I have to drive down to Compton again and am therefore unable to share expansive reactions to Michel Franco‘s Sundown, but it’s easily the most interesting (or do I mean fascinating?) film of 2022 so far.
It’s basically a drop-out movie like Michelangelo Antonioni‘s The Passenger (’75), but I wish it had less plot, which is to say less motivational explanation. I was wishing it would just devote itself to the idea of pissing off and nihilistically doing whatever the hell. But it’s not, and that, for me, is a slight problem.
It’s about Neil (Tim Roth), a wealthy co-heir to  a pig-slaughtering business who’s vacationing in Acapulco with his sister Allison (Charlotte Gainsbourg) and her two teenage children.
Allison and the kids pack and leave when news comes that she and Neil’s mother has died. But Neil decides against going — he lies that his passport is missing, and returns to Acapulco, and then checks into a shitty little hotel. And that’s it, at least for a while. Neil drinks a lot of beer, finds a somewhat older girlfriend (IazuaLarios), hangs out and basically does jack shit.
From Anthony Lane’s New Yorker review: “Here, we realize, is that most scandalous of creatures: the human who wants nothing. I’ve seen enough films about people who rush to make the most of their mortal span, ticking off bucket lists and reaping rosebuds while they may, so it’s a relief to come across Neil, the lolling foe of the upbeat. The title of the movie doesn’t do him justice. It should be called ‘The Fuck-it List.'”
Last night Hollywood Elsewhere watched Steven Soderbergh‘s Kimi (aka KIMI). My basic take is “minor Soderbergh but pretty good…a reasonably decent Rear Window meets The Conversation tribute film, set in Seatlle during the pandemic. (With a tiny spritz of The Parallax View.) Nicely shot, cut, acted, produced…betterthandecent.”
Directed by Sodie, shot by “Peter Andrews“, written and produced by David Koepp.
Every compelling protagonist in a thriller needs a handicap of some kind. In Rear WindowJames Stewart‘s handicap was that his leg was in a cast. In Vertigo his handicap was that he suffered from a fear of heights. Kravitz’s handicap is that she’s agoraphobic.
And boy, she sure lives in a nice loft! How can she afford a place like this? Her mom bought it for her? She’s just a WFH tech — can’t be earning enough to buy a loft this spacious and bucks-up.
75% to 80% of Kravitz’s performance is absorbed or dominated by her perfectly styled blue hair. Kimi‘s hair stylist needs to stand up and take a bow…enjoy your moment! We’re watching the movie and thinking “okay, snappy Soderbergh and some nice Rear Window action” but two-thirds of the time all you can think about is HER HAIR!…HER HAIR!…LOOK AT THAT EXQUISITE COIF AND DYE JOB!
Friendo: “Yes, it’s true — the hair dominates. But Kravitz gives a good minimalist performance. She creates an intriguingly brittle character. She’s very true to everythingthatweallloatheaboutMillennials (i.e., Kravitz is 33).”
“I agree that it’s minor Soderbergh, but it’s good minor Soderbergh.”
HE: I loved it when she suddenly becomes a kind of Charles Bronson figure at the very end. Obviously a Hollywood-style solution to her troubles, but I emotionally wanted this to happen.
The paranoid mindset of The Conversation and The Parallax View influenced everyone and everything back in the early to mid ’70s. Ever since that time the corporate world has been the source of all the bad guys. A corporate guy appears, you KNOW he’s up to no good. It’s an idea that’s dominated thrillers for a good half-century, and will continue to dominate for the foreseeable future. Because corporations have been running the real domestic realm since Gerald Ford-slash-Jimmy Carter, and certainly since Ronald Reagan.
Friendo #2: “It’s a woke thing, right? Sexual assault. Zoey discovers an incident of sexual assault and possible murder.”
HE: True — a woman being assaulted by a rich corporate pig.
Friendo #2: “Textbook woke. There are only two melodramatic themes today — sexual assault and racism. I guess we can add LGBTQ concerns.”
HE: Except Rita Wilson, Kravitz’s boss and allegedly a sister-in-arms, doesn’t help when Kravitz reports the possible murder.
Friendo #2: “Yeah, but it’s more woke fan fiction. They always make these unbelievable scenarios at a time when it would NEVER happen. Maybe ten years ago. Not now. They want to tell stories about the world that existed before it became what it is post-#MeToo, post-George Floyd, etc. The nonstop obsession with women as victims is so tired by now. They’re like girl people. Not adults. Still children.”
