I’ve come up with three potential names for that paywalled personal advice column that I mentioned the other day. Personal advice in the way of love, travel, God, drugs. alcohol and misbegotten relationships. The first concept was a dull cliche — HE’s True Confessions. The second was a Howard Beale riff — HE’s I’ve Just Run Out of Bullshit. The third was inspired by Phil Collins — HE’s I Don’t Care Any More.
Roughly two months ago a very early draft of Eric Roth‘s screenplay for Killers of the Flower Moon (dated 2.20.17,...
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Frances McDormand‘s Fern was strong but mule-stubborn and at the end of the day self-destructive, and this stunted psychology led...
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Can’t decide which performance is better, although I’ve always leaned toward Tina Vitale, her cynical New Jersey moll behind the...
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Two days ago (1.19) a Facebook tribute congratulated Tippi Hedren for having reached her 94th year (blow out the candles!)...
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A friend suggested a list of the Ten Best American Crime Flicks of the ‘70s. By which he meant films...
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I’ve never been able to give myself over to Sam Peckinpah’s Major Dundee, a 1965 Civil War–era western, and I’ve...
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