If I was the actual Jeff Goldblum as opposed to the doppelganger in this Richmond street fight, I would be on the phone to my agent right now.
“Whatever the next role is,” I would say, “the producers have to agree to include a scene in which my character gets into an argument with some bare-chested asshole and does exactly this when push comes to shove.
“I don’t care if it’s a Wes Anderson film or Jurassic Park VII or whatever…we have to build on the lore of this thing. It’s trending all over and I need to be this guy. Kids all over the world are going ‘whoo-whoo!’…this kind of thing happens very rarely.”
Agent to Goldblum: “Wait…you could be the next Liam ‘Paycheck’ Neeson!”
I don’t turn on but Tatyana does, and so a couple of days ago I brought home three store-bought joints. Three flavors, horn-shaped, about $15 bills each. Plus a tin of cannabis-infused gummies.
She began with the strawberry-flavored one, and the aroma was wonderful. It smelled so good I was almost tempted, but I can’t. But what a business, what a brand, what a profit margin. When I was spry and bushy-tailed an ounce would run $20, and if you were busted for dealing bricks you could do serious time.
I watched Howard Hawks‘ Hatari! last night. I don’t know why but I did. Hugely incorrect from a conservationist perspective, of course. Colorful, occasionally diverting, irritating at times. John Wayne, 55, was too old for Elsa Martinelli, 27, who nonetheless did a decent job of filling the shoes of the proverbial “Hawks woman.”
I for one got off the Hawks boat after Hatari (’62), but his output between Scarface (’34) and Hatari is mostly unassailable. My favorites are the same as everyone else’s — Scarface, Twentieth Century, Bringing Up Baby, Only Angels Have Wings, His Girl Friday, Sergeant York, Ball of Fire, Air Force, To Have and Have Not, The Big Sleep, Red River, A Song Is Born, (NO to I Was a Male War Bride), The Thing from Another World, The Big Sky, (NO to Monkey Business), Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, Land of the Pharaohs, Rio Bravo. His greatest period was between ’32 and ’62 — a 30-year hot streak.
If things were normal the annual La Pizza journo gathering would’ve happened a few hours ago, and the 2020 Cannes Film Festival would begin tomorrow (Tuesday, 5.12).
Of all the highly anticipated films that might’ve premiered at the now-cancelled 73rd festival, Leos Carax‘s all-sung Annette is the one I’m sorriest about missing.
Boilerplate: “The lives of a provocative stand-up comedian (Adam Driver) and his world-famous soprano wife (Marion Cotillard) take an unexpected turn when their daughter Annette is born — a girl with a unique gift.” Can someone at least tell me what the “gift” is?
Other missed hotties (some possibly Covid-stalled in post): Wes Anderson‘s The French Dispatch, Clio Barnard’s Ali & Ava, Stacey Gregg’s Here Before, Harry MacQueen’s Supernova, Ninja Thyberg‘s Jessica, Valdimar Jóhannsson‘s Lamb, Stephane Brizé’s For Better Or Worse, Bruno Dumont‘s On A Half Clear Morning, Sylvie Verheydes‘ Madame Claude, Mia Hansen-Love‘s Bergman Island, Emmanuel Carrère’s Between Two Worlds, Antonin Peretjatko‘s Old Fashioned, Giovanni Aloï’s The Third War, Franka Potente’s Home, Nanni Moretti‘s Three Floors, Sergio Castellitto’s A Bookshop In Paris, Pilar Palomero’s The Girls, Kirill Serebrennikov’s Petrov’s Flu, Tom Shoval’s Shake Your Cares Away…it’s just a shame.
The people who made this know their craft. Who’s the narrator…Peter Coyote? Joe Biden‘s best truth-to-Trump ad yet.
“Donald Trump just doesn’t understand: We have an economic crisis because we have a public health crisis — and we have a public health crisis because he failed to act.”
I had another burgundy/maroon meltdown today. I’m sorry but it was awful. I was waiting at a stoplight in Westwood when a blond-haired Millennial walked in front of me with a maroon/burgundy double assault — lace-up sneakers plus a cardigan of some kind. Animal dislikes are hard to explain and impossible to rationalize, but they’re driven by something fierce and primal.
I have nothing to add to last year’s burgundy/maroon rant (posted on 5.9.19) but if I was some kind of Emperor or Dictator I wouldn’t ban the wearing of burgundy/maroon. That would be oppressive, tyrannical. I would, however, impose serious fines. Wearing of maroon/burgundy jeans: $250 fine plus mandatory attendance of six (6) classes explaining the basics of tasteful color coordination and what not to wear under any circumstance. (It doesn’t end with burgundy/maroon.) Wearing of burgundy sneakers, scarves, ties, T-shirts, windbreakers: $250 fine. Wearing of maroon/burgundy sport or tuxedo jacket: $350 fine.
I said last year that I’m okay with hand-crafted burgundy or cordovan dress shoes. That hasn’t changed.