HE: It would be more interesting if they threw in an unusual crime. Like dog-napping a la Lady Gaga. Or an older gay guy murdering his partner over infidelity a la Prick Up Your Ears.
Friendo #2: “Anything other than this. Make the victim a dude. Plus who wants to watch people wearing masks in movies now? It’s nice to see faces. So Zoey is just paranoid?”
On 12.21.21 a Death on the Nile trailer popped through, and it seemed immediately obvious that Kenneth Branagh‘s film was an all-CG shit show. The “S.S. Karnak” seemed completely digital. The cruiser in the 1978 version may have been “real”, but not this one. Branagh may have used some second-unit footage of ancient Egyptian statues and whatnot, but mainly it’s all fake, fake, FAKE.
Variety should have titled it “Filmed in England, Death on the Nile Is Total CG Bullshit (Except for Some Second-Unit Photography).” But the headline was too long, and it sounded kinder and friendlier to ask if Nile was actually filmed in Egypt, etc. Tangcay gently explains that “more than a little movie magic was involved” — i.e., the principal actors never even saw the Nile. Not on the production budget’s dime, I mean.
Hollywood Elsewhere’s peaceful solitude is about to end with Tatiana returning from Russia tomorrow. Given her ardent admiration for Vladimir Putin and all things Russia, I am not looking forward to any discussions of the allegedly imminent invasion of Ukraine by the Russian military. If I was in Ukraine I would be torn between leaving the country and wanting to stick around in order to watch the bombings and the devastation, not to mention ducking the shrapnel as bullets whizz by my head.
In my book Seth Rogen‘s performance as Rand Gauthier is the best part of Pam & Tommy. That said and no offense, I still have a problem with the light orange and lavender tuxedo that he wore to last year’s Emmy Awards.
Posted earlier today by The Insider‘s Jason Guerrasio: “I don’t get why movie people care so much if other people care what awards we give ourselves,” Rogen told Insider during an interview with Paul Rudd about their Super Bowl commercial for Lay’s potato chips.
“To me, maybe people just don’t care. I don’t care who wins the automobile awards. No other industry expects everyone to care about what awards they shower upon themselves. Maybe people just don’t care. Maybe they did for a while and they stopped caring. And why should they?”
“This is an odd choice of focus. The three episodes are a solid if formally inconsistent attempt to tackle the racial history of America in discipline-spanning socio-economic-cultural terms. It makes some smart connections and is full of worthy insights, but I’d never recommend it over HBO’s similar Exterminate All the Brutes or a dozen PBS docuseries covering the same terrain.” — from Daniel Fienberg‘s 2.10 Hollywood Reporter review.
HE riff on The Stinky Whiteness, for the 17th or 18th time: Democrats have to stand for sensible, compassionate, fair-minded liberalism, etc. JFK-styled or LBJ-flavored or Obama-stamped liberalism means fair but practical policies that are even-steven across the board, or at least ones that try to be that.
I don’t believe or accept the idea that all whites are inherently demonic, and I don’t believe or accept that all African Americans are inherently saintly. Nor do I believe in woke Stalinism and moderate college professors losing their jobs because they’re not 100% sold on the equity thing.
I am essentially a sensible non-fanatic as far as racial matters are concerned. Or, if you will, I’m a white John McWhorter who believes in basic fairness and sensible progressive programs. I also believe that activist trans activists and the “what’s your pronoun?” people are fine and no worries but at the same time my eyes are rolling upwards.
To some out there what I’ve just written proves that I’m some kind of salivating racist homophobe. But I’m not. Really. I’m a center-left moderate who’d increasingly appalled by the Crazy Left. Right now I’m beyond furious that these nutters have already shit the bed and are going to bring about a rightwing landslide next fall.
Democrats have become the “African-Americans need to be given preferential treatment in all walks of life in order to correct racist mindsets of the past four centuries” party, or basically the Nikole Hannah Jones 1619 party. Because BIPOCS have been murdered and shat upon for centuries.
Democrats have also become the “children need to be instructed that whites are in the grip of an evil genetic tendency party”, and the time has come for whites to take a back seat in order for progress to manifest. Or words to that effect.
Democrats have also become the “more men need the freedom to become pregnant homemakers” party.
Put another way, the urban elite progressive wing has become the Rosanna Arquette party, and is ruled by the idea that whites must accept across-the-board corrections — they need to bow their heads and accept punishment for their ancestors’ behavior in order to allow for racial re-dress and racially corrective ideas and programs to take hold.
I despise Joe Rogan for having spread bad information about Covid and the vaccines, and thereby encouraged all kinds of idiotic, irresponsible. anti-social behavior in the hinterland realms. But the people who are trying to blow up his career over India Arie’s YouTube n-word montage are much, much worse. HE agrees with Glenn Loury that “the superficial morality of spoken word etiquette versus the genuine morality of a thick, historically informed engagement with important questions of policy, of state, of ethics” are not equally important.
McWhorter: “We can talk about Joe Rogan and the Covid [content] but this other thing…this won’t do.”
I’ve been thinking about switching from the rumblehog to a decent pre-owned car. I’m no longer flush thanks to the wokesters, but I don’t want to get into a years-long payoff deal. So I’ve been looking for a nice little tool-around car. Something older, a dependable brand (Beemer, Volvo, Nissan), well-maintained. Yesterday afternoon I was attracted to a white 2002 BMW, 165K miles, for $2500. The only hitch is that it’s in Palm Springs. But it seemed appealing so I reached out to the owner, and then the weirdness began.
The owner is a dude — I could tell that much. Right off the top he said “no talking, just text me.” He knows autos and does his own maintenance, but he wouldn’t tell me his name or where he lives, and suggested that our initial meeting happen in front of an office building. It turns out the Beemer needs service — the usual tune-up stuff plus new brake discs and pads, which meant I’d be paying an extra $500 or more — figure $3K and change.
The idea was to travel to Palm Springs later today and test-drive the Beemer, and give it to a local mechanic for approval, and then finalize things on Friday. That meant I’d have to take a bus to Palm Springs and take a few Uber rides and pay the mechanic for his time and stay in a hotel plus meals — another $250 or $300, minimum. Now we’re in the $3400 to $3500 region.
I asked the Palm Springs Phantom if I should call him Mr. X. He laughed. I said I was a journalist and explained about Hollywood Elsewhere, and he said “what’s that?” I assured him that I don’t work for the CIA, the Russians, the Palm Springs vice squad, the FBI or the East German Stasi. “Are you really going to do this cloak-and-dagger thing until I arrive?,” I said. “No name, no gender, no nothing? No offense but this feels a tiny bit weird.”
Mr. X: “That’s because that [stuff] doesn’t matter.” HE: “I don’t mind the spy-movie intrigue. But there’s something existential about this conversation.” Mr. X: “Are you actually interested in buying this car?” HE: “Definitely. But you know what I mean. Your identity is going to come out in the wash anyway, right? Bill of sale, pink slip, transfer of title.” Mr. X: “Yeah.” HE: “I am 110% serious.” Mr. X: “Cool. Sounds good…see you tomorrow, man.” HE: “So when I knock on the door tomorrow at 5 or so, will you be wearing a Yoda mask?” Mr. X: “That’s not my home address — that’s a business center.” HE: “Ahh, got it. Well, this is very shadowy but okay. I’ll find a way out there and line up mechanic, and find a decent motel or hotel. This will be, as noted, a two-day process.”
This morning I decided to blow the whole deal off. A guy who won’t reveal his name or address — what is he, a terrorist? A drug dealer? Plus the whole “take a bus to Palm Springs, take three or four Ubers, stay in a motel plus find and hire a mechanic” thing seemed a bit much. When I told him of my decision, Mr. X said, “You’re wasting my time, bruh.”
I wouldn’t say that a majority of people selling cars on Facebook Marketplace and Craigslist are scammers, but a significant portion are. Plus the people who’ve written me about buying the rumblehog are scammers also. Favorite line: “I’m a sergeant in the military, I’m going overseas with my team”…really? Second favorite line: “I’m selling this for my invalid mother.” A guy with another car for sale (2013 white Impala) wanted to meet him in central Watts (just south of the 105) and bring cash…no PayPal or Venmo. Sure thing.
…is meaningless to me. It doesn’t mean squat to anyone. Entertainment Weekly has been a dead brand for a good 10 or 15 years, or since it began to primarily aim its coverage at young, none-too-bright women. (Which began back in the Bush years, right?) And now the print days are over. Things change. But boy oh boy I remember the buzz that came from reading semi-glossy magazines that were aimed at semi-educated urbans — i.e., pages and pages of stapled tree pulp with printed words and pictures. Printed newspapers also!
I was a steady(you couldsaydogged) EW contributor during the ‘90s heyday, but you don’t want to hear those dusty old stories again.
