…and it’s partly the fault, figuratively speaking, of Greta Gerwig and Margot Robbie.

Obviously not in a sprawling sociological sense, and I certainly don’t mean Gerwig and Robbie themselves. I mean that men feel vaguely de-balled and uncertain and adrift because of white-male-denigrating wokester Stalinism and the feminist girlboss syndrome that these two women (among many others in elite urban circles) represent.

I haven’t seen Barbie, but who isn’t half persuaded, based on the marketing materials, that it’s largely about vengeance and assertion of power and gay guys and the sublimation (or flat-out dismissal) of straight white dudes?

Not that Barbie wants to necessarily backhand regular hetero schlubs but the film is obviously a pink and girly feminist-identity and gay-guy, yay-yay diversity thing.

“Cut loose from a stable identity as patriarchs deserving of respect, millions of downstream males feel demoralized and adrift. The data show it, but so does the general mood: Men find themselves lonely, depressed, anxious and directionless.” — from Christine Emba’s “Men Are Lost — Here’s a Map Out Of The Wilderness,” which appeared in the Washington Post on 7.10.23.

…if Oppenheimer had followed a logical story path by openly grappling with the horror of what happened in Japan on 8.6.45 and 8.9.45.

I haven’t yet seen Christopher Nolan‘s film, but my understanding is that it sidesteps the Hiroshima and Nagasaki massacres, which is a little bit like making a film about the Confederate plot to murder President Abraham Lincoln and many of his cabinet officers and then omitting the tragedy that happened inside Ford’s Theatre on the night of 4.14.65.

Robert S. MacNamara: “War is cruel…war is cruelty.”

Mervyn Leroy‘s The FBI Story (’59) is a longish (149 minutes), slightly stodgy but moderately engaging programmer about FBI agent Chip Hardesty (James Stewart) and his nearly-four-decade history with J. Edgar Hoover‘s bureau, reaching back to the early 1920s.

Interspersed with Hardesty family vignettes (Vera Miles plays his wife Lucy), LeRoy’s film is essentially a propaganda piece about the FBI’s stalwart and vigilant pursuit of justice and the handcuffing (and occasional shooting deaths) of all manner of bad guys.

I re-watched LeRoy’s film last night to pay special attention to the nearly 20-minute section that deals with the FBI’s Osage Native American murder investigation, which of course is what Martin Scorsese‘s Killers of the Flower Moon (Apple/ Paramount, 10.6) is about.

Based on Don Whitehead’s same titled 1956 book and written by Richard L. Breen and John Twist, The FBI Story devotes 19 minutes to the Osage murder case (starting around the 37-minute mark and ending at 56 and change).

The FBI investigation was actually led by regional lawman Tom White, played in Scorsese’s film by Jesse Plemons — a plain-spoken, cowboy-hat-wearing fellow in a three-piece suit who leads a team of FBI subordinates.

Hardesty is the chief investigator in LeRoy’s film, of course, but covertly — he arrives in Oklahoma (“Ute City in Wade County”) pretending to be a cattle buyer. Hardesty also has a small team of bureau guys working with him, but they’re also pretending to be something else (a casket salesman, a snake-oil salesman).

The main, historically verified location in Scorsese’s film is Fairfax, Oklahoma.

The intentional exploding of a home belonging to Bill Smith and his wife, Rita, is depicted in both The FBI Story and Killers of the Flower Moon. The explosion happened in the early morning hours of 3.10.23.

One of the Osage murder victims, Henry Roan, is depicted in both films. William Belleau portrays Roan in Scorsese’s version. In LeRoy’s film the character is called Henry Roanhorse, and is played by Eddie Little Sky.

Scorsese’s Osage massacre mastermind, based on fact and David Grann’s 2017 historical account, is William Hale (played by the too-old Robert De Niro).

Hale’s primary subordinate or dupe is his nephew, Ernest Burkhart (Leonardo DiCaprio).

Also mired in the mess is Mollie Burkhart (Lily Gladstone), an oil-wealthy Osage woman whom Burkhart has married at Hale’s urging, the idea being to grab her funds in the event of her death or incapacitation. (Mollie is also the sister-in-law of Henry Roan.)

