The trailer for Forever, an original Amazon series from Parks and Recreation collaborators Alan Yang and Matt Hubbard, is obviously inspired by David Lynch‘s Blue Velvet — i.e., suggestions of soul-stifling boredom and perversity lying beneath the banality. Eight half-hour episodes or something close to three and half hours all told. Maya Rudolph and Fred Armisen‘s marriage encounters darkness and depravity on a ski trip. Costarring Catherine Keener (Get Out), Noah Robbins (Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt), and Kym Whitley (Master of None). Premiering on Friday, 9.14.
Late yesterday afternoon Tatyana and I were hiking the trails and neighborhoods of Topanga Canyon. The sun was going down and the atmosphere was warm and fragrant and altogether perfect except for the flies, but while walking on Encina Road a couple of weird, vaguely negative encounters with older Topanga women occured.
Encounter #1: We were heading back to Entrada Road when a late 50ish hippie-chick type wearing a half-pound of mascara approached with the oldest and fattest Chihuahua I’ve ever seen in my life. It was as if the poor dog, who appeared to be in his mid 80s in canine years, had been eating nothing but cupcakes and french fries his entire life. I shouldn’t have said anything, but for some reason I blurted something about her dog being in his declining years.
Mascara hippie chick stopped and turned and said, “Why did you just say that?” Me: “Sorry…it was the first thing that came into my mind.”
In fact, I lied — the first thing that came into my mind was that this poor dog would most likely be dead from a heart attack within six months or even sooner, and so I translated this observation into a vague remark about dotage.
“Well, I just got him from the pound,” the woman said with a steely, half-hostile smile, “and my first thought was that he’s beautiful.” I said something approving — “Sounds good!” — and we walked away. God, some people. We all understand love and compassion for mistreated animals, but the dog was clearly withered and not even close to healthy. Some things are better left unsaid. My bad.
Mike Nichols and Buck Henry‘s The Graduate, perhaps the most culturally on-target, stylistically audacious and emotionally affecting relationship comedy in Hollywood history, opened exactly a half-century ago — on 12.22.67. But guess what? It’s time for a significant portion of that respect and glorification to go away, and for two reasons. I’m presuming that HE readers can guess the first without reading any further.
Just as former New York Post critic Lou Lumenick proclaimed a couple of years ago that Gone With The Wind has become a disreputable and even odious film because it reflects unfortunate racial attitudes of the late 1930s, Vox’s Alissa Wilkinson announced yesterday that it’s time to take The Graduate down a peg or two, partly because of recent allegations of sexual harassment and assault against Dustin Hoffman, and partly because Benjamin Braddock is a dullard — a far less interesting character than Anne Bancroft‘s Mrs. Robinson or even Katherine Ross‘s Elaine Robinson.
HE response #1: Deplorable as Hoffman’s behavior is alleged to have been during certain encounters in the ’80s, when The Graduate was shot he was a 29 year-old actor doing his damnedest to make the Braddock character sympathetic and engaging, and for the last half-century just about the entire civilized world has agreed that he achieved that goal. You can’t come along 50 years later and say “But Hoffman acted like a sexist asshole in the ’80s!” and so everything he did creatively before, during and after the Reagan era has to be darkly re-assessed.
HE response #2: On top of which Nichols and Henry, The Graduate‘s director and screenwriter, deliberately portrayed Braddock as confused, unfocused, de-politicized and largely inarticulate for the first 65 minutes. That was all a set-up for the big pivot point when Benjamin realizes he loves Elaine and is determined to end his affair with her mother. The first hour and change is about a bumbling guy in a passive-reactive state of mind, and the last 35 or 40 minutes is about this guy struggling to achieve a goal and attain a kind of emotional fulfillment.
HE response #3: Wilkinson doesn’t take credit for her “Mrs. Robinson is a more layered and intriguing character than Braddock” opinion, which I happen to agree with as far as the first 65 minutes is concerned. She acknowledges, in fact, that Roger Ebert offered this opinion at the time of the film’s 30th anniversary. She could have added that Sam Kashner said the same thing in a 2008 Vanity Fair piece about the making of The Graduate.
If anyone can send me a recent draft of Liz Hannah‘s script for The Post, the fast-track Steven Spielberg film about the Pentagon Papers crisis of 1971 that landed the Washington Post and the N.Y. Times in the crosshairs of the Nixon administration, please advise.
As recently reported by Deadline‘s Mike Fleming, The Post will begin shooting this May with 20th Century Fox intending to open it by December. Obviously a locked-in, ratified, slam-dunk Best Picture contender. So far it has Tom Hanks as Washington Post editor Ben Bradlee and Meryl Streep as Post publisher Katherine Graham.
The big question is who’s going to play American patriot Daniel Ellsberg and N.Y. Times reporter Neil Sheehan, the guys who stood up and broke the Pentagon Papers story.
Just as United 93 focused on the entire air-traffic control confusion of 9/11 and not just the specific incidents aboard that fateful United Airlines flight, The Post will need to tell the whole Pentagon Papers story — most of it happening over a 17-day period in June 1971 — and not just the Washington Post‘s side of things,
First and foremost because Sheehan and the Times were the first to spill the beans, and in so doing proved that the Johnson administration lied over and over about the Vietnam War. The Post got in on the action five days after the Times began publishing Pentagon Papers excerpts on 6.13.71, and of course they and the Times got into a major Supreme Court battle with the Nixon administration over the right to publish such material.
On 6.30.71 the Supremes decided in favor of the Post and other newspapers who had published Pentagon Papers content, 6–3, stating that the Nixon gang had failed to meet the heavy burden of proof required for prior restraint injunction.
Eli Wallach was the uncle of N.Y. Times A.O. Scott? Somehow or some way that information had eluded me until this morning. The greatly admired Wallach passed into the infinite late yesterday, at age 98. I was starting to crash when I read the news around 11 pm or so Pacific, and my first flash was his performance as the fiery Caldera in John Sturges‘ The Magnificent Seven (’60). Wallach may have regarded Seven as a paycheck gig (“Movies are a means to an end…I go and get on a horse in Spain for ten weeks, and I have enough cushion to come back and do a play”) but Caldera is eternal and certainly rules this morning.
Wallach had been cast as Private Maggio in Fred Zinneman‘s From Here to Eternity (’53), but then the mafia left a horse’s head in Harry Cohn‘s bed one morning and Frank Sinatra got the role instead. Seriously, Wallach abandoned Maggio when he was given a starring role in Elia Kazan‘s production of Tennessee Williams‘ Camino Real. Sinatra was overjoyed. Wallach was touching and feisty but not quite commanding as the lonely and widowed Guido in John Huston‘s The Misfits. I never much cared for The Good, The Bad and The Ugly — too many pretentious close-ups, too much of a strenuous attempt to push its own mythology — so Wallach’s role in that admittedly legendary film never sunk into my head…sorry. Oh yeah, that’s right — he had a supporting role in The Godfather, Part III but nobody likes to think of that film. Better to sweep it under a rug.
Sarah Palin did us all a favor during the 2008 Presidential campaign by revealing her stunning ignorance of nearly everything essential for a Vice-Presidential candidate to know. Her name is now and forever synonymous with the term “rural rightwing cluelessness,” and thank God for that clarity. