How exactly does No Time To Die, the just-announced title of Bond #25, differ in terms of meaning from Die Another Day (’02), the Lee Tamahori-directed installment with Pierce Brosnan? I’ll tell you how it differs. It doesn’t. They both mean “put off dying or kick the dying can down the road because I have pressing shit I have to deal with, first and foremost being survival itself.”

So No Time To Die is basically a “blah blah, our lids are drooping, we couldn’t think of anything else so we settled on a retread” title. It’s like calling a Bond film Silverfinger or Doctor Moe or Thunderclap or Black Ink: Octosquid.

What’s the first association when I think of antlers, above and beyond moose, elk and bucks of the forest? Those creepy stick-branch-and-twine sculptures in the first season of True Detective, which foretold the realm of Carcosa and the whole “Yellow King” thing. So right away “antlers” connotes nightmare stuff.

Scott Cooper and Guillermo del Toro‘s Antlers (Fox Searchlight) is co-written by Nick Antosca and C. Henry Chaisson, and based on Antosca’s short story “The Quiet Boy,” which appeared online seven months ago.

Cooper detouring into horror is a little surprising, but Jonathan Demme went there and look what happened. Cooper and Del Toro are both gifted, extra-measure filmmakers so here’s hoping.

And those words are “we need to talk.” Not once in my life! Because they’re a code phrase, for openers. They don’t mean “we need to talk.” They mean “I’ve had it up to here with your selfishness and evasions and procrastinating bullshit, and so we need to figure something out because I don’t know how much more of this I can take.” That’s what “we need to talk” means.

It means “I’m losing patience with your lack of progress…you’re not improving according to my plan.” It means “are you gonna shape up? ‘Cause if you don’t I’m thinking of shipping out.” It means “you, sir, have been fucking up, and so ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-changes or else…incoming!”

Like anyone else I have my issues, but in the matter of relationships rule #1 has always been “whatevs, turn the other cheek, let it go, don’t pick fights, no ultimatums.” Which essentially means arguments are over-rated, fly under the radar, do your best, keep the gas tank filled, clean up, buy a good vacuum cleaner and take the garbage out before going to bed.

Reactions? To the trailer, I mean.

Director Alejandro G. Inarritu to Variety’s Ed Meza at Sarajevo Film Festival:

Earlier today Paul Schrader posted the below photo on Facebook, and with a question: “Who is this?” Answer: An approximate representation of the features of Jesus of Nazareth, based on knowledge of facial bone structures of ancient Judeans and passed along by “British scientists, assisted by Israeli archeologists.” The portrait was revealed in a January 2015 issue of Popular Mechanics.

HE reply to Schrader: You know who he looks like? Seriously? Akim Tamiroff in Sam Wood’s For Whom The Bell Tolls.

Where did he get his hair done? Definitely a choppy brush cut due to a lack of good sharp scissors. As if his hair had been trimmed with a sheep herder’s knife of some kind. I’m guessing that most poor guys got a once-a-year haircut back then. Maybe there was a shepherd with a knack for giving such haircuts, which constituted a side business. A guy known to Yeshua and the disciples, I’m thinking. Maybe they all went to him at the same time and got a group rate.

A day or two ago I saw a guy in the Beverly Center Apple store who looked a lot like this, I swear to God. Faded red hoodie sweatshirt, madras shorts, sandals. He was checking out iPads. The Second Coming?

A sizable segment of right-wingers (i.e., the Mike Pence, Megyn Kelly crowd) still believe that Yeshua of Nazareth looked like a handsome, blue-eyed Anglo Saxon linebacker for the University of Michigan. Only with long, flowing, freshly shampooed honey brown hair.

Akim Tamiroff in For Whom The Bell Tolls.

It was announced almost three weeks ago that Chris Pine, 39, will play Walter Cronkite in Newsflash, a real-time drama about how the trusted CBS anchorman and various CBS staffers handled the incoming news of JFK’s assassination on 11.22.63.

I’m presuming Pine will have to either gain weight or wear chubby-face makeup in order to resemble the 47 year-old Cronkite, who was rounder and older-looking on that day, even by the standards of the early ’60s, and with a face, unlike Pine’s, that wasn’t especially handsome or chiselled.

But at least Pine will make for a better Cronkite than Seth Rogen would have…good God, that would’ve been terrible! Responsible parties (including director David Gordon Green) actually wanted Rogen to play the legendary newsman.

I’ve read a draft of Ben Jacoby‘s Newsflash script. I found it steady and convincing — smoothly written, well-researched, not brilliant but very decent. Cronkite is the stalwart, steady-at-the-tiller hero, of course. CBS honcho Jim Aubrey is the villain of the piece.

I don’t know when Newsflash will shoot (probably not for a while) but Pine will also portray former White House attorney and Watergate whistle-blower John Dean in an Amazon feature.