The bad guy in The FBI Story is a William Hale stand-in — a 60ish Oklahoma banker named Dwight McCutcheon (Fay Roope, who played Mexican president Diaz in Viva Zapata). I can’t identity the twerpy actor who plays McCutcheon’s nephew (the Burkhart stand-in), but I know his face like the back of my hand. He’s referred to as “Albert” and not Ernest, and his wife “Mollie” is discussed but not seen.

Anyway, The FBI Story doesn’t begin to explore the many layers and various intricacies of the complete Osage murder tale, but it does manage to acquaint the viewer with the basics and wrap it all up with an arrest in the space of 19 minutes.

Killers of the Flower Moon, which does get into the layers and intricacies of the Osage tale and then some, runs 206 minutes.

“Was the 206-minute length really necessary?” I wrote from Cannes on 5.20.23. “It’s basically a bit more than two hours of scheming and murder and fiendish plotting between De Niro’s “King Hale” and DiCaprio’s Ernest Burkhart, and a bit less than 90 minutes of Plemons and his FBI team arriving in Oklahoma and getting to the bottom of it all.

“Killers is a good film but it feels too quiet and subdued and even…no, I won’t say mezzo-mezzo. It holds your interest and never bores. But it never really excites either. At the end of the day Killers doesn’t really generate enough juice.”

FBI Story secondary Osage players: Dwight McCutcheon as Fay Roope / Mary Lou Clifford as Indian Switchboard Operator (uncredited) / Eddie Little Sky as Henry Roanhorse / Jim Porcupine as Indian Switchboard Operator (uncredited) / Charles Soldani as Indian on Train (uncredited) / Vincent St. Cyr as Dan Savagehorse (uncredited) / Roque Ybarra as Murdered Indian (uncredited) / Chief Yowlachie as Harry Willowtree (uncredited).

Except for the fact that Tom Cruise refuses to sculpt his hair with Crew (fiber or grooming cream), much less use hair spray. And I can’t say I’m much of a fan of that rosey champagne-colored golf shirt, and particularly his decision to wear it wide open.

The last time I saw Ving Rhames on his feet and actually walking was in Pulp Fiction (’94), or a little more than 29 years ago. I’m speaking of the scene in which Rhames’ Marsellus Wallace is walking across a street in some godforsaken L.A. suburb (Hawthorne?) and happens to spot Bruce Willis‘s Butch Coolidge behind the wheel of his shitty car, etc. Two years later Rhames gave his first performance as Luther Stickell in Brian DePalma and Tom Cruise‘s Mission: Impossible (’96), and has been with the franchise ever since.

I’m not saying Rhames hasn’t been been seen on his feet or walking in his other film roles (Dave, Striptease, Con Air, Out of Sight, Entrapment, Bringing Out the Dead, Dawn of the Dead, I Now Pronounce You Chuck & Larry). but I don’t remember any of them. (Sorry.) All I can recall about Rhames is that he’s always sitting on his ass.

Best Screen Rant pitch meeting video of all time….seriously. Two years old, and I’ve only just watched it.

And the first animal is jettisoned.

I’m sorry but as much as I wanted Farahani Edit’s mostly-pink Barbenheimer-and-Nazis trailer to delight and transport, it doesn’t. It stops and starts and the sound drops out a couple of times. Fatal errors!

I still haven’t seen Barbie, of course, but being reminded yesterday of Greta Gerwig’s co-authoring of Disney’s seemingly woke-as-fuck Snow White bummed me out. This plus her reported interest in directing a Chronicles of Narnia film and her apparent general leanings as a writer-director since 2019’s Little Women, which seemed to signal an ardently feminist chapter…a proverbial turning of the page as she began to swim in a politically ideological stream…

Gerwig is obviously an inventive and visually exacting filmmaker, but I’m less taken with the incarnation that has come to be seen, felt and heard over the last four or five years than who she seemed to be (and with whom I fraternized two or three times) during her Obama-era output…her Greenberg, Frances Ha, Mistress America and Lady Bird period (2010 to 2017) when she was radiating a curiously appealing take on 21st Century life…truly imaginative and wonderfully peculiar…among the most idiosyncratic and organically rooted creative minds out there.

“Antonioni Gerwig,” posted almost exactly ten years ago:

Posted on 11.16.16: