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In the wake of Sebastian Stan being Best Actor-nominated for his Donald Trump performance in The Apprentice, new critical light is being shed on “those small-minded, quarter-inch-deep publicists who forbade their clients from participating in a Variety ‘Actors on Actors’ segment with Stan” last November.

Stan: “I had an offer to do Variety‘s Actors on Actors, [but] I couldn’t find another actor to do it with me. [I’m] not pointing at anyone specific, but we couldn’t get past the publicists or the people representing them because they were too afraid to talk about this movie.”

Paul Schrader once told me in an interview that “cowardice doesn’t require a conspiracy“…meaning that cowardice springs up naturally on its own…it’s a trait that’s built into people or certainly built into the less secure.

It goes without saying that none of the twitchy reps who kept their clients from chatting with Stan for the proposed ‘Actors on Actors’ segment will ever admit to having done so, and even if exposed they sure as hell won’t explain what exactly their thinking may have been at the time.

But if just one of these publicists were to come forward and make a clean breast of things by admitting to having wimped out, I would take my hat off in respect. What are the odds of this happening? Zilch.

From HE’s “Apprentice Is Pure Pleasure,” posted from Cannes on 5.20.24:

“‘All hail Sebastian Stan‘s Trump, a note-perfect capturing of this amiable, malevolent psychopath, who apparently exuded a certain naivete and behaved in a semi-understandable fashion and may have been half-human when he was working in a senior capacity for his father’s real-estate company in the ’70s.’

“Last May Variety‘s Tatiana Siegel quoted an ‘insider’ saying that ‘audiences may find The Apprentice to be an oddly humanizing portrait’ of Trump. Excuse me? Young Trump seems like a semi-tolerable fellow at first, but he gradually morphs into a fuckhead…a killer. The truth is that Abassi’s film is an oddly humanizing portrait of Cohn as it invites the audience to share Cohn’s sense of betrayal…you actually feel sorry for this icon of evil when Trump gives him the cold shoulder.

“Strong’s Cohn is magnificent — he should definitely win the Cannes Film Festival’s Best Actor prize, the size of the role be damned. Cohn to Trump at film’s halfway point: ‘You’ve got a fat ass. You should do something about that.’ Strong is wonderful!”

…in the HE commentariat’s own version of “Box Office Poison,” the Tim Robey book that I just bought this afternoon?

Let’s say there are 20 or 24 chapters highlighting the same number of films. Which cinematic calamities should be fully examined for posterity’s sake? Not the obvious ones (Heaven’s Gate) but the most interesting, the least deserving, the most unfairly dismissed?

I’ve said repeatedly that identity campaigns have become passe. Lily Gladstone‘s was the last such campaign to have an impact. Nonetheless Netflix and Emilia Perez star Karla Sofia Gascon are currently riding this horse around the track.

The basic idea conveyed by Julian Sancton’s 1.11.25 THR profile is that Gascon is a “controversial” figure, which in the realm of respect and decency is a fringe fallacy. Gascon is certainly a historical figure, yes, but broadcasting the fact that she’s had to contend with online haters doesn’t enhance her brief. Who cares what ugly people are saying on social media?

Gascon has given an entirely respectable, emotionally forceful performance as the titular character in Jacques Audiard‘s audacious musical drama, although not (be honest) an Oscar-worthy one. Respect but no cigar. End of story.

“An Uh-Oh Moment for Karla Sofia Gascon,” posted on 11.2.24:

She’ll be Best Actress-nominated, of course, but in the blink of an eyelash our tectonic plates have shifted and…wait, what’s happening?…identity campaigns are no longer a compelling poker hand.

Or so says an 11.2 N.Y. Times article by Jeremy W. Peters and “Identity Trap” author Yascha Mounk in particular.

If you ask me Killers of the Flower Moon’s Lily Gladstone losing the Best Actress Oscar vote earlier this year to Poor Things’ Emma Stone was an early indication of this cultural-turning-the-road thang.

