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I’ve never had much interest in the fanatical anger that hardcore Star Wars fans have been venting since The Last Jedi popped last December, and especially (I guess) since the tanking of Solo.

And I’ve never felt anything but loathing for the haters who went after poor Kelly Marie Tran (i.e, “Rose Tico”), who handled herself pretty well in The Last Jedi, I thought. She’s a good actress who rose to the occasion.

But I was struck just now by a comment posted this morning (6.11) in a Deadline thread. By a guy named “James 1701.” (I think.) It seems to lay out all the basic beefs. I don’t give a damn about this stuff, but please read and comment — I’m curious what the HE crowd thinks. In fact, try reading some of the other comments first — they offer context.

“Not a hate bandwagon. It’s totally legit. Force Awakens was alright but forgettable. Not a great movie and they forgot to include any character development, backstory explanation, or originality. It introduced a Mary Sue for the main character and some ridiculous SJW ideals for everyone [else]. It murdered a beloved character [Han Solo] with no build-up or reason whatsoever, and it completely omitted the most popular character in the entire franchise. The other new characters were just straight-up awful and the main bad guy is an email.”

Kylo Ren is “an email”? I’ve never called anyone or anything that, but it’s kinda funny.

Back to James1701: “Rogue One continued this trend but was added a Darth Vader scene and a tie-in to A New Hope.

“The Last Jedi was horrendous and made The Force Awakens [seem] even worse. More character assassination, less back-story, more SJW bullshit, and it just killed off the most popular character while making him look like a fool.

“And then Solo followed in these footsteps.

“Rian Johnson, Kathleen Kennedy, Jar-Jar Abrams and the rest of Disney have crapped all over fans, insulting then and calling them racist and idiots. They’ve quite literally just killed the just successful movie franchise of all times. They honestly shouldn’t even make Episode 9. They should just start over and redo episode 7 with a totally new creative team and pretend The Force Awakens and The Last Jedi never happened.”

Soon after last weekend’s news of Anthony Bourdain‘s suicide, a friend sent me a 6.5 Daily Mail story about Asia Argento hanging the previous weekend with journalist Hugo Clement in Rome. There was a suggestion that Argento’s seeming infidelity might have acted as a “trigger” incident that affected Bourdain in a negative way. A People piece is suggesting something along these lines.

I immediately dismissed it. No semi-mature person, even one grappling with depression, offs themselves over this kind of thing. Bourdain seemed way too wise and seasoned to act like a broken-hearted teenager. Or maybe Bourdain and Argento had a fluid relationship that allowed for occasional dalliances with other people. Who knows?

Apparently some people have been talking about the Argento-Clement thing because a few hours ago Rose McGowan released an open letter about the Bourdain-Argento relationship — a letter intended to dissuade people from coming to the wrong conclusion.

“I write these truths because I have been asked to,” McGowan began. “I know so many around the world thought of Anthony Bourdain as a friend and when a friend dies, it hurts. Many of these people who lost their ‘friend’ are wanting to lash out and blame. You must not sink to that level. Suicide is a horrible choice, but it is that person’s choice.

“Anthony and Asia had a free relationship,” McGowan explained. “They loved without borders of traditional relationships, and they established the parameters of their relationship early on. Asia is a free bird, and so was Anthony. Was. Such a terrible word to write. I’ve heard from many that the past two years they were together were some of his happiest and that should give us all solace.

“When Anthony met Asia, it was instant chemistry. They laughed, they loved and he was her rock during the hardships of this last year. Anthony was open with his demons, he even wrote a book about them. And through a lot of this last year, Asia did want the pain to stop. But here’s the thing, over their time together, thankfully, she did the work to get help, so she could stay alive and live another day for her and her children.

“Anthony’s depression didn’t let him, he put down his armor, and that was very much his choice. His decision, not hers. His depression won.”

This isn’t a “review” of Incredibles 2 as I left after 45 minutes. I was in pain — my mind was under attack by hornets and bumblebees. There are some pissants out there who feel that walking out is never cool, but occasionally it’s not only valid but necessary. I’ve bailed on films before and I probably will again.

14 years ago I fell hard for The Incredibles. The revved-up mixture of wit, laughter and a clever premise (superhero family with p.r. problems, frowned upon by powers-that-be), and all of it catapulted by hilarious, well-choreographed action. A perfect stew.

Incredibles 2 felt to me like a whole different animal. 2018 and 2004 are different realms, and for me the charm-and-finesse factor this time was pretty much out the window. Too hyper, too ADD, too antsy, too nutso, too FX- and spectacle-driven, too corporate, too family-friendly…it drove me nuts. I had to get out of there. Really.

