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“Give me libirum or give me meth” — Leonard Frey‘s Harold in William Friedkin and Mart Crowley‘s The Boys in the Band (’68).

I was completely taken and fascinated with R. Scott Gemmill‘s The Pitt during the first nine episodes, but in episode #10 something happened that really pissed me off — something that felt a teeny bit wokey by way of anti-white-male bias. It made me pull back emotionally.

I’m speaking about Patrick Ball‘s Dr. Frank Langdon, a brilliant, highly-stressed, wrapped-too-tight E.R. doctor, having illegally and unethically used librium — a chill drug — to take the edge off.

Technically known as chlordiazepoxide, librium, according to WebMD, “produces a calming effect on the brain and nerves, which helps to reduce anxiety symptoms and promote relaxation.”

It was obviously not cool and a blatant violation of the Hippocratic Oath for Langdon to have occasionally dosed himself. But in the greater scheme of things, taking librium isn’t that different from popping an occasional valium. It didn’t strike me as that big of a deal.

Did Langdon need to face up to a potential health issue or worse? Yes, but aside from making him detour into stridency or excitability, taking lithium wasn’t interfering with his abilities or duties. Not as dramatized, at least. It would have been far worse if Langdon had been drinking, say, or taking morphine as a stress-alleviator. Langdon is a first-rate physician. He was just moderately medicating.

If I was a fellow doctor in this situation and I’d discovered what Langdon was up to, my first and only response would have been to speak with him after-hours. I would say “Frank,this really has to stop and not only that, you have to seek counsel from an outside doctor, or perhaps even from a psychologist. But it has to stop, and on a provable basis. You can’t jeopardize your career like this.”

I would add the following: “If you don’t take immediate steps to remedy this situation I’m definitely going to report this matter to our supervisor (Noah Wyle‘s Dr.’Robby’ Robinavitch). I don’t want to torpedo you, Frank — you’re too good of a doctor to just be thrown over the side by a mistake. But this has to stop now.”

So what happens? Langdon’s adverse relationship with a rookie female doctor quickly turns petty and vindictive, and the shit hits the fan.

Isa Briones‘ Dr. Trinity Santos, an assertive feminist firebrand who’s only been working in “the Pitt” for a few hours, gets wise to Langdon’s behavior. She and Langdon have already developed a dislike for each other, partly because he’s been overly critical and scolding of some of her judgment calls. So not long after she discovers his librium problem, she tattle-tales to Dr. Robby. And then Robby, ignoring the fact that Langdon is one of the two or three best physicians he has in the E.R., angrily tells Langdon to “go home”. No warnings, no scoldings….just “fuck you, you’re done.”

If someone is really good — brilliant, amazing — at a tough and demanding job, the fair-minded thing is to give him or her a chance to man up and fix a personal problem. If he/she fails to correct it, then you lower the boom. It would be one thing if Langdon’s librium-chipping was causing medical mistakes or jeopardizing the well-being of patients, but that’s not the case.

So now I don’t like Dr, Robby any more. Noah Wyle‘s performance is awesome and he’ll almost certainly win an Emmy, but I don’t like how Dr. Robby reacted. In my mind he threw a good man under the bus for insufficient cause.

And I really don’t like Isa Briones. And I’m not the only one who feels this way. When Briones/Santos confides her concern about Langdon’s unethical behavior to Dr. Samira Mohan (Supriya Ganesh), the latter says “I don’t want to hear about it…I don’t want to know this!” And then she adds, rather angrily, “You’re trouble.”

“…that wherever I am and whatever stupid shit I’m doing that you’re back at my home, rooting for me. (pause) It’s all going to be all right, Sammy…comparatively.”

Guys who talk and think like Mark Ruffalo‘s Terry character (my younger brother bore certain resemblances) don’t tend to live long lives, much less nourishing ones.

You need to start figuring things out by your 30th birthday if not sooner, and if you’re still floundering around at age 35 you may as well admit it — you’re in fairly big trouble.

The power of this scene comes from the obvious fact that poor Laura Linney is putting this grim scenario together in her head as Ruffalo (pushing 30 when You Can Count On Me was filmed) is rambling and rationalizing.

The truth? I was almost Terry. I came thatclose, and then I began to pull it together between age 26 and 27. I nearly went into the sinkhole.

