Two and a half years ago I suggested that 2007 was and is one of the great film years, or roughly at par with 1999, 1971 and 1962 and 1939.
I listed 25 2007 films of serious merit — American Gangster, Before The Devil Knows You’re Dead, No Country for Old Men, Once, Superbad, Michael Clayton, There Will Be Blood, Things We Lost in the Fire, Zodiac, The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, Atonement, 4 Months, 3 Weeks, 2 Days, I’m Not There, Sicko, Eastern Promises, The Bourne Ultimatum, Control, The Orphanage, 28 Weeks Later, In The Valley of Elah, Ratatouille, Charlie Wilson’s War, The Darjeeling Limited, Knocked Up and Sweeney Todd. Just as strong as ’99, and perhaps even a touch better.
The idea in re-posting this is to note that 15 years have elapsed since ’07, and to ask if anyone feels that any of these annums have measured up to ’07 or any of the previous banner years.
I happen to believe that everything started to go badly the following year — 2008 — with the debut of Iron Man and the subsequent increasing power of the superhero genre (DC Extended Universe, Marvel Cinematic Universe), and that “my” kind of movies haven’t been the same since. Strong, distinctive films have broken through every year, of course, but the pickings have been getting slimmer and slimmer since ’08, and especially since the Robespierre thought plague began to poison the water in ’17.
But don’t let me stop anyone. If you’re persuaded that ’09 or ’11 or ’16 were up to snuff, please make your case.
If it was my call and I had absolute power (and I’m not exaggerating for exaggeration’s sake), I would put Donald Trump‘s fat, half-naked ass into a Roman Colisseum-like arena and make him face three ferocious tigers, just like Russell Crowe in Gladiator and Victor Mature in Demetrius and the Gladiators. Yes, I would allow Trump to defend himself with a short sword, but you know he’d die anyway.
It goes without saying that Steve Bannon should suffer the same fate.
I’m not kidding — these guys are sociopaths, animals…hellbent on anti-Democratic revolt and sparking anti-Democratic insanity among the rural bumblefucks. They’re truly insane, and the crimes they’re guilty of deserve the ultimate penalty. A firing squad would afford them too much dignity. They need to face what Christians faced under the rule of ancient Romans.
Alternate scenario: Trump is murdered — stabbed to death — by the Praetorian guard, and in a mimicking of John Hurt‘s death scene in I, Claudius, he weeps and wails as the knives plunge in and out.
There are several Hollywood landmarks we’ve all heard of or peeked at — John Barrymore‘s Bella Vista, Beachwood Canyon’s Wolf’s Lair, the beige-pink Godfather compound (i.e., Jack Woltz‘s horse’s head home) on No. Beverly Drive, Guillermo del Toro‘s “Bleak House,” the Double Indemnity house.
And now, at the northeast corner of Fairfax Ave. and Wilshire Blvd., there’s a new one — “Woke House” or, if you will, “Inclusion and Equity House,” otherwise known as the Academy Museum.
It’s the Temple of Hollywood Redefined — the emphasis being partly on Hollywood lore and glamour, but mostly about identity and inclusivity and progressive cultural ideals and the Academy’s commitment to fulfilling same. About how Hollywood is a much better industry now than it used to be, and how we should all celebrate that fact. (But not too much!) The past is represented, of course, but the museum is mainly about doing the right thing for people who used to be benched on the sidelines or were made to wait in line out in the parking lot.
Welcome, film lovers, and thank you for your $25 ticket purchases, but never forget that you’re now in a place of wokester instruction.
Among the museum’s “guiding principles” is to always remember the sometimes sordid, colorful past, and to always be mindful of the Jonathan Shields legend (i.e., sometimes the best films are made by heartless sons of bitches) in The Bad and the Beautiful, and to remember that making great films has always been a grueling, uphill struggle…to never forget the scandals and suicides and cover-ups, and to recall that after seeing Sunset BoulevardLouis B. Mayer huffily told Billy Wilder than he had bitten the hand that fed him, and that Wilder’s immediate response was to tell Mayer to go fuck himself…to remember that during the ’50s the industry looked the other way as several honorable screenwriters were blacklisted and forced to work in Europe…to never forget that Jack L. Warner hated Bonnie and Clyde, and that producer-star Warren Beatty had to beg him to re-release it, and only then was it celebrated…that in the late ’50s Sidney Poitier was unable to rent a Beverly Hills home due to racist real estate agents, and that he was at least able to stay at the Chateau Marmont…that 20th Century Fox boss Daryl F. Zanuck used to carnally impale aspiring actresses every afternoon in his 20th Century Fox office…that local men and women of color were hired to portray Skull Island natives in King Kong, and that they were probably glad to get the work, even though it meant wearing bone necklaces and grass skirts….to never forget the endless oppressions and exploitations and greedy conflicts and deviant devotions that have always been at the heart of Hollywood creativity…oh, wait, I’m sorry…this is from an old Graveline Tours pamphlet.
The museum’s actual guiding principles are (a) Illuminate the Past, Present, and Possible Futures of Motion Pictures and the Academy, (b) Embrace Diversity and Be Radically Inclusive, and (c) Educate, Provide Inspiration, and Encourage Discovery.
The Embrace Diversity thing has a drop-down menu, and one of the mission statements says that the museum intends to “foster an anti-racist, anti-oppressive, and anti-sexist culture built on transparency and accountability that ensures that all staff, communities, audiences, and partners are treated with respect.”
Jesus H. Christ already!…I feel I’m being scolded and swatted on the hand with rulers by woke nuns!
From Sasha Stone‘s “No Time (for Movie Theaters) to Die”: “But I see where the Academy is coming from. They are trying to address the needs of people who have been left out for far too long, [and] they can afford to depict themselves and their story any way they want to.
“For instance, when Sacheen Littlefeather accepted the Best Actor award for Marlon Brando in 1973, she was booed. The stunt was mocked and derided back then for bringing politics into the awards. It was embarrassing for the Academy. But all of these years later, she is celebrated in the Academy Museum as a point of pride. And indeed, when you watch her speech now she seems like a time traveler from 2021.”
There’s a large room in the museum that celebrates Oscar recipients, and Littlefeather’s speech is one of the highlights. Flatscreens show various winners celebrating their big moment, but not that many. You’d think that acceptance speeches by world-famous Oscar winners would be front and center. But for the most part the room focuses on people of color and historic moments of inclusivity. Sidney Potier, Rita Moreno, Gone With The Wind‘s Hattie McDaniel, Sayonara‘s Miyoshi Umeki, etc. (Where’s the Minari grandma, Youn Yuh-jung?) Plus Dimitri Tiomkin accepting an Oscar for his High and the Mighty score, Tatum O’Neal accepting a Best Supporting Actress Oscar for Paper Moon, etc.
It's starting to look like Brian Laundrie, suspected of having murdered girlfriend Gabby Petito somewhere in Wyoming during an August road trip, may be "sleeping with the fishes." so to speak. Perhaps he's been eaten by a Florida everglades crocodile or alligator. The guilt-ridden Laundrie may have spotten a gator in a river, waded into the water and allowed himself to be sacrificially torn apart and consumed. Or maybe he just drowned.
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HE is sorry to report that director Roger Michell has passed at age 65 of an unstated cause. It can be deduced that his death was sudden and unexpected, as Michell was at Telluride only three or four weeks ago with his latest film, The Duke; he was also talking about working on a forthcoming documentary.
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Another tip of the hat to Robert Redford, who's been on the planet for 85 years as of today. Never forget that his legend is rooted in a 12-year peak period -- a heyday that began with Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid ('69) and came to an end with Brubaker ('80).
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Remember what supermodels used to look like ten, twenty, thirty years ago? We all understood the genetic, glowing signals. Rail-thin, sleek, elegant, striking, beautiful, wow. Well, according to the September issue of Vogue, times have changed. Today’s supermodels exemplify the beauty of great genes but also (and more importantly) diversity, varying sizes, wokeness, women supporting women, equality, no one being marginalized, etc.
And just to drive the point home, the eight Vogue models heralded in the new issue — Kaia Gerber (spawn of Cindy Crawford), Anok Yai, Precious Lee, Bella Hadid, Sherry Shi, Ariel Nicholson, Yumi Nu and Lola Leon (daughter of Madonna and Carlos Leon) — all have their hair in a tight bun or pulled into a ponytail. We get it..
The fashion industry has never been about what straight guys think, of course, but what this photo basically confirms is that the age-old pleasure of guys gazing at supermodels is…well, perhaps not “over” but more of a mixed-bag activity. Because two or three of these women, no offense, are not classic head-turners.
The devastatingly beautiful Yai fits the classic mold, of course; ditto Gerber, Hadid, Leon and Li. The alabaster-skinned, ginger-haired Nicholson…okay, fine. The plus-sizers represent a different aesthetic.
Friendo: “This is just virtue-signaling crap. Instagram and Tik Tok still show what kinds of women draw eyeballs. Honestly, has the world ever beheld a more censorious, strident, militant, punishing generation? It’s like in Orwell where things mean the opposite — Ministry of Love, Ministry of Truth, etc. The idea that they love everyone and marginalize no one and everyone is as accepted as they are is, at the very least, PARTIAL BULLSHIT. You agree with them or you’re destroyed. Accept the new aesthetic or face banishment.”
From left: Kaia Gerber (daughter of Cindy Crawford) wears Tom Ford. Anok Yai wears Ralph Lauren Collection. Precious Lee wears Carolina Herrera. Bella Hadid wears Christopher John Rogers. Sherry Shi wears Proenza Schouler. Ariel Nicholson wears Christopher John Rogers. Yumi Nu wears Mara Hoffman. Lola Leon (daughter of Madonna and Carlos Leon) wears Michael Kors Collection. Hair, Lucas Wilson; makeup, Jen Myles. Fashion Editors: Tonne Goodman and Gabriella Karefa-Johnson.Photographed by Ethan James Green, Vogue, September 2021.
One thing you’ll never, ever see in an action film is a supporting player (bad or neutral guy) who stands up and is ready to fight or shoot it out with a lead guy, and then — very sensibly! — changes his mind when he realizes that beating or out-drawing the lead guy isn’t in the cards. It happened 52 years ago in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, but it hasn’t happened since.
If I’m wrong please remind me of another scene that works like this (i.e., “Uhhm, wait, hold on…I can’t win this one.”).
Working backwards from today, here are (a) Hollywood Elsewhere's ten best fictional presidents and (b) best portrayals of historical presidents in feature films. Yes, I'm allowing for Saturday Night Live and other comedic portrayals.
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Does anyone remember Dave Karnes? Or more precisely Michael Shannon‘s portrayal of Karnes in Oliver Stone‘s World Trade Center (’06)?
Karnes was the ex-Marine who ducked out of his office job in Wilton, Connecticut, and drove into Manhattan on the afternoon of 9/11/01 and made it through police barriers and onto the WTC site by dinner hour, and who later found Port Authority cops John McLoughlin (Nicolas Cage) and Will Jimeno (Michael Pena) buried under the mashed-up rubble, and brought the rescue teams to their aid.
World Trade Center was an odd Stone film because it had nothing to “say” except (1) “McLoughlin and Jimeo sure went through hell that day”, but (2) “thank God for Karnes and his dogged persistence.” No politics, no Hollywood leftie attitude — just a straight drama about a lot of good people pulling together to save a couple of guys from the jaws of death. A movie about caring, family, duty, perseverance.
If Karnes hadn’t put on his Marine uniform and gotten himself a Marine haircut at a Stamford barbershop and driven down to Manhattan and all, it’s quite possible McLoughlin and Jimeno might not have survived. (Who knows?) Shannon portrays him as a bit of a nut, but a good kind of nut in a situation like 9/11 — a guy who laser-beams right into what needs to be done, and then does it.
Curiously, Stone decided to omit a character detail that I’ve always found really interesting. Karnes drove into Manhattan in a recently purchased Porsche 911 convertible, and at times, according to a 9.02 Slate story by Rebeca Liss, at speeds of 120 mph.
That’s a fascinating trait for a 9/11 savior — tear-assing down the Connecticut Turnpike and the Henry Hudson Parkway in a muscle car with the top down, and stopping at a McDonald’s along the way.
Why didn’t Stone show this? My theory is that he wanted Karnes to appear selfless and monk-like — a slightly loony military saint. And I think he knew this impression wouldn’t fly with audiences if he had Karnes driving a Porsche 911 because a lot of people think that guys who drive Porsches are dickheads.
But I had read about Karnes and his Porsche two or three years ago and was waiting for that shot. I felt that Stone sold Karnes short by trying to simplify him into a ex-Marine who resembled the real-deal Karnes in some ways but not entirely.
Ned Beatty‘s recent passing took a lot of us back to John Boorman‘s Deliverance (’72). Released 49 years ago, it was perfect for its time, but would probably not be right for ours. Sometimes it’s better to leave well enough alone.
It’s too white, for one thing. And I’m not sure audiences would want to see an action thriller triggered by the anal rape of an overweight suburban salesman by some unwashed toothless hillbilly — that’s some rough stuff. But what a primal, fascinating tale.
Deliverance was the first and possibly the last well-made drama that scared viewers half to death with the idea that city and suburban folk should stay the hell out of the primitive areas of this country and far away from the residents of these cultures. A film that said “you don’t want to know those people, and they don’t want to know you.”
The basic attraction of Deliverance is the thrill, danger and horror of four suburban guys on a nourishing canoe trip down a beautiful wild river, and how, for a while, it all seems like the greatest woodsy adventure ever.
Until everything turns around in the darkest way imaginable…sexual assault, bloody murder, hiding a body, another killing, a subsequent life or death struggle to survive by having to kill again and and then, back in civilization, having to lie their way out of a possible arrest and prosecution in the aftermath. And all it happening in the midst of a bucolic hillbilly hell — leafy, primal, horrific.
Did Deliverance paint an incorrect and malicious portrait of deep-rural types? Yes, and them’s the breaks. But there’s never been another horror film quite like it. And despite the restrained realistic vibe and first-rate dialogue and Vilmos Zsigmond‘s magnificent cinematography, that’s exactly what it is — a southern nightmare trip.
I wonder how familiar under-40 audiences are with Deliverance, and whether a remake could work. Would there be complaints from the LGBTQ community that a depiction of male rape might somehow demonize homosexuality? (I’ve always wondered if the male rape scene in Pulp Fiction was inspired by Deliverance.)
I’m also wondering how the original would have played if Sam Peckinpah had directed it. It’s probably for the best that he didn’t. The film benefits from Boorman’s deft, somewhat artsy touch.
I’m also wondering how it would’ve played if Gene Hackman, Lee Marvin or Jack Nicholson had played the Jon Voight part. Or if Marlon Brando had played the Burt Reynolds role. Or if Donald Sutherland or Charlton Heston had taken a whack at it.