The now-admitted-to relationship between Fani Willis and Nathan Wade has no bearing at the charges against Donald Trump and his co-conspirators, but it’s mind-boggling that Willis and Wade calculated that no one (particularly Trump investigators) would discover that they went on trips together and would use this info to weaken Willis’s authority and legitimacy …their stupidity was radiant.

Over the decades the old saga of the self-destructive musical genius or famous performer — grew up gnarly, found fame with a great gift, burned brightly for a relatively brief time and then died from drug or alcohol abuse — has been told many times.

Jimi Hendrix, Hank Williams, Brian Jones, Elvis Presley, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Charlie “Bird” Parker, Edith Piaf, Bix Beiderbecke…a story as old as the culture of recreational drugs and “yeah, man” indulgence itself.

Sam Taylor-Johnson‘s Back to Black (Focus, 5.24), a biopic about the doomed Amy Winehouse, is the latest. Marisa Abela as Amy, Jack O’Connell as the jaded Blake Fielder-Civil plus Eddie Marsan, Lesley Manville and Juliet Cowan.

From Truman Capote‘s “The Duke In His Domain,” published in The New Yorker on 11.2.57…excellent writing, phrased just so, based on a Marlon Brando interview in Kyoto’s Miyako hotel during location filming of Sayonara:

“The maid had reëntered the star’s room, and Murray, on his way out, almost tripped over the train of her kimono. She put down a bowl of ice and, with a glow, a giggle, an elation that made her little feet, hooflike in their split-toed white socks, lift and lower like a prancing pony’s, announced, ‘Appapie! Tonight on menu…appapie.’

“Brando groaned. ‘Apple pie….that’s all I need.” He stretched out on the floor and unbuckled his belt, which dug too deeply into the swell of his stomach. ‘I’m supposed to be on a diet. But the only things I want to eat are apple pie and stuff like that.’

“Six weeks earlier, in California, [director Joshua] Logan had told him he must trim off ten pounds for his role in Sayonara, and before arriving in Kyoto Brando had managed to get rid of seven. Since reaching Japan, however, abetted not only by American-type apple pie but by the Japanese cuisine, with its delicious emphasis on the sweetened, the starchy, the fried, he’d regained, then doubled this poundage.

“Now, loosening his belt still more and thoughtfully massaging his midriff, he scanned the menu, which offered, in English, a wide choice of Western-style dishes, and, after reminding himself ‘I’ve got to lose weight,’ ordered soup, beefsteak with French-fried potatoes, three supplementary vegetables, a side dish of spaghetti, rolls and butter, a bottle of sake, salad, and cheese and crackers.

“’And appapie, Marron?’

“He sighed. ‘With ice cream, honey.’

“Watching him now, with his eyes closed, his unlined face white under an overhead light, I felt as if the moment of my initial encounter with him were being recreated. The year of that meeting was 1947; it was a winter afternoon in New York, when I had occasion to attend a rehearsal of Tennessee Williams’ A Streetcar Named Desire, in which Brando was to play the role of Stanley Kowalski.

“It was this role that first brought him general recognition, although among the New York theatre’s cognoscenti he had already attracted attention, through his student work with the drama coach Stella Adler and a few Broadway appearances — one in a play by Maxwell Anderson, Truckline Café, and another as Marchbanks opposite Katharine Cornell’s Candida — in which he showed an ability that had been much praised and discussed.

“Ten years ago, on the remembered afternoon, Brando was still relatively unknown; at least, I hadn’t a clue to who he might be when, arriving too early at the Streetcar rehearsal, I found the auditorium deserted and a brawny young man stretched out atop a table on the stage under the gloomy glare of work lights, solidly asleep. Because he was wearing a white T-shirt and denim trousers, because of his squat gymnasium physique — the weight-lifter’s arms, the Charles Atlas chest (though an opened ‘Basic Writings of Sigmund Freud’ was resting on it) — I took him for a stagehand. Or did until I looked closely at his face.

“It was as if a stranger’s head had been attached to the brawny body, as in certain counterfeit photographs. For this face was so very untough, superimposing, as it did, an almost angelic refinement and gentleness upon hard-jawed good looks: taut skin, a broad, high forehead, wide apart eyes, an aquiline nose, full lips with a relaxed, sensual expression. Not the least suggestion of Williams’ unpoetic Kowalski.

“It was therefore rather an experience to observe, later that afternoon, with what chameleon ease Brando acquired the character’s cruel and gaudy colors, how superbly, like a guileful salamander, he slithered into the part, how his own persona evaporated — just as, in this Kyoto hotel room ten years afterward, my 1947 memory of Brando receded, disappeared into his 1957 self.

Pamela Paul‘s 2.2 N.Y. Times article about trans-surgery pushback, “As Kids, They Thought They Were Trans — They No Longer Do”, suggests that people are tiring of the vaguely hysterical trans surgery theology and that the insanity may we winding down.

