I’m not a fan of the official Pete for America bumper stickers, so I bought a bootleg version from Cafe Press. Last night I put it on my mounted Yamaha carrying case. I’m now a simultaneous supporter of JFK, Bernie Sanders (the sticker I bought in ’16 doesn’t peel off easily) and Mayor Pete.

HBO is naturally making light of a Starbucks-like coffee cup making a two-second appearance during last night’s episode. It’s the only way to play it — relax and laugh. But wouldn’t you expect that somebody (an assistant director or continuity person, say) would face severe consequences for this after the media stops paying attention?

Failing an on-set discovery, couldn’t someone have CG-erased the cup in post-production? How hard could that have been? Think of all the people who were on-set and all the editors, FX specialists and producers who watched this sequence before it aired last night. There must have been dozens.

An official HBO release stated that “the latte that appeared in the episode was a mistake — Daenerys had ordered an herbal tea.”

Game of Thrones art director Hauke Richter told Variety‘s Jordan Moreau that it’s not uncommon for items to end up misplaced on set, go unnoticed and appear in the final cuts of movies and TV shows. The coffee cup appearance has been “so blown out of proportion [because] it has not happened with Thrones so far.”

Some resent the fact that legendary French actor Alain Delon, 83, will receive an honorary Palme d’Or at the forthcoming Cannes Film Festival. Women and Hollywood founder Melissa Silverstein has stated in a 5.6 Variety article that she harbors this resentment. She’s not the only progressive to regard Deion as a toxic figure. . Because Delon — let’s face it — has been known as an ascerbic rightwinger for many years.

In a tweet to Variety‘s Brent Lang and Elsa Keslassy, Silverstein said that Delon “has publicly admitted to slapping women…has aligned himself with the racist and anti-Semitic National Front…has claimed that being gay is ‘against nature.’ By honoring Delon, Cannes is honoring these abhorrent values [despite having] committed itself to diversity and inclusion.”

We all know how this is going to play out. Nobody is going to try to launch a serious Delon assault at this stage. A hot-shot actor since the late ’50s and quite the hearthrob into his 50s, Delon is too old, too storied and too iconic to assassinate.

While he’s no doubt evolved into some kind of National Front immigrant-loather, Delon is arguably no worse, philosophically or politically, than Clint Eastwood. (He may be somewhat to the right of Eastwood, but he’s no foam-at-the-mouth maniac.) There were stories six years ago about Delon’s son having accused him of striking his wife, Rosalie Van Breemen, which Delon denied.

“I can only speculate that some people feel fatigue about these issues, and he hasn’t been technically accused of anything,” Silverstein told Variety. “But I don’t think you have to be accused of something if you’ve espoused these types of sexist, homophobic and anti-Semitic views. I don’t think a person like that should be honored [but] I don’t think people care, and that’s sad.”

Delon’s peak period lasted 17 years (’60 to ’76), beginning with Rene Clement‘s Purple Noon (’60), continuing with Jacques Deray‘s Borsalino (’70) and ending with Joseph Losey‘s Mr. Klein (’76). Other highlight films include Luchino Visconti‘s Rocco and His Brothers, Michelangelo Antonioni‘s L’Eclisse, Luchino Visconti‘s The Leopard, Jean Pierre Melville‘s The Samurai and Le Cercle Rouge, Jack Cardiff’s The Girl on a Motorcycle and Deray’s La Piscine.

A couple of days ago on Facebook, Larry Karaszewksi, the renowned screenwriter (along with partner Scott Alexander), director, producer and co-chair of the Academy’s Foreign Language Oscar executive committee, posted a photo of a rare cultural artifact — a framed poster for Robert Atman‘s The Presbyterian Church Wager, which later became McCabe and Mrs. Miller.

Until Larry posted this I was under the impression that only three Los Angelenos owned mint-condition TPCW posters — Indiewire‘s Anne Thompson, myself and dp Svetlana Cvetko. The poster hanging in my living room is an expensively scanned digital copy of an original that Thompson loaned me several years ago. Three copies were made; I persuaded Warren Beatty to sign them.

Speaking of ethnic defamations a la Lady and the Tramp, is it fair to throw the famous “mamma, mia, that’s a spicy meatball!” Alka Seltzer commercial into the same racist dustbin? It flaunted a crude ethnic stereotype (i.e., the old-world “moustache Pete” Italian husband being served spaghetti by a fat Mama Corleone) for comic effect, and in so doing painted Italian-American culture with the broad brush of cliche.

And yet neither the Italian American Anti-Defamation League nor the Italian-American Civil Rights League made a peep when the commercial aired in 1969. A half-century ago their mission was to pressure the film and TV industry from constantly depicting Italian Americans as gangsters and street hoods.

Give the Alka-Seltzer guys credit for coming up with a handful of great slogans and commercials from the late ’60s to mid ’70s. The top three are “I can’t believe I ate the whole thing,” “spicy meatball” and “plop plop fizz fizz.” I can’t recall the last time I used Alka Seltzer, but it was a long time ago. I still use Pepto-Bismol

A Variety report by Matt Donnelly and Chris Willman assures that Disney’s forthcoming Lady And The Tramp reboot (not “animated” but a blend of CG and live action) will be scrubbed clean of politically incorrect inferences and foul racist stereotyping.

