From “Loathsome Jack Is Dryer, More Meditative Than Expected,” filed from Cannes on 5.15.18: “I’m not saying Lars von Trier‘s The House That Jack Built isn’t repellent in more ways than you can shake a stick at. It’s an odious, ice-cold exercise in homicidal perversity, and one for the record books at that. It should probably be avoided by anyone with a weak stomach or…oh, hell, by anyone who feels that films should exude some form of love or worship or celebration, which probably covers 99% of the moviegoing public.

“I was expecting a diseased horror-murder tale so excessive that it might make me physically sick or prompt me to walk out or get into a fight with one of the security guys. It didn’t do that. It turned out to be more of a meditative guilt confessional — about LVT more or less admitting that he may not be a good enough artist to deliver worthy, lasting art, and that all he really knows how to do is shock and agitate. (That’s what I got from it, at least.) I’m not saying it’s a better film than I expected, but it’s dryer and more meditative and not as heinous as I feared.

“Portions of Jack are awful to sit through and the overall tone may be an equivalent to the professionally distanced, carefully maintained mindset of a psychological counselor in a hospital for the criminally insane. But for all the innate ugliness and sadistic cruelty on-screen, Von Trier is basically analyzing himself by way of Matt Dillon‘s Jack, a serial killer based in the Pacific Northwest, and casting a cold eye upon his shortcomings as a filmmaker.

“Dillon is a would-be architect but is only gifted enough to be an engineer, he gradually admits. This is Von Trier talking about himself, of course — admitting to his audience that he’s ‘not quite Ivy League’, and that after shooting his wad on Breaking The Waves, The Idiots, Dancer in the Dark and Dogville that all he really knows how to do now is make shock-and-appall movies like this, Antichrist, the two Nymphomaniac films and so on.

I’m not saying Jack gets a pass, but at least LVT has tried to make it into something more thoughtful and meditative than just a series of clinical, cold-blood episodes showing recreations of this and that method of murder. It’s ugly and rancid, but about more than just that.”

IFC Films apparently intends to release The House That Jack Built on 12.28.

We’ve all seen Hollywood depictions of Wall Street animal culture (The Wolf of Wall Street, Wall Street, Boiler Room), and somehow a gleeful, Ike Turner-like Don Cheadle bouncing around an office environment in an all-violet outfit and a modified Afro seems like an outlier. My first reaction was “huh?” Who wants to watch a series about the 1987 stock-market collapse? What is there left to say about greed in downtown Manhattan?

I’ve thought and thought about it, and there’s no way award-season handicappers can argue that Viggo Mortensen‘s Sopranos-styled performance in Peter Farrelly‘s Green Book isn’t the current Best Actor champ. Odds-wise, I mean. Or destiny-wise.

Not that anyone is arguing against Viggo, but you get my drift. His amiable goombah guy — a nicely shaded, carefully measured performance that conveys an emotional journey that you can’t help but admire — reaches out and touches. It hits the classic sweet spot. No other performance so far is on this level. Please tell me how I’m mistaken.

Bradley Cooper‘s Kris Kristofferson-like performance as a drawlin’ drunk in A Star Is Born is pretty good, I have to admit. He’ll almost certainly be nominated….right, Bobby Peru?

But Hugh Jackman‘s Gary Hart in The Front Runner is, I feel, more formidable. Watching him play a considerate, highly principled guy who didn’t do anything all that bad or who at least feels that infidelity is a private matter…to watch this decent guy get taken down for no reason other than the fact that tabloid scandals drive ratings and sell newspapers is just tragic. I can’t get his performance out of my mind.

And what has happened, by the way, to general Gold Derby support for Ethan Hawke‘s career-peak performance in Paul Schrader‘s First Reformed? It’s an absolute scandal that he’s not on each and every spitballer’s top-five Best Actor chart right now, as opposed to just lists from Claudia Puig, Timothy Gray, Chris Rosen, ESPN’s Adnan Virk and myself.

As we speak, 17 Gold Derby handicappers are blowing Hawke off. Not because his masterful performance as a small-town minister isn’t a primal, conflicted, straight-from-the-gut vessel of anguish and longed-for redemption, but because A24 released First Reformed last May. By the tired-thinking standards of your go-along, follow-along prognosticator, this means that Hawke isn’t really in the game — respected but an awards-season also-ran. Not because of the quality of performance, but because of A24’s release strategy. Which is absolute bullshit. Shame on those 17.

A lot of people are behind the idea of Willem Dafoe‘s performance as Vincent Van Gogh in Julian Schnabel‘s At Eternity’s Gate. I am among them, but who’s actually seen the film? It played at the Venice Film Festival, will screen at the New York Film Festival on 10.12, and will open on 11.16.

Others are excited about Christian Bale‘s unseen performance as Dick Cheney in Adam McKay‘s Vice, which won’t open until 12.25. My gut is telling me that fat Bale playing a real-life Satan is not going to be nominated for anything. Not in this climate. You don’t get nominated for gaining weight and wearing great make-up. It may be that Bale’s actual performance will turn out to be the real deal, but I’m holding off on Bale for now.

