“Gee, I really shouldn’t say that, being so normal and everything,” etc.

There’s something hilariously diseased in the way Peter Sellers improvises through this Lolita scene with James Mason. I laugh every time I watch this as it never stops being a sick-genius thing because (a) it feels so unhinged…an impishly eccentric, anything-goes riff on a closeted gay guy trying to ingratiate himself with a straight-arrow, and (b) at the same time Sellers is imitating Stanley Kubrick‘s Bronx-accented voice with a slight lisp…

“A couple of normal guys like us could get together and discuss world events…it’s great to have a lovely tall pretty little small daughter like that…I get sort of carried away, you know, being so normal and everything.”

Forget it, dude…Star Wars isn’t The 1619 Project…a 2020 complaint…let it go…Kathy Kennedy has killed Star Wars anyway.

The Dealey Plaza bullets will never add up or square with the official story. The first bullet missed, many have said, and hit a curb or something, the second bullet hit President Kennedy in the neck (although no one’s sure if it came from the TSBD or the grassy knoll) and the third bullet was the pink-spray head shot.

But there was a fourth bullet, of course, which secret service agent Paul Landis found, intact, “sitting on the back seat ledge, where the cushion meets the metal on the car.”

And no one will ever know what definitely happened because it’s been 62 years and people are still speculating and spitballing…forget it! The only irrefutable thing is that Lee Harvey Oswald didn’t fire four bullets.

I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again — forget the back-of-the-head blowout testimony. It’s not in the Zapruder footage, and there was a young crew-cutted father who appeared on a local Dallas TV news station right after the shooting, who reported that the right side of JFK’s head took the damage, just like the Zapruder film shows.

So forget those crazy Parkland Hospital doctors who claimed otherwise. And double-triple-quadruple forget those doo-wacky conspiracy guys who believe that the Zapruder film was secretly altered…bullshit. Plus Time-Life’s Richard Stolley saw the Zapruder footage hours after the assassination and never said boo, etc.

And I’ll tell you something else: I’ve been to Dealey Plaza and have stood behind the grassy knoll wooden fence, etc., and eyewitnesses have never said that Elm Street, upon which JFK’s limo was cruising when the shots rang out, is more of a downward hill than a gentle slope…it’s a steeper hill than news footage indicates.

One more thing: Oliver Stone, who had hair plugs put in four decades ago, needs to go my Prague hair guy. He just needs to fortify things…no biggie.

According to Kid Rock, Donald Trump and Bill Maher put on their “what the hell, let’s be congenial” masks during last night’s dinner at the White House.

Like all meetings of longtime antagonists (i.e., Richard Nixon and Chou en Lai in ’72), it was a performative (i.e., less that 100% sincere) experience that outraged progressive Dems, of course, but technically harmed no one.

Hey, we were both born and raised near New York City! And we both despise wokesters.

Despite what The Daily Beast‘s Leigh Rimmins has reported, KR didn’t specifically say that Maher’s “mind was blown” — he said that his mind was blown while everyone was pleasantly surprised by the vibes.

This doesn’t change the fact that Trump is still an under-educated guy who likes McDonalds and probably farts a lot…a dangerously un-inquisitive, animal-level authoritarian, liar, short-fingered vulgarian and sociopath who’s shown very little respect for the U.S. Constitution, and who sure as shit proved this on 1.6.21.

Sam Mendes’ decision to cast four 30-ish (or nudging 30) actors as the 20something Beatles in their mid-to-late-‘60s prime is, for me, a leap too far…28-year-old Harris Dickinson as John Lennon-if-he-was-a-basketball-player, towering over the hawk-nosed, pointy-chin-chinned Paul Mescal, 29, as Paul McCartney…the wicked, warlock-eyed Barry Keoghan, 32, as Ringo Starr, and the fair-skinned, ginger-haired Joseph Quinn**, 31, as the dark-eyed, non-gingered George Harrison…casting calls that seem not just reachy but three-quarters doomed (Dickinson might pan out)…and the four films (one about each Beatle) won’t be released until April ‘28…three years of gestation.

** You know who Quinn closely resembles? Prince Harry of Montecito.

Quinn is going to be as much of a bad-acid-trip George Harrison as the absurdly miscast Mescal is sure to be a weak-tea McCartney, a would-be inhabiting that can’t hope to persuade, much less transcend. (“Hey, Hawk-nose…why don’t we do it in the road?…everyone will be watching us.”). If Quinn had been around in the early ‘70s, he might have been regarded as a poor man’s Ryan O’Neal. Would Stanley Kubrick have even met with him during the Barry Lyndon casting process? Okay, he might have been cast as the younger roadside thief (i.e., the son of Captain Feeney).

