HE reply: Outside of the super-wealthy, the blissfully ignorant and the simply-lacking-sufficient-brain-cells crowd, life itself is a kind of misery index. If you’re living an examined one, I mean.

That old Annie Hall joke about human experience being categorized by the horrible for some (afflicted with ghastly disease, suffering in concentration camps) and the miserable for everyone else? It got a big laugh when I first saw Woody Allen’s classic film in the spring of ‘77.

Life is occasionally punctuated with deeply satisfying accomplishment breathers or mountain-peak highs or blissful peace-outs (family dinners, silent communings with nature, pet affection, great music, early-morning airport arrivals in Europe) or fizzy champagne cocktail moments (and who doesn’t love these?) but otherwise is mostly about pushing the plow through rocky soil and slogging through as best we can. I wish it were otherwise, but then again misery and anxiety and sore shoulder muscles build character.

Barry Levinson‘s The Alto Knights (Warner Bros., 3.21.25) would sell more tickets if it was called Wise Guys (original title), Goombahs, Vito and Frank or Old Fuckheads.

Okay, those aren’t very good titles either, but what the hell does The Alto Knights mean?

The Alto Knights Social Club was the original name of Little Italy’s’s Ravenite Social Club (247 Mulberry Street). Founded in 1926, the joint was a hangout for Charlie “Lucky” Luciano and Albert Anastasia. (The name “Alto Knights” came from the Order of Saint James of Altopascio.)

The screenplay is by Nicholas Pileggi (co-author of Goodfellas).

The Alto Knights stars 81-year-old Robert De Niro in a dual role as mob bosses Vito Genovese and Frank Costello. Debra Messing, Cosmo Jarvis, Kathrine Narducci and Michael Rispoli play supporting roles.

If someone were to offer me a clean, crisp $100 bill in exchange for my agreeing to sit through the entirety of Leigh Whannell‘s Wolf Man, I honestly wouldn’t know how to respond. I think I’d hold out for $250. I would sit through this obviously poisonous film for that amount.

I’ve never seen Terence Fisher‘s Curse of the Werewolf (’61), which starred Oliver Reed and was set in 18th Century Spain. (Although it was shot in England.) It was the first werewolf film to be shot in color. Stills indicate that Reed’s makeup wasn’t bad.

For the last 30 years my all-time favorite werewolf flick has been Mike Nichols‘ Wolf (’94), which has an excellent screenplay by Jim Harrison (whom I met and hung out with on a warm evening in March ’96 at the premiere of Carried Away, which was based on Harrison’s “Farmer”) and Wesley Strick. I didn’t like the last half-hour of Wolf, of course — nobody did. But the first 90 minutes moved along nicely.

Control: “And uhm…how do you feel about him?”

Leamas: “Feel?”

Control: “Yes.”

Leamas: “He’s a bastard.”

Control: “Quite.”

Actual strip of 70mm celluloid Lawrence, sitting atop bedroom bureau:

No backbone, no principles, no belief in the rule of law.

Remember Scott Feinberg’s enthusiastic Angelina Jolie promotions? All the gush? Well, none of that panned out. No SAG or BAFTA noms…sorry. That’s because of the horrible recriminations against Brad Pitt by Jolie and the kids. It’s called karma.

In the comment thread for HE’s Best Films of 1986 piece (posted late last night), it was argued that Tim Hunter’s River’s Edge and Rob Reiner’s Stand By Me, dual ‘86 releases about kids finding a dead body and debating what to do about it, are of equal classic stature.

River’s Edge technically isn’t a 1986 film but I let that slide. Shot between January and March of ‘86, it premiered at the 1986 Toronto Film Festival (9.10.86 — a month after Reiner’s film appeared in theatres) but didn’t commercially open until May ‘87.

Hunter’s film is far more haunting, not to mention realistic and mature — a major, deeply unsettling arthouse film about a zombie virus that had begun to permeate stoner teen culture (it’s based upon a 1981 murder that happened in Milpitas) in the early Reagan era. A couple of critics described it as a kind of moral horror film.

Based on a 1982 Stephen King novella, Stand By Me is basically a sentimental flick about adolescent friendship and the veil of nostalgia. I hated, hated, HATED the title (the revered 1961 Ben E. King song has NOTHING to do with the plot), and I sorta kinda despised the presence and performance of chubby-ass Jerry O’Connell, who was 11 or so during filming.

No offense but Reiner’s film, which I regard as no more than decent as it is pure popcorn, shouldn’t be mentioned in the same breath with Hunter’s.

Will a BAFTA Best Picture win lock in Conclave’s frontrunner status and finally put an end to sick, delusional stateside fantasies that Wicked or Emilia Perez or, God forbid, The Brutalist might snag the golden Oscar ring?

The Brutalist, which received nine BAFTA noms this morning, is a film designed to make viewers feel awful. This is not a strongly contested opinion. I would feel differently if (this is an absurd fantasy) A24 had offered complimentary snorts of high-grade heroin to select viewers in order to lessen the glum mood, but that’s water under the bridge.

Conclave’s 12 BAFTA nominations have affirmed its leading heavyweight status, at least for now. And yet nipping at the heels of Edward Berger’s Vatican drama is Jacques Audiard’s diverting-but-not-good-enough Emilia Perez, which has landed 11 BAFTA noms…will you guys please stop this? Put a cap on it.

Both the Movie Godz and the Joe and Jane Popcorn community have spoken, and the time has come to put a respectful halt to the Perez hoopla.

There’s no questioning that it’s an audaciously conceived film (Mexican trans drug cartel musical) but without the second word in that five-word description there’s no way it would be a Best Picture headliner (voting for it makes people feel safer), and we all know this.

Not to mention those underwhelming RT scores (both critics and ticket buyers).

Queer’s Daniel Craig getting edged out of a Best Actor nomination by Heretic’s Hugh Grant is absolutely not right and certainly not cool. Craig’s performance as the William S. Burroughs-like lead character in Luca Guadagnino’s film is shattering.

And congrats to The Apprentice ‘s Sebastian Stan for landing a BAFTA Best Actor nom for his spot-on, half-sympathetic-during-the-first-half performance as Donald whack-ass Trump. Hooray also for Stan’s costar, Jeremy Strong, snagging a Best Supporting Actor nomination.

Time and again guys with abusive tendencies have seemingly tried to immolate themselves — almost trying to taunt #MeToo women as an exercise in self-destruction. Please vent about my appalling sexual behavior on social media…please! This is how I want to die.

I’m fairly certain this famous Pauline Kael quote is from her New Yorker review of Barry Levinson’s Diner (‘82), although it could’ve been sparked by a scene in Lawrence Kasdan’s Body Heat (‘81) in which Rourke, initially glimpsed lip-synching to Bob Seger’s “Feel Like A Number”, played a soft-voiced, settled-down felon who’d begun to think twice about…everything.

Rourke seemed to be in a state of charmed, almost magical ascendancy back then. I could go on and on about what happened or didn’t happen, but the glow had begun to fade by the late ‘80s. His last truly alluring performance that decade was in Alan Parker’s Angel Heart (‘87). Then came the early ’90s and boxing.

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How deep of a cultural imprint was left by the standout films of 1986? How many were genuinely worth the candle, or are remembered with genuine affection or excitement?

The answer is that ‘86 was a phenomenal year. It saw the release of 30 films that really and truly rang the bell, and that ain’t hay. In my book ‘86 is at par with 1971 and 1999.

A little while ago I kicked this topic around with Sydney-based movie hound Nathan Laird, who is quite the whipsmart gabber. It’s loading as we speak — maybe it’ll post by midnight. Or by 9 am tomorrow…who knows?