49 years ago NASA did everything they could to minimize the drama, the tension and the risk factor of the first manned landing on the moon. They talked about it like it was a complex dental procedure or maybe something a little gnarlier. Even Norman Mailer‘s book, “Of A Fire In The Moon,” delivered a vaguely dull feeling. Now comes Damien Chazelle‘s First Man (Universal, 10.12), and of course he’s done everything he can to emphasize the drama, the tension and the risk factor. I’ve got the script on my Macbook Pro; reading it soon.

Put-put-putting down the Hoi An river and the memories that go with that — the warm air, the foodie aromas, the magic-hour light, the hornet sound of scooters, the laid-back tropical vibes…for some reason all of this reminds me of Anthony Bourdain, who was alive and well and doing great when this video was shot five and a half years ago, or in November 2012. Vietnam was — always will be — the biggest thing I had in common with the guy. I wept a little today.

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Not the actors, of course — the rural Pennsylvania characters they played. And not back then but now — 40 years older, grayer, heavier and hugely pissed off that the white America they grew up with is a thing of the past. There are very few films that I despise more than Michael Cimino‘s reprehensible, frequently nonsensical proletariat social drama, which I was initially impressed by in some respects (that awesome cutaway from a Pennsylvania wedding ceremony to the jungles of Vietnam) but hated in others. Russian roulette….bullshit. A loving tribute to rural ignorance and delusion that brought a tear to my eye…not.

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Seven months ago Quentin Tarantino told Indiewire‘s Anne Thompson that Once Upon A Time in Hollywood, which may start shooting in Los Angeles sometime this month, would be more about hippy-dippy 1969 Los Angeles than the Tate/LaBianca murders by the Manson family. Exact quote: “It’s not Manson, it’s 1969.”

Maybe so, but the latest announcement of casting and characters for Once Upon A Time in Hollywood sure as hell overlaps with the August 8th murders at Roman Polanski and Sharon Tate’s home at 10050 Cielo Drive.

Damian Lewis is playing Steve McQueen, who was invited to drop by the Polanski/Tate home that evening but at the last minute decided to hang with a girl he’d just met.

Emile Hirsch is playing hairstylist Jay Sebring, who was one of the Cielo Drive victims along with coffee heiress Abigail Folger, Folger’s boyfriend Voytek Frykowski and an 18 year-old named Steven Parent.

Dakota Fanning is playing Lynette “Squeaky” Fromme, a Manson family member who wasn’t at the Polanski/Tate home that evening but attempted to murder President Gerald Ford on 9.5.75.

Tate will be played by Margot Robbie, and Burt Reynolds will reportedly play George Spahn, the weathered owner of the Spahn Movie Ranch who allowed the Manson family to live on the ranch in the weeks and months before the August ’69 killings.

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Guys like Jeff Sneider don’t understand the concept of owning Blurays, and to be honest half the time I question it myself, given the excellent quality of high-def streaming these days. But I’ve just ordered Kino Lorber’s 60th anniversary Bluray of William Wyler’s The Big Country, and for two good reasons: (1) It’s been newly remastered in HD (the last Bluray version surfaced in 2011, from MGM Home Video) and (2) it’s been completely de-mumpified.

Besides removing the horizontally-stretched “mumps” effect, this upgrade process also pulls in extra visual information from both sides of the frame.

But the mumps taffy-stretch effect that afflicted The Big Country‘s 2011 Bluray wasn’t a CinemaScope issue, as William Wyler‘s 1958 western was shot in 8-perf Technirama and then printed down to 35mm.

The problem was caused, rather, by the MGM Home Video geniuses who transferred the film, which had been restored in 2007 by the Academy Film Archive with support from the Film Foundation, to a high-def Bluray format.

I reached out Tuesday evening to Kino Lorber’s senior acquisitions vp Frank Tarzi, hoping to discuss the technical particulars. (Tarzi had previously helped with factors leading to Kino Lorber’s decision to issue their Marty Bluray in 1.37 rather than the dreaded 1.85.) But it was late by the Manhattan clock, and Tarzi didn’t respond.

Comparison images stolen from DVD Beaver review of Kino Lorber Big Country Bluray.

Mumps above, no mumps below

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The general reaction to Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom (Universal, 6.22) is that it vaguely blows. If I wanted to be harsh in my summary I would say it sucks dino balls, but I can’t say anything firsthand until I see it this evening. You know that a Rotten Tomatoes rating of 68% + a Metacritic score of 53%…you know what that means.

I could have gone to a 10 am press screening, but I had to see a dermatologist around the same time. HE will render a verdict tomorrow morning.

The director of Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom is Juan Antonio Bayona, whom I’ve personally known for over a decade. I still swear by The Orphanage (’07), his brilliant first film that was produced by Guillermo del Toro. I didn’t feel as enthused about The Impossible (’12) and A Monster Calls (’16). In any event Owen Gleiberman‘s Variety review of Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom refers to him as “A.J.” Bayona, and that can’t be right. His first name is definitely Juan, and the second is absolutely Antonio — really, I know the guy, why would he switch them around?

