Apologies for failing to quickly acknowledge and suitably mourn the death of Drew Struzan, the celebrated movie-poster guy who passed on 10.13.

I feel especially sorry for anyone who’s had to grapple with the cruel oppressions of Al Z. Heimer….poor fellow. Hugs and condolences to fans, friends and colleagues.

This said, Struzan’s big-studio posters, effective as they were, were solely focused on the mainstream sell. Which is what movie one-sheets are expected to do, of course — instantly sell the movie to the lowest-common-denominator dummies.

And yet the very best ones deliver the sell plus something else…something angular, striking, artful, unexpected. And in so doing they attract moviegoers who are (a) repelled by the generic and (b) looking for something edgy or atypical.

Here are three posters, no offense, that delivered something more…

Written by a good friend (a Los Angeles-based attorney) whom I’ve known since the early ’80s….

“Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere has a lot going for it. It bothered me but in a good way.

“It bothered me to see Springsteen struggling with memories of family dysfunction. The brooding, deeply bruising alcoholic father (Stephen Graham) whose downcast moods seemed to define the household…little Bruce quietly observing and fearing this seething dog of a dad. But after coming off the road and a triumphant tour supporting The River, he seemed barely functional in his personal life. A composite version of a New Jersey girlfriend’s frustrated yearning for a serious relationship with the elusive rock star is a classic example of seeking someone who is obviously unavailable. He isn’t overtly cruel or philandering, just mostly missing in action.

“The muse of music constantly beckons. Springsteen putting together what would become Nebraska in his safe-space bedroom. Jamming with his friends at the legendary Stone Pony in Asbury Park. The sometimes uncomfortable sessions with his musical team struggling to transfer the sound of his home recordings to something that can be commercially released. It shows in miniature the misgivings of the record label and even perhaps his manager, Jon Landau (Jeremy Strong), with this unexpected and seemingly ill-timed musical direction, emerging at a moment when global stardom was in reach if Springsteen would just write some hit songs.

“The tunes that would comprise Born In The USA were mostly in the can but would have to wait a while. The dark themes of Nebraska had to come first as Springsteen needed to exorcise his childhood demons, etc.

“We live in a cynical time. An earnest film about a rock star’s struggles with depression and the release of an acclaimed-but-long-ago album may not resonate all that widely or deeply in 2025. There is also an incongruity in the wide release of a $55 million dollar film where the principals did significant publicity in the service of memorializing a small record by a musician whose mantra for it at the time was: no press, no singles and no tour. Perhaps the movie should have been downsized and followed those instincts.

“Then again, there’s a big difference between releasing a movie into today’s over-saturated media world and releasing a record in 1982 which would get attention just because of the name of the artist and his place in the zeitgeist at that time. We all waited impatiently back then for every new Springsteen record. Bruce’s big era lasted from the ‘mid 70s to the early aughts, and that’s fine. Nearly 30 years. Leave it there. Feel good about that.”

Here’s a starter.

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In his Bugonia review, New Yorker critic Justin Chang offhandedly admits that Luca Guadagnino’s After The Hunt wasn’t critically trashed by for its cinematic shortcomings but for political-cultural reasons — for being “noxiously reactionary.”

My Critics Choice membership was stupidly, hysterically terminated in March 2021, and with it HE’s advertising income. Thanks, fellas! I’ve known from the get-go that the people who called for my professioonal death in the wake of this absurd, sickening episode were primarily brittle, progessive-minded, industry-based women (fellow female Critics Choice members, publicists, trans biomales).

But until this morning I’d never considered what happened to me in scholarly, professorial, concisely written, delightfully articulate and on-target terms.

Consider Helen Andrews‘ “The Great Feminization,” posted on 10.16.25.

It is understood, of course, that the vast majority of HE commentators will ignore the substance of this article and just attack Andrews based upon their dislike of or disagreement with this or that excerpt. Some of you might want to actually read it.

Excerpts:

“All cancellations are feminine. Cancel culture is simply what women do whenever there are enough of them in a given organization or field. That is the Great Feminization thesis: Everything you think of as ‘wokeness’ is simply an epiphenomenon of demographic feminization.

“If wokeness really is the result of The Great Feminization, then the eruption of insanity in 2020 was just a small taste of what the future holds. Imagine what will happen as the remaining men age out of these society-shaping professions and the younger, more feminized generations take full control.

“Wokeness is not a new ideology, an outgrowth of Marxism, or a result of post-Obama disillusionment. It is simply feminine patterns of behavior applied to institutions where women were few in number until recently.

“Everything you think of as wokeness involves prioritizing the feminine over the masculine: empathy over rationality, safety over risk, cohesion over competition.

“The most relevant differences are not about individuals but about groups. In my experience, individuals are unique and you come across outliers who defy stereotypes every day, but groups of men and women display consistent differences. Which makes sense, if you think about it statistically. A random woman might be taller than a random man, but a group of ten random women is very unlikely to have an average height greater than that of a group of ten men. The larger the group of people, the more likely it is to conform to statistical averages.”