Sasha Stone‘s reader reply, posted by the Times:

The Annie Hall Wikipedia page says that the actual Truman Capote appears (starting around the :22 mark) when Woody Allen says to Diane Keaton “there’s the winner of the Truman Capote lookalike contest.” Wrong. The impostor doesn’t have that fearless Capote stride, and his hair is certainly too dark and too long.

Until this morning I’d never read or realized that Sigourney Weaver has a wordless, too-far-away-to-be-recognized cameo near the very end (:16 mark), standing under the Thalia marquee with Allen, Keaton and some guy playing Keaton’s date:

Flipping the Romeo and Juliet tragedy into a joyful self-discovery trans cuitural grooming thing.

I’m furious at Megyn Kelly for her friendly coverage of Donald Trump, but I feel complete relaxation with Adam Carolla and I don’t care how the HE commentariat responds to this.

Key quote #1: “All roads lead to narcissism.” Key analogy: Passion fruit iced tea vs. regular iced tea.

Max Martin‘s “& Juliet” delivers an upfront queer trans makeover and sell-job and not a mere gay subplot along these lines.

A pro-level B’way entertainment, of course, but at the same time a kind of spirited cultural indoctrination session for the tourist rube audience by way of a “join us in celebrating who and what we are” Tin Pan Alley progressive (LGBTQ) agenda, which goes hand in hand, incidentally, with the current “Some Like It Hot” musical.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sugar_(musical)?wprov=sfti1#

Billy Wilder’s 1959 screen comedy, ahead of its time in terms of acknowledging cross-dressing and gender behaviors while being strictly hetero, was hetero Broadway musicalized as “Sugar” back in ‘72 — now the same story has been converted into an ecstatic celebration of gender fluidity and queer identity and yaddah yaddah.

https://somelikeithotmusical.com/

Harvey Fierstein’s “Kinky Boots,” which I caught 11 years ago, sold a roughly similar bill of goods.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kinky_Boots_(musical)?wprov=sfti1

Snapped in Paris, posted on 5.28.23:

Sasha Stone and I have concluded that Tim Burton has only two casting options for his Attack of the 50 Foot Woman remake. One, a foxy POC chick with big boobies (Black, Asian, Asian) or — this is much better — persuade Taylor Swift to play the part. Better yet, cast Swift as a gay N.Y. Times columnist — Attack of the 50 Foot Lesbian.

Obviously younger auds are cool with Anyone But You, at least to some extent. After opening on 12.22 it’s still hanging in there five and a half weeks later, currently residing in third place domestically ($72,377,883) with a decent (if less than crazy humungous) worldwide gross.

Given the fact that Will Gluck‘s Australia-set romcom is absoutely awful to sit through, you’d figure it would be dead by now. Is this because Millennials and Zoomers have no taste? Or is it because Glenn Powell and Sydney Sweeney are seen as attractive world-class leads now and box-office watchers are just slow to catch on?

After catching Paul Thomas Anderson‘s hippie-dippie Inherent Vice (’14) I decided firmly and finally that PTA should never adapt another Thomas Pynchon novel. Because I absolutely hated the way Inherent Vice made me feel, plus I couldn’t understand at least 60% or 70% of the dialogue.

Alas, Jordan Ruimy is reporting that Anderson is now shooting another Pynchon adaptation, Vineland. It’s lensing in Northern California (Eureka, Acata, Humboldt County) with Leonardo DiCaprio as Zoyd Wheeler.

Instead of using the book’s 1984 setting, PTA’s film has apparently been re-set in the present.

Last night I caught episodes #1 and #2 of Feud: Capote vs. The Swans (Hulu/FX). and I was competely delighted by Tom Hallander‘s Truman Capote. It’s like Capote‘s Philip Seymour Hoffman is back among us, and it’s wonderful. The voice, body language, hat and scarves….perfect. Hollander will be Emmy-nominated and probably win…no question.

You might guess from the credit block that Hollander is playing a supporting role, but he’s absolutely the star. When Hollander’s on-screen, you’re riveted or at least sitting up in your seat. When the swans are front and center you’re paying polite attention and never bored, but at the same you’re waiting for Hollander to return.

The narrative is non-sequential, hopscotching around from year to year, era to era…1984, 1968, 1975, 1966, etc. Hollander is especially glorious in “Pilot,” the initial episode. Episode #2 (“Ice Water In Their Veins”) is about his immediate post-“La Cote Basque” downfall period…obviously sad, boozy and pathetic.

All the swan performances are first-rate with Naomi Watts‘ Babe Paley being the main stand-out. The other performances are completely satisfactory and professional — Diane Lane as Slim Keith (who was no longer slim in the late ’60s and ’70s), Chloë Sevigny as C. Z. Guest (Sevigny and Barry Keohgan are the queen and king of the bee-stung nose realm), Calista Flockhart as Lee Radziwill, Demi Moore as Ann Woodward and Molly Ringwald as Joanne (wife of Johnny) Carson. All completely convincing, no speed bumps or issues of any kind.

Jon Robin Baitz‘s screenplay is witty, amusing, blistering, spot-on. Gus Van Sant‘s direction is also top-=of-the-lone, and the animated credit sequence [see below] is luscious and haunting.