Let’s imagine that Alfred Hitchcock‘s Vertigo (’58) never existed. Let’s also suppose that by way of some kind of odd exercise or experiment 100 present-tense directors (all ages, genders and persuasions) have been asked to write and shoot a thrilling scene in which a couple of male San Francisco cops (a detective and a uniformed beat cop) are chasing a thief across the rooftops.

Let’s also presume that a fair percentage of the directors would decide to show one of the cops falling to his death while the other slips and is seen hanging from a rain gutter, and with no apparent way of rescuing himself.

I guarantee you that 98% or 99% of these directors would end this scene conclusively by showing us what happens to the hanging-from-the-rain-gutter person.

They would either show the protagonist (a) falling to his death, (b) somehow making a great acrobatic lunge for safety and miraculously succeeding, or (c) being rescued at the last second by a late-arriving cop or a civilian bystander.

None of them, trust me, would end the scene without some kind of clear-cut, life-or-death payoff. They would never consider leaving the rain-gutter guy in some sort of existential limbo as the scene fades to black.

But Hitchcock did this, and that’s what makes Vertigo‘s very first sequence a piece of fascinating, unforgettable, bold-as-brass art.

What other film (crime, action, suspense, anything) has put a major character in serious jeopardy during an early scene, and has never shown us how he/she gets out of danger? Please name one or two.

I don’t hate my VW Passat (love the sound system, the shiny black color) but I’m starting to grow truly weary of the constant problems. It won’t stop costing me more and more money for repairs (labor, parts).

The latest migraine is a leak in the heater core, which warms up the car interior. This mechanism circulates and heats up the coolant inside the round plastic reservoir container and thereby creates warm air, but the coolant has been leaking out and forcing me to re-fill it every 10 to 14 days.

I could let this situation passively ride along by simply replacing the coolant every couple of weeks, but if I want to seriously fix the problem it’ll set me back a minimum of $1800 and possibly a bit more.

Early this morning my local mechanic (Georgetown Shell) told me I need to replace the leaking heater core plus a gasket that goes with it. Cost: $315.

Soon after the official VW Danbury mechanic rep estimated that removing the leaker and installing the brand new heater core will take five hours at $289.00 per hour = $1445.00 + $315 + tax and whatnot for a total of roughly $1775.00. And what if it takes a bit longer?

I can’t drop almost $2K so I’m going to have to hire Vinnie, the mellow Bridgeport freelancer, to do the installing. Vinnie is my idea of a good hombre with reasonably good skills, but he hasn’t delivered like those VW Danbury guys, or at least he hasn’t so far. But I like and respect him.

I also bought some K–Seal, some gloop that you pour into the circulatory system that finds leaks and seals them. With the engine purring I poured it into the plastic reservoir and said a little prayer.

Plus it was really cold and extra windy today, and along with a general sense of uncertainty and anxiety I was feeling slightly more downhearted than usual.

As I was entering a Danbury Auto Zone store around 11:30 am I was flinching and slightly wincing and shuddering and glancing at my reflection in the store window and muttering stuff like “I’m in hell…my life is hell to some extent…it didn’t feel anywhere near this oppressive during the the 2006-to-2018 heyday….it really felt kinda wonderful during that 12-year run.”

I don’t mean actual hell. I mean that every so often my life feels like brimstone and treacle. I truly love my movie-driven life and the rigors of writing the column each and every day, but the idea of sitting through Dune: Part Two this evening fills me with absolute dread.

I don’t care what everyone else has been saying. Denis Villeneuve and I have never really gotten along. If it turns out to be better or even much better than expected, great. But my gut tells me it almost certainly won’t be.

I would love to live a nice, car-free life in Paris, and just take the Metro around town and do a lot of walking. A free man in Paris, unfettered and alive.

During last night’s discussion of the Supreme Court’s decision to cut Donald Trump an enormous amount of slack (no decision on Presidential immunity until June, and his conspiracy to overturn the 2020 election trial probably delayed until September or even October) by way of their own cowardice, Rachel Maddow said the following [8:20 mark]:

“When you talk about the unsettling cravenness of the [Supreme Court]…the cravenness of the court is evident with what they’re doing with the pacing here. Putting this off for seven weeks, sitting on it for two weeks for no reason…obviously pushing all of their cases, pushing them to a point where Trump will be standing for election before any of us have heard the verdicts in any of [these cases]…it’s the timing,

“But it’s also the idea that [Trump’s claim of Presidential immunity] is an open question.

“What’s the most famous pardon in American history? Gerald Ford pardoning Richard Nixon once he had resigned from office. Why did Ford pardon Nixon? Quote: ‘As a result of certain acts or omissions that occured before his resignation’ — meaning as a result of stuff he did while President — ‘RIchard Nixon has become liable to possible indictment and trial, whether or not he shall be so prosecuted depends on findings pf the appropriate grand jury and the discretion of authorized prosecutors,’ etc.

“The idea that a former President can never be tried for something he did while [serving as President]…this idea if disproven by a plain reading of American history, and the idea that this has to be taken up [by the Supremes] is like them saying that the sky is green.

“Even for the non-lawyers amnog us to say, “You know what? The sky is not green, even on our worst day. This is b.s. [They] are doing this to help [their] political friend, [their] partisan patron…for them to say that [the immunity thing] needs to be decided because it’s unclear in the law….this is flagrant, flagrant bullpucky, And they know it, and they don’t care they we knew it, and that’s disturbing about the future legitimacy of this court.”

N.Y. Times analysis piece by Alan Feuer [2.28], “In Taking Up Trump’s Immunity Claim, Supreme Court Bolstered His Delay Strategy“:

“By deciding to take up Mr. Trump’s claim that presidents enjoy almost total immunity from prosecution for any official action while in office — a legal theory rejected by two lower courts and one that few experts think has any basis in the Constitution — the [Suopreme Court] justices bought the former president at least several months before a trial on the election interference charges can start.

“It is not out of the question that Mr. Trump could still face a jury in the case, in Federal District Court in Washington, before Election Day. At this point, the legal calendar suggests that if the justices issue a ruling by the end of the Supreme Court’s term in June and find that Mr. Trump is not immune from prosecution, the trial could still start by late September or October.

“But with each delay, the odds increase that voters will not get a chance to hear the evidence that Mr. Trump sought to subvert the last election before they decide whether to back him in the current one.”

Unless you suffer from insomnia, a good night’s sleep is like experiencing “a little slice of death.” We all know what sleep and death are, and neither are all that big of a deal. If you’ve lived a relatively healthy and robust and crackling 76 years, as Richard Lewis did, it’s not a hugely devastating tragedy to submit to long slumber. The loss of a beloved person of value is always a sad event, of course, but the key determination is quality of life, not quantity of days. (Unless, that is, you have an especially good thing going with a young grandchild or two, in which case it is a bit of a tragedy — terribly sorry if that was the case.) At least Lewis was active and enjoying his life until a sudden heart attack got him. We’re all gonna get there. When your number’s up, Mr. Death doesn’t know from negotiations.

The financial success of Super Mario Bros, Oppenheimer and Barbie aside…

Critical Drinker: “Last year was a bit of a turning point for all this stuff in Hollywood. We’re going to see more of it, for sure…[woke-injection bullshit] isn’t going to go away overnight, but it’s definitely reached a point where it’s no longer financially viable. Certainly in the superhero realm. Superhero fatigue, oversaturation of the market, declining quality, spreading themselves too thin, perhaps hiring people to direct and write for reasons other than merit. Plus the political dimension of it has become tiresome.”

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Posted on 12.1.23

Two days ago Disney CEO Bob Iger admitted to having read the proverbial writing on the wall and more or less bullhorned the following “whoa, Nellie!” message to Disney wokesters, which I’ve conveyed here in HE-styled rhetoric:

“All right, enough, dammit…we have to face facts…the Critical Drinker has been right all along and we have to acknowledge the state of things, or at least I do…the new Disney law is “no more woke propaganda in our movies”

“We’ve clearly alienated Joe and Jane Popcorn in the parenting community and we really have to get back to being good old family–friendly Disney, and in case you’re not reading me, we’ll henceforth be re-assessing the advisability of using LGBTQIA and maybe even progressive femme-bot material in our animated features. We’ll be taking it one step at a time.”

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Oh, you make me mellow / Oh, I make you mellow / Wrecking the sheets real fine / Heaven knows what you sent me, Lord / But God, this is a mellow time

Posted on 11.13.16: I don’t celebrate being one year closer to death as a rule, but it was nice to hear from all those software-prompted Facebook friends who wished me all the best (seriously, thanks) and it was extra-nice to be treated to grass-fed beef sliders, cole slaw and chocolate cake by HE’s own Svetlana Cvetko and editor-producer David Scott Smith.

It all happened at Mel’s on Sunset — an honest restaurant serving honest,’70s-era food.

The only problem was that the a.c. made the indoor climate feel like 45 or 50 degrees.

HE to waitress: “Wow, it’s nice and chilly here…good thing you guys are being considerate to your customers because it’s like 95 degrees outside, like Palm Springs in July.”

Waitress: “Oh, thank you. We aim to please!”

HE: “Uhm…I’m kidding? It’s 60 degrees outside, and it feels like a refrigerator in here? Does it have to be this cold?”

Waitress: “Oh, hah-hah…got it! I don’t call the shots, the manager does.”

HE: “Would you mind asking the manager to turn up the thermostat?”

Waitress: “I’ll ask her.”

HE: “And if she refuses, do you have some blankets?”

This Brett Ellis-Quentin Tarantino conversation was posted on 12.3.23, so I’m two months late. But this is real soul food, and I’m very glad that I finally got around to it.

Here’s Ellis’s intro riff, ending just prior to starting the conversation with Quentin. I’m not stealing anything as it’s mostly Ellis reading from “Cinema Speculation.”

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And could therefore use those Man in the Iron Mask testicles to project a more candid or even a blunt-spoken persona…the polite but somewhat gnarly, “sorry but this is what I really actually think” type of guy..the guy I really am deep down as opposed to the “nice guy” who wants to get along and be obliging with people.

I’m speaking about a tendency that I and others have…a tendency to defer and congeal and turn the other cheek when we do a podcast. We all cherish civility and politeness but you can’t let the “nice” instinct throw you off your basic game.

For me the real truth of things is more often in the writing, and not as much in the podcasting. Unless I’m attacked or challenged in some mildly aggressive way. Then I bring out the bullets.

I’m also starting to think that it might be better during this weekend’s Misfits podcast to have a group of three rather than four. There’s too much compeitition with four — three is better. Right now I’m trying to reach out to Jeff Sneider but you never know with that guy.

…if a Hell or High Water-type film (the kind of film that could have been directed by, say, David Mackenzie and written by Taylor Sheridan)…if a film of this sort had been on the fall-holiday menu, I would have generally felt better. Alas…

Posted on 8.14.16: So who saw Hell or High Water and what are the reactions? The other day I called it the year’s best — is it? And how did the room feel, what was the after-vibe? Do you concur that it’s a social undercurrent drama disguised as a cops vs. bank-robbers movie? That it’s a meditative moralistic thing that stands up for the yokels? Or does it mainly play like a good, unpretentious Texas desperado flick? Should CBS Films be trying to sell it to red-state audiences or is it destined to connect only with blue-state urbans?

From my 8.12 review: “Any movie that rings the bell of people like me (somewhat educated, accomplished, well-travelled, blue-state values, Kooples T-shirts) as well as guys who live in the cocoon of lazy cynicism and insufficient brain-cell counts while wearing flannel shirts, cowboys boots, saggy Levi 501s and swigging Lone Star beer is definitely up to something.”

In an 8.14 Variety piece Owen Gleiberman writes that Hell or High Water is “a 2016 version of a 1970s movie…it transcends being a genre film [but also] respects how much audiences today crave genre elements.” He calls it “a crackerjack piece of entertainment” that “connects up to the most downbeat undercurrents of life in America today. That’s what gives the movie its ’70s flavor. It’s about poverty and insecurity, the gnaw of financial desperation, and the feeling that there’s no way out of it.”

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