I chose to miss the 1.22.16 Sundance Film Festival showing of Ezra Edelman‘s O.J.: Made in America because it would have eaten up an entire day. (It runs 464 minutes.) I asked the ESPN guys if I could see it at a later date — they ignored me. It then played at the Tribeca Film Festival but I couldn’t attend that. Then it played theatrically in NY and LA between 5.20 and 5.26, when I was in Cannes and Prague. I wrote the ESPN guys again yesterday and today to see if there’s some kind of way to watch it online, and again they ignored me. It’ll be shown in five parts on the tube this weekend — Part 1: 6.11.16, 9 PM (ABC); Part 2: 6.14.16, 9 PM (ESPN); Part 3: 6.15.16, 9 PM (ESPN); Part 4: 6.17.16, 9 PM (ESPN); Part 5: 6.18.16, 9 PM (ESPN). Eventually it’ll be purchasable via streaming or Bluray. It’s said to be brilliant, but what a chore this whole thing has been, thanks to the ESPN guys.

Last night I saw James Wan‘s The Conjuring 2 (Warner Bros., 6.10) at an Arclight all-media screening, and…okay, it was scary at times. I have to admit that the black-eyed demon nun (played by Bonnie Aarons) got to me. But it was just as Walmart-y as I expected. It’s a horror film made for people who don’t respond to scary stuff unless it’s jolting, grotesque, amplified and super-intense. No subtle pings for Wan and his fans. Because the fans are simply too coarse and insensitive to be receptive to anything that doesn’t grab them by the lapels. They want growls, howls, shrieks, loud thumpings, etc.

Prediction: a sizable percentage of those who will pay to see The Conjuring 2 this weekend (it’s expected to make $35 to $40 million) will complain about Personal Shopper not being scary enough or too oblique or whatever.

The Conjuring 2 is way, way too long. I was watching, waiting…whoa, that was scary!…shifting around, wishing I’d bought some popcorn. Then Patrick Wilson got out the guitar and serenaded the kids with “I Can’t Stop Falling In Love With You.” I looked at my watch at the 105-minute mark and said to myself, “We’re almost at two hours and this thing is still futzing around…when are the narrative strands going to start coalescing into some kind of third-act climax?” Well, the damn thing lasts 134 minutes.

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I’m not saying that Sen. Elizabeth Warren should or will run as Hillary Clinton‘s vice-president during the general campaign. I wouldn’t blame her if she decides to keep her Massachucetts Senate seat. And in a recent NBC interview I’m pretty sure I detected a reluctance on Clinton’s part to even offer the vp slot to Warren, whom she fears would overshadow her. Hillary is correct in this assessment. Warren is our finest embodiment of serious, tough-as-nails progressive change while Hillary is merely a scheming “it’s our turn!” opportunist riding the coattails of the Sanders-Warren movement. I’ll be voting for Hillary in November, but the only way I would do so with any enthusiasm would be if Warren is also on the ticket.

If nothing else, those who catch The Conjuring 2 this weekend will come away humming this 1961 Elvis Presley song, which was first performed in Norman Taurog’s cinematic classic Blue Hawaii. Little-known factoid from Blue Hawaii Wikipage: “Producer Hal Wallis would use the box-office returns from Blue Hawaii to finance an upcoming Wallis film, 1964’s Becket, starring Richard Burton and Peter O’Toole.”

Seriously — in what ways has Hillary Clinton shown herself to be in league with Elizabeth Warren‘s beliefs in this respect? Deep-pocketed donors and secretive SuperPACs have been the mother’s milk of Hillary’s campaign, and she’s certainly not well known for standing up to Wall Street interests thus far.

Posted eight hours ago by Robert Reich on his Facebook page: “At the start they labeled you a ‘fringe’ candidate — a 74-year-old, politically independent, Jewish, self-described democratic socialist who stood zero chance against the Democratic political establishment, the mainstream media, and the moneyed interests.

“Then you won 22 states. And in almost every state — even in those you lost — you won vast majorities of voters under 30, including a majority of young women and Latinos. And most voters under 45. You have helped shape the next generation.

