This morning Variety critic Guy Lodge tweeted that “Alden Ehrenreich‘s best performances top anything Harrison Ford has done.” “Performances”? I was under the impression that Ehrenreich’s only big score was his performance as Hobie Doyle in Joel and Ethan Coen‘s Hail, Caesar! Lodge is probably also alluding to Ehrenreich’s argument-in-the-rain scene in Beautiful Creatures (’13), which nobody saw or cared about.

Ehrenreich is a reedy-voiced, square-faced, pain-in-the-ass type who performs as best he can for the part he’s been hired to play, but he hasn’t a clue about delivering big-screen, laid-back presence and manly charisma, which is Ford’s metier. Ford delivers like a movie star, and that kind of delivery is worth its weight in gold.

Ford may be less emotionally agile or intense than Ehrenreich, but he was mythic during the carbon-freeze scene in The Empire Strikes Back and completely steady and sufficient in Blade Runner, Witness (perhaps his career-best performance), The Mosquito Coast, Working Girl, Patriot Games, Clear and Present Danger and — I’m being serious here — Hollywood Homicide. If Ehrenreich had somehow starred in any of these films, I would’ve hated them and probably walked out.

Is it now permissible to use the term “Solo collapse”? Over the last two days it’s gone from being an “uh-oh, not doing as well as expected” to an “aagghh, I’m melting, I’m melting!…oh, what a world, what a world!”

Posted Sunday morning by Deadline‘s Anthony D’Allessandro: Solo: A Star Wars Story is now sinking well below its $130M projection with Disney now reporting the pic’s three-day at $83.3M and four-day at $101M. Industry estimates are in sync with what Disney is seeing.

“As we already detailed in the previous update, Solo‘s weekend prospects were dragged down by a maelstrom of fan negativity toward the concept and/or behind-the-scenes problems” — — i.e., the absurdity of casting the short, small-shouldered, beady-eyed Alden Ehrenreich as Han Solo — “as well as summer tentpole and Star Wars movie over-saturation (we just had Last Jedi in December).

“The under-performance of Solo is a high-class problem for Disney, and they’re the victims of their own success especially when you consider that their first three Star Wars movies grossed $4.45 billion worldwide. Solo reps a barometer of how well [forthcoming] classic character spinoffs” — i.e. James Mangold‘s Boba Fett project — “can do.”

Sometimes columnists have to stray afield to find something to write about, so I’m not condemning Variety‘s Kris Tapley for delving into Darth Maul’s cameo in Solo: A Star Wars Story. Tapley isn’t an out-and-out fanboy but now and then he’s conveyed fanboy yearnings, and discussing the character path and backstory of one-dimensional asshats like Darth Maul is what turns these guys on.

It takes all sorts to make a world. I understand and accept this. But on the other hand…really?

To millions upon millions of Star Wars fans, Darth Maul is one thing and one thing only — the scowling, acrobatic, horn-headed, black and red tattoo-faced shithead with the double-headed lightsaber. As a “character” he’s nothing, nothing…less than nothing. He also reminds everyone of the deeply despised prequels and particularly The Phantom Menace (’99), in which DM appeared and then was sliced in half by Ewan McGregor‘s Obi-Wan Kenobi. (Which Monsieur Maul “survived”, by the way, because the makers of the animated Clone Wars series wanted to use him again in 2011.)

But if you’re a semi-fanboy like Tapley, Darth Maul is like “oohh, cool…let’s talk more about this guy!”

Tapley is all but fascinated by the Darth Maul saga, so much so that he describes a 10-year unaccounted for period in his story as “juicy.” From this point on, any further usage of the term “juicy” by Tapley will be regarded askance if not with skepticism. Rules of the game.

On Friday morning the disgraced Harvey Weinstein smiled as he was being arrested by New York City authorities for Harvey Weinstein over sexual misconduct allegations, including rape. It was definitely a weird thing to do under the circumstances, but big-swaggering-ego guys tend to respond this way when they feel their dignity has been sullied or compromised. (Which is definitely the case here, except the compromiser is Weinstein’s own behavior.) They feel they have to project a certain no-sweat, water-off-a-duck’s-ass insouciance.

Anyway, Philadelpha-based film critic Carrie Rickey was understandably irked or disconcerted by Harvey’s signage and tweeted, “How do you describe that half-smile?” So I tweeted a response by channelling Harvey: “I can’t frown or look forlorn…I have to convey that I’m not overly ruffled by this…appearing too chastened or contrite would be humiliating…I may be a rapist, but I’m Harvey fucking Weinstein and I have my pride, or what’s left of it.”

And what happened? A few hours later the dickish Brooklyn life form known as Glenn Kenny tweeted that a new blurb from Weinstein might theoretically appear on the HE masthead: “Jeff Wells gets me.” In other words Kenny tried to turn what I wrote, which was merely an impulsive stab at character-explaining as if I had temporarily become a playwright, into a p.c. slur. The world we live in is so full of rancid bile and sickening spear-throwing and intellectual snakebite venom it’s enough to make you want to throw up on a daily basis.

On 8.21.18 Criterion will release a 4K digital restoration Bluray of Ernst Lubitsch‘s Heaven Can Wait (’43), and yet there’s a above-average-looking version on YouTube right now. [After the jump, posted on 6.24.17 by some Russian guy.] I’ve seen this once, and the Warren Beatty-Buck Henry version, which is actually a remake of 1941’s Here Comes Mr. Jordan, at least ten times. I’m sorry but the Beatty version really gets me emotionally while the well-crafted Lubitsch version is mainly deft and amusing.

The Criterion restoration was done by 20th Century Fox and the Academy Film Archive in collaboration with Martin Scorsese‘s Film Foundation.

I’ve never seen Stanley Donen‘s Indiscreet. Based on Norman Krasna‘s 1953 play Kind Sir, I’ve always sensed a surface vibe — a lack of substance or intrigue. But Cary Grant‘s Scottish dancing in this scene is elevating, especially when he does the moonwalk thing at 3:05. Indiscreet opened on 6.26.58 and was shot in mid 1957, or roughly a year before Grant started on the path that would lead to his becoming Captain Trips of Beverly Hills.

Five days ago What The Flick‘s Christy Lemire, Alonso Duralde and Matt Atchity riffed about Chris Nolan‘s unrestored 2001: A Space Odyssey, and they didn’t even mention the differences in color tones between the Nolan version and Warner Home Video’s 2007 Bluray.

It would be one thing to say, “Yes, we know 2001 looks different on the Bluray but we prefer the yellowish, less sharp, teal-tinted-sky version that Nolan has given us….in the French chateau finale Dave Bowman‘s face is slightly gray and lacking in detail behind his space-helmet mask, but we prefer it that way.” But they don’t even mention the Bluray. Nor do they discuss the upcoming 4K version, which will almost certainly resemble the 2007 Bluray only better.

Here’s my Cannes Film Festival review, posted on 5.13.18.

Lemire: “You can interpret [2001] a lot of ways!” HE: Not really. The super-aliens who sent the monolith to earth to awaken the man-apes and turn them into bone-wielding carnivores, give them intelligence and the will to gradually evolve into homo sapiens are the sires of our species — our Gods, our fathers, our evolutionary architects. They planted one of their monoliths under the surface of the moon, knowing that sooner or later humans would fly there and uncover it, which would alert them to our evolutionary progress. At the very end ancient Dave Bowman sees the monolith at the foot of his deathbed and reaches out as a dying Christian would to a crucifix or a dying alcoholic to a fifth of Jack Daniels. And then he’s reborn into a star fetus, etc.

In short, it’s about the origin and the destiny of our species. Precisely and unambiguously. John Simon nailed it early on: 2001 is a “shaggy God story.”

“It’s a sign of where America is now at as a culture that we’ve gone from Han Solo to watching an actor as frictionless and badass-free as Alden Ehrenreich pretending to be Han Solo…and finding that perfectly acceptable! Why not? We’re still at a Star Wars movie! I’ve got my 64-ounce Coke, and the dude is all right. He’ll do! That’s exactly the attitude that could plunge the Democrats into disaster when they choose their next presidential candidate. He’ll do. (Or She’ll do.)

“Where have you gone, Harrison Ford? A nation turns its lonely eyes to you.”

The preceding is the best paragraph from Owen Gleiberman‘s “It’s Official: Deadpool Is Now Cooler Than Han Solo,” posted an hour ago (5.26, 10 am Pacific) in Variety.

Here are seven almost-as-goodies:

“It’s not every day that I feel sorry for an actor, especially one who’s lucky enough to have landed the lead role in a Star Wars film. But I honestly began to feel a little bad for Ehrenreich in Solo: A Star Wars Story. It was during the scene where, acting opposite Emilia Clarke (who looks like she could eat him alive, and would happily do so as foreplay), he attempts to signify the Awesome Casual Cockiness Of His Inner Being by slouching against a wall, hands on hips, his fingers spread out just so, in a John Wayne-meets-Clark Gable sort of swashbuckling cowboy-stud pose.

“At that moment, Ehrenreich doesn’t seem remotely like a young version of Harrison Ford’s lone-wolf space pilot; he seems like a sculpture of it. You don’t see the acting — you see the coaching. ‘Let it hang out a bit more, Alden…that’s right, spread those fingers…just keep thinking, I’m the man!’)

“I felt bad for Ehrenreich because it’s not his fault that some executive board meeting signed off on the looks-good-on-paper decision to cast him as a junior version of the ballsiest renegade of the blockbuster epoch.

From N.Y. Times editorial, posted Saturday, 5.26: “The owners of the National Football League have concluded, with President Trump, that true patriotism is not about bravely standing up for democratic principle but about standing up, period.

“Rather than show a little backbone themselves and support the right of athletes to protest peacefully, the league capitulated to a president who relishes demonizing black athletes. The owners voted Wednesday to fine teams whose players do not stand for the national anthem while they are on the field.

“Let us hope that in keeping with the league’s pinched view of patriotism, the players choose to honor the letter but not the spirit of this insulting ban. It might be amusing, for example, to see the owners tied in knots by players who choose to abide by the injunction to ‘stand and show respect’ — while holding black-gloved fists in the air. Or who choose to stand — while holding signs protesting police brutality.

“We look forward to many more meetings of fatootsed gazillionaires conducting many more votes on petty rules to ban creative new forms of player protest.”

Variety‘s Steven Gaydos has tweeted a point he made in a 2.26.18 Guardian article titled “Ripe For A Kicking: Hollywood’s Love-Hate Relationship with Rotten Tomatoes. The thrust is that critics have become more and more whore-ish over the last 10 or 15 years.

“Critics have trained themselves to [pretend to] take seriously movies that they don’t take seriously because the danger is not having a job and not being ‘relevant’, being aged out of the discussion.

“The numbers bear out this trend. The median Tomatometer score for movies grossing more than $2 million was 51% during the 2000s and 53% during the 2010s. In 2017, though, the year of crashes such as Baywatch and Pirates of the Caribbean 5, the median was 71%. Either critics are enjoying movies more or movies are better than ever.”

Uhm, movies are not better than ever, or weren’t the last time I cheoked.

Sturgeon’s law doesn’t quite apply to the movie realm. 70% of films tend to be underwhelming, weak, bad, formulaic, dispiriting or numbing. 15% tend to be fair, decent, pretty good, passable. 10% are usually good to very good, and less than 5% are brilliant or epic or genius-level. This is how it usually shakes out, year in and year out. One out of four.

Anyone giving thumbs-up reviews to more than 40% or 50% of releases is being overly generous, and I myself am being generous in using this term.

Wall Street Journal reporter Ben Fritz has tweeted that Disney-Lucasfilm is confirming that Solo: A Star Wars Story is looking at a four-day Memorial Day weekend haul of $105 to $115 million, which translates into a three-day-weekend tally of under $100 million. The studio’s previous four-day estimate was in the range of $130 to $150 million. Solo is playing in 4,380 domestic situations. First-day (i.e., Friday) grosses are around $32 million, including Thursday night’s $14.1 million.

The last Star Wars flick, The Last Jedi, opened five months ago. It brought in a first-weekend haul of $220 million in North America for a grand domestic total of $620 million and $1.3 billion worldwide.

From my 6.19.15 Sicario review: “The tale, such as it is, is told from the perspective of Emily Blunt‘s FBI field agent, who, being a 21st Century woman, is in touch with her emotions. She is therefore constantly stunned and devastated by the unrelenting carnage of the Mexican drug trade, blah blah.

“You know what I’d like to see just once? A female FBI agent who isn’t in touch with her emotions, or at least one who tones it down when it comes to showing them. Too much to ask for, right?

“One of Blunt’s battle-hardened colleagues, a senior veteran with a semi-casual ‘whatever works, bring it on’ attitude, is played by the ever-reliable Josh Brolin. My favorite character by far was Benicio del Toro’s Alejandro, a shadowy Mexican operative with burning eyes and his own kind of existential attitude about things. Benicio the sly serpent…the shaman with the drooping eyelids…the slurring, purring, south-of-the-border vibe guy.”