“I know, I know you’ll probably scream and cry that your little world won’t let you go…”

My Toyota Corolla sound system was blasting song after song as I drove south through New Mexico earlier today. And around halfway through I felt throttled by the chords in a Jimi Hendrix track I hadn’t listened to for years…”51st Anniversary.” It’s only about the chords, man…to hell with the lyrics about old folks celebrating a wedding anniversary.

Anyway it touched a little button inside…a button that gently activated all kind of LSD memories. Hendrix’s “Are You Experienced?” and the Bhagavad Gita were my two initial guides into the psychedelic realm, you see…in a way Jimi and Sri Krishna both held my hand.

After I dropped off the rental car and passed through security at Albuquerque airport, I re-read a Facebook message that I tapped out roughly three years ago (8.19.20). The recipient was Paul Schrader, who had asked his Facebook pallies if he should drop acid, which he never did as a lad.

“When I was in college I refused to take LSD because I was so full of suicidal anger, [and] I feared the drug would unleash self destruction,” he wrote. “That of course was media propaganda. But now at 74 with little left to lose I would like to take a trip. Is it safe at my age? Where can I safely access it?”

I don’t know if Paul wound up dropping or not, but here’s what I wrote:

“I wouldn’t, man. Unless you’ve developed a notion that you’re ready to accept the mystical, which means putting aside the rational and in some cases judgmental constructs that you’ve been assembling for so many decades — all of those structural towers of intellectual, influential, scholastic, explorational and experience-based building blocks of your identity.

“LSD is a potential passport to satori and clear light. It’s all there and quite the wonder-realm, but you can’t really enter the kingdom without letting all that other stuff go…all of that material you’ve been accumulating and evaluating and sifting through since your early teens. None of that stuff really matters in the realm of the mystical. If you think you might be down with this or at least open to the possibility, go with God. But it’s a lot easier to allow this kind of ‘letting go’ transformation to happen when you’re 19 or 22 and made of much softer clay.

“LSD is a key, a door ajar, a gateway into a whole ‘nother territory. It isn’t really about therapy or psychology (sorry, Cary) or this or that terra firma, furrowed-brow examination or rumination. It’s about stepping off a kind of misty, moss-covered cliff or, if you will, deciding that the rules, restrictions and governances that you’ve been living by are just obstructions, and that a blue-sky realm awaits.

“I’m just saying that most (i.e., obviously not all) older people have invested too many decades and sorted through too much stuff to accept this kind of clarity, this kind of spiritual cleansing and refreshment. Some people are better off living in safe, sensible worlds that have worked for them…familiarity, recogn

…to rave about Errol Morris‘s The Pigeon Tunnel, which I saw yesterday at 4:30 pm. Within ten seconds I knew this polite but persistent interrogation of the late “John le Carre” (a.k.a. David Cornwell) was first-rate. By which I mean fascinating, riveting, even haunting at times.

Perhaps it’s not quite on the level of Morris’s The Fog of War (‘05), but it operates in the same general region in terms of examining notions of moral relativity within the British “circus” and particularly as they existed within Ronnie Cornwell, his con-artist dad.

I adored the Phillip Glass score.

It’s 10 am and time to leave my riverside cabin in Dolores, Colorado, and head for the Alberquerque, New Mexico airport, which is roughly a four-and-a-half-hour drive. The National car rental desk closes at 5:30 pm. My La Guardia flight leaves tonight around 11 pm or so. I’ll probably stop in Cuba, New Mexico for a breather and a little filing.

In a THR post-Telluride assessment piece, Scott Feinberg discusses Tran Anh Hung‘s The Taste of Things (aka The Pot-au-Feu), and mentions that :France seems to have a very tough call on their hands, as far as whether to submit Anatomy of a Fall or The Taste of Things as its Oscar entry.”

Variety‘s Clayton Davis said the same thing….gee, tough one.