“You’ve done it without SuperPACs or big money from corporations, Wall Street, and billionaires. You did it with small contributions from millions of us. You’ve shown it can be done without selling your soul or compromising your conviction.

“You’ve also inspired millions to get involved in politics — and to fight the most important and basic of all fights on which all else depends: to reclaim our economy and democracy from the moneyed interests.

“Your message — about the necessity of single-payer healthcare, free tuition at public universities, a $15 minimum wage, busting up the biggest Wall Street banks, taxing the financial speculation, expanding Social Security, imposing a tax on carbon, and getting big money out of politics — will shape the progressive agenda from here on.

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The Shallows (Columbia, 6.29) still doesn’t look all that great. Sharks don’t have personal agendas, and they aren’t persistent — they’re merely instinctual and occasionally hungry. The undercurrent, of course, has little to do with nature or survival but the fact that a fair share of the ticket buyers would probably like to eat Blake Lively themselves. Sidenote: I noted the following as I sat close to Lively during a Cafe Society schmoozer on day #2 of last month’s Cannes Film Festival: (a) her face is quite beautiful — every feature was perfectly sized and proportioned to a fare-thee-well; (b) she’s alert, observant and fairly sharp; (c) She really glowed, which was partly due to the fact that she’d hired a first-rate hair and makeup person; (d) I asked myself “when was the last time I sat this close to someone this pretty?” and the answer was “I dunno but it’s been a while”; and (e) she’s not small or petite — she’s around 5’10” and big-boned, and I don’t mean to suggest she’s in any way heavy-ish — I’m merely saying she’s not wirey or bird-like.

As promised, I saw Noah Baumbach and Jake Paltrow‘s De Palma (A24, 6.10) for the second time at the Aero on Sunday night. It’s easily the most enjoyable portrait of a director doc I’ve seen in years, and of course your average T-shirted, backwards-baseball-cap-wearing megaplex stooge will avoid it like the plague. As clever as DePalma often was and as memorable as many of his careful choreography sequences are/were, I don’t think he ever topped this death-of-Frank-Lopez scene. One of the reasons it’s my all-time favorite is because it’s not show-offy. It’s plain but with a strong “uh-oh” undertow. You can really feel the hot breath of death on the back of your neck. And the “what about Ernie?” thing is a perfect mood-lightener.

Somebody (possibly Sasha Stone) posted this on Facebook a little while ago. I got a good chuckle before I became irritated by the fact that Sasha or whomever forgot to put quotes around President Obama‘s greeting. You have to get these things exactly right or they don’t work. I can’t fix this, of course. Just saying.

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Why preview the death of a major Bourne character in a trailer? Don’t blame me. I didn’t do it. Ask Universal marketing.

You have no idea who you're dealing with. This July, Matt Damon is #JasonBourne.https://t.co/49DkZZdaBZ

— #JasonBourne (@jasonbourne) June 7, 2016

Either you understand and appreciate the difference between (a) low-rent horror films aimed at the sandal-wearing slovenlies and mall meanderers and (b) classy, refined upscale scaries like Personal Shopper, The Babadook, The Witch, It Follows and Roman Polanski‘s Repulsion. If so you would also appreciate the difference between Personal Shopper director Olivier Assayas and a talented but opportunistic genre whore like director James Wan, whose latest film is The Conjuring 2 (Warner Bros., 6.10). Wan directed the original The Conjuring, which I thought was fairly decent but not all that great at the end of the day. (It tried too hard, and all but destroyed itself with a happy ending.) In any event I’m down for tonight’s all-media showing of The Conjuring 2. I know what it’s going to be.

The new poster for Southside With You (Miramax/Roadside, 8.26) doesn’t do it for me. It substitutes the green-summer-grass backgrounds in the early posters for a golden-hued washover effect, and for me that does very little to enhance or upgrade. The straw-colored amber in the poster is right next to sepia, which is a commonly-used metaphor for the romantic past (early 20th Century, late 19th Century, Somewhere in Time, etc.) It’s a mistake, I feel, to suggest that that 1989, the year that Barack Obama and Michelle Robinson went on their first date, exists in the realm of golden yesteryears. Please. Back to the green.