Three weeks ago I saw Josh Trank‘s Capone (Vertical, 5.12). My 26-word capsule review: “Splotchy, flamboyant and plotless but flavorful and quirky thanks to Tom Hardy, and with one terrific, stand-up-and-cheer scene. But that’s all.”
Pic is basically about the demented Al Capone (brain corroded by syphilis or, if you will, paresis), hanging around his Miami Beach mansion in 1946 and early ’47 and basically succumbing to one haunting flashback or hallucination after another.
My suspicion is that Trank (Fantastic Four, Chronicle) landed Hardy by telling him “look, man…there’s no story or ‘movie’ here other than ‘the guy has totally lost it’ so make it your own and I’ll just shoot it…just growl and snarl and act the fuck out of demented Al and we’ll slap something together in editing…ball’s in your court.”
The terrific scene in question is a riff on Bert Lahr performing “If I Was King Of The Forest” in The Wizard of Oz. It has permanently altered my default imprint of Al “Scarface” Capone. Before it was Robert De Niro swinging a baseball bat in The Untouchables. But henceforth I’ll think of “Fonz” (a nickname used by pallies, short for Alphonse) standing up during a home screening of Oz and singing along with Lahr, and with operatic feeling.
It was the one moment when I sat up on the couch and smiled.
Capone’s mansion is located on a large waterfront lot at 93 Palm Ave, Miami Beach, FL 33139. [See photo below.] Capone, which was originally titled Fonzo, was shot in some low-lying swamp region outside New Orleans. Given Capone’s delusional state of mind, Trank decided to depict the Capone mansion as roughly ten times larger than it actually is, and so the property is presented as a cross between Beasts of the Southern Wild and Charles Foster Kane‘s Xanadu.
I for one found this infuriating. Capone can wallow in delirium all he wants, but I wanted the realism of that property.
Capone mansion is redlined — 93 Palm Ave, Miami Beach, FL 33139.
Look at these Mother’s Day revelers in Castle Rock, Colorado…they don’t care. As noted last week, I’m sensing shards of this attitude even in blue Los Angeles. “People may die but we have to live,” etc.
Happy Mother’s Day from C& C in Castle Rock, where the owner said this is almost double a normal Mother’s Day. pic.twitter.com/cPSzjmAfAg
“Globally, the average death rate is 34 people per million residents. In the United States, it’s more than six times higher — 232 per million.
“South Korea and the United States both reported their first cases of Covid-19 at the same time, in the third week of January. South Korea immediately started testing on a mass scale and socially isolating. The United States denied, dithered and did next to nothing for more than two months.”
Last night I became a better-late-than-never fan of Slade‘s “Gudbuy T’ Jane” (’72). I was surfing on the couch with my wireless headphones, and for some random-ass reason I happened upon “Jane” and played it full-blast. And this shallow but well-performed, perfectly mixed song just carried me away.
Mainly because of the guitars (I love how that central lead guitar riff cuts into the third chorus refrain before it ends) and Noddy Holder‘s voice (great name!). All I know is that the pandemic flew out the window and I was feeling like a happy drunken teenager.
I never had time for Slade in the old days. I looked down on them as flamboyant glitter clowns in silver-painted platforms.
The same thing happened a couple of weeks ago with Grand Funk Railroad‘s “I’m Your Captain.” I never liked it much, and always thought GFR was too Michigan, too primitive, too blue-collar. But for some reason I found myself really liking “Captain” (except for the “getting closer to my home” second part, which still blows). Again, the guitar work.
I was always somewhat attracted to the idea of buying this or that Twilight Time Bluray, but I rarely did because they charged too much. Their brand exuded a touch of class but they weren’t Criterion — they never did the heavy restoration lifting. (On the other hand their color Blurays were never teal-tinted.) I want my Blurays to cost $20 bills or thereabouts, and Twilight Time always charged closer to $30 and sometimes higher.
And now they’ve gone belly-up. I’m sorry — I don’t like to see any outfit devoted to distributing HD cinema go under. Then again on 5.11 (tomorrow) I’ll be able to buy some of their titles at bargain basement prices.
Posted today (5.10) by Twilight Time management: “After nine years of successful operations in which 380 motion pictures from the 1930s to the 2010s have been released on DVD and Bluray disc, the home video label Twilight Time — founded by veteran Hollywood studio executives and filmmakers Brian Jamieson and the late, dearly celebrated Nick Redman — will not release any further titles and we will be winding down operations this summer. A changing market, the rising costs of title acquisitions and Redman’s passing are key reasons for the closure.
“As part of our winding-down process, there will be a one-time reduction in prices to $3.95, $4.45, $6.95 and $11.95 as of Monday, May 11th at www.TwilightTimeMovies.com.
“Cinemagistics/TwilightTimeMovies.com will continue to sell titles while available through June 30th, at which time they and Twilight Time will cease operations. Remaining inventory will be acquired and distributed exclusively by Screen Archives — effective July 1st 2020.”