Eight days ago (Saturday, 4.13) I was trying to figure out ways to reduce the crap and clutter on my decade-old Macbook Pro, which has less RAM than my 2019 laptop and is all gummed up.

I had this dumbshit idea, you see, that erasing the music, photo and video files that were sitting on the laptop would accomplish this task.

Why didn’t I simply say to myself “uhm, wait…if you delete these mp3 items from your Apple music library on this computer all your music files will be wiped off your Cloud-based library…all your songs and albums will be gone from all your devices.”

I’ll tell you why I didn’t say this. It’s because I’m a doofus on tech stuff.

Anyway, I deleted the mp3s and realized the next morning that all the music was indeed absent from my Apple music library. Just under 4000 songs, roughly 1200 album portions. Plus there was a ton of music library stuff from burned CDs and old Napster files from…Jesus, a quarter-century ago.

I was told by a couple of senior Apple reps that there was no easy remedy…that the music might simply be gone for good. Then a Genius Bar guy explained after some study that I could at least download purchased song files from my iTunes app, which I began doing on Wednesday….relief. This simple remedy hadn’t been mentioned by those senior Apple tech adviser bozos. The term “iTunes app” never so much as passed through their lips.

A day later I was cleaning out the same Macbook Pro when I realized that the “deleted” music files were still sitting in my trash bin app. It was simply a matter of selecting “all”, going to “actions” and reinstalling the files in the Apple music depository.

As we speak everything (3819 items) is back on the phone and in the Cloud, of course. And I have the option, of course, of downloading new albums and whatnot from my Apple music Library subscription service.

…because I’d be able to follow it this time with subtitles.. But forking over $20 bills for an Amazon rental feels excessive.

I know what this film basically is — cerebral dialogue, icy vibes, convoluted twist-plotting, more cerebral dialogue. I know this sounds dilletante-ish but I didn’t find my first viewing intriguing enough to pay this much for a re-match…sorry. Get that rental down to $4.99 and we’ll be in business.

The Wiki synopsis is up!

Lunatic race-conscious review…sorry but this woman is a total woke psycho:

@jstoobs Sinners spoiler free review #film #tv #horror #tiktokfilmtvcompetition ♬ original sound – stoobs

“Socially awake,” he contends…Jesus:

@popculturebrain Review: Sinners — there are simply aren't enoughs superlatives to throw at this movie. #sinners #michaelbjordan #ryancoogler #moviereview #tiktokfilmtvcompetition #movies ♬ original sound – Alex | Pop Culture Brain

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HE deeply mourns the death of actor Nicky Katt, who only made it to age 54 so some ill wind or unlucky incident took him down. No cause of death has been reported. I’m very sorry.

Rest assured that Katt’s acclaimed performance as “Stacy the low-rent hitman” in Steven Soderbergh;’s The Limey (’99) will live forever in the annals of cinema.

I know nothing but my wild guess is that Katt’s unfortunate failure to match, must less top, this one great performance over the last 26 years might have been a factor in his demise. I’m guessing that the poor guy died of a broken heart. He was 28 or 29 when The Limey was filmed.

All screen villains are perverse or flamboyant in one way or another, but it’s fairly rare to run into one with with a truly twisted or offbeat attitude. In an off-handed, no-big-deal, between-the-lines sort of way, I mean. Not a “comedic” figure, but a dour, compromised soul whose bizarre manner, obsessions and quirks makes him/her a bit laughable or at least amusing to some extent.

Stacy was one such figure. Fairly sullen and hostile and always ready to clip someone if the money is right, but there was something about his smart-ass manner that suggested a less-than-fully-malicious fellow. Something vaguely nihilistic in a laid-back way.

About halfway through The Limey Katt delivered an improvised bad-attitude riff while he and Joe Dallesandro watched a TV show being shot. “Why don’t they make shows about people’s daily lives?,” Katt/Stacy said. “That you’d be interested in watching, y’know? Sick Old Man or Skinny Little Weakling. Big Fat Guy…wouldn’t you watch a show called Big Fat Guy? I’d watch that fucking show.”