For decades we’ve all been talking about (or denying the likelihood of) The Big One — the massive earthquake that might, God forbid, destroy much of Los Angeles a la Mark Robson and deliver a bruising blow to the entertainment industry.

It hasn’t happened yet, of course, but the various firestorm ravagings of the last six days (especially the Pacific Palisades Hiroshima blaze) have come damn close in terms of the numbing devastation…physical, historical, emotional, spiritual.

Last weekend it occured to damn near everyone that in the midst of all this shock and trauma, focusing on award season is suddenly, obviously a bad look.

Which is why Jeff Sneider’s suggestion to make the Oscars into a charity-and-compassion event sounds inspired.

Sneider: “It the Academy really wants to put its money where its mouth is, it should turn the Oscars into a telethon hosted by Conan O’Brien, backed by an army of A-listers. And I’m talking everyone — all hands on deck.

“If you’ve been reading Richard Rushfield’s thoughtful Ankler series on ‘How to Fix the Oscars’, one thing he’s absolutely right about is correcting the piss-poor attendance from A-listers. It shouldn’t matter if they’re nominated or not. Certain celebs need to make more of an effort to show their support, if only to signal that they care about the larger community.

THR‘s Steven Zeitchik has echoed Sneider in a post that appeared at 4:43 pm eastern:

“I think the show should be a giant all-in arts-based awareness-raiser of the kind done best in the 1980s,” he writes, “while also attempting to restore the spectacle of every Oscar decade but the last. A telecast that will at once provide the must-see qualities we all lament awards shows now lack while giving fundraisers the kind of shine they haven’t had in decades. Think Farm Aid meets the Titanic year.

“Here’s one way that could look:

“Every nominee comes with a plus-one — but it has to be someone who was affected by the wildfires. Could be a third-generation Altadena homeowner, could be a film person from the Palisades. As long as they lost something. Because it would be pointless to have this show and ignore loss.”

Back to Sneider: “This hypothetical Oscar telethon should, obviously, benefit every family and individual who was directly impacted by these wildfires, starting with those who experienced some loss of life, which should always be valued over property. As of now, the death toll stands at 25.

“Buildings, businesses and even communities can be rebuilt, but those 25 innocent people are never coming back. And that’s just awful to think about. The families of those victims need our help, as do so many others, and a global audience could be incredibly helpful in that regard.

“Meanwhile, if the Academy truly wants a viral moment, it will have first responders from the Los Angeles Fire Department on stage giving out the award for Best Picture.”

HE comment: I’m not so sure about this. I can see and heartily support various first-responders coming onstage and a spokesperson delivering the right kind of speech while urging charitable support, but announcing the Best Picture winner? Something about that feels a tiny bit off.

The 97th Academy Awards will be held on Sunday, March 2nd — seven weeks hence minus a day.

Directed by Stephen Hopkins and written by William Goldman, The Ghost and the Darkness (’96) was one of those mediocre, big-studio, high-concept films that had a B-movie vibe. You could smell it before it opened, and once you saw it there was virtually no residue.

Goldman sold the idea as “Lawrence of Arabia meets Jaws“, but despite being fact-based (John Henry Patterson‘s “The Man-Eaters of Tsavo“, published in 1907) it passed along a cruel mythology — a notion that bad-ass lions were somehow analogous to the great white shark in Jaws, which is to say bringers of primal evil.

Val Kilmer played the heroic Patterson; producer Michael Douglas played an invented lion-killer character, Charles Remington — a grizzled, brawny, larger-than-life figure who seemed modelled on Robert Shaw‘s Quint. Like Quint, Remington is eaten at the end, but Hopkins missed an opportunity by not including a shot of Douglas’s bearded head — the camera doesn’t even glance at this final carnage.

Shot within the Songimvelo game reserve and with great difficulty, Hopkins called the Paramount release “a mess…I haven’t been able to watch it.”

