…that the percentage of really good films he’s starred in has been fairly low. Hanks has said this plain and straight.

It’s a basic creative and biological law that only about 10% of your films are going to be regarded as serious creme de la creme…if that. Most big stars (the smart ones) are given a window of a solid dozen years or so in which they have the power, agency and wherewithal to bring their game and show what they’re worth creatively. We all want to be rich, but the real stars care about making their mark.

Most name-brand directors, producers and actors enjoy 12-year streaks when everything is cooking and breaking their way. Some directors and actors are lucky enough to last 15 or 20 years or even longer. Your task, should you choose to accept it (and I know I’ve posted about this before), is to list any number of Hollywood heavyweights and when their 12-year hot streaks (or better) happened.

I’m not talking about the ability to work or get work — I’m talking about the years of serious heat and the best years falling into place.

Cary Grant peaked from the late ‘30s to late ‘50s.

James Cagney between Public Enemy and White Heat — call it 20.

James Stewart between Destry Rides Again and Anatomy of a Murder — 20.

Clark Gable’s hottest years were between It Happened One Night (‘34) and The Hucksters (‘47).

Humphrey Bogart happened between High Sierra / The Maltese Falcon (‘41) and The Harder They Fall (‘56) — a 15-year run.

Robert Redford peaked between Butch Cassidy (‘69) and Brubaker and Ordinary People (‘80) — 11 to 12 years.

Elizabeth Taylor had 15 years — 1950 (Father of the Bride) to 1966 (Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf).

Jean Arthur — mid ’30s to early ’50s (Shane) — call it 15 years.

Katharine Hepburn — early ’30s to early ’80s (On Golden Pond).

Meryl Streep — 1979 (The Seduction of Joe Tynan) to today…40 years and counting.

Martin Scorsese is the king of long-lasting directors — Mean Streets (’73) to Killers of the Flower Moon (’22)…a half-century!

John Huston had about 15 years — 1941 (The Maltese Falcon) to 1956 (Moby Dick).

Alfred Hitchcock had 23 years — ’40 (Rebecca) to ’63 (The Birds).

Steven Soderbergh‘s had 23 years so far — 1989 (sex, lies and videotape) to 2012 (Magic Mike) and he’s obviously still kicking.

John Ford enjoyed 27 good years — ’35 (The Informer) to ’62 (The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance).

John Wayne had an amazing 37 years — 1939 (Stagecoach) to 1976 (The Shootist).

George Clooney‘s peak period lasted almost 20 years.

Tony Curtis‘s hot streak was relatively brief — 1957 (Sweet Smell of Success) to 1968 (The Boston Strangler).

Kirk Douglas had about 15 years — Champion (’49) to Seven Days in May (’64).

Richard Burton — 1953 (The Robe) to 1977 (Equus) — almost 25.

During my two viewings of A Complete Unknown I’ve understood and enjoyed a fair amount of Timothee Chalamet‘s Dylan dialogue. but only about…oh, 60% or 70% at most. But when I watch the YouTube teaser clips with headphones, I can hear each and every vowel and syllable. The Searchlight trailer makers have simply mixed the sound so you can really hear the words while James Mangold‘s feature mix…not so much.

Don’t tell me it’s my fucking hearing…the dialogue is sharper and cleaner in the trailers, and that’s all there is to it. No arguments and fuck off.

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The spectacular Wizard of Oz sequence when the cyclone approaches and then consumes the Gale farmhouse (2:06 to 2:23) wasn’t used for some idiotic reason…talk about exciting, believable, first-rate work. Hats off to A. Arnold Gillespie, Edwin Bloomfield, Marcel Delgado, A.D. Flowers, Corril Harris, Donald Jahraus and J. McMillan Johnson, among several others.

Good Adam Sadler: The Wedding Singer, Punch-Drunk Love, Anger Management, 50 First Dates, Spanglish, Reign Over Me, Funny People, Uncut Gems.

Not-so-good or problematic Sandler: Pretty much everything else he’s starred in over the last 30 years.

From Owen Gleiberman‘s “Could Babygirl Have Been Made by a Male Director?’, posted in Variety earlier today:

“Babygirl is a film about someone” — Nicole Kidman‘s CEO character — “who feels, and believes, that her deepest desires are wrong.

