“Gucci” Wants You To Feel Her Pain

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Ridley Scott‘s House of Gucci (UA Releasing, 11.24) is a cool, muted, decently made docudrama about how the Gucci family business gradually went downhill in the ’80s and ’90s, and how the 1995 murder of Maurizio Gucci (Adam Driver) by killers hired by Maurizo’s ex-wife, Patrizia Reggiani (Lady Gaga), seemed to signify this decline.

The problem for me was one of expectation. Goaded by the trailers and that Patrizia Reggiani-slash-Lady Gaga money quote — “I don’t consider myself to be a particularly ethical person, but I am fair” — I was expecting Gaga to deliver a ruthless, high-camp, carniverous dragonlady — a new version of Joan Crawford in Mommie Dearest.

Alas, despite what Team Variety and the fawning Twitter whores are saying, that’s not what this movie is. It’s not out to make Reggiani some kind of fang-toothed pit viper. It’s actually about trying to portray her in a half-sympathetic light. And so House of Gucci is basically about how an admittedly ambitious woman reacts when she’s scorned and bruised and cast aside.

Beware of Bad Acting

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I don’t believe Kyle Rittenhouse‘s tearful breakdown for one single second. I don’t think this is the first time he’s related the facts of the shootings, and I’m certain he’s reviewed and rehearsed his testimony with his defense attorney[s] several times. “Excessive” is not the word for this Proud Boy’s crying on the stand — it’s embarassing. He’s a terrible Midwestern actor, and certainly an insincere one.

In His News Anchor Prime

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After 28 years with NBC and at 61 years of age, MSNBC’s Brian Williams could keep going for at least another 15 years, and yet the New Canaan, Connecticut resident has announced that he’s stepping down “to spend more time with [his] family.”

I don’t know what’s really going on here. The wealthy Williams is certainly entitled to do whatever the hell he wants. But since John Mitchell announced in July 1972 that he was resigning as Attorney General to spend more time with the family, that excuse has been universally derided as complete bullshit.

Williams knows that, of course. So using the words “spend more time with family” forces us to interpret it as a kind of code message. Williams is obviously telling us that the real reason is something else. I hope it’s not health-related.

Bellbottoms Must Be Stopped

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It’s not Maggie Gyllenhaal and Dakota Johnson‘s “fault” — tens of thousands of fashion-conscious women blindly follow the dictates of avant-garde designers. And now, unfortunately bell-bottoms (aka ’70s-retro flares) have caught on. Two of the perpetrators are Gucci and Ganni Plissé-Georgette.

HE to Gyllenhaal, Johnson: Please don’t — they look awful. Not to mention Johnson’s ghastly super-wide jacket lapels.

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Posters That Are Better Than The Film

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Hats off to whomever designed this poster. Cool and classy, excellent poise and balance, a suggestion of tragedy. Kristen Stewart doesn’t wear a black outfit of any kind in the film, but that’s okay. The poster is the poster and the film is the film, and Spencer doesn’t live up to what the poster conveys or promises.

What are some other instances in which a poster was much more exciting and engaging than the film it was selling?

Always Meant To Watch It

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Tatiana has seen some of Lawrence of Arabia, but not all of it. And the portion that she’s seen, she’s never been enthusiastic about. Because she has some kind of blockage about the dusty Middle Eastern milieu or something. I’ve heard of other women having similar reservations, just as some guys might have concerns about seeing an all-female flick.

I spoke to one reluctant viewer, Sonya Collings, on Facebook this morning:

An excellent Peter Sellers story about the shooting of the Prince Feisal tent scene begins at 21:45…

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“Unless You Stop Clicking Your Heels Around Here!”

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“I’ve never understood why Billy Wilder’s One, Two, Three doesn’t get half the love that Some Like It Hot does. I will bravely defend this gem a week from Sunday (Nov. 21) at the Los Feliz American Cinematheque. Humor and satire so fast and brash that it makes His Girl Friday feel like The Tree of the Wooden Clogs!. Come on down!” — Daniel Waters on Facebook.

I’ll tell you why it doesn’t get half the love that Some Like It Hot does. Because some of it is dated, some of it isn’t funny, and one or two scenes are dreadful. (Don’t ask.) But Act Three, which is all about James Cagney‘s C.R. MacNamara, a ruthless Cola Cola executive, changing Horst Buccholz‘s Otto Ludwig Piffle, a scruffy, revolutionary Communist, into a monacle-wearing dandy in a three-piece suit within two or three hours, is dead perfect. Especially….

