Know why Kate McKinnon‘s Elizabeth Warren Town Hall “cold open” on SNL wasn’t funny, apart for the fact that anything having to do with Warren can’t be funny no matter how you slice it? Because it’s not satirical as much as gently instructive.

The point of the sketch isn’t to make fun of Warren’s Medicare-For-All plan, but to sell it to the God-knows-how-many-millions who’ve never paid the slightest attention to anything Warren has ever said.

The bit more or less succeeds in that regard. People are scared of Medicare-For-All because they don’t like anything that smacks of new or exotic or complex. That’s it — that’s the whole thing.

I’ve tried re-watching Cool Hand Luke a couple of times, but when that ABC 7 Eyewitness News music plays on the soundtrack, I just can’t do it — my suspension of disbelief goes right out the window. Obviously Lalo Schifrin’s original score was Luke’s alone for a certain period of time. But once Eyewitness News adopted it and played it for New York viewers every damn weeknight for years on end (when did that start, sometime in the late ‘70s or early ‘80s?) the spell was broken forever.

The Irishman has been playing for two nights in New York, Los Angeles and a few other major cities. So what’s the HE commentariat verdict? Does Al Pacino have the Best Supporting Actor Oscar locked up, or is it Brad Pitt’s to lose? Favorite scenes? Thoughts about the last 30 or 40 minutes?

Advisory: No one is allowed to express views along the lines of that reprehensible Texas critic who said The Irishman doesn’t leave you with much to reflect upon, or words to that effect.

The Tijuana dental work turned out just fine. The line to get back into the U.S. dragged on and on — around 90 minutes. Poor people in Tijuana do not fool around — they’re thisfar from living like street rats. It’s rough to take in. Things are so much better as a rule in our fucked-up, 38% Trump-supporting country, I regret admitting.

The last time I crossed the San Ysidro-Tijuana border by car it involved maybe two or three minutes of backed-up traffic, and then the guard glanced at my passport and waved me right through. Five minutes total.

This time I’m walking across and so far I’ve been waiting in a slow-ass line (“extranjeros”) for nearly 25 minutes with at least another 10 or 15 to go . I arrived in San Diego at 9 am and I’m still stateside at 11 am. Why the harassment? Why punish the gringos?

I recently signed up for a new dental insurance plan — terrific. But it requires 12 months of loyal payments before kicking in for crowns or veneers…yeah! So with a recently chipped tooth I’ve no choice but to visit the Baja Oral Center in Tijuana, a totally first-rate operation staffed with tip-top professionals who know exactly what they’re doing.

This morning at 6:05 am I caught a San Diego-bound Amtrak Surfliner at Union Station. Easily the most pleasant journey I’ve ever taken to these parts. Arrived in SD at 9 am. I’m now on the Blue Line trolley (which is bright red in color) and heading for the border. I’ll walk across the border and grab a cab, etc.

I’ll be catching a train back to Los Angeles sometime in the late afternoon or early evening. I know, I know…as long as I’m down here why not stay for a night in Rosarito Beach? Maybe next time.

Terminator: Dark Fate, a politically correct rehash of T2: Judgment Day with a mostly female/Latino cast handling the kick-ass stuff coupled with state-of-the-art FX, is dead in the water.

A film that cost $185 million and needs $460M-plus to break even, and it’s only expected to gross $27 million domestic by Sunday night? Finito.

My guess is that audiences took one look at the trailer and/or the movie on Thursday night and said “how many times are they going to re–package this shit?…why are we paying to see the same, numbingly familiar time-traveling Terminator crap, only this time with actors of a female and/or Latino persuasion? These are cosmetic p.c. changes that don’t change the fact that it’s the same old oatmeal.”

Deadline‘s Anthony D’Alessandro: “It’s not a good weekend for franchises, specifically old dusty ones as the sixth Terminator movie, Terminator: Dark Fate, is seeing an awful future at the weekend domestic box office with $27.1M, a terrible result for a planned Paramount/ Skydance Media/ Fox tentpole that reportedly cost $185M (some even say it was $196M).

Hollywood social media org Relish Mix: “Fans and action sci-fi moviegoers who have seen the film are up in arms about major changes to the film series’ plot lines.

“It’s also worth observing that fans and moviegoers are all for strong female characters — when these characters are essential and interesting to the story.

“Like other recent remakes, spin-offs and reimaginings, casual moviegoers are confused and disinterested in taking a classic film and simply re–shooting it with women in the lead roles, which is the perception of some related to Dark Fate, and the reality to still others who have seen early screenings.”

Pete Buttigieg is now third in a new N.Y. Times Upshot/Sienna College poll focusing on the Iowa caucuses. More significantly he’s a point ahead of Typewriter Joe, one point behind Bernie Sanders and within striking distance of Elizabeth Warren.

The prevailing assumption right now (and please correct if I’m missing something) is that the Best Actor Oscar is Joaquin Phoenix’s to lose. The Adam Driver talk, which will probably re-surge over the next few days with Marriage Story opening on 11.6, began during the Telluride Film Festival but has since leveled out. I realize that Uncut Gems is not a typical Academy-friendly film, but Adam Sandler‘s submission to his Diamond district gambling junkie character is breathtaking — one of the all-time great crazy goon performances with manic energy to burn. (I saw it again two or three nights ago, and was all the more impressed.) Robert De Niro‘s Irishman lead isn’t as much of a knockout as Al Pacino‘s Jimmy Hoffa, agreed, but he can’t be denied a Best Actor nom, especially for his ownage of the final 30 to 40 minutes. It was painful to take Pain and Glory‘s Antonio Banderas out of the fifth slot, but The Two Popes is a popular film with the 50-plus crowd, and the acting honors belong mostly to Jonathan Pryce.