I’n alluding to the notorious Siamese cat song, sung by the Asian-accented “Si” and “Am” (i.e., Peggy Lee) in the original 1955 animated feature (“We are Siamese if you please, we are Siamese if you don’t please”), and Disney’s decision to give it a p.c. makeover.

The tune is being rewritten by Janelle Monae, and the cats in the new version are “not Siamese,” according to the Variety story. That way progressive Asians (including those who made and celebrated the immaculately tasteful Crazy Rich Asians) won’t feel offended.

To explain p.c. objections to this 64-year-old song, Donnelly and Willman reference an influential Flavorwire essay titled “The Code Behind the Kitty: Unpacking the Racist Myth of the Siamese Cat.” The article was posted by Marcus Hunter on 6.13.13.

The piece noted that Si and Am are among “the most racist cartoon characters ever depicted on film,” and described them as “jaundiced and sly, slick and feral [and] domesticated, though nevertheless propelled by their mischievous, impish nature to deceive and intimidate.”

In other words, Si and Am denigrate Asians. They could also be regarded, I suppose, as animated cousins of Mickey Rooney’s Asian landlord in Breakfast at Tiffany’s as well as characterizations of what Secretary of State Dean Rusk once called “the yellow peril.”

Tweeting with an apparently sincere intent, Donald Trump implied earlier today that Rev. Jerry Falwell had a good point when he tweeted last night that Trump deserves “reparations” by way of an extra two years added to his term. With the Mueller investigation having given his administration a clean bill of ethical health (or so they believe), Trump is asserting that his first two years were squandered by the Democrats’ “corrupt failed coup,” and he should therefore be given a two-year “gimme” to make up for this.

Trump is spouting this lunacy to entertain his supporters, of course, but he’s also conveying a half-serious, sociopathic indifference to U.S. Constitutional law and procedure. The man is undeniably sick — easily the most unstable, least rational, foaming-at-the-mouth President this country has ever had, and 35% (possibly less, possibly more) of the country supports his fat ass.

“I, Donald J. Trump, do solemnly swear to preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States, so help me God.”

Tatyana has an ongoing insomnia problem, along with an occasional case of agitated nerves. This is largely due to her having been afflicted with Bell’s Palsy five years ago, which was triggered by stress issues due to a high-pressure job she had with a Swedish cosmetic company.

She wound up being treated for the malady during three successive hospital visits in Nizhny Novgorod, but a certain female physician didn’t correctly treat her with the right remedy at some point in the process, and to varying degrees she’s been living with nerves and occasional anxiety ever since. No big deal for the most part and certainly managable, but sometimes it spills over.

[Click through to full story on HE-plus]

Four days ago a guy named “r/ProRevenge” posted the following revenge saga on Reddit: “So about a year ago, I made a post on Instagram about how excited I was to see Infinity War, and I foolishly used the hashtag “Thanosdemandsyoursilence” As you may know, you can look up hashtags on Instagram and browse through posts using that hashtag.

“After I made the post, a random guy (whom I assume was browsing the hashtag to find people who used it) randomly targeted me, and commented on my post [with] a full list of everyone who died. I hadn’t seen the movie [at that time], and this guy did spoil it for me.

“But by that time, Endgame was confirmed (just not the name) and it was then that my master plan was born. I messaged the guy and told him that I had already seen the movie, but that was a good prank. It was then that we became ‘friends’, so for about 7 months, he and I messaged each other, texted memes, talked about movies, and stuff like that. (Keep in mind the friendship was fake — I was just trying to get his trust and make him comfortable with me.)

“Skip forward to about last week. I bought my Endgame tickets for opening night. I asked him if he was going on opening night and he said no, which was great news. He said he was going next week (this week.) So I saw Endgame, and while I was in the theater, I took PLENTY of pictures. I took pictures of [all the heavy stuff that happens in the third act].

“When I got out, I almost thought of not doing it. I don’t like to spoil movies, but I reassured myself that this guy deserves it. So I texted him that I saw it, he asked how it was and I told him it was great. He told me not to spoil it, and I said ‘Oh, like how you didn’t spoil Infinity War?’ Then he switched moods and was all like ‘Hey man, that was a long time ago, we’re friends now,’ stuff like that.

“Then, in one glorious action, I sent all the pictures as fast as I could, messaging plot points along with the pictures. It was all over in like 30 seconds, but he definitely saw it all. He cursed me out, saying I was a horrible person and stuff. Then he said ‘why would you do that, we’re such good friends?’

“And I texted back, ‘We’re not friends! A year ago you picked me out of a crowd of thousands and ruined a movie that I had been wanting to see for months. Since then I’ve been lying to you, deceiving you and gaining your trust all for this moment. You are not my friend, just a person who got what they deserve.’ Then he cursed me out some more, and I haven’t talked to him since.”

