Blaze That Broke Hearts

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Having opened in France last March and yesterday in England and Ireland, Jean-Jacques Annaud‘s Notre-Dame on Fire is apparently (emphasis on the “a” word) going to open at AMC IMAX theatres in New York and Los Angeles before long. Maybe, I should say.

The well-reviewed French-language docudrama is listed on the AMC website without opening dates or showtimes. If it were playing today I would see it right away, no hesitation. I’m an agnostic Hindu LSD guy, but Notre Dame is my cathedral. I’ve been eyeballing it upclose for 45 years or so. I’ve been to mass twice there.

Oh, and by the way? The fact that investigators have never revealed what caused the fire tells you it was embers from a workman’s cigarette. Of course it was, but the Macron government doesn’t want to alienate the French proletariat.

From Phil de Semlyen’s 7.22.22 Time Out review:

“Jean-Jacques Annaud’s dramatization of the 2019 Notre-Dame fire holds a vice-like grip as it records the 12 hours or so of the blaze in forensic detail. Considering we all know how it ended — spoiler: the cathedral didn’t fall into the Seine — it’s a seriously impressive feat.

“The fire’s cause is kept vague. It’s yet to be established in real life, though Annaud hedges his bets by showing us both a workman’s rogue ciggie and an electrical short. But when the flames start to consume the upper reaches of the cathedral, melting scaffolding and pouring molten lead through the mouths of its gargoyles and on the city below, the 2,200 degree blaze takes an almost demonic presence at the heart of the drama. It’s a formidable villain.

“From there, Notre-Dame on Fire zeroes in on the often haphazard, but ultimately heroic response to the unfolding disaster. The Paris traffic, sluggish response times (early photos of the fire on social media are initially dismissed as fakes), locked doors, and the struggle to get firefighting equipment up medieval spiral staircases all ramp up the tension.

“But Notre-Dame on Fire is really good at conveying an iconic building’s place in a nation’s soul, and the grief that its potential loss can provoke. Most of its symbolism is well-earned and resonant.”

Newman-Woodward Series Brought The Fatigue

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There’s nothing “wrong” with the strategy behind Ethan Hawke’s The Last Movie Stars, the six-part HBO Max series that examines the lives of Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward.

It’s actually half-inspired in a workmanlike way. Shot during the pandemic dog days, the (roughly) 360-minute epic leans upon 20-plus actor pallies (George Clooney, Laura Linney, Sam Rockwell, Vincent D’Onofrio, et. al.) to voice scores of transcribed interviews conducted by Newman collaborator Stuart Stern along with 20-plus original interviews. (All of it Zoomed.) The doc reps a livelier, more inquisitive approach to this kind of worshipful tribute, and Hawke certainly deserves points for orchestrating.

But it wore me down. I felt the sand particles of my soul starting to drain out of the hourglass. Hawke’s opus gradually made me feel as I was carrying it rather than vice versa. Too much gush, not enough meat. It was sometime during the third episode that I started to say “man, I’m getting a little sick of all these performative Zoom players expressing so much damnable delight and fascination for this rightly admired power couple…can we wrap this up, please?”

Three hours would’ve sufficed; I might have even been okay with four. But not six.

I’m certainly indebted to Hawke for educating me about Newman-Woodward in various ways that I wasn’t expecting. Newman’s description of himself as an “emotional Republican” is not something I’m likely to forget. We all knew he was a steady beer drinker but somehow the term “problem alcoholic” had never sunk in. The doc afforded me a fuller understanding of Newman’s journey, of how much better he was when he got older and stopped trying so hard. And it made me want to watch Hud for the 13th or 14th time.

I’d like to believe that my own Hud-like traits have been schooled and diminished over the years, and perhaps even locked in a box. But they haven’t been erased, and I strongly suspect that traces of same existed within Newman himself. Nobody’s perfect; some people behave badly from time to time. Hawke’s doc implies this but mostly slip-slides away.