The Joker stairs have become a tourist destination, starting around two or three weeks ago. They’re located at 1165 Shakespeare Avenue in the Bronx. The bottom of the concrete staircase, I mean. The peak is located at the juncture of Anderson Ave. and West 167th Street. Take the 4, B or D line north to 167th Street station. Six blocks north of Yankee Stadium. It’s actually called “Joker stairs” on Google maps.

The last time Hollywood Elsewhere visited a Bronx location via subway was…never. I drove down from Connecticut to a Yankee game with some friends in ’78 or ’79…something like that. If I was in the NYC area I’d probably take a pass.

I was initially turned on by Beto O’Rourke‘s attempt to win Ted Cruz‘s U.S. Senate seat — the youthful elan, the progressive firebrand thing, the humanist current, skateboarding in the parking lot, a tall Bobby Kennedy, etc. And then came the announcement of his Presidential candidacy and that Vanity Fair cover. He seemed destined to have a serious impact. A lot people were sensing this.

But I switched horses when Pete Buttigieg came along. Pete (who is now surging in Iowa polling) struck me as a much more formidable candidate. Suddenly Beto didn’t seem like that gangly rockstar from Texas riding a propulsive groundswell, etc.

Pete aside, the thing that fundamentally killed my Beto allegiance was that he apologized too much to the wokesters. “I’m sorry, so sorry, please forgive me” — too willing to grovel. I’m not suggesting that Beto’s spine is a bit soft, but a vague instinctual suspicion along these lines began to take hold, and I began to feel a certain distance. His compassionate open-border views on immigration were untempered, it seemed, by even a touch of realpolitik pragmatism. He just didn’t seem to have that steady, straight from the shoulder, “this is who I am, take it or leave it” quality. He expressed his beliefs with skill and feeling, but he seemed to be more of an emotional vibe guy than anything else.

And then Beto surged in the early August aftermath of the El Paso and Dayton shootings, and I admired his zeal about automatic-weaponas, and his sudden willingness to pepper his views with profanity while talking to reporters. For the first time he seemed to have thrown away caution; he seemed willing to die on a hill. I admired his declaration that he would, if elected, try to confiscate buy back automatic weapons. Suddenly he didn’t seem wussy. A fresh infusion of fibre.

But that faded after a few days, and Beto never took off. People in my corner liked Pete better — that was mainly it. That and money. Pete and Beto were selling the same generational turnover thing, more or less, but Pete seems more substantive.

I never figured Beto would withdraw before Corey Booker, Julian Castro or Andrew Yang. Who will drop out next? How long can Kamala Harris last?

It’s too bad Beto won’t be running again for the U.S. Senate seat that is currently held by Republican John Cornyn.

All great or extra-impact films say something that audiences recognize as truthful — things they’ve learned and accepted through their own travails, and which prompt a muttering of at least two things — (a) “Yup, that’s how it is, all right” and (b) “this movie knows what goes.”

The Social Network said that even cold-hearted geniuses have emotional needs and vulnerabilities. The Godfather, Part II said that close-knit families were drifting aport and falling into spiritual lethargy, especially given the fact that mafia karma is a bitch. High Noon says you can’t trust your fair-weather friends — only yourself. The Spy Who Came In From The Cold says that little people will always get squashed in the eternal battles between ruthless governments. Prince of The City says that you can’t purify your soul without ratting out your friends so live with your misdeeds. Shane says that being a gunslinger is a stain that can’t be erased. Sunset Boulevard says we all need to live in the present and that constantly looking back will kill you. North by Northwest says you can’t live a life of shallow, affluent diversion — that you have to man up and do the brave and noble thing. Raging Bull says that if you live like an animal, you’ll end up a lonely animal in a dressing room. Unforgiven says you can’t escape your basic nature, and that no one blows guys away like snarling Clint.

The Irishman says a lot of things, but the most profound takeaway is you can’t lie to your children or keep them at arm’s length. Well, you can but at your peril. Because old age, walking canes, Depends and death are just around the corner, and you might want a caring someone to talk to and hold your hand during the downswirl. Nobody gets out of life alive.

Consider the following capsule assessment of texasartfilm.net‘s Dustin Chase: “Two good performances and some technical wizardry doesn’t warrant [The Irishman‘s] excessive running time and crippled pacing. [For it] gives the audience very little to take with them or apply to their own lives.”

The natural, obvious, fall-on-the-floor response is “WHAT?” Followed by “what kind of a life has Dustin Chase lived?” God knows, but it hasn’t involved much in the way of mortal meditation. When I staggered out of that first Irishman press screening everyone was feeling gut-punched and gobsmacked by those last 30 to 40 minutes. An older actress friend had tears in her eyes.

And “two good performances”? Try 11 or 12, minimally — Robert De Niro, Al Pacino, Joe Pesci, Stephen Graham, Marin Ireland and the wordless Anna Paquin are the stuff of instant relish and extra-level pulverizing. Not to mention Harvey Keitel, Ray Romano, Bobby Cannavale, Kathrine Narducci, Domenick Lombardozzi as “Fat Tony” Salerno, Sebastian Maniscalco as “Crazy Joe” Gallo, etc. Everyone in this film is perfect. The awareness that you’re watching actors giving performances goes right out the window almost immediately. You’re just there and so are they and vice versa.

“Excessive running time“? The Irishman feels like two, maybe two and a half hours, max.

“Crippled pacing”? Who is this guy?