guy’s trust-fund income and therefore not obliged to toil away at some sweaty, shitty-ass job to survive.

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This Chanel Iconic Handbag spot is a tribute to Claude Lelouch‘s A Man and a Woman (’66). The dreamy mood, the black-and-white cinematography (although the original was shot in monochrome, sepia and color), Francis Lai‘s famous musical theme.

The stars of that 58-year-old romantic classic, Jean Louis Trintignant and Anouk Aimee, were in their early-to-mid 30s when it was shot in ’65. Today’s Chanel costars, Brad Pitt and Penelope Cruz, are significantly older (60 and 49 respectively) and so the directors, Inez and Vinoodh, have digitally de-aged them.

I get the idea, of course, but Pitt doesn’t look like a 30something — he looks like a late 50something whose face has been almost totally erased, certainly of character. I like the slightly weathered, crinkly-eyed guy he played in Once Upon a Time in Hollywood better.

The tall waitress (5’10”) is Dutch fashion model Rianne Van Rompaey.

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