Okay, I guess it’s still a thing in some corner of the culture. At least give the organizers credit for finally recognizing that in real day-to-day life, people of either gender are never judged by their appearance. At least we’re past that hurdle. So the next Miss America winner will probably be a bit pudgier than normal. This is where we are, no turning back.

Posted on 4.26.15: At last night’s White House Correspondents’ Association dinner, emcee Cecily Strong “created a moment” when she asked all members of the media in the ballroom to raise their hands and take a solemn vow: “I solemnly swear not to talk about Hillary Clinton’s appearance, because that is not journalism.”

Strong is correct — serious journalism and offering comments or asides about a person’s appearance are separate realms of expression. Do average citizens vote for or against a candidate based on his/her appearance? Absolutely not.

JFK‘s youth, matinee-idol looks, perennial tan and thick reddish-brown hair had no effect upon voter likes or dislikes. The fact that the Ronald Reagan didn’t have white or graying hair or a sagging, withered face when he ran for president in ’80 at age 69…nobody cared. They would have voted for him if he looked like Walter Brennan in Rio Bravo because they were voting for the man, not the appearance. Barack Obama‘s cappucino skin shade had nothing to do with his winning the ’08 and ’12 elections…zip. And Hillary Clinton’s grandma face and puffy eye-bags will have no effect on her popularity during the 2016 Presidential election. The election will be entirely about who she is or is not…about character, cojones and convictions.

Here are two brilliant post-Solo-catastrophe riffs, but be honest — would The New Yorker and Variety have run these assessments if Solo had somehow connected and become a huge hit a la Last Jedi?

From Joshua Rothman‘s “The Growing Emptiness of the Star Wars Universe,” posted in The New Yorker on 5.31.18: “Early in William Gibson’s novel ‘Pattern Recognition,’ from 2003, Cayce Pollard, a highly paid professional ‘coolhunter,’ wanders through a London department store. Pollard is hypersensitive to the semiotics of brands: when a product is lame, she feels it physically, as a kind of pain. In the basement, she stumbles upon a display of clothes by Tommy Hilfiger. Recoiling from the ‘mountainside of Tommy,’ she thinks, ‘My God, don’t they know?’

“This stuff is simulacra of simulacra of simulacra. A diluted tincture of Ralph Lauren, who had himself diluted the glory days of Brooks Brothers, who themselves had stepped on the product of Jermyn Street and Savile Row…but Tommy surely is the null point, the black hole. There must be some Tommy Hilfiger event horizon, beyond which it is impossible to be more derivative, more removed from the source, more devoid of soul.

“I thought of this scene this weekend, after watching Solo: A Star Wars Story. “Solo” is an entertaining movie, with engaging performances, vivid production design and enthralling action sequences. It’s also distressingly forgettable — it’s about nothing, an episode of Seinfeld with hyperdrive.

“In ‘Pattern Recognition,’ Pollard wonders if Hilfiger’s blandness might be the source of his appeal: where most preppy clothes are freighted with meaning, Tommy allows you to look preppy without actually being that way. Similarly, Solo evokes Star Wars without quite being it. It isn’t the ‘null point’ of the franchise, but it’s close.”

From Owen Gleiberman‘s “Why the Tanking of Solo is a Force of Darkness for Star Wars,” posted by Variety this morning:

“There have now been 10 Star Wars films, and right up until Solo, each and every one of them produced the kind of box-office grosses that were potent enough to bend the universe with the magnetic power of their the-whole-world-is-watching! hegemony.

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Something in me deflates when I see some younger guy wearing dorky-looking footwear, particularly those awful white-rimmed Nikes that Millennials are so fond of or any kind of half-plastic, half-canvas combo, including gray or loud-color cross-training shoes, atrocious sandals, Crocs, etc.

Do younger GenYs, Millennials and GenZs have the worst taste in shoes in the history of western civilization? That sounds over-the-top but think about it. How many under-40 males wear super-cool-looking Italian shoes (and I don’t just mean traditional leather) on any kind of regular basis? Answer: Almost none. How many hinterland tourists wear X-factor shoes of any kind? Same difference. Whenever I notice someone wearing great-looking shoes I’ll sometimes tell them so, but I can’t remember the last time this happened in Los Angeles.

The only region in the world in which guys wear great-looking shoes with any frequency is Northern Italy, and even then it’s a spotty proposition. Older, silver-haired Italian guys are the standard-bearers. Under-40s, even in Italy, are almost uniformly opposed to what I sometimes call the Daniel Day Lewis or Bruno Magli aesthetic.

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