It’s significant that a 1.12.25 Forbes article about the real-like Tsavo lions that inspired Patterson’s book doesn’t even mention the Paramount film.

Lions are today an endangered species, and one of the reason for their population decrease is sport-hunting. I’m convinced that The Ghost and the Darkness inspired Donald Trump Jr. and Eric Trump (respectively 19 and 12 years old when The Ghost and the Darkness opened) planted the ideas that bagging a lion enhanced the masculinity of the hunter.

I’ve stood next to Sharon Stone a couple of times, and she’s no statue-esque Sigourney Weaver, I can tell you…she was 5’8 when younger, and is probably closer to 5’7″ now.

Cynthia Erivo and Sharon Stone sharing a moment on the Palm Springs International Film Awards red carpet pic.twitter.com/hBpyOPBjai

— Ema Sasic (@ema_sasic) January 4, 2025

Ariana Grande & Nicole Kidman at the Palm Springs Film Festival Awards.

(via: @THR)
pic.twitter.com/HomCOOte9F

— Film Updates (@FilmUpdates) January 4, 2025

Hillary Clinton hasn’t looked this slender since the early aughts.

Alternate title: What would former shoemaker Daniel Day Lewis say?

HE to Italian shoemaker, sent this morning: “My feet used to be size 12, but over the past eight to ten years I’ve had to wear size 13. I own two pairs of boots and several lace-up shoes that are size 13, and they’re all fine.

“Two or three months ago I ordered a pair of size 13 Bass Weejuns black loafers. They felt stiff and tight at first, but after wearing them a couple of times they’ve loosened up slightly. They’re not what I would call comfortable but they’re wearable.

“Your loafers are beautifully made and very attractive. But they feel a bit tighter than the Bass Weejuns. Last night I wore them indoors for an hour or so, and without socks. (I don’t think I could even put them on while wearing thin socks.) I really need to somehow loosen them up. I need to make the leather softer and more malleable, which only happens from wearing them and walking around.

“I could ask my local shoe repair guy to forcibly stretch them out but the leather has to be softer and more malleable to begin with, right?

“Your shoes only arrived yesterday but right now a voice is telling me they’ve been constructed a bit tighter and snugger than my other size 13 shoes. I’m really afraid that even after the leather has become looser and more relaxed, they’ll STILL feel too tight.

“I’m not saying I should be wearing a size 14 — my feet aren’t that big — but I’m thinking it might be better if I had a size 13 and 1/2. Would it be possible for you to send me a size 13 and 1/2 if I return the current shoes?

“Or should I just hope and pray that they’ll gradually become more wearable or perhaps even comfortable once the leather stretches out?

“I know all about cruel shoes and the suffering that goes along with this. But right now I don’t feel good about this. I’m a little worried.”

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Eight years ago I watched roughly a half-hour’s worth of footage from Jerry Lewis‘s The Day The Clown Cried. Here’s what I wrote at the time:

Poasted on 6.16.16: “The Day The Clown Crieed is a kind of ghost cult film, one that’s been written about and discussed and derided in absentia by film sophistos for several decades.

“It’s a fascinating piece. I’m glad I saw what I saw. I now have a rough idea of how TDTCC plays and feels emotionally. It may not be anyone’s idea of a great or profound film, but it’s nowhere near as bad as I’d heard it was for so many years.

“Yes, the basic scheme is labored. One could call it grotesque in its attempt to whip up emotions via the cold-blooded mass murder of an isolated group of small children. But it’s a bit more measured and shaded than I expected — not absurdly over the top but delivered in smoky, grayish tones, and crafted with a feeling of noirish, downbeat gradualism.

“The ultimate consensus may be that it’s not a profoundly effective film, but nor is it the gaudy wipeout I had expected. It’s somewhere in between.”

It’s a stretch to imagine that ’25 will generate much in the way of pleasant, nourishing vibes…be honest. We all know what’s coming.