HE’s top 30 films of 1986, and not necessarily in this order:

(1) Oliver Stone‘s Platoon, (2) James Cameron‘s Aliens, (3) Oliver Stone‘s Salvador, (4) David Lynch‘s Blue Velvet, (5) Jonathan Demme‘s Something Wild, (6) Michael Mann‘s Manhunter, (7) Neil Jordan‘s Mona Lisa, (8) Woody Allen‘s Hannah and Her Sisters, (9) David Cronenberg’s The Fly, (10) Jim Jarmusch‘s Down By Law, (11) Mike Nichols‘ Heartburn, (12) James Ivory‘s A Room with a View, (13) Jean-Jacques Beineix‘s Betty Blue, (14) Roland Joffe‘s The Mission, (15) Claude Berri‘s Manon of the Spring, (16) Tony Scott‘s Top Gun, (17) Spike Lee‘s She’s Gotta Have It, (18) Fons Rademakers‘ The Assault, (19) David Zucker‘s Ruthless People, (20) Paul Mazursky‘s Down and Out in Beverly Hills, (21) John Hughes‘ Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, (22) Adrien Lyne‘s 9 1/2 Weeks, (23) Hal Ashby‘s 8 Million Ways to Die, (24) Randa Haines‘ Children of a Lesser God, (25) Martin Scorsese‘s The Color of Money, (26) David Anspaugh‘s Hoosiers, (27) Tim Hunter’s River’s Edge, (28) Jamie Foley’s At Close Range, (29) Sidney Lumet‘s The Morning After, (30) Bruce Beresford‘s Crimes of the Heart.

According to World of Reel‘s Jordan Ruimy, Eric Roth recently dumped on….sorry, recently confessed to having genuine feelings of disappointment about Martin Scorsese‘s Killers of the Flower Moon. Naked honesty! Clear light!

Roth: “Leonardo was concerned that it would be too much of a great white hope story, so he decided to play the other part which is fine…except I had already written five years worth of scripts [based on David Grann’s novel).. I have some mixed feelings about the movie…not, uhm, I love the movie all and all, Marty made an incredibly sorrowful and accurate portrayal of what we did to these people and the greed. I think it’s a very important movie. I just wish it had more entertainment. I love Tom White, the [originally conceived] main character who Jesse Plemons ended up playing. I wish we had more of him.”

“All Hail Tom White, Taciturn Hero of Killers of the Flower Moon”, posted on 1.20.24:

Here’s how I put it to a screenwriter pally a couple of hours ago: “My God, what a truly compelling and fascinating film Killers of thge Flower Moon could have been. Hats off to Roth for some wonderful writing, sublime tension, terrific structure. It really lives and breathes!

“And what a great, soft-spoken, drillbit character Tom White is! His laconic, man-of-the-prairie dialogue is so spare and true and eloquent.

“If only John Sturges had directed this screenplay in his prime! Or Oliver Stone in the ’80s or Michael Mann, Chris Nolan, Paul Thomas Anderson…Sam Peckinpah even.

“If only Marty and Leo hadn’t lost their nerve…if only they hadn’t been so scared of provoking the wokesters and suffering their ferocious wrath, i.e., “We’re done with white heroes! Only racists-at-heart would tell such a tale! And fuck David Grann!”

“My head was completely turned around by reading this, and Roth wasn’t even afraid of including racist cracker dialogue from time to time. (Brave.) And Mollie Burkhart actually conveys a certain gratitude (i.e., a slight smile) to White at the very end. I don’t know if Lily Gladstone even read this version of the script, but if so she almost certainly would’ve hated it.

“I wish I had read this six or seven years ago. It would have clarified a lot of things. Roth and Scorsese went with a woke version of Grann’s tale, of course, but in the early stages Roth truly did himself proud.”

If you weren’t much of a fan of Killers of the Flower Moon or even if you were, please read this early Roth draft — it’s a revelation.

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