A script for the Dean film apparently hasn’t been written yet.

Variety‘s Matt Donnelly: “The film will follow the life and political saga of Dean, who served as White House counsel for President Richard Nixon from July 1970 through April 1973.

The Dean film will probably turn out to be a more interesting project than Newsflash, if for no other reason than the built-in dramatic conflict (i.e., a young believer in Nixon and the Republican cause experiences an agonizing re-appraisal when the Watergate shit hits the fan).

The Toronto Film Festival website is reporting that Katemir Balagov‘s Beanpole, which I reviewed three months ago in Cannes, is a North American premiere. Which, if accurate, would mean it won’t show first in Telluride. But it will do that. The correct TIFF designation, therefore, should be Canadian premiere. Beanpole‘s Rotten Tomatoes rating stands at 100%.

So in order to see Steven Soderbergh‘s Let Them All Talk sometime next fall, I’ll have to pay a subscription fee to HBO Max. Expected to launch sometime next spring. HBO Max will be a streaming service for all things Warner Media, right? HBO, Warner Bros. films and TV content, TCM, etc.

The Wall Street Journal has reported that WarnerMedia is mulling “a $16-to-$17-per-month price tag, which would be $2 more than a standalone HBO subscription and about $4 more than Netflix,” per qz.com.

I’ve been an HBO Now subscriber for two or three years, but management apparently wants me to follow HBO Max instead. I’m also being urged to subscribe to the forthcoming Apple TV and NBC-Universal streaming services also. No way would I even consider becoming a Disney Channel subscriber.

Written by Deborah Eisenberg, Let Them All Talk has been described as an older-woman’s ensemble drama (Meryl Streep‘s noteworthy author + Candace Bergen and Dianne Weist). Lucas Hedges plays Streep’s nephew; he and Gemma Chan‘s character apparently get something going.

Lensing began in NYC last week; it’s presently shooting aboard the Queen Mary 2 during an actual voyage to England.

If you find this post rote and uninspired, you’re right — I agree with you.

I’m sorry but I’m sensing a fairly brittle vibe here. Tension, arched backs, porcupine needles. Par for the course for a series about a Today-like show, right? Maybe, but I really don’t want to watch this.

Boilerplate: “Alex Levy (Jennifer Aniston) runs The Morning Show, a popular news program that has excelled TV ratings and changed the face of American television forever.

“After her partner of 15 years, Mitch Kessler (Steve Carell), is fired amidst a sexual misconduct scandal, Alex fights to retain her job as top newsreader while sparking a rivalry with Bradley Jackson (Reese Witherspoon), an aspiring journalist who seeks to take Alex’s place.

In an 8.12.19 HE riff about the teaser, it seemed as if Carell was going to play, as I put it, “some kind of pompous asshole, or perhaps a character based in part on Matt Lauer.”

Regional film critic: “Like that all-too-common shot of the hero (or villain) walking away from an explosion right behind him, there’s a relatively recent film cliche that’s annoying the hell out of me. I call it the ‘baring intimate secrets in front of a crowd of total strangers‘ scene.

“It occurs in Blinded By the Light when the protagonist reveals his relationship with his father in front of a school assembly. It’s in Rocketman when (if I remember correctly) Elton John tells a packed Wembley Stadium that he’s gay. It’s also in Crazy, Stupid, Love when Steve Carell bares his soul during his son’s eighth-grade graduation ceremony. Plus other soul-baring moments that I’m not recalling.

“No human has ever done anything like this. No. One. Ever. So when did screenwriters think crafting a scene like this makes dramatic sense? Can’t they think of a better way to wrap up a story?”

HE to regional film critic: “Good point. One of the main reasons that I hated Crazy Stupid Love, actually, was that climactic confession from Carell’s character. My blood boiled.

“But there’s one ’emotional confession befire strangers’ scene that definitely works, and I think the world agrees with me. It’s the second-to-last scene in Cameron Crowe‘s Jerry Maguire. (’96). An exhilarated Tom Cruise crashes Renee Zellweger‘s woman-support-group meeting and lays it all on the line, etc. For all I know this scene inspired other screenwriters to try and copy it.

“The thing that Crowe got right and others didn’t, of course, is that Cruise offered his confession in front of six or seven women in a living room, and not to thousands of fans in Wembley Stadium.”

Waldorf Astoria rooftop top chef: “Tomahawk steak should be $150 tops. We don’t want to push it.” Waldorf Astoria rooftop restaurant manager: “That’s why you’re the chef and I’m the manager.” Top chef: “What do you want to charge? $175? $200?” Manager: “No.” Top chef: “I know you want to charge $200. But that’s $50 more than the top steak houses.” Manager: “I’m going to charge $230.” Top chef: “Jesus.”

From Waldorf Astoria rooftop, looking east on little Santa Monica Blvd. — Sunday, 8.19, 9:20 pm.