Well, it’s not. Davis and Feinberg are obliged to equivocate (no favorites, officially neutral), but they know that Anatomy of a Fall, which I saw and admired in Telluride, is primarily an intellectual head-trip courtroom thing, and that The Pot-Au-Feu is a heart-and-soul movie, a truly sublime love-and-food flick that exudes classic French culture start to finish.

And don’t call it “foodie porn” in my presence — it goes much deeper than that.

There’s really no contest, if you ask me. France has no choice but to officially submit the film that resulted in a Cannes Film Festival Best Director win for Tran Anh Hung.

Tony Manero (’08), Post-Mortem (’10) and especially No (’12) made me an ardent Pablo Larrain fan. But Jackie (’16) left me frustrated and dismayed (I much referred Noah D.Oppenheim‘s original 2010 script) and I hated Spencer (’21).

Pablo’s Diana movie left such a bad taste in my mouth, in fact, that I immediately and instinctually decided to avoid his latest, a comedic vampire flick about Augusto Pinochet, at Telluride.

Considering the likelihood that at least a few Venice Film Festival critics have tried like hell to respond as negatively as possible to Woody Allen’s Coup de Chance in order to satisfy the haters, it’s hugely exciting and satisfying to read how positive the overall response has been.

HE loves the idea of the #DeathtoWoody villains gnashing their teeth and muttering “drat! curses! foiled again! “We’ve managed to kill Allen’s domestic career, and now you’re telling us…what, that he’s back from the dead? Well, we won’t have it!! We’ve been terrorizing Hollywood and generally making everyone miserable for the last five or six years, goddamit, and we don’t want this to stop!”

Owen Gleiberman:

The big crescendo of the 50th Telluride Film Festival was Saturday night’s Werner Herzog theatre screening of Poor Things. The energy levels began to lessen the next morning (Sunday, 9.3) — the only screening I caught was The Pot–au–Feu.

Today (Monday, 9.4) is my last and final. Paso Dorji’s The Monk and the Gun at 2 pm, followed by Errol Morris’s The Pigeon Tunnel at 4:30. Then I’ll be driving down to Dolores for a nice cozy night at a creekside motel before driving the next day (Tuesday, 9.5) down to Albuquerque, and then a red-eye flight back to LaGuardia, arriving Wednesday at 6 am.

=

At least he doesn’t run a “critics” group… oh wait https://t.co/Z3UyJs0oI3

— Jeff Sneider (@TheInSneider) September 4, 2023

Variety‘s Elsa Keslassy has never made a secret about seeing the world (and reporting about it) through woke-colored glasses.

At the start of the May ’22 Cannes Film Festival, for example, she was one of a trio of Variety reporters (along with Elizabeth Wagmeister and Matt Donnelly) who were shocked to discover that Woody Allen, Gerard Depardieu and Johnny Depp are featured in a celebrity mural on the 2nd floor of La Pizza, a popular eatery adjacent to the Cannes marina.

Keslassy’s co-bylined story, by the way, stated that Allen “was accused of rape by his then 7-year-old adoptive daughter, Dylan [Farrow], in 1992″ — dead wrong.

Keslassy has now posted a Venice Film Festival interview with Allen, ostensibly about Coup de Chance (which screened for press this morning) but more importantly, or at least from Keslassy’s perspective, an opportunity to try and persuade Allen to fall upon the church steps and finally admit that he’s guilty of being the unregenerate monster that wokesters have accused him of being for several years.

Alas, Keslassy was only successful in changing Allen’s mood during their chat.

When she brought up the Farrow molestation charge, “Allen’s tone and demeanor [shifted] noticeably,” she notes. “He was jovial and talkative when discussing his film and his love for French cinema classics, looking enraptured. [But] his mood suddenly turned gloomy, however, [when] I asked him to comment on Farrow, as well as the impact that her claims has had on his reputation in the U.S.

“By the end of our interview, Allen [had] became pensive, gazing off into space.”

Get him, Elsa! Or at least, you know, make him emotionally suffer. Woody haters worldwide are counting upon you to wield a terrible swift sword. What are facts compared to this historic responsibility?

