The last time I watched a film about a man suffering from neurofibromatosis was 44 years ago, when I saw David Lynch‘s The Elephant Man (’80). I went through a similar dramatic experience five years later when I saw Peter Bogdanovich‘s Mask (’85), although Eric Stoltz‘s Rocky Dennis character was a victim of craniodiaphyseal dysplasia, “an extremely rare sclerotic bone disorder”.

In The Elephant Man, the cruelty that poor John Merrick (John Hurt) endured at the hands of Mr. Bytes (Freddie Jones) and others was ugly, and the kindness and compassion that Merrick received from Dr. Frederick Treves (Anthony Hopkins), Madge Kendal (Anne Bancroft), Frances Gomm (John Gielgud) and Mrs. Mothershead (Wendy Hiller) was heartwarming.

I naturally imagined that I was in league with the good guys in this film, and that made me feel good about myself.

But of course, Hurt’s Merrick wasn’t really suffering from this horrid disease — his appearance was a demonstration of masterful, tour de force technique from makeup guy Christopher Tucker. Audience members naturally knew that from the get-go.

Now I’m obliged to sit through Aaron Schimberg‘s A Different Man (A24, 9.20), a black comedy about three characters — (a) Edward (Sebastian Stan), a neurofibromatosis guy who is surgically transformed into a normal-looking dude, (b) an actual neurofibromatosis sufferer named Oswald (Adam Pearson) who isn’t saved by surgery, and (c) Ingrid (Renate Reinsve) who comes to know both Edward and Oswald.

I’m sorry but the trailer for Schimberg’s film, which debuted at Sundance ’24, suggests hard work. Makeup is one thing, but I find it uncomfortable and difficult to spend time with people who are actually grotesque and deformed. You can call me an insensitive brute, but I don’t particularly want to see A Different Man because of this. Put another way, I’ll see it but not without duress.

If you’re a neurofibromatosis wokey, however, you’ll not only condemn people like me but also bend over backwards to show the world what a kind and tolerant person you are. And that’s fine.

But there’s a scene in A Different Man in which a normal-looking woman takes Oswald’s head in her hands and kisses him, and there’s no way that’s tolerable for an average audience member. Forget it.

In a 7.14 Atlantic essay titled “The Gunman and the Would–Be Dictator,” David Frum wrote the following:

I would be lying if I said that for a few brief seconds last Saturday my heart didn’t skip a beat when I heard that Trump had been shot (i.e., ear–pierced).

The truth is that a feeling of mixed adrenaline (shocked by the implications of chaos and hate but at the same time thinking “does this mean no more Trump toxicity?”) rifled through my system.

Anyone from the sensible, semi-thoughtful, non-MAGA crowd who claims they were only horrified by the sight of blood and the whizzing of AR-15 bullets is (be honest) a bit of a coward and a liar.

One of those cowardly liars is Jack Black, who has just cancelled Tenacious D’s tour because Kyle Glass briefly confessed to having succumbed to calloused, knee-jerk thinking and to being a harsh judge of the bumblefuck social cancer that The Beast unleashed eight years ago.

Another liar is Late Show host Stephen Colbert, who shared the following during last night’s broadcast:

I don’t doubt that Colbert was, like everyone else, alarmed by the shooting and grief-struck for that poor fireman and family man, Corey Comperatore, who was killed by one of Thomas Matthew Crooks’ bullets.

But I don’t believe for a second that Colbert was relieved that Trump’s mustard gas wasn’t removed from social influence. Colbert said that because he had to — what Glass admitted to can never be even half-acknowledged by a big-time network TV talk-show guy.

I’m not proud of my pulse having quickened oh-so-briefly last Saturday afternoon. I feel chagrined by that ugly gut-feeling moment. But I can’t lie and say I didn’t taste it.

When I read about Crooks, I muttered to myself that the trans community is undoubtedly breathing a huge sigh of relief that the shooter wasn’t from their ranks. A friend with several POC pallies confessed that “there’s great relief that the shooter wasn’t black. Otherwise it would’ve been hunting season.”

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The 34 year-old world of Kindergarten Cop never existed, of course, but it half-existed in the minds of the makers (director Ivan Reitman, screenwriters Murray Salem, Herschel Weingrod and Timothy Harris) and many in the mass audience. Arnold Schwarzenegger was 42 or 43 during filming, but looked younger. Who didn’t?

The world of 1990 and especially its values are totally gone, and will never again return.

And the movies that defined that year….Goodfellas, Internal Affairs, Miami Blues, The Hunt for Red October, Longtime Companion, Dick Tracy, Metropolitan, Postcards From Ther Edge, Avalon, Reversal of Fortune, Misery, The Sheltering Sky, The Grifters, Edward Scissorhands, etc. Plus everyone looked and felt so much younger. Plus there were no grown-up Millennials or Zoomers to muck things up, and no political terror! And Politically Incorrect wouldn’t debut until 7.25.93.

I was writing for Entertainment Weekly and Empire (I think), and my very first trip to the Cannes Film Festival wouldn’t happen for another two years.

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Go get yourself buried. Once you’ve done that…well, that’s enough.

Westport MAGA fanatic…chalk-written on the side of his black pickup — “Hang Biden!…Save Trump!”

A few days ago Variety‘s Clayton Davis posted a likely Best Actress list, and believe it or not he had Anora‘s Mikey Madison in tenth place.