A Criterion Bluray (4K digital restoration) of David Lynch‘s Blue Velvet pops on 5.28. I was immediately haunted, enthralled and perversely amused by this wild, brilliant noir when I first saw it 32 and 3/4 years ago (it opened on 9.19.86). And yet I haven’t rewatched it since. The bottom line is that it’s more fascinating than likable.

What do I actually “like” about Blue Velvet? Dennis Hopper‘s performance mostly. Breathing in the nitrous oxide. That line about Pabst Blue Ribbon. “Mommy…Daddy wants to fuhhhhck!” Plus the famous slow-mo shot of a small-town fireman smiling and waving from a fire truck as it passes by.

I also have a vaguely unpleasant recollection of poor Isabella Rossellini (who was romantically involved with Lynch from ’86 through ’90 or thereabouts) having been seemingly treated like a piece of erotic meat with all the s&m nude scenes and whatnot.

There must have been semi-profound currents between Lynch and Rossellini for their relationship to have lasted four years, but this famous Helmut Newton photo is, for me, a portrait of a guy who’s more fixated and erotically intrigued than taken by genuine love and affection.

Helmut Newton photo, taken in ’86 or ’87. I think.

Here’s an account of the Lynch-Rossellini relationship; here’s another. Both report that Lynch ended the relationship. Quote: “The couple reportedly broke up and one of the reasons given was that Lynch could not stand the smell of cooking in the house because it would infect his drawings and writing papers.”

Anecdote: In the fall of ’85 I was working for New Line Cinema as an in-house publicist for A Nightmare on Elm Street, Part 2: Freddy’s Revenge. The Jack Sholder-directed thriller (which is better than half-decent) costarred Hope Lange, who at the time had also landed a supporting role in Blue Velvet.

One afternoon somebody called Lange about some p.r. matter. Before picking up she apparently had an idea that a Blue Velvet person was calling. Her tone of voice was very spirited and friendly during the first few seconds of the call, but things turned sour and chilly when she realized she was talking to New Line. As in “ohh, it’s you guys…can I help you?”

My heart skipped a beat when I read a Variety story about Woody Allen‘s A Rainy Day in New York, which Amazon is refusing to distribute out of fear and cowardice, having arranged for distribution in Italy via distributor Lucky Red. Nick Vivarelli is reporting that “other European territories [are] also believed to have closed local distribution deals”…yes!

Right away I was imagining renting a car in Cannes and driving to San Remo, Italy (roughly a half-hour drive) and catching Rainy Day at one of the plexes there.

Then I read the words “in the fall.” Oh. This suggests that Rainy Day may premiere four months hence at the Venice Film Festival.

Vivarelli’s story indicates that Rainy Day hasn’t sold to each and every European or Middle-Eastern territory. It logically follows that there might be a market screening or two during the Cannes Film Festival. It would certainly be an opportune occasion to the film’s reps to seal the deal. I’m going to see if I can discreetly wangle my way into one of these showings.

If you discount the softballers (which conscientious review-readers need to do on a regular basis), the general reaction to Danny Boyle and Richard Curtis‘s Yesterday seems to be that it’s (a) cheerfully sappy and (b) occasionally eye-rolling.

Indiewire‘s David Ehrlich: “This sweet but vacuous exercise in suspending disbelief is an overstuffed and underwritten misfire; a studio-engineered crowd-pleaser so convinced that All You Need Is Love that it loses sight of some other essentials along the way: Believable characters, elegant pacing, a script that develops an actual heart instead of just nodding its head to a steady drumbeat of Hallmark emotions.”

In Owen Gleiberman’s view, Yesterday is “a cut-and-dried, rotely whimsical, prefab experience. [Supporting player] Kate McKinnon pushes her postmodern sarcasm to the wall — in Yesterday, she’s the acid-tongued incarnation of music-industry corruption. Yet beneath it all, there isn’t much difference between what Mandi does and what Boyle and Curtis are doing. They’re selling the Beatles all over again.”

To me Yesterday, which is basically about an enormous cosmic gift bestowed upon busker “Jack Malik” (Himesh Patel) by making him the only guy in the world who knows the entire Beatles library of tunes, seemed like an underwhelmer from the get-go.

From a 3.14 riff about Tribeca Film Festival announcement + trailer: “The fact that the trailer cutters chose to show clips of Patel singing ‘Yesterday’, ‘Let It Be’ and ‘I Want To Hold Your Hand speaks volumes.

“If this film was even half-cool, Patel/Malik would be shown singing ‘Girl’, ‘Things We Said Today’, ‘Norweigan Wood,’ ‘I’m Only Sleeping’, ‘Cry Baby Cry’, ‘You Never Give Me Your Money’, ‘Here, There, Everywhere,’ ‘Lovely Rita’, ‘Savoy Truffle’, ‘Got To Get You Into My Life’, ‘Everybody’s Got Something To Hide Except For Me and My Monkey’, ‘You Know My Name — Look Up The Number’ and ‘Tomorrow Never Knows.’

“But no — he can only croon the sappy top-40 Beatles tunes (I hate ‘The Long and Winding Road’ with every fibre of my being) that everyone has heard 17 million times and is sick to death of.”