My Trump-access concern (postedyesterday) remains paramount, but otherwise I’m less in league with your pearl-clutching, sky-is-falling wokesters and more willing to let the chips fall and see how the Musk experiment plays out.
Cribbed from FoxBusiness, but otherwise quoted everywhere by everyone:
I’ve just finished watching episode #1 of David Simon and Reinaldo Marcus Green’s WeOwnThisCity, and it is so believable, so genuine, so densely (but not turgidly) plotted and so well-threaded…all I can say is “wow.”
And that’s all I have right now. I’ll elaborate tomorrow. Right now [9:55 pm] I have to pedal over to Pavilions for strong floor cleaner and a bottle of Pine Sol in order to eliminate the odor of kitten pee.
I was surprised by the first episode of Robbie Pickering's Gaslit (Starz) last night. Surprised because I hadn't realized the tone of this five-part limited series would be...well, vaguely farcical. I wouldn't call it a comedy series (except for the Gordon Liddy portions), but it certainly seems to highlight the dopey or absurdist aspects of this tale of Watergate cloak-and-dagger foolery.
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…all bets are off. He really, really can’t let Donald Trump return to Twitter. I’m not kidding. There are some manifestations of evil that absolutely can’t be tolerated — that would just be too injurious to the social fabric. Trump on Twitter would be CATASTROPHIC.
Forbes: “After rebuffing Elon Musk’s initial overtures, Twitter’s board on Monday said it will take Musk’s $44 billion offer for the company, ending a weeks-long saga over whether the company would accept his unsolicited bid.
“’The Twitter Board conducted a thoughtful and comprehensive process to assess Elon’s proposal with a deliberate focus on value, certainty, and financing,’ Twitter chairman Bret Taylor said in a statement. ‘The proposed transaction will deliver a substantial cash premium, and we believe it is the best path forward for Twitter’s stockholders.'”
I recognize some aspects of the Johnny Depp-Amber Heard dysfunction. If you’re with a person given to periodic black moods (either naturally or due to substance abuse), the good lovin’ vibes evaporate sooner or later. At which point you’re just struggling to keep things on a respectful even keel, and it’s not easy (no marriage or live-in relationship is) to do that…even keels require a lot of work, patience and spiritual generosity.
And then, bit by bit, you can feel yourself slipping or weakening…slowly sliding down into a vortex of some kind, and at some point you realize that “respectful” and “even keel” are ships that have sailed.
And then it’s a matter of “how do I get out of this?” and “can I get out of this? Or am I doomed to live in this bread-and-water dungeon until I die?” You start thinking about permanent misery, permanent rage, financial ruin…a virus of despair floods your system. Then you start sleeping more than before…sleep as a way of escaping the horror. And you start to wonder if this will ever bottom out…if living with less anguish is even possible. Because (who knows?) you might be stuck here forever.
News account: “Johnny Depp was back on the stand Monday in his $100 million defamation trial against ex-wife Amber Heard. The court heard a number of audio recordings of Depp and Heard arguing during cross examination by Heard’s lawyer Benjamin Rottenborn. In one audio clip, Depp tells Heard: ‘Walking away is necessary, is necessary, especially between you and I. It’s of [the] utmost importance.'”
“The Northman is not a good movie, but it’s a failure made with chops. It’s made, in an odd way, without enough true drama to get in the way of the chops. The film doesn’t so much skimp on emotional resonance as slaughter it. It’s just numb enough to mark the kickoff of a whole new career.” — from Owen Gleiberman‘s “Is The Northman a Failed Art Film, or Is It Robert Eggers’ Stolidly Successful Blockbuster Audition?” (posted today).
What’swrongwithRyan’s Daughter? Lean’s decision to cast the over-rated Christopher Jones, whom he impulsively decided upon after failing to sign Marlon Brando for the role.
Jones played a British Army officer (Major Randolph Doryan) whom Rosy Ryan (Sarah Miles) has a torrid affair with while married to a local school teacher, Charles Shaughnessy (Robert Mitchum).
I have always felt that Ryan’s Daughter is beautifully made and altogether half of a very good film. It is one-quarter spoiled, unfortunately, by Jones’ lifeless performance and one-quarter spoiled by John Mills‘ village idiot.
Summary: Jones’ performance and general professional manner was so stiff and unresponsive that Lean, Miles and Mitchum decided that drugging him with valium was the only way to solve matters.
Mitchum had hashish parties and imported women for what sounded like orgies. Miles became infatuated with the married Mitchum and eventually chased him back to Los Angeles, breaking up her marriage to the multiple Oscar-winning screenwriter Robert Bolt.
And all this after Lean lost Marlon Brando at the last minute to play the lead and cast Jones instead, who had a nervous breakdown during production, not knowing he was being drugged. Post-filming Jones returned to LA and promptly quit acting.
Jones was living in Sharon Tate and Roman Polanski’s guest house on their rented Cielo Drive property. and claimed to have had an affair with Tate. She was murdered by Charles Manson followers during filming, which devastated Jones.
Miles and Jones grew to dislike one another, leading to trouble when filming the love scenes. Jones was engaged to Olivia Hussey, and said he was not attracted to Miles. He even refused to rehearse the forest love scene with her, which prompted Miles to conspire with Lean and Mitchum on the valium thing.
It was Mitchum who settled on the idea of drugging Jones by sprinkling an unspecified substance daily on his cereal. Mitchum overdosed Jones, however, and the actor was nearly catatonic during the love scene.
Last night Warren Beatty did a half-hour q & a with TCM Classic Film Festival host Ben Mankiewicz following a 6:30 pm screening of Heaven Can Wait ('78), which WB co-directed with Buck Henry.
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