“Details of F.B.I.’s Kavanaugh Inquiry Show Its Restricted Range,” a 9.29 N.Y. Times report by Michael D. Shear, Sheryl Gay Stolberg, Maggie Haberman and Michael S. Schmidt. The article blatantly argues with itself — paragraph #1 is a mixed bag, paragraph #4 emphasizes “free rein” and #2 and #3 emphasize the opposite. And Julie Swetnick’s allegations aren’t even mentioned.

“President Trump said on Saturday that the F.B.I. will have ‘free rein‘ to investigate allegations of sexual misconduct against Judge Brett M. Kavanaugh, but the emerging contours of the inquiry showed its limited scope.

“Four witnesses will be questioned in coming days about aspects of the assault accusations against Judge Kavanaugh, according to two people familiar with the matter. Left off the list were former classmates who have contradicted Judge Kavanaugh’s congressional testimony about his drinking and partying as a student.

“The White House will decide the breadth of the inquiry, though presidential advisers were working in concert with Senate Republicans, said the two people, one a senior administration official, who both spoke on the condition of anonymity to discuss a sensitive investigation.

“The White House can order investigators to further examine the allegations if their findings from the four witness interviews open new avenues of inquiry, and Mr. Trump seemed to stress that part of the plan in a tweet late on Saturday.”

A few hours ago President Trump announced that he’d changed his mind about the scope of the FBI investigation into numerous charges about Brett “animal” Kavanaugh‘s allegedly grotesque behavior with women. He appears to be at odds with White House staffers on this issue. NBC reported earlier today that “while the FBI will examine the allegations of Christine Blasey Ford and Deborah Ramirez, the bureau has not been permitted to investigate the claims of Julie Swetnick…a White House official confirmed that Swetnick’s claims will not be pursued as part of the reopened background investigation into Kavanaugh.” — posted by NBC News around 3 pm.

Earlier: Judge Brett Kavanaugh‘s goose is far from fully cooked. But at least the FBI’s “limited” investigation into “credible claims” of sexual misconduct on the part of the sadly intemperate Kavanaugh is now underway. Christine Blasey Ford and Kavanaugh’s 2nd alleged victim/witness, Deborah Ramirez, are being focused upon, but as of 3 pm Saturday afternoon I’m not aware that the FBI has reached out to Julie Swetnick aka witness #3, or her attorney Michael Avenatti.

Peter Jackson’s They Shall Not Grow Old is an apparently impressive attempt to make World War I-era footage look as real and alive as possible — colorized, converted to 3D, “transformed with modern production techniques,” etc. Pic will have its world premiere at the BFI London Film Festival on Tuesday, 10.16. Apparently a U.K.-only cinema release. I’m presuming it’ll eventually screen or stream stateside. I’m a fool for this kind of thing.

I saw Morgan Neville‘s They’ll Love Me When I’m Dead today at Alice Tully Hall, under the auspices of the 56th New York Film Festival. It’s about Orson Welles‘ twilight years and particularly the making of The Other Side Of The Wind, which I saw and panned a week ago.

And the truth is that Neville’s 98-minute doc is far, far superior to Welles’ doleful, splotchy, scatter-gun talkathon, which runs 122 minutes. You’ll probably feel good and fulfilled after seeing Dead, and you’ll most likely feel like bees are buzzing around your brain after seeing Wind.

I’m sorry but Welles’ film is a chore and a headache to sit through while Dead is a cruise and a breeze — a movie about laughter, adventure, having fun, passing the time with wine and bear-hugs and film-talk bullshit and generally loving the ride and the cigars and being fat as a cow.

When creative inspiration departs and you’re left high and dry, you might as well enjoy yourself…right?

The word since Telluride had been “see Dead before Wind…it’ll make Welles’ film seem more fulfilling.” The word right now is “you can see Wind if you want but you almost don’t have to…Dead covers a lot of the same material and is more diverting and nutritious.”

I’m not advising a Wind bypass, but you don’t need to fret too much if you wait a few weeks before seeing it.

Neville knew exactly what he was doing when he cut Dead together while Welles’ completists (i.e., the guys who struggled to assemble and complete Wind as Welles would have wanted) were cobbling footage and to some extent grabbing at straws.

And both films cover a lot of similar turf — Welles’ largeness of spirit, his directorial legend, an examination of his dissipated career, a community of friends and colleagues trying to make sense of it all, etc.

There’s no question about it — They’ll Love Me When I’m Dead is an essential sit while Welles’ film…well, you should probably see it but don’t expect to find much enjoyment. I’m sorry but it’s mostly a head-scratcher, a spotty drag.

3 pm Update: “While the FBI will examine the allegations of Christine Blasey Ford and Deborah Ramirez, the bureau has not been permitted to investigate the claims of Julie Swetnick, who has accused Brett Kavanaugh of engaging in sexual misconduct at parties while he was a student at Georgetown Preparatory School in the 1980s, people familiar with the investigation told NBC News. A White House official confirmed that Swetnick’s claims will not be pursued as part of the reopened background investigation into Kavanaugh.” — posted by NBC News around 3 pm.

Earlier: Judge Brett Kavanaugh‘s goose is far from fully cooked. But at least the FBI’s “limited” investigation into “credible claims” of sexual misconduct on the part of the sadly intemperate Kavanaugh is now underway. Christine Blasey Ford and Kavanaugh’s 2nd alleged victim/witness, Deborah Ramirez, are being focused upon, but as of 3 pm Saturday afternoon I’m not aware that the FBI has reached out to Julie Swetnick aka witness #3, or her attorney Michael Avenatti.

In a sworn affadavit Swetnick has claimed she witnessed Kavanaugh and alleged co-conspirator Mark Judge take part in gang rapes of inebriated women, and claims she was a victim of one of these group assaults. (Swetnick hasn’t accused Kavanaugh or Judge of participating in this particular violation.) If the FBI doesn’t investigate Swetnick’s claims it’ll be clear that the fix is in — i.e., that the FBI has been told to steer clear of Swetnick for fear of what may be learned.

Early last summer I hired a Los Angeles-based guy to construct the HE-plus paywall. He knows his stuff and is quite thorough and exacting, but he has, in my view, a problem. A significant one, I mean.

He occasionally won’t respond if I reach out with an issue or a question. Sometimes he’ll get back right away, and at other times he’ll observe total radio silence — not a peep, not a word — for two, three or four days, or even longer. He went totally silent on me for over two weeks last month. Not “hey, man, I’m backed up but I’ll get back to you as soon as I’m clear”…nothing like that. He vaporizes when he’s in the wrong kind of mood, and then, when he shifts into engagement mode, he’ll respond.

In short, he’s technically knowledgable but infuriating to deal with.

A few days ago things finally boiled over. I conveyed my frustration to Mr. Dick, and he conveyed similar feelings. (I’m too pushy, he said.) We exchanged more words, and he basically said “I’m done…you’re too hard to deal with.” Took the words right out of my mouth!

But we were technically still communicating two or three weeks ago, which is when I asked this fascinating fellow to help me turn off the paywall mechanism in the right way so HE-plus could be a free site for a few weeks. He didn’t respond. I asked again the next day — nothing. A third time…zip. So I asked Sasha if she could possibly figure it out, and, being smart and resourceful, she did. The paywall protocol was turned off and I launched HE-plus a day or two later. Great.

But yesterday a guy wrote to say he tried to sign up for a year ($49), but that the system wasn’t working and/or was jerking him around. Thank God this hasn’t happened with others, but I figured if one guy is experiencing problems someone else may be also.

So I reached out once again to Mr. Dick because I didn’t know who else to turn to, and for some inexplicable reason he responded this time. He told me that the reason the payment system isn’t working at 100% capacity is that “someone turned off the paywall” a week or so ago, but that it hadn’t been done properly and that’s why this or that person might be experiencing problems. I asked if he could fix the problem as a kind of paid farewell gesture, but he went back to radio silence again. I then asked if he could please refer me to someone he might know who understands paywall protocol. Again, nothing.

So in the midst of everything else I have to cover on a daily basis, Mr. Dick is now forcing me to conduct a brand-new, start-from-scratch search for a WordPress paywall technician. Right in the middle of a public process that isn’t working as it should, and all because he’s been refusing to conduct his business in the manner of any run-of-the-mill professional. What a great guy!

If anyone reading this knows anyone with any expertise in WordPress paywall maintenance, please get in touch. Thank you.

Steve Bannon is a “bad guy”, obviously, but at least he’s a smart one, and every now and then he’ll say something that’s more true than not. Bannon #1: “If Bernie Sanders had an ounce of Michael Avenatti‘s fearlessness, he’d have been the Democratic nominee and we would have had a much tougher time [in the 2016 election].” Bannon #2: “If the Republicans lose the House, [Trump’s] gonna get impeached.”

A vague recollection (and correct me if I’m wrong) is that during the Jefferson Airplane heyday of the mid to late ’60s, Grace Slick was the headliner — magnetic, contrarian sexy, tough-talking, decent pipes. But Marty Balin‘s voice was the band’s greatest instrument. Rivers of feeling, conviction, white-guy soul…that half-wailing, half-pouring-his-heart-out thing. “My Best Friend” and “Today” were prime examples. They fit Balin’s voice like a glove and vice versa. Why is it, then, that when I heard about Balin’s death my first two recollections weren’t about his singing? One, the fact that Balin was knocked out cold by one or two of the Hell’s Angels “security” guys during the disastrous Altamont concert of August ’69. And two, the animosity between between Balin and Slick (even though they re-teamed for Jefferson Starship from the early to late ’70s) was apparently fairly toxic from time to time, hence that infamous Balin quote. I don’t know what killed the poor guy, but rest in peace and safe travels.