“Allen [has] returned to the Venice Film Festival for the world premiere of Coup de Chance, a romantic thriller that marks his 50th, and he suggests, quite possibly his last feature film,” Keslassy writes. “Coup de Chance represents the continued mutual embrace between the director and the [European] continent, after controversies have limited his funding stateside.

“This accounts for his pondering retirement: Allen says that producing a new movie means hustling to secure backing and at 87, he’s not sure he still wants to do that kind of work.”

“I have so many ideas for films that I would be tempted to do it, if it was easy to finance,” Allen told Keslassy. “But beyond that, I don’t know if I have the same verve to go out and spend a lot of time raising money.”

“I feel if you’re going to be canceled, this is the culture to be canceled by.”

—Woody Allen, talking to a reporter who’s marginally interested in his new film, mostly interested in his personal history. https://t.co/FtS48rYbrE

— Janet Maslin (@JanetMaslin) September 4, 2023

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I forgot to mention a few days ago that IndieWire‘s influential film critic and editor Eric Kohn has flown the coop. He’s now working as a film strategy and development exec for Harmony Korine‘s EDGLRD, and HE wishes him all the best. A job with serious creative potential, a better salary, slicker threads, more security for his family, etc. Good for him.

That said, EDGLRD is a completely nonsensical compression of EDGELORD that no one will ever be able to spell without double-checking, or perhaps even remember. You look at it and nothing kicks in. You can hear Korine saying “I need a company name that sounds extra cool or at least can be spelled in a cooler way than EDGELORD but at the same time can’t be cooler because it’s pronounced edd-glurrd.”

That’s Korine for you — in the name of edgeness and hipster chops he simultaneously attracts and repels.

In the context of journalism, it’s now necessary to speak of Kohn in the past tense.

Eric was always a nice guy (as in congenial, nebbishy, mild-mannered, smoothly spoken). He was always a reliably smart critic and an engaging writer who (a semblance of honesty is allowable) frequently soft-pedalled his opinions or praised films so obliquely or described them so blandly that sometimes a reader couldn’t be entirely sure if he liked a film or not.

But I was always grateful to Eric for his all-around warmth and graciousness, and for having gotten me into the Key West Film Festival for three or four years. A fine fellow in many respects.

Eric’s nice-guy credentials aside, I have to add that I found his refusal to admit to even the existence of wokesterism since the woke plague kicked in five or six years ago….that was infuriating.

And in his capacity as an influential New York Film Critics Circle member and chairman of that group during 2018 and ’19, it has to be acknowledged that Kohn and fellow IndieWire critic David Ehrlich (whom Kohn hired) did a lot to change the image of the NYFCC from that of a gold-standard critics org to one strongly associated with woke eccentricity.

From “Not Necessarily The Bad Guys,” posted on 1.9.23:

“In addition to their sometimes well-grounded, highly perceptive praising of stellar filmmaking and performances, the New York Film Critics Circle has (be honest) been in the grip of woke theology over the last four or five years. Most of us understand this, and the NYFCC honchos and spokespersons will deny it to their dying day.

“For decades a NYFCC award was a gold-standard honor — a classy, triple-A stamp of irrefutable big-city approval. But since ’18 or thereabouts the NYFCC members have sought to integrate notions of quality with “the sacralization of racial, gender and sexual [identity],” as Matthew Goodwin put it in February 2021.

“In short, they’ve become known as a contender for the most reliably eccentric, woke-flakey critics group, neck and neck with the occasionally wokejobby Los Angeles Film Critics Association. (Note: HE has agreed on certain occasions with LAFCA award calls, hence the term “occasionally woke-jobby.”)

“For me the syndrome seemed to begin in 2018 when the NYFCC handed their Best Actress award to Support The Girls‘ Regina Hall. For me there was no contest among the Best Actress contenders that year — Melissa McCarthy‘s performance in Can you Ever Forgive Me? was heads and shoulders above Hall’s, and yet the NYFCC allowed themselves to be guided by identity politics. They disputed this, of course.

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I’m sorry but I watch this seven-minute, 45-second clip at least once a year.

Uncensored version:

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