Katt was lucky that The Limey was shot in ’98 or ’99 because today you’re not allowed to say “big fat guy” in a movie as this would constitute fat-shaming, and anyone deemed guilty of writing or saying this would be eternally banished from the film industry and forced to move to somewhere in the hinterland to work in fast food.

Jonathan Tropper‘s Your Friends and Neighbors is, first and foremost, darkly comedic in a dry, deadpan sort of way…a sardonic, amoral, noir-inflected, upper-middle-class, nine-episode Apple series about…well, thievery and nihilism and living on the existential edge of self-destruction, or something like that.

The flush life of a hedge-fund guy (Jon Hamm‘s “Coop”) swiftly falls apart after being canned by his shithead boss (Corbin Bernsen), and then it gets a bit gloomier. And then worse once Coop decides to become John Robie as a way to maintain financial stability.

And Tropper’s dialgoue is really, really delicious. During the first significant conversation scene (Coop and Olivia Munn‘s “Sam” at a bar) I sat up in my chair and went “wow…the repartee is as good in a wise-but-fatigued 2025 way as Fred MacMurray and Barbara Stanwyck‘s initial ping-pong seduction scene in Billy Wilder‘s Double Indemnity.

You just have to figure a way to not judge Coop because he doesn’t feel all that badly about becoming a jewel thief. His attitude is basically “they won’t miss it…they’re filthy rich as well as, no offense, assholes, and I should know because I’m an asshole too, or at least I was before losing my job.”

The entire first episode sits below.

My current preferences for the ’28 Democratic race are Rahm Emanuel (tough, brilliant, street-fighter), Gavin Newsom (tap-dancing former wokey) and Pete Buttigeig (smartest and most compassionate of them all).

Amanpour and Company‘s Walter Isaacson: “A lot of people, including a lot of Democrats, have said that the Democratic brand has become somewhat toxic. Is there some truth to that, and if so, why?”

Rahm Emanuel: “I would take the word ‘somewhat’ out. [The brand] is toxic. No caveats or disclaimers. There are two words that define the Democratic party for the public — ‘weak‘ and ‘woke.’ And neither one is favorable, and that’s been a process of the Democrats being seen as weak in a time in which people prefer strength, and woke being not just woke on the cultural left issues but focused almost entirely [on that] and drowning out everything else you want to say.”

In a cryptic conversation with Alec Leamas (Richard Burton), “Control” (Cyril Cusack) brings up Hans-Dieter Mundt (Peter van Eyck), head of East German intelligence.

Control: “And how do you feel about him?”
Leamas: “Feel?”
Control: “Yes.”
Leamas: “He’s a bastard.”
Control: “Quite.”

Another fascinating Cusack riff:

Control: “Fiedler, my dear Alec, is the lynchpin of our plan. Fiedler’s the only man who’s a match for Mundt, and, uhm… he hates his guts. Fiedler’s a Jew, of course, and Mundt’s quite the other thing.”

I’ve watched The Spy Who Came In From The Cold (’65) several times. Mainly for Oswald Morris’s black-and-white cinematography (the Criterion Bluray is wonderfully rendered in this respect) and especially for the pleasures of Oskar Werner’s performance as the brilliant Fiedler.

Richard Burton is good, of course, but playing the dour, sardonic and scowling Leamas requires him to be relentlessly draining. (He’s such a pill that he even turns down Werner’s offer of free recreational sex with an East German woman.) I actually hate that moment when Burton laughs at Claire Bloom when she confesses to being a devoted commie. She may be naive but at least she deeply cares, and Burton can only snicker at her conviction.

Five years ago I posted about the very first California drive-in theatre — the old Pico Drive-In (10860 Pico Blvd., SE corner of Pico and Westwood Blvds., 1934-1944)

Last night’s viewing of White Heat (‘49) reminded me of the second such operation — the San-Val Drive-In Theatre (2720 Winona Ave. Burbank, 1938-1973).

Newspapers insisted on using a hyphen between San and Val; management disagreed. HE is siding with the news guys.

There’s an Act One scene in which James Cagney‘s Cody Jarrett, Virginia Mayo‘s Verna Jarrett and Margaret Wycherly‘s Ma Jarrett pull into the San-Val to escape a pursuing police car.

And man, the San-Val looks great! — towering big screen, blazing neon signage, car-hops with snazzy outfits.