Something Rotten in Dream City

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During a CinemaCon 2022 presentation, Olivia Wilde said that Don’t Worry, Darling (Warner Bros., 9.23) had been inspired by Inception, The Matrix and The Truman Show. To that I would add Don Siegel‘s Invasion of the Body Snatchers (’56), Martin Ritt‘s No Down Payment (’57) and Bryan Forbes‘ The Stepford Wives (’75).

Eight words: The white guys are up to no good.

The second video captures Wilde’s presentation of the Don’t Worry, Darling trailer at CinemaCon in Las Vegas on Tuesday, 4.26.22, and of course the moment when she was served custody papers by lawyers representing ex-fiance Jason Sudeikis. Wilde and Sudeikis have two kids. They split up over Wilde’s affair with Don’t Worry, Darling star Harry Styles, which reportedly began sometime in October 2020. Wilde and Styles are still together.

Eight Homes, Less Than Eight Years

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Before moving into Graceland in the spring of ’57, Elvis Presley and his mom and dad (Gladys, Vernon) lived in eight Memphis residences, starting with their initial arrival in November 1948.

Here are the eight addresses, all linked to Google Maps:

1. 370 Washington Ave. (11/48 through early summer of 1949 — $11/weekly rental.)

2. 572 Poplar Avenue, just a block north of 370 Washington.

3. Lauderdale Courts apartments, 185 Winchester Street (9 blocks north of Beale Street) — a two-bedroom, first-floor apartment, #328, for $35 a month. September ’49 to January ’53.

4. A brief stay at 698 Saffarans Ave.

5. 462 Alabama Ave., moved in April 1953.

6. They moved to 2414 Lamar Avenue in 1954 — the year when things began to happen for Elvis.

7. In late 1955 they moved into a slightly nicer home at 1414 Getwell Road.

8. In March 1956, two months after Elvis struck it rich with sales of “Heartbreak Hotel”, they all moved into a spacious ranch-style home at 1034 Audubon Drive.

Spielberg’s “Fabelmans” Debuting in Toronto

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Steven Spielberg‘s semi-autobiographical The Fabelmans (Universal, 11.22), co-written by Spielberg and Tony Kushner, will have its big premiere at the 2022 Toronto Film Festival. Word around the campfire is that it’s not a Telluride-type film, but it takes all sorts to make a fall festival world.

Official synopsis: “The Fabelmans is a coming-of-age story about a young man’s discovery of a shattering family secret and an exploration of the power of movies to help us see the truth about each other and ourselves.”

The ensemble cast includes Michelle Williams as Spielberg’s mom and Gabriel LaBelle as young Spielberg, plus Paul Dano, Seth Rogen, Jeannie Berlin, Julia Butters, Robin Bartlett, Keeley Karsten and Judd Hirsch.

What about that Rodrigo Perez report about David Lynch allegedly playing a John Ford-like director who bawls out young Spielberg/LaBelle?

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Peele is Shyamalan, Not Hitchcock

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In a 7.22 Variety piece, Oscar handicapper and identity-celebrationist Clayton Davis has actually poured water on the notion that Jordan Peele‘s Nope is an Oscar contender. “In the land of the Oscars, major Nope attention for best picture, director and original screenplay appears out of reach”, Clayton says.

He also states that Peele “is surely in store for the most polarizing reception of his career, as the film’s visuals and narrative beats will divide critics and audiences.” Translation: Clayton isn’t much of a fan.

Peele is obviously not “our modern-day Alfred Hitchcock,” as Davis contends. Because Peele hasn’t the slightest interest in or aptitude for the art of creating suspense. Nor is Peele a skilled “organ player” of audience emotions, nor is he a master montage guy who uses carefully deployed editing and precise camera movement…basic Hitchcock tools. Nor is he an explorer of anxiety and uncertainty or dreamy moods. Peele is nowhere near Hitchcock, c’mon. At best he’s a black M. Night Shyamalan, as he mainly delivers racially-stamped spookers. And even a charitable reading of Nope wouldn’t compare it to Signs, which is at least ten times scarier.