Helen Andrews’ address delivered at NatCon 5 in Washington, D.C. on 9.2.25:

I don’t know the detailed financial particulars behind Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere, but I do know that this modestly-scaled, indie-flavored period drama (set in 1982) cost $55 million to produce, and that’s just fucking ridiculous.

If I was a studio chief and this Scott Cooper-directed feature had been pitched to me at that budget, I would have thought about it for 40 or 50 seconds and said, “$55 million for a movie about a depressed, New Jersey-born rock star recording a no-frills album in his bedroom? Even with great reviews a film like this might earn $25 or $30 million theatrical…maybe. Bruce’s heyday was 40, 50 years ago. This film would lure aging white GenXers and boomers and that’s all. Figure a way to make it for $17.5 million all in and maybe we can talk. Okay, I might approve $20 million but not a cent higher.

“Oh, and the guy who plays Springsteen needs to sorta kinda look like him…right? Jeremy Allen White looks nothing like him. Ridiculous. White-as-Springsteen is as bad of an idea as casting Paul ‘hawknose’ Mescal as Paul McCartney or Joseph fucking Quinn as George Harrison. Seriously…take the needle out of your arm.”

“Build a $300 million, 90,000-square-foot gilt ballroom — which will overshadow the central edifice — while the government is shut and people have been thrown out of work; plaster tacky gold all over the Oval; sue everyone willy-nilly; put foes through legal torture; send troops to American cities; shrug off due process and blow alleged drug runners out of the water.

“’We the People’ is quaint. Now we are governed by the whims of one person.

“Congress is adrift. The White House is a shipwreck. Trump is marauding in the Caribbean. James Comey and Letitia James are being forced to walk the plank, and next up could be Jack Smith and Adam Schiff.

“We are awash in nautical metaphors as the president plunders and pillages. He’s a pirate — and not the fun Halloween kind.”

–from Maureen Dowd‘s “Burnin’ Down the House“, 10.25.25.

Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere hasn’t been critically panned across the board, but enthusiasm has certainly been lacking. And now it’s tanking financially. I feel sorry for Bruce Springsteen, Jeremy Allen White, director Scott Cooper. They put their hearts and souls into this thing, and nobody’s digging it. I haven’t even seen the poor thing, for some reason.

Deadline‘s Anthony D’Alessandro (posted Saturday morning): “If Springsteen hits the bottom of its tracking range at $9M, it won’t be ‘Glory Days’ for this net $55M Jeremy Allen White-Jeremy Strong starring production. On the upside, the movie has a 60% definite recommend on PostTrak, so we’ll see if this improves.

“Why isn’t this brand-name rock performer movie not being released over Christmas a la last year’s Bob Dylan biopic A Complete Unknown when a bigger audience is available? While older Springsteen fans showed up last night at 40% over 55 (the pic’s biggest demo) and 59% over 45, it was clearly not in bulk judging from the grosses. Also, Springsteen was largely female leaning movie at 52%. Women over 25 bought tickets at 46% and men over 25 went at 42%.

“Overall, this is very Caucasian-leaning movie at 85% with few diverse demos showing up. We’ll get into this more as the weekend goes on, but off the bat, the release date isn’t doing this making-of-the-Nebraska-album any favors.”

From Owen Gleiberman‘s “What’s the Problem with ‘Springsteen: Deliver Me from Nowhere’? The Problem Is That ‘Nebraska’ Is a Bore“:

“Jeremy Allen White doesn’t look very much like Springsteen. The lack of an acute resemblance isn’t fatal in a biopic, but it’s one of a number of things about Deliver Me from Nowhere that just feels…off.

“At home, when I’m making dinner with my daughters, we always play music, and mixed in with the new stuff I like to give them a dose of music history, so I’ll play everything from Nina Simone to Steely Dan to the Clash to ELO to Dylan to the Spinners to the Ramones. But the one time I put on “Nebraska,” we were four tracks into it when Sadie, who is 13, looked at me with a wince of pain and said, ‘Can we play something else?’

“She had never said that before, and I was amused to see her reaction directly echoed in the movie by the Columbia Records executive Al Teller (David Krumholtz), who hears a couple of minutes of the record and then says can you please take it off. It’s not just that the album ‘isn’t commercial.’ For many of us, there’s a punishing monotony to Nebraska.

“The album, in its way, is all about pain, and Deliver Me from Nowhere captures how creating the record all by himself in his New Jersey bedroom was therapy for Bruce. That’s a moderately interesting chapter in the larger Bruce saga, and when he actually goes to therapy, the film treats it as cataclysmic — as if millions of us haven’t been there, and as if he was the first rock celebrity who ever walked into a shrink’s office.”

One Battle After Another has a certain “not quite rooted upon planet earth” attitude, okay, but at least a couple of hundred miles away from comedic. It sure as hell isn’t musical.

“For the diner scene, a photograph of the building was put on a gyroscopically operated table onto which cameras had been mounted. The table was shaken and the oozy Blob stuff rolled off. When the film negative was printed in reverse, it appeared to be oozing over the building.

“The Blob was filmed in color and projected at a 1.66 ratio, then known as the ‘Paramount format’.” — from The Blob‘s Wiki page.