In the comment thread for yesterday’s “Beto Needs To Get On The Stick” piece, a dude named Otto wrote that Beto O’Rourke‘s seeming hesitancy (i.e., thinking things over during a solo road trip) indicates that the former El Paso Congressperson “will be the perfect VP pick for someone like Biden. [Accepting this status] would show (1) authenticity, (2) modesty (I’m not yet ready) (3) lack of the super-ego that drives most narcissist who want to be President and (4) wisdom in understanding that he has more to learn about national/international affairs.”

Persuasive HE response: “A malignant sociopath is in the White House right now, and you’re quibbling over fractions, resumes and modes of experience? Remember all the crap in ’07 and ’08 about how Barack Obama, a wet-behind-the-ears junior senator from Illinois, was too young, too naive, not seasoned enough for the Presidency? Beto (currently 46) is a year older than Obama was when he announced in ’07, and he knows his way around. But the bottom line is that THERE’S NO TRAINING ACADEMY FOR THE PRESIDENCY. You just jump into the pool and swim as best you can.

“Do you think JFK was supremely qualified when he took over? Do you think Clinton was? Do you think Dubya was wonderfully qualified and super-knowledgable? He was a brash ignoramus who leaned on his father’s friends. Do you think Abraham Lincoln of the Illinois legislature was exquisitely trained and ready to run things when he moved into the White House in March 1861? You either live up to the demands of the office or you don’t.

“And right now an animal who’s polluting the Oval Office is running the show. A bloated pusbag sociopath and unregenerate liar…a guy who’s brought into Washington the worst pirates and grifters since the Harding administration and who believes that climate change is a hoax…the head of a lying, grifting crime family is running the country. And the only name of the game is “getting him out of the Oval office by January 2021 if not before.” That means two things: (a) impeachment by the House and (b) nominating a younger X-factor charisma candidate (who’s incidentally taller than Trump) to oppose him. Period. Not a shrill SJW libtard but someone with a moderate human touch.

I followed up with a comment about Biden: “Uncle Joe is a good, likable guy with a settled vibe and a history of practical, sensible liberalism. Obviously superior to Trump in every way imaginable. And a human being. But he’s too old (76 as we speak, 78 during the ’20 campaign), too yesteryear, too gaffe-prone, too withered. The Democratic 2020 candidate has to be about the future. I’m sorry, but the culture is demanding the absence of Oval Office neck wattles, at least for the foreseeable future.”

Commenter “Jeff”: “Democrats don’t win with old vetted ‘sure things’. Hillary, Kerry and Gore all felt like battle-tested sure things. The last three Dems elected were on their 40s or early 50s. If you acknowledge that LBJ really won Kennedy’s second term, then it’s four in a row. Hell, even FDR was barely 50 when he was first elected.”

HE correction: FDR was just shy of 51 when he was elected in November 1932. LBJ was 56 when he beat Barry Goldwater in November ’64. The Democrats really, really don’t want a candidate in his or her late 70s running for the White House.

Variety‘s Dave NcNary has reported that Annapurna is bumping the release date of Richard Linklater‘s Where’d You Go, Bernadette from March 19th back to August 9th…fine. But he omits the fact this is Bernadette‘s third release-date adjustment. On 6.7.18 I reported that Linklater’s domestic discord flick was initially slated to open on 5.11.18, then was pushed back to 10.19.18, and then again to 3.22.19.

McNary also ignores the fact that Linklater’s name is absent from the latest trailer. That probably means something, no?

An Annapurna rep told McNary “that August has served well as a launching pad for release of female-skewing films such as Crazy Rich Asians, Florence Foster Jenkins and Julie and Julia and that Bernadette,” blah blah.

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“Paramount was Hollywood’s mountain — now it’s a molehill. After decades of nearly slapstick mismanagement — spinning off TV and missing the internet — the studio behind The Godfather is fighting for its life. In many ways [it’s] become a glorified rental property. Along with the rest of Hollywood, Paramount is colliding with Silicon Valley. The old-line film business is only going to become tougher as streaming services proliferate. Can Paramount — the studio that, more than any other, symbolizes Hollywood itself — find a path forward as a stand-alone studio? Or, as they did at Fox, could its end credits roll? Short-sighted moves by Viacom’s Sumner Redstone and his cronies — rooted in hubris and old-fashioned greed — dragged Paramount down. Longtime entertainment executives [have] likened the studio’s mismanagement under [the late] Brad Grey and his boss, Philippe P. Dauman, who ran Viacom from 2006 to 2016, to an old horror movie. Perhaps Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” Barry Diller: “Why Paramount? It’s irrelevant.” — from an 1.17 N.Y. Times story by Amy Chozick and Brooks Barnes.

