How hard is it to accept that The Abyss opened almost 35 years ago?
I’ve seen it twice on a big screen (standard theatrical version plus the longer director’s cut) and have never bought the “Ed Harris brings the chalk-faced, eyes-fixed-and-dilated Mary Elizabeth Mastrontonio back to life” scene…I thought it was manipulative bullshit.
MEM is obviously drowned and lifeless and yet Harris pounds her chest and slaps her two or three times and yells “don’t quit!” and suddenly she starts breathing?
And I never bought the climactic appearance of those beatific dragonfly aliens saving Harris from death and hauling him through their magical underwater metropolis, plus those huge tidal waves that almost wipe out several major cities and then change their minds out of compassion for homo sapiens…an eye-filling finale, for sure, but it doesn’t work.
Hence my decision not to shell out $50 for the just-released 4K Abyss Bluray…it’s a tense, fascinating, well-throttled JamesCameron superfilm but it’s not worth five sawbucks aka a UlyssesS. Grant. I would go $25 or $30 but no higher. Eventually a 4K streaming version will pop.
Franklin is an eight-episode Apple miniseries about the randy statesman, inventor and roving ambassador. Directed by Tim Van Patten and written by Kirk Ellis and Howard Korder, it’s based on Stacy Schiff‘s “A Great Improvisation: Franklin, France, and the Birth of America” (’05). The series launches with three episodes on 4.12.24, and concludes on 5.17.24.
Mr. Franklin was a wise, ingenious and well-educated printer, inventor and statesman, but he was also a serious hound, and I fully expect to see this aspect of his personality depicted…the life of a charming, pot-bellied smoothie who ravaged dozens of Parisian women during his ambassadorship and beyond.
I don’t know what the voice of the Boston-born Franklin sounded like, but it’s a near certainty that Michael Douglas said “fuck it, I’m going to play Franklin with my own deepish, gravelly voice and let the chips fall where they may.”
The 79 year-old Douglas is the right age to play Franklin — he hits the big eight-oh on 9.25.24.
Franklin lived in France (mostly Paris, based in a home in Passy) for nearly 20 years, from late 1776 until sometime in 1785. For roughly eight years Franklin served as the United States ambassador to France, and in so doing persuaded France to lend financial assistance to the United States fight against the British.
Forward to Schiff’s book: “In December of 1776 a small boat delivered an old man to France.” So begins an enthralling narrative account of how Benjamin Franklin — seventy years old, without any diplomatic training, and possessed of the most rudimentary French — convinced France, an absolute monarchy, to underwrite America’s experiment in democracy.
“When Franklin stepped onto French soil, he well understood he was embarking on the greatest gamble of his career. By virtue of fame, charisma, and ingenuity, Franklin outmaneuvered British spies, French informers, and hostile colleagues; engineered the Franco-American alliance of 1778; and helped to negotiate the peace of 1783. The eight-year French mission stands not only as Franklin’s most vital service to his country but as the most revealing of the man.”
What’s the one thing that comes to mind when everyone thinks of the prosecution of Trump and others over Georgia election interference? Obviously the taped 1.2.21 phone call in which Trump tried to cajole and threaten Secretary of State Brad Raffensperger — “I just want to find 11,780 votes” — into overturning Trump’s loss of that state in the 2020 election.
A tape of the phone call was obtained by The Washington Post and released the following day. Over and over Raffensperger responded with respectful “sorry, Mr. President, but no way” statements.
And yet, believe it or not, this phone call — irrefutable evidence of Trump’s attempt to alter the Georgia vote count and steal the election — has been thrown out by Judge Scott McAfee of Fulton Superior Court. Six charges against Trump and his hooligan allies have been tossed by McAfee, leaving a total of 35.
The ruling was not related to a Trump defense attempt to disqualify Fulton County D.A. Fani T. Willis, over committing apparent perjury in court testimony over a now-concluded romantic relationship with prosecutor Nathan Wade. McAfee is expected to rule on that matter by week’s end.