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Bill McCuddy recently had the absolute gall to celebrate Skywalkers: A Love Story as his #1 film of the year.

I responded as follows:

Not to mention that below-the-title slogan — “What will they risk to touch the sky?” Words fail.

I should be more open-minded, I realize, in part due to Variety‘s Owen Gleiberman having put Skywalkers on his ten-best list. But that title is so repulsive that I really don’t want to see this film, ever. My life will not be even slightly diminished by my avoiding it.

Skywalkers opened last summer and nobody jumped up and down. Not in my orbit, they didn’t. Flatline flatline flatline. And then all of a sudden McCuddy and Gleiberman perform last-minute cartwheels.

There’s one thing that elite film critics like Bilge Ebiri never touch with a ten-foot pole, and that’s how a given film feels at the very end. And the way a film feels at the finale is, of course, always a measure of whether or not the ultimate fate of the characters seems fair or reasonable.

Did a character fuck up badly and maybe hurt someone as a result? Then he or she deserves to feel some degree of pain at the finale. Has a character been falsely accused of something he/she didn’t do? Then his/her lack of guilt should be revealed at the end. He/she doesn’t have to end up rich or married to a movie star or elected President of the United States, but the record needs to be set straight to some extent.

If a more or less decent, fair-minded character is hit by lightning or a falling tree limb at the very end of a film and dies, that’s a completely shitty ending. “What did that happen for?”, the audience will say. No good reason, says the director or screenwriter. We just felt like killing him/her off because, you know, life can be randomly cruel at times. Audience: “Yeah? Well, fuck you then!”

A film doesn’t have to end happily or sadly or humorously or tragically, but you have to feel on some level that the characters have met with a fair and even-handed fate — that what happened or didn’t happen to them seems justified.

When George Kennedy‘s psychopathic asshole character was killed and eaten by guard dogs at the end of Michael Cimino‘s Thunderbolt and Lightfoot, there was no disputing that he’d gotten what he deserved.

Ditto when Elliot Gould‘s Phillip Marlowe shot Jim Bouton‘s Terry Lennox at the end of The Long Goodbye.

I’ve noted a couple of times that the ending of The Godfather, Part II wan’t an upper but it felt justified. Michael Corleone has grown into a monster, and at the end he’s left all alone with his recollections of the idealistic youth he used to be and a realization that this younger version of himself has more or less died. Not a happy ending but a fair one. Corleone has accrued all the power but lost his soul.

Same thing with Paul Newman at the end of Hud. He takes a swing of beer and says “fuck it” but he’s no happy camper. He will have very little love or serenity in his life, and he knows it and so do we.

The ending of Million Dollar Baby totally works. Clint’s character is devastated for what he felt he had to do, and he’s alone at the end in that diner. But he did what he felt was right. A sad but even-handed ending.

They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? is a tragedy that ends with Jane Fonda‘s character getting what she wants, in a sense. Obviously an unhappy fate but she gets what she wants. The ending works. It feels fair, I mean, given who she was and the dark forces weighing upon her (including her own fatalistic attitude) and the options she no longer has.

I know that life can be horribly unfair at times and that the worst things can happen to the nicest people, but we’re not talking about life here but the scheme of good drama. If the characters in a film don’t meet with a fair fate, something feels wrong and audiences get angry.

The ending of The Deer Hunter is one of the oddest, least morally satisfying finales of all time. I sat there seething and hissed through my teeth, “You stupid rural fuckheads…singing ‘God Bless America’…God, not a clue!”

So fuck the critical elite for having given films like The Brutalist, Maria and (from what I’ve been told by trusted viewers) I Saw The TV Glow a pass without noting how it makes you feel at the end, which is fucking awful.

This is why people don’t trust elite film critics. They don’t lay it on the line about how movies feel and more particularly about whether the payoff feels “right.” I do this all the time because that’s how I roll, but they don’t. Just saying.