Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene is an obnoxious mosquito and attention-whore. She also seems to be psychotic. Her taunting of AOC is, of course, a theatrical stunt aimed at her none-too-bright Georgia constituents.
As with many things in life, it’s deeply frustrating that maturity and decorum require that there can be no catharsis in a situation like this. AOC has to chill and take it.
If this was a movie, catharsis would of course happen. AOC would come to Greene and propose fisticuffs or kickboxing in a gym somewhere, but only on the condition that their fight be kept totally secret — the same terms that Gregory Peck insisted upon with Charlton Heston before their fist fight in The Big Country.
A few years back I wrote that John Frankenheimer‘s The Manchurian Candidate (’62) wouldn’t work half as well without David Amram‘s baroque string-quartet score. It tells you from the get-go that something unusual and even a bit curious is about to unfurl. It says “this movie is going to be a bit weird…creepy and chilling and off on its own orbit…aimed at adults but with a mind of its own.”
I’ve been putting off watching The Woman in the Window for a long, long time. It’s sitting on Netflix right now — all I have to do is flop on the couch and pick up the remote. But I’m still thinking “why bother?” It obviously doesn’t work. World of Reel‘s Jordan Ruimy is struggling with Joe Wright‘s urban thriller as we speak: “This is excruciating to sit through…please, for the love of God, make it end already.”
Posted on 12.20.19: For seven or eight years Joe Wright was a cross between Chris Nolan, Sam Mendes and Steven Spielberg. Pride & Prejudice, Atonement, The Soloist, Hanna, Anna Karenina.
I will never back away from the view that Karenina was drop-dead brilliant — the most thrilling and innovative adaptation of Tolstoy’s 1877 novel ever made. Then the calamity of Pan happened. Then Wright recovered somewhat with Darkest Hour, a conventional but reasonably effective biopic with an Oscar-winning lead performance.
And now Wright seems to be operating in the realm of…what, Curtis Hanson‘s The Bedroom Window? Maybe a touch of David Fincher‘s Panic Room? Something like that.
Written by Tracy Letts, shot by Bruno Delbonnel, scored by Danny Elfman and produced by Scott Rudin.
Big-city dwellers can hear someone shout or scream in the adjoining or upstairs apartment. Rear Window‘s James Stewart heard Raymond Burr‘s wife scream as he stared into a common backyard area in the West Village. But hearing a woman scream from across the street? Doubtful.
There are three things that a film has to do in order to qualify for eternal blue-ribbon, Mount Olympus status and the simultaneous allegiance of Joe and Jane Popcorn along with your elitist, dweeb-level, ivory-tower critics.
One, it has to deliver the plain, honest truth (or undercurrent of truth) about a given world or situation — along with a little entertainment value, okay, but without undue exaggeration, no shallow exploitation, not too much sugar or vinegar, and no blatant bullshit of any kind. (This requirement in itself leaves out at least 80% of commercial cinema.)
Two, it has to persuade audiences to emotionally invest in it — to trust what it’s doing and where it seems to be going.
And three, it has to put you into a kind of alternate-reality mescaline dream state that you want to stay in and never leave, or at least make you want to return to frequently — a realm that feels so inviting or stylistically transporting that you want to live in it, even if it seems a bit dangerous.
Yes, of course — all movies are dream states, in a way. The better ones always lead to a certain primal feeling of alteration or discovery (the film has taken you to an entirely new but seemingly straightforward place) or emotional comfort and reassurance. But the ones that hit the jackpot are the ones that tell you what this or that slice of life on planet earth (or life aboard an intergalactic space cruiser) is basically like …how it really is…the full, honest, non-delusional truth of things.
There is no bullshit and nothing but truth in The Bicycle Thief (notice that I didn’t call it The Bicycle Thieves), North by Northwest, East of Eden, Mean Streets, Repo Man, Election, The Hospital, Treasure of the Sierra Madre, David Fincher‘s Mindhunter series, Gunga Din, Some Like It Hot, Two Women, La Strada, Zero Dark Thirty, Vertigo, Fellini Satyricon, Manchester By The Sea, Paths of Glory, Vertigo, Nomadland, Only Angels Have Wings, Collateral and 12 Years A Slave.
Except I didn’t want to live in or even visit the Nomadland realm (bucket pooping, bald tires, borrowing money for van repairs, shooting the shit around campfires) so I guess it doesn’t qualify.
Let’s look at the 2021 Best Picture contenders and ask ourselves “which of these films did we actually want to live in, or at least frequently visit?” The general truth is nobody wanted to live in [most of] these films, and that’s one basic reason why nobody watched last month’s Oscar telecast.
On 2.23.21 HE noticed a FYC ad for The Father that suggested Anthony Hopkins‘ character was a clever, debonair sort, perhaps a tad unscrupulous or caddish but never without a rapier retort when his daughter, played by Olivia Colman, questioned his thinking, morals or behavior, even though her attitude was always one of amusement. Now, in ads for the 6.11 British opening of Florian Zeller’s film, the Sly Fox is back. Except this time around Colman appears delighted by her dad’s rascally ways. No more sighing, eye-rolling or tearful regrets of any kind — eccentric old dad is simply irresistable. A scoundrel, but she can’t help herself!