TimotheeChalamet is going to look great as he ages into his 40s, 50s and beyond. Those eyes and bones…he’s going to become a combination of a graying David Niven and a gentle-faced Basil Rathbone with bushy salt-and-pepper hair.**
Ditto Emma Stone. She’ll never put on weight, her face will retain its tightness as long as she submits to an occasional Prague touch-up, and those grand, luminous eyes are never going to lose their wattage.
Margot Robbie is going to radiate much of what she has now when she passes the 45-plus threshold. Firecracker eyes, delectable bones. As long she ignores her gay hairdresser’s advice to wear her hair shorter as she ages, she’ll be totally fine.
Zendaya is also going to weather fairly nicely.
But you know who isn’t going to age all that well? Florence Pugh. She’s pretty and everything but it’s clear she’s just about to flip over. On her way to Kathleen Turner-ville. A round little ball.
Journalists and columnists aren’t allowed to talk candidly about actors’ appearances, but you should listen to casting directors and beauty professionals after they’ve had a couple of drinks and let their hair down.
Who else is seemingly fated to experience significant (i.e., unwelcome) changes as their genes come in for the kill?
** Chalamet may get into trouble if he allows himself to bulk up and become Alan Bates, but he’ll be fine if he sticks to a Cary Grant diet..
…were the wokesters (i.e., those who feel that the celebration of this or that non-white or non-straight identity is more important than the cherishing of art and craft and soul from whichever contender).
Not lying. An observable fact. They were polite but there is no doubt that many people in the room wanted a different outcome. Be happy people are viciously attacking her, which is what I thought might happen. https://t.co/85MWDc157C
— Sasha Stone at Awards Daily (@AwardsDaily) March 12, 2024
John Cena‘s recent nude moment on the Oscar stage reminided me of something I’ve never mentioned and had almost forgotten about.
I’ve written before about having servied four days in L.A. County Jail, for the crime of having failed to pay 27 parking tickets. It happened sometime in the late spring or early summer of ’74, and it was during the initial processing (when they create your identity card, make you take a shower and give you the orange jumpsuit and your bedding) that I noticed that the Oscar streaker guy, Robert Opel, was also being processed.
Opel’s photo had been in the papers; he’d also been interviewed by local TV news shows so the recognition was instant. Did I go over and strike up a conversation? Nope — wimped out. But it was him, all right.
Opel was born in 1939 in East Orange, New Jersey. After graduating from a Pittsburgh-area college he allegedly worked as a speechwriter for California Governor Ronald Reagan.
Opel was teaching for the Los Angeles Unified School District at the time of the Oscar streaking incident, and was canned because of that.
Opel was mostly gay with a little bi action on the side. After moving from L.A. to San Francisco during the mid ’70s, he opened Fey-Way Studios, a gallery of gay male art, at 1287 Howard Street. The gallery helped bring such erotic gay artists as Tom of Finland and Robert Mapplethorpe to national attention. But in the mid ’79 he was in a relationship with Camille O’Grady.
At age 39 Opel was shot to death at his San Francisco studio — it happened on July 7, 1979. His killer was Maurice Keenan, a thief who is still doing time for the crime.
There’s a documentary about Opel on YouTube. It’s called Uncle Bob, directed by Opel’s nephew and namesake.
You haven’t lived until you’ve fallen though thin ice in the middle of February, and then, having instantly acquired human icicle status, having to walk a mile and a half back home. I was shivering so badly I was barely able to breathe.
A friend (Joe Frederick) and I were gliding across the pond without much effort, having a great time, no stress, etc. I must have been 14 or 15.
I was moving at a pretty good clip when I suddenly noticed I could see through the ice, and at the same millisecond I heard a little symphony of cracking sounds. I said to myself “okay, here we go.” Some kind of instinct told me to drop down and slide on my back as I spread spread my legs and arms. A second or two later I was waist deep in ice water and scrambling to crawl onto the thicker, unbroken ice. I was actually out in a flash, but I’ll never forget the sight of Joe throwing his head back and laughing uproariously as he skated along.
By the time I made it back home I was blue from the cold. Right after the submersion I managed to take the skates off and change into shoes, but that wasn’t much help.
A year earlier I went skating on the same pond with my dad, Jim Wells. I distinctly remember Jim losing his balance or his skate getting caught in a rut or something and him leaving the ice for a second or two and crashing down hard. I didn’t laugh at this (I wasn’t that callous) but I was secretly pleased.
During the Sideways junket the shoot was described by Alexander Payne as extremely pleasant — great.
Naturally I was inspired to ask a contrarian question. I asked Payne and producer Michael London if there’s anything analogous between on-set alpha vibes and first-rate final cuts.
I wasn’t saying everyone has to be miserable during shooting in order for a film to turn out well, but creative endeavors of consequence are rarely a slap-happy thing. Distillation, compressing, honing and re-thinking are not day-at-the-beach activities.
Legend has it that Brian DePalma used to say “I don’t trust happy shoots or happy crews” or something like that.
There’s no fixed rule, of course. Bad films have been made on happy sets and superb ones have come from sets in which almost everyone hated each other or the shooting conditions were especially arduous.
I’m sure there’s a very long list of commendable films that turned out well but were unpleasant to make. Here’s a short roster — Waterworld, Jaws, The Northman, Titanic, Ishtar, The Abyss, Star Wars, Heaven’s Gate, Fitzcarraldo, Caddyshack, The Blues Brothers, The Bridge On The River Kwai, Apocalypse Now.
I just know my guard always goes up when I hear how much fun it was to make this or that film. Nobody seemed to get what I was saying when I mentoned this to Payne and London. They both said, “You don’t have to be miserable to make a good movie.” I didn’t say you had to be miserable. I said…that’s okay, forget it.
“Sipping Sideways,” posted on or about 9.22.04: Fox Searchlight invited several press people up to Santa Barbara last weekend for a Sideways film junket. I accepted at the drop of a hat.
The deal included a suite at the Bacara hotel and spa in Goleta (about 12 minutes west of Santa Barbara, just past Isla Vista), a complimentary T1 line in the hotel room, too much food, a wine-tasting party, moonlight walks on the beach, all kinds of beautiful women everywhere, more food, and chats with Sideways writer-director Alexander Payne and costars Thomas Haden Church and Virginia Madsen. Paul Giamatti wasn’t there due to a family situation.
I drove up late Saturday afternoon. About 90 minutes, give or take. I checked into the Bacara around 6 pm. Swanky, expensive, built four years ago. Spanish mission style. A series of two-story buildings sloping downhill and all of it landscaped to death. The cheapest rooms go for $400 a night. The vibe felt a bit too rich for my blood.
The drive back to Santa Barbara for the Sideways wine party felt longish. If the Bacara were farther away it couldn’t be in Santa Barbara — it’s really out there.
Publicists at the door told me I’d missed a 5 pm screening of Sideways, which nobody told me about. I’d like to catch it again soon.
Payne was there without his wife, Sideways costar Sandra Oh. I asked him why his usually longish hair was cut short. “You have to cut back the rose bush every fall,” he replied. I spoke briefly to Madsen. I saw Church but didn’t approach.
Best part of the article:
I’m a particular fan of Church’s performance as Jack, an actor friend of Giamatti’s Miles who’s due to be married in a few days and is determined to get laid during their wine-country safari any which way. It’s one of those last-gasp, go-for-the-gusto-before-surrendering things.
Jack is a selfish, immature child, but Church gives him a kind of dignity because he takes hound-dogging very seriously.
You should have heard the journos at the table imparting their p.c. sentiments about what a despicable misogynist Jack is. Bullshit — he’s like 80% of all the engaged guys I’ve ever known or heard about. And for what it’s worth, I’ve been lucky twice with women who were about to get married. I know that the main reason they waved me in was because they knew this was their last shot before reciting marriage vows.
End of the best part of the article.
Update, posted today: I had totally forgotten about T1 internet connections.