Davis actually ranked her behind Emilia Perez‘s Karla Sofía Gascón, whose performance is definitely supporting and who will absolutely lose if she runs in the Best Actress category. (Was I right about Lily Gladstone?) And behind Challengers‘ Zendaya, The Substance star Demi Moore and Maria‘s Angelina Jolie. And behind Lady Gaga‘s unseen performance in Joker: Folie à Deux.

The hard-working but out-to-lunch Davis doesn’t seem to understand how good Madison’s performance is. But I do, and so will everyone else when Anora opens in mid-October.

HE Cannes review:

Sean Baker’s Anora (Neon, 10.18) is a loud, coarse and emotionally forceful film, mostly set in southern Brooklyn (an area close to Coney Island and Little Odessa) with two side journeys to Las Vegas. It’s entirely about straight white Russian trash, and yet a certain amount of soul, grace and dignity are allowed to emerge at the very end.

It’s basically a social-conflict, family-values story (written as well as directed by Baker) about money, sex, arrogance, rage, outsider sturm und drang and a truly bountiful blend of incredible bullshit, screaming hostility and straight talk.

The first act is exasperating (mostly vulgar behavior by profligate 20something party animals) but once a certain family gets involved…look out.

The Anora battle is between the cynical, sex-working, Russian-descended titular character (Mikey Madison, who played the hysterical, screechy-voiced Susan Atkins in Once Upon a Time in Hollywood) who prefers the colloquial “Ani” vs. a demimonde of vulgar, grotesquely wealthy Russians, principally Mark Eydelshteyn’s Ivan, the wasteful-idiot son of a Russian oligarch, and one or two none-too-bright Armenians.

And yet it ends on a note of honest emotional admission and revelation even. There’s actually a decent dude in this film, played by Yuriy Borisov…a Russian fellow who isn’t a ferociously propulsive wolverine…imagine.

Madison is a revelation — she deserves to win the Best Actress prize. Out of the blue, her career has been high-octaned and then some.

On top of which Anora isn’t the least bit wokey — no militant trans or gay stuff, no #MeToo currents, no POC or progressive castings, no 2024 Academy mandate inclusions for their own sake and in fact blissfully free of that whole pain-in-the-ass checklist mindset.

Donald Trump wanted a clear No. 2 — a loyal attack dog, and that’s what he has — a blend of William Miller (Barry Goldwater’s 1964 running mate) and a bearded, combative, ultra-MAGA Dan Quayle snakebite fuckface.

Earlier today (7.15.24) Judge Aileen Cannon dismissed the classified documents case against Donald Trump, ruling that “this whole case collapsed when former President Trump got shot in the ear last weekend.”

Seriously, Cannon said that Special Counsel Jack Smith ‘s appointment violates the Appointments Clause of the United States Constitution.” Despite this dismissal (Cannon is a total blowjob whore for Trump), Smith has the option to appeal the dismissal to the 11th Circuit U.S. Court of Appeals to try to have Cannon’s ruling overturned.

Or the summer of 2020. She’s probably been advised not to out the “turn down the diversity” director, but if you listen between the lines (what’s up with her swollen upper lip?) Fox quit a project in question because casting-wise, the just-arrived director is more into cultural authenticity than diversity-for-its-own-sake. Something like that.

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The glasses and the hair style are fine — obviously a statement that says “I have not only discovered my eccentricity but journeyed into the 1950s homo realm of William S. Burroughs.” But tucking in a sweater that I wouldn’t wear with a gun at my head…..noooooo!!

Lieutenant Howard Hunter on Hill Street Blues, Dr. David Howser in Doogie Howser, M.D., Cpt. Stan Jones on Brooklyn South? All those characters are fine…whatever. But for me the late James B. Sikking is only the high-powered-rifle assassin in Point Blank.

Sikking was the guy who killed Lloyd Bochner‘s “Frederick Carter” and Michael Strong‘s “Stegman”…remember?

Unlike Thomas Matthew Crooks, Sikking’s downtown L.A. assassin was an excellent shot.

Born in 1934, Sikking was only 32 when he appeared in John Boorman‘s noir classic.

What is wrong with those saying that the motive behind Thomas Matthew Crooks‘ firing at Donald Trump is mystifying or doesn’t add up?

Has there ever been an assassin or would-be assassin who hasn’t been described as a quiet loner? Who wasn’t seen as a nerdy, socially inept outcast? Who hadn’t been bullied by fellow students?

Isn’t it totally common for sudden-explosion shooters to have been identified as bad dressers (i.e., high school audio-visual squad)? As quiet dorks with weird senses of humor? “Nice” but extra-quiet, kept to themselves, etc. No girlfriend, etc. Apparent virgins.

Crooks was obviously a standard-issue, tied-up-in-knots nutter who kept it all inside. He “would sit alone at lunch,” etc.

Remember the haunted, enraged expression of that nerd-squad guy who shot Ronnee Blakely in Nashville? Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick…boom.

Daily Mail summary: “Crooks tried out for the school’s rifle team but was turned away because he was a bad shooter, said Frederick Mach, a current captain of the team who was a few years behind Crooks at the school.

“Jonathan Myers, a member of the team around the time Crooks auditioned, said there was something ominous about him back then.

“‘He didn’t just not make the team, he was asked not to come back because how bad of a shot he was, it was considered like, dangerous,’ Myers told ABC News.

“Fellow classmate Jameson Murphy added: ‘He tried out…and was such a comically bad shot he was unable to make the team and left after the first day.’

Crooks reportedly once fired a shot that “missed [the] target by almost 20 feet.”