So now that the HE community has seen Nope, what’s the verdict?

HE review excerpt: “No discipline, this fucking film. It’s ‘imaginative,’ if you want to call it that. [But] when Gordy the chimp appears, the film comes alive. What Gordy has to do with the dumbshit rascal white-oppressor aliens is anyone’s guess.

“Steven Yeun costars in Nope, and I couldn’t understand why he was in it. Yes, he has something to do with Gordy (I won’t say) and he wears a red suit and a big white cowboy hat in one scene, but he has NOTHING to do with anything.

“I need to re-watch this movie with subtitles some day.”

Polanski-Elvis Connection

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Who wasn’t appalled to learn of Roman Polanski‘s sexual violation of Samantha Geimer in March 1977, when she was only 13? One presumes the moral outrage would be just as strong if Geimer had been 14 or 15. And yet rock stars enjoying sexual intimacy with way-too-young teenagers was par for the course in the mid to late ’50s, certainly as far as Jerry Lee Lewis and Elvis Presley were concerned.

Baz Luhrman never touched this aspect of Presley’s private life in Elvis, of course, but Alanna Nash‘s “Baby, Let’s Play House“, a seemingly credible, well-written 2009 book, reports that the sexually insecure Presley was totally into “cherries,” as he called them — girls who were barely pubescent.

Presley was apparently more into erotic fiddling around than becoming an actual Pablo Picasso-like conquistador. But carnal knowledge is carnal knowledge.

A 14 year-old named Frances Forbes and two girlfriends (Gloria Mowel, Heidi Heissen) participated in “pajama parties” with Presley, the book says. “Elvis didn’t pay any attention to me [when I was 13], but when I was 14, he noticed me,’ Forbes says. “14 was a magical age with Elvis. It really was.”

Presley was immediately sexual, however, with his future wife Priscilla, who was 14 when they met in Germany, when Presley was serving in the Army. Presley manager Colonel Tom Parker claimed that their relationship with chaste until Priscilla came of age….bullshit, says Nash.

In 1960 Presley reportedly fiddled around with Sandy Ferra, the 14-year-old daughter of the owner of the Cross Bow nightclub in L.A.’s Panorama City. In 1974, when Presley was 39, he took up with 14-year-old Reeca Smith.

Actual “Oppenheimer” Teaser

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When Chris Nolan‘s Oppenheimer opens next summer, will paying audiences once again be charmed by a perplexing sound mix that will prevent a large percentage from understanding significant chunks of dialogue?

I’ve listened to the Oppenheimer trailer 20 times, with headphones. This is the dialogue that I’ve heard:

Woman’s voice: “Dose-uh bottom veshdee changenee…I farted…this is your moment!” Man #1: “How could this man…WHAM!…escoh soo mahttur be so wide?…WHAM!” Man #2: “Biz howdar van bamboose!” Man #1: “You gave them the power to destroy themselves. It means the most important man who ever lived…the man who moved the earth.”

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Good Writing Requires Four Passes

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Writing what I want to say about anything comes easy. Bang it out and there it is. But then comes the hard editing, which usually involves three passes.

I begin by simplifying words and cleaning up sentences, and sometimes re-phrasing them so they read better, by which I mean sharper. Then I go back and make each and every passage sound a little more casual and conversational — you don’t want to sound too constipated. Then you go back a fourth time and give each sentence a final spritz.

It helps to get up and walk outside or hit the kitchen or play with the cats, and then you come back with a clean head. You have to re-read and ask yourself “what’s wrong with this? What sentences seem lumpy or problematic or labored?”

After the fourth pass I’m usually good with it, and then I’ll hit “publish.”

And then comes the occasional fifth edit, which is sometimes prompted by reader complaints and corrections, and sometimes by my own delayed judgment.