Every time I arrive in Paris there’s always something that goes a little bit wrong, usually because I haven’t gathered all the necessary information or forgotten something. Or because I’m too tired to figure something out. That’s what happened today. I missed some instructions about picking up the apartment keys that had been sent several weeks ago by my Airbnb host, Romain. They were sent early last March but not re-sent today or yesterday, which would have been the considerate thing. But a couple of other things also went wrong on their own.

My flight from JFK arrived around 12:40 pm.   I took the usual Roissy bus (40 minutes, slogging through traffic), and arrived at the depot behind Place d’Opera around 2:40 pm.  I hopped on a Creteil-bound metro, got off at the Filles du Calvaire stop, and dragged the luggage over to 40 rue de Saintonge.

I had texted Romain yesterday and explained I’d be there around 3:30 pm. But when I texted him today as I stood by the street entrance, he told me the keys were sitting inside a code-entry lock box inside Bistrot de la Gaite (7 rue Papin), which is ten blocks to the west. I scrolled back through my Airbnb inbox and found a message, sent on 3.9, explaining this procedure, so my bad. I should’ve double-checked.

So I hailed a cab and went over to this place, bags and all. But then the code Romain gave me in the original message didn’t work. Punched it out four times — no dice. So I texted Romain, blah-dee-blah, “not working, brah.” He eventually gave me another code that worked. Keys and bags in hand, I taxied back to the pad.

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Late this afternoon I saw a great documentary that I can’t talk about until Friday. My Paris flight leaves in less than an hour. I’ll be there at 6:40 am eastern, 3:40 am Pacific. Should be at the pad by 3:30 pm Paris time.  An occasional Percocet is good for the soul.

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Yes, it looks like a retread, a Stand By Me ensemble threatened by a demonic Clarabelle. But something tells me that It (9.8.17, Warner Bros., New Line) may be up to something good. I’m basing this suspicion partly on the last two-thirds of the new trailer, and partly on the fact that it was directed by Andres Muschietti, who delivered the superb Mama four years ago.

From Todd McCarthy’s 1.15.13 Hollywood Reporter review of Mama:

“Being sold primarily on the name of its godfather, Guillermo del Toro, this Canadian-Spanish co-production from Universal is refreshingly mindful of the less-is-more horror guidelines employed by 1940s master Val Lewton, not to mention Japanese ghost stories, but the PG-13 rating might prove too restrictive for the gory tastes of male core genre fans.

“In essence, Mama represents a throwback and a modest delight for people who like a good scare but prefer not to be terrorized or grossed out. With fine special effects and a good sense of creating a mood and pacing the jolts, [Andres] Muschietti shows a reassuringly confident hand for a first-time director, pulling off some fine visual coups through smart camera placement and cutting, and not taking the whole thing so seriously that it becomes overwrought.”

The other day Patti Lupone dismissed Madonna‘s performance as Evita Peron in Alan Parker’s 1996 film adaptation (which I’ve always enjoyed and admired). “Madonna is a movie killer,” Lupone said. “She’s dead behind the eyes. She couldn’t act her way out of a paper bag. She should not be on film or on stage. She’s a wonderful, you know, performer for what she does, but she is not an actress.” (Lupone’s performance as Evita in the original 1979 Broadway production is commonly regarded as the best.)

No one would argue Lupone’s point, but Madonna was never better than she was in Parker’s film. She wasn’t brilliant or staggering, but she gave it everything she had and this, coupled with the fact that Evita itself was an above-average musical, makes her performance an honorable, good-enough thing. Madonna wasn’t the best choice, agreed, but she was reasonably decent in the role, at least to the extent that she didn’t get in the way.

The lesson is that with God’s grace, even moderately talented, less-than-genius-level actors can briefly rise to the heights. Simply by being lucky enough to find the right role in the right film at the right time. Justin Timberlake in The Social Network. Adam Sandler in Punch Drunk Love. Sly Stallone in Rocky. What others?

Sidenote: I don’t agree about Hayden Christensen‘s performance in Shattered Glass being a high-water mark. I found his manner in that film oppressively phony and cloying, making it impossible to believe that Stephen Glass‘s coworkers at the New Republic would buy into his bullshit.

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I’ve been waiting and waiting for the Russia-Trump election interference story to become the New Watergate. I was elated by the Comey firing because it seemed as if this, finally, would launch this story into orbit. It was Nixon firing Cox all over again…great! But I was also brought down yesterday by a Nate Silver/538 story about how the Russia thing has failed to ignite so far.

Silver: “It’s also possible that Comey’s firing is just the latest in a series of short, exciting bursts of activity that don’t ultimately produce any lasting momentum or do all that much to undermine Trump. This has mostly been the pattern of these Trump-Russia stories so far.” Three spikes — the British pee-pee tape dossier last January, the MNichael Flynn reisgnation in February and now the Comey firing.

Silver’s bottom line: “These [news] spikes have been relatively short-lived, and there has been no long-term increase in public attention to the story.”

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Having missed Monday night’s Manhattan all-media of Snatched, the Amy Schumer-Goldie Hawn comedy, I’m thinking of catching a 7 pm show at the Regal Battery Park Stadium. I can only see 90 minutes’ worth as I have to leave for JFK at 8:30 pm (the Paris flight leaves at 11:30 pm) but it’s a flunk — 36% Rotten Tomatoes, 47% Metacritic. The word’s been out on this puppy for months.

From David Poland’s 5.10 review: “The biggest problem is that Schumer is playing dumb…perhaps stupid. And she takes it to a level that doesn’t serve her well. It’s kind of like, ‘If you loved Amy in Trainwreck as a smart but insecure early 30s woman with a fear of commitment who finally gets it together, you’ll REALLY LOVE Amy as a self-indulgent woman/child with a clinging, enabling mother who really learns nothing through the course of the movie and keeps us from seeing her mother fully blossom because she is taking up all the screen time.”

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It would be quite a thing if Dwayne Johnson was to somehow land the Republican Presidential nomination in 2024, and find himself running against Democratic Presidential candidate Cory Booker. It would be the first time in U.S. history that opposing Presidential candidates would so closely resemble each other. Who would be more likely to win? It pains me to admit that Johnson would probably do better with low-information types. I’m thinking about Booker because the other day a friend mentioned that he’s probably the hottest contender right now for the 2020 Democratic nomination. He also mentioned that he’s mostly persuaded, based on what he’s heard, that the rumors are true. I hate admitting this also as I couldn’t be less interested in such matters, but the Democratic powers-that-be are probably concerned along these lines.

Longtime HE readers will recall the Barry Lyndon aspect-ratio contretemps that happened six years ago. Lyndon costar and longtime Stanley Kubrick assistant Leon Vitali, retained by Warner Home Video as a technical consultant on a spate of Kubrick Blurays, has insisted that the Lyndon Bluray be issued at 1.77:1 rather than 1.66:1, an a.r. previously adopted when WHV released the 1975 classic on laser disc. I hit the roof when I read about this. I argued, howled, seethed.

Then Glenn Kenny posted a 12.8.75 “smoking gun” letter written by Kubrick and sent to U.S. exhibitors. It stated that Barry Lyndon had been shot in 1.66 and should ideally be projected this way.

Now there’s a documentary about Vitali, Filmworker, that will show in a few days time at the 2017 Cannes Film Festival, under the Cannes Classics subsection. The director is Tony Zierra.

Synopsis: “It’s a rare person who would give up fame and fortune to toil in obscurity for someone else’s creative vision. But that’s exactly what Leon Vitali did after his acclaimed performance as ‘Lord Bullingdon” in Stanley Kubrick’s Barry Lyndon. The young actor surrendered his thriving career to become Kubrick’s loyal right-hand man. For more than two decades, Leon played a crucial role behind-the-scenes helping Kubrick make and maintain his legendary body of work.

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Without saying anything about War Machine one way or the other, I can at least mention that a pop-through supporting performance is given by Keith Stanfield. I’ve been paying attention to this 25 year-old actor for three years — Jimmie Lee Jackson in Selma, “Bug” in Dope, Snoop Dog in Straight Outta Compton and especially that creeped-ut guy passing along those weird vibes to Daniel Kaluuya during that backyard party scene in Get Out. Stanfield plays another haunted type in War Machine, an Army Corporal serving in Afghanistan who’s having trouble understanding Brad Pitt‘s convoluted strategy, and who also carries a climactic battle moment in Act Three. I’m just saying that Stanfield is the guy you’re talking about when it’s over. His character brings a couple of reality-check moments that stick.

A writer never plans or knows anything in advance. He/she just lives, roams around, listens, watches. And then suddenly you’re “called.” You hear that whisper or feel a little tap on the shoulder, and either you decide that you’ve just heard something worth exploring or you don’t. The thing about good ideas (i.e., inspiration) is that they never shake you by the lapels or announce themselves like Roman trumpets. They’re like those tonal sounds that elevators make when they arrive on a certain floor….poon. Like the vibration of a phone that’s had the sound turned off. Whether or not you answer and listen is up to you.