Most directors understand that human feet should never be shown. Two who resisted this rule were Richard Quine and Ron Underwood. It’s wrong of me, even, to have posted the below photo…aaagghh!

Really attractive, well-shaped, perfectly pedicured feet are very rare in any realm. Usually female peds are more pleasing to the eye than men’s, but not in this instance. The gentleman in question is James Stewart.

Great Warren Beatty quote: “Marriage requires a special talent, like acting. Monogamy requires genius.”

In a story posted three hours ago, La Parisien‘s Renaud Baronian reported that Luca Guadagnino‘s After The Hunt may be headed for Cannes. But who knows?

If true and if the film plays as well as it most of it reads, Julia Roberts will probably emerge as a hot contender for the festival’s Best Actress prize. Maybe. Where’s the harm in generating a little optimism?

Who the hell is Renaud Baronian, right?

The culture has been telling smart, ambitious women to walk away when this or that dude has an issue or two…”you don’t need the imperfect man”…get shut of him, shut him out.

The culture isn’t wrong.

I was batting around .300 or .350 between my early 20s and late 30s, and even then my general feeling was on the downish side…that things weren’t really working out and that there wasn’t much hope for the future, relationship-wise. I can’t imagine what it must be like for homely guys with tennis-ball hair and lumpy bods to be striking out time and again, over and over. But that’s the reality out there. I don’t blame women a bit for being choosy.

Bill Maher’s Club Random with Maureen Dowd (posted on 3.30) is a pretty good one. They start talking about their favorite films around the 44:00 mark: Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Double Indemnity, Saving Private Ryan, Body Heat, Shakespeare in Love, etc.

Lusty, sexualized, infidelity-driven film noir “is my favorite genre,” Dowd says.

And then, at 46:03, she says that her all-time favorite in this realm is Jacques Tourneur‘s Out Of The Past (’47)…”you gotta watch it…Robert Mitchum, Kirk Douglas, Jane Greer…it’s the perfect film noir.” And Maher says, “Oh…never heard of it. Out of the Past?”

Lord knows there are several good films I haven’t seen and perhaps others I haven’t heard of, but good heavens. It’s one thing if you haven’t seen one of the most revered film noirs of all time, but to have never heard of it? Okay, man…some of us roll in different ways.

Dowd mentions that funny Body Heat scene in which Ted Danson‘s district attorney, who’s friendly with Bill Hurt‘s Ned Racine, reports that a little girl who had come upon Kathleen Turner‘s Matty Walker in a sexual situation…he reports that the girl drew a blank when it came to describing the facial features of the guy Walker was with, recalling only that he was short and bald. Danson: “I guess she’d never seen one angry before,”

Dowd converses like an everyday, unpretentious, water-cooler colleague…a very smart one. I listened to her speak inside L.A.’s Skirball Center 15 or 20 years ago. She and Alessandra Stanley were alternating on the mike.

NEW: Bill Maher, Maureen Dowd say Dems' woke era isn't over

DOWD: "[Dems] just stopped being any fun. They made everyone feel that everything they said and did, and every word, was wrong. And people don't want to live like that."

MAHER: "No. Do you think we're over that… pic.twitter.com/4DKEqYZXDE

— Jason Cohen (@JasonJournoDC) March 30, 2025

It doesn’t make basic sense that Joseph Kosinski ‘s F1 (Warner Bros./Apple), opening worldwide on 6.25, isn’t debuting in Cannes in mid-May.**

Even with Mission: Impossible — The Final Reckoning (Paramount, 5.25) allegedly locked down for a Côte d’Azur premiere, F1 is the hotter, louder ticket. We’re all familiar with the M:I brand…same old bing-bang-boom. Not to mention the eternally stationary Ving Rhames again.

Is there some kind of ironclad rule that within a given Cannes Film Festival there can only be one U.S.-produced blockbuster? Did Paramount and Tom Cruise insist on a no-competition clause or something?

Jordan Ruimy was told a while back that F1 producers “opted instead for a world premiere in Monaco.” Because of the annual Grand Prix, of course. The only problem is that Monaco is a really shitty place for a world premiere. It’s an architecturally ugly, super-corporate city (I was repelled during my last visit) and it attracts the worst (i.e., shallowest) people in the world.

** Patrick Brzeski and Scott Roxborough’s THR prediction piece is two weeks old, granted.

Orange Mussolini has curiously acquiesced to Kid Rock’s idea of a White House dinner with Bill Maher this week, but he’s clearly uncomfortable with the fact that Maher isn’t a devotional boot–licker.

The meeting wouldn’t have been scheduled in the first place, of course, if Maher hadn’t earned a certain respect from righties for having routinely trashed woke lunatics over the last few years, and yet the authoritarian-in-chief still feels antsy…what a fragile child.