There are just two…make that three curiosities.

The San-Val’s double feature (right on the marquee) is South of St. Louis (Joel McCrea, Alexis Smith, Zachary Scott, Dorothy Malone) and Siren of Atlantis (Maria Montez, Jean-Pierre Aumont), except the film on the big screen is Task Force (Gary Cooper, Jane Wyman, Walter Brennan).

Curiosity #2 is the fact that South of St. Louis opened on 3.6.49, and White Heat didn’t begin principal photography until 5.5.49…two months later. What are the odds that South of St. Louis played for over two months at the San-Val? I’m presuming White Heat‘s second-unit team shot the San-Val footage soon after the March ’49 debut.

Curiosity #3 is that White Heat opened on 9.2.49 while Task Force didn’t open commercially until 9.30.49. Pissed-off moviegoer: “Hey, I’ve seen a trailer for Task Force…it’s not opening for another month. How come the Jarrett’s are watching it way before the rest of us?”

I’ve repeatedly made it clear that I pretty much despise the British actors who’ve been hired by director Sam Mendes to play Paul McCartney, George Harrison and Ringo Starr — Paul “hawknose” Mescal, Joseph Quinn and Barry Keohgan, respectively — in his quartet of Beatle biopics.

Only the handsome Harris Dickinson, who will play John Lennon, gets an HE stamp of approval. This despite his towering over Mescal when the actual Lennon and McCartney were both 5’10”.

This may sound disturbing to wokeys and dopeys, but early to mid ’60s pop groups had to have reasonably good-looking members to attract the girls — that was the standard set by the Beatles, Herman’s Hermits, The Dave Clark Five, etc.

Three of the Beatles (McCartney, Harrison, Lennon) were generally regarded as good-looking and then some, which, like it or not, was a key to the group’s popularity. (Ringo’s puppy-dog charm easily overcame his huge honker.)

Keohgan may or may not be able to overcome his evil-warlock features in an attempt to revive that old Ringo spirit, but the hard fact of the matter is that Mescal and Quinn simply aren’t fetching…certainly not in the darkly handsome way that McCartney and Harrison were perceived to be in the early ’60s. They’re a bit funny looking, and during the LBJ administration funny-looking guys weren’t allowed to be pop stars.

Just ask the fellows who made up The Association.

Posted on 9.23.22:

Mid ’60s pop groups had to have reasonably good-looking members — that was the reality of the day. And then along came The Association — a six member group that had two handsome guys and four with the oddest, most homely-looking faces in pop-music history.

The dorkiest was Terry Kirkman, who could have been cast as a college-aged serial killer. Next came Larry Ramos (died in 2014 at age 72), a chubby guy who looked like a typical member of an A.V. Squad. The thick-featured Brian Cole (who passed in ’72 at age 30) looked like a bouncer or a rugby player. Russ Giguere was semi-presentable but couldn’t pass the dishy-pop-star test — too geeky, granny glasses, thin moustache.

Jim Yester and Ted Bluechel were the only ones you could honestly call “good looking.”

Yes, the “they have to be cute” thing quickly went away when the Rolling Stones, the Byrds and The Who became popular, but not in ’64 and ’65 when the Beatles were just catching on. Plus the Beatles were clearly in their mid 20s while there’s no dodging the fact that Mescal, Dickinson, Quinn and Keoghan are 30somethings.

I realize that Mescal is popular with gay guys, but to me he’s Satan’s emissary. His hawk nose is actually a lot like the actual Lennon’s nose, but the McCartney resemblance factor is off the charts wrong/bad. Plus Mescal’s pointy chin resembles that of John Barrymore’s Mr. Hyde.

Since the CinemaCon appearance of the Mendes quartet I’ve developed a new hate thing for Quinn, who will completely fail to convince anyone that he’s George Harrison or is even half-channeling him. The notion that Quinn, who was okay in A Quiet Place: Day One but generically repulsive in Gladiator II, could “be” Harrison is nothing short of ridiculous.

…for allowing me to step up and rent this Venice Film Festival crib….all paid for and locked down…myself + Jordan Ruimy…just south of Campo Santa Margherita, and close to a vaporetto stop…Monday, 8.25 through Sunday, 9.7.