A vote for RFK, Jr. is for all practical purposes a vote for…?

Puck’s Matthew Belloni reported two days ago that Kathryn Bigelow (Zero Dark Thirty, The Hurt Locker) will direct a “hot script”, penned by Noah Oppenheim (Jackie), about “the White House reacting in real time to ballistic missiles headed for America.”

Which sounds like a fairly close cousin of Sidney Lumet‘s Fail Safe, no?

Keep in mind that Oppenheim’s Jackie script wasn’t really the basis of Pablo Larrain’s 2016 film. Here’s how I explained it three years ago:

“Oppenheim’s Jackie was originally going to be directed by Darren Aronofsky with Rachel Weisz playing Jackie Kennedy. Oppenheim’s script told the story of what happened that weekend and pretty much how it went down on a beat-for-beat, conversation-by-conversation basis,

“[In 2016] it seemed brash and brilliant for Larrain, who took over the project sometime in ’15, to forsake the historical and sidestep that mass memory and not deliver a rote recap of what Mrs. Kennedy, only 34 at the time, went through that weekend, but to make a kind of art film — to give her portrait a kind of anxious, fevered, interior feeling.

“Which is why I wrote that Jackie really is ‘the only docudrama about the Kennedy tragedy that can be truly called an art film…it feels somewhat removed from the way that the events of that weekend looked and felt a half-century ago…intimate, half-dreamlike and cerebral, but at the same time a persuasive and fascinating portrait of what Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy (Natalie Portman) went through between the lunch-hour murder of her husband in Dallas and his burial at Arlington National Cemetery three days later.

“But after re-watching Jackie a couple of weeks ago I went back and re-read a draft of Oppenheim’s script, which is a whole different bird. Pablo cut out a lot of characters and a lot of interplay and a general sense of ‘this is how it happened’ realism, focusing almost entirely on Jackie’s interior saga.

“And honestly? I discovered that I liked Oppenheim’s version of the tale a little more than Pablo’s.

“The script is more of a realistic ensemble piece whereas Larrain’s film is about what it was like to be in Jackie’s head. I respect Larrain’s approach, mind, but I felt closer to the realm of Oppenheim’s script. I believed in the dialogue more. The interview scenes between Theodore H. White (played by Billy Crudup in the film) and Jackie felt, yes, more familiar but at the same time more realistic, more filled-in. I just felt closer to it. I knew this realm, these people.”

…before the start of the exciting, high-stress, sleep-deprived ordeal of the Cannes Film Festival, which is always a kick when you first arrive…here we all are! Great to be back! La Pizza! That briney air and those early-morning cries of seagulls.

But before long that 18-hour-per-day grind feeling takes hold, and before you know it you’re Trevor Howard’s soot-coveted, tired-blood coal miner in Jack Cardiff’s 1960 adaptation of D.H. Lawrence’s Sons and Lovers. A coal miner with a pink badge, I mean. Don’t get me wrong — Cannes is never less than a “fun”, flush time, to be sure, but it’s never a day at the beach.

Unless, of course, you happen to see a film that’s so good you feel rejuvenated, and then life is beautiful again.

My first Cannes Film Festival was in May ‘92 so don’t tell me.

The online reservation process for press began early Friday morning (5.10), or more precisely an hour past midnight in Manhattan or 7 am Cannes time. Four days in advance, one reservation day at a time. I reserved tickets for a Tuesday afternoon showing of the first half (I think) of Abel Gance’s Napoleon (‘27) and an evening screening of Quentin Dupieux’s The Second Act.

Early this morning I missed my 1 am wake-up (I arose at 3 am…unforgivable!) so I missed out on a couple of Wednesday films. (Don’t ask.) You have to pounce immediately at 7 am or you might be left out in the cold. It’s a semi-dicey, fraught process — many veterans yearn for the good old days of just lining up and come what may. Yes, you can still get into screenings on a last-ditch rush basis but…

Tonight’s 1 am reservation opportunity (Thursday’s screenings include Francis Coppola’s Megalopolis and Andrea Arnold’s Bird) happens one hour into my London flight, which departs at 11:59 pm. Let’s hope the Virgin Atlantic wifi will be in good working order.

Right now it’s 2 pm on Saturday, 5.11. For the last 22 hours I’ve been hanging in West Orange (and to some extent Montclair) with Jett, Cait and Sutton…TV time, soccer practice, book store, fresh market.

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Like everyone else, I’m stunned by the sudden death of KTLA entertainment reporter Sam Rubin, 64…felled by a heart attack.

I can’t say I “knew” Rubin all that well, but I certainly ran into him at parties and press junkets over the last 25 or 30 years…joshingly, good-naturedly…and can say he was a smart, devotional movie hound…good fellow, disciplined pro, quick with a quip and a real eager beaver.

I’m very sorry that his curtain came down (or “rang” down as it were) this early. Tragic.

Emotionally Sam’s passing feels like the death of the well-liked Meet The Press moderator Tim Russert, who also died quickly from a heart attack. Tim was 58.

Condolences to Sam’s friends, family, colleagues, KTLA fans, industry acquaintances, etc.

Death has this occasionally rude habit of paying a call when it damn well feels like it, and when your number’s up, you’re done.

Al Pacino‘s career had three great surge periods — the early to mid ’70s, stand-alone Scarface and the ’90s.

Surge #1 was comprised of six films: The Panic in Needle Park, The Godfather, Serpico, Scarecrow, The Godfather Part II, Dog Day Afternoon.

The rest of the ’70s and much of the ’80s were almost a disaster for the poor guy — Bobby Deerfield, …And Justice for All, Cruising, Author! Author!, Revolution.

Scarface was its own surge, and then came The Glorious ’90s when Pacino’s character-actor instincts and exclamatory hoo-hah ignited a winning streak that lasted through 12 films — Sea of Love, Dick Tracy, The Godfather Part III, Glengarry Glen Ross, Scent of a Woman, Carlito’s Way, Heat, City Hall, Donnie Brasco, The Devil’s Advocate, The Insider and Any Given Sunday.

What brand-name actor has ever had a run like this?

Have I posted this David Simon Criterion interview before?

“There’s something about the juice and the camaraderie of war that undercuts every anti-war message. But not in this film. Because it’s not strictly an anti-war film — it’s an anti-authority film.”

My brain was in knots after reading this 5.9 THR piece about Emma Corrin, who’s always been my idea of a first-rate actress.

I honestly felt as if I was choking on all the “they/them” pronouns…like I was Kirk Douglas battling a giant squid in 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea.

Thank you, non-binary Zoomer contingent, for making boilerplate trade-paper interviews into complex reading challenges, for completely up-ending grammar rules that have been in place for dozens of centuries, and for generally making all of us ask “how high?” when you crack your whip and say “jump.”

Imagine having grown up and spent several decades in a world that didn’t saddle Average Joes and Janes with all this “they/them” shit. This is what the world was like, in fact, as recently as five or six years ago. Growl, grumble.

So instead of flying straight to Nice I’ll be landing in London around Sunday noon (5.12), and staying in town for roughly 18 hours. Lots of walking around, a little pub-crawling (Cittie of Yorke, Ye Old Cheshire Cheese), a list of destinations. I’m flopping in one of the cheapest places I could find in my “home” neighborhood of Bloomsbury/Holborn.

What films released over the last three or four years have had great endings? Maybe a few have and maybe none have — I’m asking. Nothing’s coming to mind but then again I’m packing and distracted. I’m driving to New Jersey tomorrow afternoon and flying to London late Saturday night — a 21-hour stopover enroute to Nice.

In the meantime, consider some all-timers that I posted on 2.22.21 — a truly terrible time in the history of this country…Covid, woke terror, widespread outrage in the wake of the 1.6 MAGA riot…three and one-third years ago:

The best endings are those in which the main characters are finally stuck with themselves and they know it…stuck with the yield of their hustling and bustling…left to ponder who they are deep down and to contemplate the terms “just desserts” and “fair shake”…alone with themselves (even if they’re a couple), facing an uncertain future, throwing their hands up, half-laughing and half-crying about their big scheme that didn’t work out, or because it did but led them to an unexpected place. Desire, deception and discovery.

Great endings, in short, are about acceptance of and submission to fate or dumb luck or, if you will, God’s grand plan. We got what we deserved, and we’ve only ourselves to blame.

The last five minutes of Only Angels Have Wings is one of the greatest ever, hands down.

The finale of Michael Ritchie‘s The Candidate sticks the landing.

The last shot of The Godfather, Part II — Michael Corleone engulfed by solitude and shadows — is a perfect finish.

A nominally “satisfying” ending in which good triumphs over evil but at the same time doesn’t really resonate and could even be called mediocre? The last two minutes of On The Waterfront.

The ending of Thelma and Louise is fatalistic romantic crap.

Another ending that doesn’t quite get it? The last shot of Stanley Kubrick‘s 2001: A Space Odyssey in which Keir Dullea‘s infant star child is gazing down upon earth. Also Sprach Zarathrusta tells you it’s an ending, but try to imagine it “working” without music.

On the other hand the ending of Kubrick’s The Killing is damn near perfect; ditto the ending of A Clockwork Orange — “I was cured, all right!” and therefore a healthy psychopath again!

Anyone will tell you how much they love the ending of Barry Lyndon, but it’s not how the movie ends as much as the aptness of the epiloque (“…they are all equal now”).

The best ending of an otherwise mediocre film? The long shadow at the conclusion of Nicholas Ray‘s King of Kings.

Many have praised the last-minute “uh-oh” ending of Mike Nichols‘ The Graduate because the happy ending when Ben and Elaine escape the church ceremony gives way to feelings of uncertainty, loneliness and anxiety. And melancholy is better than ecstasy. They don’t know what to do next. It’s an interesting ending but we all know what happened among audiences, of course. They pretty much ignored the “uh-oh” ending and told all their friends about the good parts, and that’s why The Graduate became a huge hit.

The ending of Planet of the Apes isn’t all that great when you think about it. It hasn’t been set up. The film takes place in areas that look like Nevada and SoCal’s Imperial Valley and Malibu Canyon, and yet we’re supposed to believe that this hilly, desert-like terrain is located somewhere on the East Coast near New York City, hence the fallen Statue of Liberty lying on a beach next to Zuma State Beach cliffs. An “oh, wow” ending that doesn’t make the least bit of geographical sense.

Movies that end with senior characters being burned to death are horrible — wicked sadism for the same of wicked sadism. Midsommar, of course. Both versions of The Wicker Man (’73 and ’06). Ken Russell‘s The Devils. Marlon Brando burned to a crisp at the ending of The Fugitive Kind.

The ending of The Wizard of Oz is perfect — cathartic but truly fulfilling. Ditto the last two minutes of Some Like It Hot.

One of the greatest endings ever? And the best ending of a nourish police thriller ever devised? Hand that trophy to the director and writer of Se7en — David Fincher and Andrew Kevin Walker.

Another great Fincher ending — Mark Zuckerberg + “Baby, You’re A Rich Man”.

One of the worst, most full-of-shit endings ever was delivered by True Romance.

One of the best was created for Eric Von Stroheim‘s Greed.

Billy Wilder delivered five great endings with Double Indemnity, Sunset Boulevard, Ace in the Hole, Stalag 17 and One, Two, Three.

I’m not sure if the ending of No Country For Old Men is my all-time favorite or not. Sometimes it is, and at other times I prefer the last shot of A Serious Man.