Cagney to Buccholz: “Is that all the gratitude I get for getting you out of jail?”
Buccholz to Cagney: “You got me into jail!”
Cagney to Buccholz: “So we’re even.”

I would love to watch this 1961 classic with an enthusiastic crowd, but I’m worried about the AC’s intention to show a 35mm print. I have the Bluray, and it looks absolutely exquisite. Why don’t they just show a digital version? Film is over-rated.

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I’ve Always Been Unstuck In Time

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A couple of weeks ago I saw Robert Weide‘s Kurt Vonnegut: Unstuck in Time (IFC Films, 11.19), a decades-in-the-making portrait of the late beloved novelist, whose novels Weide fell for a long time ago. And then he met Vonnegut and bonded with him, and began filming the doc back in the early ’80s (or something like that), and now, 40 years hence, it’s finally done.

I’m a Vonnegut fan and therefore partial, but Weide’s film is an intimate and devotional portrait of a fascinating, very special Great Depression and WWII-generation writer…a guy who became an inspirational cult figure for God-knows-how-many-hundreds-of-thousands of youths in the late ’60s and ’70s and beyond the infinite and all the way to Tralfamadore.

I’ve almost always been “somewhere else”, all my life. Hence the name of this column.

At any given moment I’m back in Paris or Prague or Hanoi, or in junior or senior high school or suffering through my tweener years, or tapping out a piece on my IBM Selectric in either my West 4th Street or Bank Street apartment, or hitting the Mudd Club in the early ’80s, or getting bombed or doing drugs with my friends in the early to mid ’70s or listening to David Bowie‘s “Beauty and the Beast” on a friend’s bedroom stereo in the late ’70s. Or traipsing around a wintry Park City during the hey-hey Sundance years (’95 to ’15).

Occasionally I’ll pay attention to people I’m talking to or events I happen to be witnessing or places I happen to be, but most of the time I’m Billy Pilgrim.

Oh, and Speaking of “Blue Velvet”…

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In the fall of ’85 I was working for New Line Cinema as an in-house publicist for A Nightmare on Elm Street, Part 2: Freddy’s Revenge.

The Jack Sholder-directed thriller (which is better than half-decent) costarred Hope Lange, who at the time was shooting a supporting role in David Lynch‘s Blue Velvet.

One afternoon somebody called Lange about some p.r. matter. Before picking up she apparently had an idea that a Blue Velvet person was calling. Her tone of voice was very spirited and friendly during the first 15 or 20 seconds of the call, but things turned sour and rancid when she realized she was talking to a New Line person. As in “ohh, it’s you guys…can I help you?” (originally posted on 5.5.19)

Late to Stockwell’s Passing

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When I think of the 40-ish Dean Stockwell, I think of his flitty weirdo-pervo characters. Like the mascara-wearing creepo-pervo he played in David Lynch‘s Blue Velvet (’86), and the mobster he played in Jonathan Demme‘s Married to the Mob (’88), for which he landed a Best Supporting Actor nom.

But the strongest currents in Stockwell’s career were stirred by his boyhood and young-man roles, specifically the son-of-Gregory Peck in Gentleman’s Agreement (’47) and the lead in Joseph Losey‘s The Boy With The Green Hair (’48), and then, as he got into his mid ’20s, Richard Fleischer‘s Compulsion (’59), Jack Cardiff‘s Sons and Lovers (’60) and Sidney Lumet‘s Long Day’s Journey Into Night (’62).

I’m sorry but Quantum Leap doesn’t even come to mind.

One thing I didn’t know is that Stockwell designed the legendary jacket cover photo of Neil Young‘s “American Stars ‘n Bars” (1976).

Stockwell died two days ago in New Mexico. He was 85. I’m very sorry but then again he led a full life…fuller than most.

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One Big Question

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…that no one and I mean no one will have the nerve to ask during this evening’s post-screening q & a.

Thanks There’s no disputing that Beanie Feldstein‘s performance as Monica Lewinsky (particularly that look of shock and intimidation and primal fear) is fully present, and obviously skillful and affecting.

But for a miniseries in which the makeup department used every trick in the book to make the actors look as much as possible like the character they were playing (especially in the matter of Sarah Paulson‘s Linda Tripp), they were given a hopeless task when it came to Beanie. I’ve seen all seven episodes thus far, and her lack of resemblance has thrown me each and every time. Why then?

The apparent idea was to emphasize Beanie/Monica’s victim status…the huge gulf between mousey little Beanie and Clive Owen‘s silky Bill Clinton…doubling-down on Clinton’s opportunism and sexual exploitation. But if a gifted actor with at least a slight physical resemblance to Lewinsky had been cast, the miniseries would have been that much better.