“It’s important to recognize what a common sensation that is. There’s an old saying that goes, ‘Sex isn’t good unless it’s dirty,” and I think what that expresses is that it’s intrinsic to the nature of human sexuality that people are drawn, in the erotic arena, to acting out things that feel ‘naughty’ or ‘bad’ or whatever. It’s whatever floats your boat. And it’s why we have porn, which Kidman’s character in Babygirl is addicted to. That’s the realm where her libidinous imagination can roam free.”

HE’s answer: No male filmmaker would DARE to try and make such a film, as this would be politically suicidal. And the mob that would lash and eviscerate this guy would, of course, be progressive women.

Woke female mission statement: “We’ve reached a position of power that allows Halina Reijn to make this kind of film, but woebetide any dude who would be stupid enough to try and make such a film himself.”

Gleiberman: “What if a man had made Babygirl You could certainly say it would be more controversial.

“[But] the real answer is: A male director would not and could not have made Babygirl the way that Halina Reijn made it.

“It’s not just about the cultural identity politics. It’s about how the film’s power emerges from a hard-wired female consciousness. Kidman’s performance is extraordinary (the best by a female actor this year, in my opinion), but part of what makes acting like this possible is that the role is conceived with an intimacy that renders Romy’s gaze more potent than ours. She’s gazing into the sadomasochistic abyss of her own longing.”

It goes without saying that Chris Nolan‘s forthcoming The Odyssey will have to surpass (a) Mario Camerini and Kirk Douglas‘s Ulysses (’54), a cheeseball fantasy-adventure based on Homer’s epic poem, and (b) Andrei Konchalovsky‘s 1997 two-part miniseries that starred Armand Assante, Greta Scacchi, Irene Papas, Isabella Rossellini, Bernadette Peters, Eric Roberts, Geraldine Chaplin, Jeroen Krabbe, Christopher Lee and Vanessa Williams.

Making a better adaptation than the Camerini-Douglas version will not be difficult.

I’m not very knowledgable about the Kazakhstan plane crash, but it may have been caused by a bird strike. I’m reading that one engine was lost, but the landing area was fairly flat and wide open so couldn’t the (now dead) pilot have attempted some kind of half-assed bellyflop landing? Why couldn’t he ease into a landing…why did he have to crash into the ground at a sharp angle and cause a fireball explosion?

15 years ago a bird strike caused the loss of both engines when a commuter flight took off off from LaGuardia, and yet somehow pilot “Sully” Sullenberger (aka Tom Hanks) managed to skillfully land the plane in the Hudson river with no loss of life.

What am I missing?

…on talk shows and inside sound stages and even restaurants and department stores as long as they have truly nice, attractive, well-pedicured feet.

Unfortunately that holds true for only a relatively small percentage of specimens. I’m sorry but I’ve been eyeballing women’s feet for decades and that’s just how it is.

Men are not allowed to stroll around barefoot anywhere except for beaches and pool areas, and sometimes even that’s a really bad idea. It goes without saying that mandals and flip-flops are totally verboten.

With A Complete Unknown opening tomorrow (Wednesday, 12.25), consider a brief riff on Martin Scorsese‘s No Direction Home, which was first unveiled at the 2005 Toronto Film Festival:

I remember watching this 208-minute doc with 18-year-old Jett in the summer of ’06, and his saying around the 70- or 80-minute mark, or roughly where Dylan’s career was in ’60 or ’61, “I don’t get it” — i.e., what was the big deal about this guy?

That’s because Dylan didn’t really come into full flower until ’63, and because Part One of No Direction Home (roughly the 110-minute mark) ends with Dylan’s triumphant performance at the 1963 Newport Folk Festival. That’s when the heavy journey really began, and when the tectonic plates began to shift.

People forget that Dylan wasn’t fully free of his lefty-social-protest folk troubadour chapter until Another Side of Bob Dylan (8.8.64). And for many (including myself), he didn’t really hit the brass-ring zeitgeist jackpot until Bringin’ It All Back Home” (4.10.65).

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I offer no apologies or explanations as to why I’m strictly a once-a-year churchgoer. That said, this evening’s service was soothing, familial, good-vibey in a Brian Wilson way, and not too long.

Please listen to this 2017 interview between Andrew Goldman and the late, legendary Bobby Zarem. Please pay particular attention to what Zarem says between the 18-minute and 22-minute marks.

I’m inclined to half-disbelieve Zarem’s stories about (a) John Travolta and Gerard Depardieu having had a thing sometime in the late ’70s and (b) Katie Holmes walking in on Tom Cruise and David Beckham. (A friend who worked for Zarem in NYC says “I heard about Travolta and Depardieu back in the day.”)

So I’m inclined toward suspicion but I’m not 100% certain that Zarem was bullshitting about Cruise and Beckham. I’m asking for opinions, suspicions, intuitions.

HE’s Zarem obit, posted on 9.26.21.:

Bobby Zarem, the whipsmart, highly-charged, occasionally volatile New York publicist who “conceived” the “I Love N.Y.” campaign and represented a cavalcade of big Hollywood clients (Sylvester Stallone, Jack Nicholson, Eddie Murphy, Alan Alda, Cher, Dustin Hoffman, Michael Caine, Sophia Loren, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Pee-Wee Herman) during his ’70s and ’80s heyday, and whom I dealt with as a Manhattan-based journalist from the late ’70s to ’83 and worked for in Los Angeles in ’85 and ’86….poor Bobby died today in his home town of Savannah.

Lung cancer got him. Zarem was 84. I somehow can’t imagine Bobby being in heaven or in hell. I kinda see him hovering over Savannah now, but without angel wings. That town is full of ghosts.

Somewhere along the way Zarem picked up the name “super-flack.” He certainly seemed to earn that title during his peak period. To me he became a p.r. legend when he was chased down a street by protestors during the shooting of Fort Apache, The Bronx, somewhere near City Hall. That’s when Zarem, already noted for his colorful manner and being a mainstay at Elaine’s and whatnot, seemed to become a brand…an embodiment of the spirit of rough-and-tumble, pre-corporate, pre-Giuliani Manhattan…the vaguely odorous city captured by Sidney Lumet‘s Prince of the City, and which no longer exists.

Bobby was a character…a tireless, Yale-educated, quintessential Manhattan operator…hustler, gadfly, human locomotive, idea man.

It’s not as if Zarem was often angry or arguing. He was primarily a charmer and an enthusiast. But when he got angry he was amazing. I remember being deeply impressed by his ability to tear people’s heads off without degenerating into sputtering incoherence. When Bobby was pissed he became a kind of dinosaur, a force of nature — the back of his neck and face would turn almost cherry red — but he was always lucid and razor-tongued. I remember saying to myself once, “Wow, I wish I could be that intellectually commanding when I get angry.” But I could never manage it, which is one reason why I’ve always turned it down.

Zarem was driven, neurotic, larger than life, meticulous, a bundle of nerves, occasionally volcanic and every inch a New Yorker. He was a magnificent schmoozer. His hair wasn’t as frizzy as that of Larry Fine of the Three Stooges, but I sometimes regarded him as Fine-like, if you could re-imagine Fine as one of the smartest stooges to ever walk the earth.

I last saw Bobby when he invited me to his Savannah home in…I forget, 2012 or thereabouts. I don’t want to dissect the arc of his wild career or his character traits, and I’ll leave the N.Y. Times-like obits to the Times and other major-reach organs, but Zarem’s Wiki page makes for great reading.

Here’s a rundown of things I’m thankful to Zarem about…things that happened or were made possible by his largesse or whim:

(a) By working with and for Zarem I savored occasionally glancing, sometimes fascinating face-time with Sylvester Stallone, Jack Nicholson, Jane and Peter Fonda, Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, Kirk Douglas, Andy Vajna and Mario Kassar, Pee-Wee Herman…more names and faces than I can actually recall off the top.

(b) I became one of Douglas’s flirtations back in ’82 after an Elaine’s luncheon thrown by Zarem on behalf of the yet-to-shoot Eddie Macon’s Run. I was subsequently flown to Laredo to report on the shooting of that film for the New York Post. Universal publicity conveyed a certain disappointment that my article didn’t mention Eddie Macon’s Run more often, and that I spent too many paragraphs talking about Douglas’s career. Bobby dutifully called to inform me of their disappointment, adding that “this isn’t the end of the world.”

Douglas talked about anything and everything during our chats, and I remember his being fairly wide-open with his impressions about Stanley Kubrick (i.e., “Stanley the prick”), with whom he’d famously partnered on Paths of Glory and Spartacus. I told him I half-loved the foyer freakout scene with Lana Turner in The Bad and the Beautiful. And much of The Devil’s Disciple. And almost all of Champion. And every frame of Paths of Glory and Lust for Life and Lonely Are The Brave.

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