Come clean about the false Demi Moore narrative that she “sold” at the Golden Globe awards. Be honest, cut the shit.

I’ve been dying to hate Mickey 17…champing at the very bit…if only I didn’t have to sit through it.

“The brilliance of Bong Joon-ho‘s Parasite lay in how it took apart the superficial ‘niceness’ of its privileged characters. But in Mickey 17, they are so obviously and uninterestingly awful — characterizations worthy of a bad Saturday Night Live skit — that the effect is to defang the story of any genuine bite. That might be forgivable if the film was at least funny — but again and again lines and scenes strain for comic effect, but fail to deliver the goods.” –from Hugh Montgomery‘s BBC.com review.

Last night I finally paid attention to this trailer for Seven Veils, a psychological Atom Egoyan thriller starring Amanda Seyfried. It opens two days hence, but why so long after its intial premiere at the 2023 Toronto International Film Festival? A decent Rotten Tomatoes score (81%) but a shitty rating (62%) from Metacritic.

The presumption is that Meryl Streep will play an older version of Joni Mitchell in Cameron Crowe‘s forthcoming biopic, but how could ManCalledC not be thinking of Amanda Seyfried as a younger version? The uncanny resemblance between Seyfried’s singing voice and that of early ’70s, Court & Spark Mitchell….c’mon.

I deplored the stealth woke-ism and mediocrity of Kamala Harris, and yet I voted for her last November because she’s a relatively sane and sensible type…a steady-at-the-helm administrator who wouldn’t fuck things up too badly.

Alas, Donald Trump got elected for the most part because wokeys overplayed their hand (DEI oppressions, 1619 Project historical revisions, George Floyd riots & lootings, punitive #MeToo corrections and cancellations, trans intimidation in public schools + bottom surgeries for minors, free-for-all Mexican border policies, men in women’s sports, trashing the reputation of Abraham Lincoln, Kathy Kennedy destroying Star Wars franchise). They did this to themselves, and have no one but themselves to blame. Thanks, Joe!

And so, despite my loathing of Trump’s scoundrel-ish demagoguery and lying criminality, my heart fluttered last night when I heard the words “woke no longer!” The dream I’ve been holding in my heart since 2018 — that wokesters would one day be on the run and searching for tall grass — has finally come to pass.

I hate what Trump is doing on so many other fronts (Ukraine in particular) but lashing wokesters to the whipping post is a good and glorious thing.

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…who has flaming carrot-colored hair and several hundred freckles and who doesn’t even look like a distant cousin, and who also looks like fucking Carrot Top meets Eric Stoltz?

I’m sorry but all my life I’ve been living with a certain idea of what “twin” means. Silly me — forgive my ignorance.

I like this scene. Pure exposition, explanation, recapping for the slowboats. It helps. Alas, it was cut out of the 1946 theatrical release. Confusion ensued.

“The Big Sleep is one of those pictures in which so many cryptic things occur amid so much involved and devious plotting that the mind becomes utterly confused. And, to make it more aggravating, the brilliant detective in the case is continuously making shrewd deductions which he stubbornly keeps to himself.

“What with two interlocking mysteries and a great many characters involved, the complex of blackmail and murder soon becomes a web of utter bafflement. Unfortunately, the cunning scriptwriters have done little to clear it at the end” — from Bosley Crowther‘s 8.24.46 N.Y. Times review

Posted this morning…

From this end it feels pretty great to be living a Hollywood Elsewhere-type life — no “barbecues and ball games” or any of that onerous, sword-of-Damocles stuff but…

It is part of my burden, yes, to have to face the daily threat of slimy, slithering reptiles and hissing dragons** who radiate seething hostility at every turn, but as Pike Bishop once said, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

No sublime morning-coffee company with a Porizkova or an Antropova, true, and no THC gummies or slurps of lime-and-guave-flavored beer but I gots my George Gershwin rhythm…physically fit, mentally sharp, no bald spots or jiggling neck wattles, Italian-made black loafers, Zara T-shirts, etc.

And Lordy Lordy the profound gift of a three-year-old granddaughter who constantly radiates joyful discovery and intrigue….

Not to mention daily postings drawn from my inner well…a life of constant discipline, 4K Blurays and travel and film festivals, Cialis and Prevagen and choice Indian restaurants in London and Paris and even Westport, cinematic intrigue and occasional satori transcendence, Bhagavad Gita meditations, a bottomless chest of fond Henry Miller-ish memories and occasional secretions of Socratic wisdom…spiritual nourishment savored in dribs and drabs.

I could go on and on but it feels like a huge relief not having to please or placate or charm or dazzle a high-maintenance woman of Porizkova’s character***…no offense.

Sri Krishna, Henry Miller, Pike Bishop, Socrates or Marcus Aurelius (either or both), George Gershwin, Sutton Wells…quite the cocktail.

** Life forms who seem to actually get off on spewing alien acid blood.

***  https://hollywood-elsewhere.com/which-one-is-crazier/

A few hours ago Sasha Stone and I chewed it all over (i.e., last night’s Oscar telecast). We didn’t miss a trick.

If you’re married to or living with a good-looking woman of a certain age, every so often you need to mention the fact that she looks really great. If you want to stay out of trouble, that’s the only way to play it.

Even if she could use a little spritzing or smoothing out, never say that she might want to think about doing this.

Paulina Porizkova was a super-hot model in her youth and middle age, but now that she’s about to turn 60…well, what can a gentleman say except “you look exquisite”?

You can never be honest with a woman about the realities of aging.

Only an idiot would say to her “you look ravishing but…well, to be perfectly honest, you’d look even better if you touched up your eyelids and eye bags and eliminate that little hint of a neck wattle…you could lose 10 or 15 years in one fell swoop…hell, you’d be a total knockout”.

A woman can say this to another woman, but if a guy says it, forget it…he’s a dead man.

If a woman said to me “you had some work done back in 2012 or 13 years ago, right?…you might want to think about getting a little re-touch down the road,” I’d probably say “yeah, you’re probably right…facial work only lasts about 15 years or so, 20 at the outside.”

Friendo confidential: “A female friend knows the chief medical examiner in New Mexico. She said that Gene Hackman’s wife, 63-year-old Betsy Arakawa, died from an ailment that had nothing to do wth Hackman’s heart condition. Once she had passed the exceedingly frail Hackman was left helpless, and without his wife to assist him he wound up collapsing in the ‘mud room.’ One of the dogs that was in the kennel died because of no food or water. The other two dogs who weren’t in the kennel survived.”

HE response: Who lies down on a bathroom floor when they’re weakened by the flu or whatever? 63 year-old women don’t just keel over and die on the bathroom floor. If you’re feeing badly you call a nurse or an ambulance service. Arakawa was a responsible person. Why would she allow herself to drift off without calling someone to assist her husband?

Alain Delon, who passed last August, was a huge French megastar in the ‘60s and ’70s. In Europe he was on the level of Robert Redford, James Dean, Marlon Brando, Paul Newman, Humphrey Bogart, etc. But he was left out of last night’s Death Reel because he became an immigrant-loathing right-winger in his declining years. I didn’t agree with his political views either, but for God’s sake, you don’t ignore the passing of Alain Delon….c’mon! If he hadn’t become a rightie they would have honored the poor guy.