Three days ago Bill Wyman posted a homicidal hypothetical on Facebook: “If you could murder one fictional character (a character, not the author or actor in quick and painless fashion, who would it be?”

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From HE reader “Melendey”: I have an advanced copy of the new “Sopranos Sessions” book (out January 8th) written by Matt Seitz and Alan Sepinwall. It includes an extensive interview with series creator David Chase, who accidentally lets it slip that Tony dies and even curses at Alan and Matt for making him cough this up.

Chase is asked when he first thought about how he was going to end the show:

Chase: “I think I had that death scene around two years before the end. I remember talking with Mitch Burgess about it, but it was slightly different. Tony was going to get called to a meeting with Johnny Sack in Manhattan and it was going to black there, the theory being that something bad happens to him at the meeting. But we didn’t do that.”

Matt Seitz: “You realize you just referred to that as a death scene?” [a long pause follows]

Chase: “Fuck you guys” [Matt and Alan explode with laughter after a moment Chase joins in for a good thirty seconds]. But I changed my mind over time. I didn’t want to do a straight death scene. I didn’t want you to feel like ‘Oh, he’s meeting with Johnny Sack and he’s going to get killed.'”

From “Tony Soprano Still Dead,” posted on 8.27.14: “Tony Soprano sleeps with the fishes. He took one in the right temple and probably two more in the back of the head. He was clipped by that Italian-looking guy in that Members Only jacket…you know, that guy who was eyeballing him and then went into the bathroom and then came out. Thunk! Thunk, thunk!

“The cut to black was Tony’s abrupt loss of consciousness as the bullets slammed into his head. In my humble view Chase’s strategy would have worked better if he’d used a Tony-POV shot of Meadow entering the restaurant before the cut-to-black. Carmela freaked and screamed; Anthony, Jr. probably tried some kind of tough-guy shit which the Members Only guy…who knows, maybe he clipped Anthony also. Then he went out the back exit. That’s what happened, trust me.”

I couldn’t find that 48-minute YouTube audio recording of Louis C.K.’s 12.16 performance at Governor’s Comedy Club in Levittown. But I listened to that portion of his set that included a belittling of Parkland students who didn’t get shot. I never, ever would’ve gone there (good God), and yes, it does seem as if Louis is looking to be the new Dennis Miller or Milo Yiannopoulos — a nihilistic, fuck-all red-state provocateur.

Likely Louis C.K. rationale: “I’ll never be able to grovel and apologize my way into the good graces of the perpetually offended, I’ll never be able to deliver truly edgy comedy from a position of contrition and I obviously can’t be Hannah Gadsby, so why not go over to the Dark Side by double-downing on offense-giving? I’m dead either way so what do I have to lose?” Or something like that.

TheWrap‘s Jon Levine has spoken with Cameron Kasky, a survivor of the Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School massacre in Parkland, Florida, and said he believes that “comedy exists to be offensive.”

Kasky: “I don’t particularly like that Louis C.K. went after the idea of the movement we started, but comedy is comedy and I don’t think me being offended by it should dictate whether or not it should be allowed to exist. It’s not my job to tell a comedian they’re being offensive. I believe comedy exists to be offensive.”

In a follow-up tweet Kasky called the comedian an “ass” and a “professional jerk.” This 12.31.18 Daily Beast article by Emily Shugerman and Kevin Fallon concurs and then some.

George Carlin: “It’s a comedian’s duty to find the line and deliberately cross over it.”

im listening to the leaked louis set and its very clear hes just going to tour red states for the rest of his life to rapturous crowds, like trump

— jack allison (@jackallisonLOL) December 31, 2018

My self tape for the role of Spider-Man? Narration by Jason Walsh. pic.twitter.com/nKgNdPvEPw

— Brie Larson (@brielarson) December 31, 2018

HE to Cristian Mungiu, Romania-based director of the classic, world-renowned 4 Months, 3 Weeks, 2 Days

“Cristian — Greetings & salutations. Could I ask you to please explain the aspect-ratio situation on the Criterion Bluray of 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days?’

“My recollection is that the film was originally shown in either 1.78:1 or 1.85:1 or 2:1. But a Gary Tooze review of the forthcoming Criterion Bluray says (I think) it’s presented at 2:39:1.

What does the audience gain from the top half of Anamaria Marinca’s head being chopped off? What does it gain from Vlad Ivanov‘s forearms and hands being sliced off?

Quote: “The framing is slightly different than previous releases, with the image showing more on the top and left of the frame, with slightly less at the bottom (the right edge of the frame staying the same).”

“‘Slightly’ different? Tooze’s frame captures show that the Criterion version is MUCH wider than previous versions, and that significant amounts of visual information have been lopped off the tops and bottoms.

“I haven’t seen the Criterion Bluray but if Tooze’s description is correct, why would your film suddenly be presented in a different aspect ratio after so many years? Because once again, a Criterion Bluray has cleavered visual information for no discernible reason. I prefer the earlier versions, which felt more natural with ample breathing room. I generally deplore Criterion’s arbitrary aspect-ratio revisionism. Their recent slicing of Some Like It Hot (1.66 cleavered down to 1.85) was unforgivable.

“Hope you are well. — Jeffrey Wells, HE”

From Mark Smith: “Last night my wife and I caught a restored DCP of The Apartment at the Metrograph. I’d only seen this 1960 classic once or twice when I was younger, but have now watched it three times in the past six months. It just gets better and better.

“But last night was the first time I saw it with an audience.

“The crowd encompassed a wide age range. Some Millennials (20s), some middle-ish (35-45), some older (50s). My wife and I are 46.

“I was shocked — shocked, I tell you! — at how many people, old and young, were laughing during the scene where Jack Kruschen‘s Dr. Dreyfuss is trying to revive Fran Kubelik (Shirley Maclaine), particularly when he’s slapping her across the face. I guess it was nervous laughter, perhaps a ‘ha-ha, isn’t this part sooo dated?’ type of nervous laughter, but I was pretty put off by their reaction.

“The movie had been a sweet-but-scathing comedy up to that point, playing it broad-but-grounded with a sprinkling of genuine sadness that never veers into the Maudlinville.

“But that slap is a turning point: not only a literal slap to keep a character we really like from dying, but it’s a figurative slap in the face for Jack Lemmon‘s C.C. Baxter, the moment where he really begins his moral about-face; and it’s a slap to the audience, to wake them up and shout ‘Hey! Don’t you realize this whole situation — cheating husbands, drunken floozies, selling your soul for a window office — which we’ve presented up to now for laughs, is actually reeeeally fucked up and twisted?”

(Also: Was The Apartment the first film to allow an audience to hear a character vomiting off-screen?)

“But let’s say the audience was laughing out of shock that the doctor was slapping the girl in the face…well, what the fuck else was he supposed to do, given his limited resources? Being woken up in the middle of the night, his only supplies a black bag with a B12 cocktail, some instant coffee and an ineffectual schnook for an assistant? His mission was to keep the woman awake or else she’s DEAD.

“What the fuck is WRONG with you idiots??

“But the digital restoration looked really really nice. And the part where Fran is running down the street to Baxter’s apartment is one of the great romantic moments in cinema. What a great fucking movie.”

Could No Country For Old Men be made today? I can’t see why not. Last time I checked bleak fatalistic nihilism didn’t necessarily argue with the wokester party line.

Josh Brolin‘s out-of-focus footage of Woody Harrelson was almost certainly accidental, but I like flirting with the idea that it was half-intentional. When Harrelson asks if his mike is okay (3:51), the back-and-forth that ensues between he and Brolin is somewhere between surreal and mildly amusing. At 5:09 Brolin returns to out-of-focus Harrelson. At 5:17, Harrelson says, “I feel like I’m comin’ off a little bit strange.” And then at 5:30, Brolin initiates a hilarious fade-to-black while Harrelson is in mid-sentence.

All “making of” docs should be on this level…brilliant.

On 12.28 World of Reel‘s Jordan Ruimy posted titles of 13 late 20th Century comedies that couldn’t be made today, and if they were made would be torn apart on Twitter by “woke” dogs and eaten alive. Tropic Thunder, Blazing Saddles, Airplane, There’s Something About Mary, Team America, The Jerk, MASH, Animal House, Borat, Caddyshack, Trading Places, Bad Santa and A Fish Called Wanda. Was he right? Did he forget a few titles?

We all understand that almost all good comedies are about tweaking social norms and giving some kind of offense, and these days, of course, giving offense is out. Hollywood Elsewhere believes that almost any late 20th Century comedy that focused on a straight male character living any kind of louche lifestyle (including any with a moderate, comme ci comme ca sexual appetite) would be dead in the water if someone attempted to remake it. A Shampoo remake wouldn’t have a snowball’s chance in today’s climate…not a chance.

Other verboten comedies mentioned on Facebook comment thread: Soul Man. Watermelon Man. Four Lions. The Hangover. Private Benjamin. Trading Places. Dr. Detroit. 1941. The Breakfast Club. Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life.

Facebook comment #1: “A lot of these movies could get remade it’s just more likely the elements read now as offensive would be excised, toned down, or re-conceptualized to turn them on their ear in some wokey way. And they’d almost certainly be worse.”

Facebook comment #2: “They should teach a class in school called ‘context.'”

Facebook comment #3: “Altman’s MASH would never get made and I’m surprised they haven’t tried to burn it yet.”

Hotshot Hollywood journalist who knows everyone and everything: “There’s no question that Barack Obama and his people had someone put this list together based on other critics’ lists. No way [did Obama choose] Annihilation [on his own steam]. It’s purely a critical conceit when movies like this appear on year-end lists. Ditto a lot of the other titles on there. I doubt Obama has seen two thirds of them.”

HE repeat #1: “Barack Obama knows a Marvel superhero flick when he sees one. He’s been around the block, knows the score. And he’s certainly on to the historical and cultural achievement game that Black Panther and its admirers are playing. There was no alternative, no other way to go — he had to put Black Panther high on his list.”

HE repeat #2: “Obama almost certainly saw Green Book. I’d be very surprised if he wasn’t at least glancingly aware that across the board it’s among the top five Gold Derby Best Picture hotties. Five’ll get you ten he saw it, recognized its value and decided against including it because he didn’t want to invite the derision of the woke thugs.”

HE repeat #3: “I would respectfully argue that Obama’s sense of taste is flawed, as the presence of the obviously mediocre, wildly over-praised Blindspotting on his list confirms.”

I know this’ll never happen for the same reason that cowardice doesn’t require a conspiracy — it just comes naturally to so many. But it would be so wonderful if Green Book fans within the Academy, guilds, HFPA and BFCA would quietly resolve to vote for Peter Farrelly’s film in order to send a nice, big, friendly “kiss our collective ass” message to the woke thugs in the film critic community.

Not because it’s necessarily the best film of 2018 (although it may be that to some), but because it’s clean and confident and very well made — a genial film that knows exactly what it’s doing and why and, despite what the p.c. take-down crowd has written, isn’t guilty of any significant crimes. It has a good adult heart, and feels like sublime anti-Trump medicine while you’re watching it.

In other words, a vote for Green Book could, with the right collective adjustment of attitude, be understood as a vote of solidarity with all the Joe and Jane Popcorns out there who despise politically correct culture.

From Owen Gleiberman‘s latest Variety column, titled “What Each Possible 2018 Best Picture Winner Would Mean“:

“Last fall, when I first saw this racially themed 1962 buddies-with-nothing-in-common road movie, I thought it had a clear chance to win best picture. It’s that kind of finely etched and wittily sincere lump-in-the-throat liberal crowd-pleaser. But its politics, in the eyes of some, are tainted by (it is argued) a certain patronizing quaintness that has lived past its cinematic sell-by date.

“So what will it mean if Green Book emerges from all that and wins anyway? It will mean not just that the movie strikes a powerful comedic-dramatic chord, but that the more traditional voices of Hollywood want the world to know that this is the sort of middlebrow humanistic movie that still resonates with them. It would represent, in many ways, a vote against the new wave of Academy members.”

It’s my fault for failing to get Anya, our 18-month-old Siamese, spayed last spring or summer. Guilty. But I wasn’t the one who let her out when she was in heat. She wound up doing the deed with a dark gray alley cat — a commoner. She gave birth to seven kittens two days ago around noon, and every one is the spittin’ image of trampy dad. I was hoping at least one or two would be a junior Anya (creamy beige coat, bright blue eyes, exceptional intelligence) but no dice.

Worse, Anya is apparently uncomfortable with the challenge of nursing seven kittens. (She has eight nipples so go figure.) For reasons I can’t fathom she’s been carrying one, two or three kittens out of the kitten box and into the bedroom and under the sheets. She’s constantly moving them around. She seems to be saying one of two things: (a) “Help me out…I can’t do this alone” or (b) “I’m not comfortable with the kitten box being in the living room…the bedroom feels safer.”

I’ve read that if feline queens decide they have too many kittens they’ll isolate one from the brood, the idea being to let nature takes its course. To guard against one of them dying from malnutrition I’ve bought a can of KMR (kitten milk replacer) and a tiny plastic nursing bottle. I’ve been nursing two or three every so often, at random.

You can’t tell them apart. All the same shade of gray, their eyes closed…seven squeaky little mice.