I know all the great 1930s directors pretty well, or at least I thought I did. But I drew a blank this morning when I came upon a mention of Gwenda Young‘s “Clarence Brown: Hollywood’s Forgotten Master” (University Press of Kentucky, 10.17.18).

I certainly know Brown’s landmark ’30s and ’40s films (Anna Christie, A Free Soul, Ah, Wilderness, Anna Karenina, Wife vs. Secretary, Idiot’s Delight, The Rains Came, Edison, the Man, The Human Comedy, National Velvet, The Yearling) but for some reason his name has never popped through.

Brown was one of those directors who flourished in their day but whose visual style was exceedingly average or “house”, certainly by current standards. I kind of have Brown in lumped in with Mervyn LeRoy, another director who was highly regarded and worked on prestige projects in the ’30s, ’40s, ’50s and early ’60s, but who gets no respect from anyone today.

One problem is that the name “Clarence Brown” doesn’t have the right sound. Victor Fleming, Michael Curtiz, Howard Hawks and even John Ford sounded like guys who played golf in the best country clubs. Clarence Brown sounds like the name of a wheat farmer or an auto mechanic or grocery store owner. In this sense Brown is a kindred spirit of Chad Stahelski, director of the three John Wick movies. Stahelski is the last name of an electrician, a surfer, a pool-maintenance guy, a hot-dog chef at Pinks, a garbage man (excuse me, a sanitation engineer) or a guy whose grandfather worked in the same New Orleans factory as Stanley Kowalski.

I’ve riffed before about collective forgetting of movie stars. Even those who were huge during their time…phffft. Four and a half years ago I lamented how Montgomery Clift, once regarded alongside Marlon Brando and James Dean as one of the most respected and influential ’50s movie stars, has all but disappeared in the minds of younger GenXers and Millennials. Don’t even talk about Generation Z.

Recently Cesar A. Hidalgo, director of the Collective Learning group at the MIT Media Lab and a principal developer of Pantheon, a software program that quantifies, analyzes and measures global culture, stated that almost every ostensibly famous person vaporizes after 30 years, and that some start to fade after only five years. It’s a brutal process.

The opening paragraph of a 1.10.19 Nautilus article titled “How We’ll Forget John Lennon“: “A few years ago a student walked into Hidalgo’s office at MIT. He was listening to music and asked the student if she recognized the song. She wasn’t sure. ‘Is it Coldplay?’ she asked. It was ‘Imagine’ by John Lennon.”

For 16 years Lennon was iconic, and then, 38 years and 38 days ago, he was murdered. Right now he might as well be cigarette smoke as far as many most under-35s are concerned.

Name some hot-tamale movie actors who were happening 10 or 20 years ago but are now all but forgotten. I hate to be cruel about it, but Josh Hartnett is on that list. Hartnett on fleeting superstardom: “I know what it’s like to be in that whole world. I was up there for a couple of years, and it was uncomfortable. I think trying to stay at the top is a shortcut to unhappiness.”

My instant reaction to the $99 Ostrich Pillow was The Mysterians, the 1957 cheeseball Japanese space-invaders flick. If you’re any kind of fan of creaky monster movies of the ’50s, you should be as familiar with The Mysterians as the Godzilla franchise, Rodan, Gorgo, Gog, etc.

If this trailer means anything at all, Steven Soderbergh‘s High Flying Bird (Netflix, 2.8) is going to be aces. Basketball with an emphasis on managing, strategizing, opportunity knocks…right? I’ll be in the audience for the first Slamdance screening. André Holland, Melvin Gregg, Zazie Beetz, Sonja Sohn, Zachary Quinto, Kyle MacLachlan, Bill Duke. The script by Tarell Alvin McCraney, the Oscar-winning co-writer (i.e., “story by”) of Moonlight.

Soderbergh (aka “Peter Andrews”) shot it last March on an iPhone7, as he did with grimly greenish Unsane. This time the visuals are much more appealing.

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“The most a president generally has to fear from congressional hearings is embarrassment; there is always an aide to take the fall. Impeachment puts his own job on the line, and demands every hour of his day. The rarest commodity in any White House is time, that of the president and his top advisers. When it’s spent watching live hearings or meeting with lawyers, the administration’s agenda suffers.

“This is the irony of congressional leaders counseling patience, urging members to simply wait Trump out and use the levers of legislative power instead of moving ahead with impeachment. There may be no more effective way to run out the clock on an administration than to tie it up with impeachment hearings.” — from “Impeach Donald Trump,” an Atlantic essay (March ’19 issue) by Yoni Abbelbaum.

Not to mention a killer campaign narrative for the 2020 Democratic nominee.