So with Los Angeles opening up (restaurants, movie theatres, shopping malls) and on the day that President Biden and the CDC announced that masks are no longer required for fully vaccinated adults (indoors and outside), Bill Maher, who’s been fully vaccinated, tests positive for COVID. This Friday’s show has been cancelled. Bizarre on Maher’s part (reportedly asymptomatic), and over-cautious on HBO’s, it seems. They can’t do another show or two from Maher’s Bel Air home, like they did last year?
Leslie Jones to “Just for Variety“‘s Marc Malkin (5.12): “When [the COVID vaccines] first came out I was like, ‘I’m not taking that shit.’ They’re just going to come up with a potion and we’re supposed to take that shit? I was like, ‘I’m going to wait until the last batch and then maybe somebody could talk me into it.’
“But then Jones spoke to her aunt’s friend, a biologist working in COVID research. “She was like, ‘This is very serious…please get vaccinated.’ But Jones still wasn’t ready until she was asked to host the MTV Movie & TV Awards, airing live from Los Angeles on 5.16: “I was like, ‘I gotta be sage so let me just go bite the bullet.’”
In other words, if serendipity and self–interest hadn’t intervened — if Jones hadn’t spoken to her aunt’s biologist friend and hadn’t landed a MTV Awards hosting gig — she might still be a vaccine hold-out. America ravaged by 583,000 COVID deaths, a life-saving vaccine finally comes along and in certain quarters the response is “no way!” Brilliant.
When the COVID vaccines began to be available earlier this year, I was like ‘how can I get that shit? I wanna get jabbed and quick…where do I sign up and how do I do it?” My first injection happened on 2.23, the second on 3.16.
Posted on 11.20.07: I’d love to get into Denzel Washington‘s The Great Debaters, which I saw this evening, but it’s early yet. Discussions and terms await. But it’s essential to mention Nate Parker, who plays one of three African-American debaters (the other two played by Jurnee Smollett and Denzel Whitaker) from Wiley College in 1935 who wound up debating the Harvard University team, under the guidance of Washington’s Melvin B. Tolson.
Nate Parker
I’ve never seen Parker before, but he’s got it. Charismatic, good-looking…a “tan” Paul Newman (as Newman was in The Young Philadelphians) who looks people in the eye cool and steady, and perhaps has a slight weakness for women.
Parker has only been in the game since ’04. He’s acted only on TV and in crappy movies so far. (I missed his supporting performance in Pride, the swim-team sports movie with Terrence Howard and Bernie Mac that opened last March.) Worse, his next two are low-rent exploitation films — Tunnel Rats (directed by — yipes! — Uwe Boll) and Felon. The Great Debaters is Parker’s first and only A-level effort. He needs to build on it and move in another direction, or in five years he’ll be Dorian Harewood. It’s his call.
All I know is, Parker has a quality, a presence, a vibe. He could be another Denzel. A small group I spoke with after tonight’s screening agreed on this point, or at least that he’s Newman-esque. It’ll be intriguing to see what happens.
Unable to recall or even investigate where this remote horse ranch in the Belizean jungle was located, or the name of the couple who ran it. The guy was from Texas — I remember that much. And the howler monkeys in the high trees. And the fact that we went swimming in a lake, and under a waterfall. Fall of ’90, 30 and 1/2 years ago.
I love listening to Oliver Stone expound on any subject — everything he says is human, honest, heartfelt, perceptive. But I couldn’t listen at the beginning of this chat with Washington Post film critic Ann Hornaday because he couldn’t get the framing right. His phone wouldn’t hold position and kept tipping upwards. And he’s sitting too far back. Oliver finally got it after four or five minutes.
Chilly, calculating eyes are fairly common in any social business environment. Some peepers may radiate inner warmth or sincerity, of course, but many don’t. I personally don’t think you can really “read” anyone’s eyes unless you have close proximity. And yet Christian Bale once (allegedly) claimed he could sense coldness or emptiness behind Tom Cruise‘s eyes. So if Bale went there, it’s fair to ask the HE community who else seems to have a certain robotic vacancy behind the eyes.
Not discerning or shrewd eyes — that’s something else. I mean eyes that block and tell you nothing.
“Everyone reflexively smiles when they meet people socially. Some smile slightly, some a little too much but often with the same glazed eyes. Not much sincerity offered or expected. Mostly. Their teeth are gleaming but their eyes are scanning you like a Manhattan detective, trying to assess your nature or strengths or potential threat levels in the space of two or three seconds.
“I felt this when I met CAA honcho Mike Ovitz in ’88 — he had the eyes of a timber wolf. The eyes of MPAA president Jack Valenti, whom I met in ’84 at the Sportsmen’s Lodge, weren’t as feral but he was definitely sizing me up.” — posted on 9.25.16.
“You got cop’s eyes” — Julie Harris to Paul Newman in Jack Smight‘s Harper (’66).
“I walked with him, right beside him, back into the hotel. And his eyes rested upon mine a couple of times. He didn’t know me well, only slightly. And his eyes were absolutely cold, always…really cold gray. The smile was in the [eye] crinkles and in the mouth and the big teeth, but the eyes always remained, I always thought, very cold and calculating.” — Robert MacNeil on JFK on 11.22.63, 2:10 to 2:31, emmytvlegends.org.
You don’t have to agree with, much less admire, a politician or activist to acknowledge that they showed courage by sticking to their principles under fire.
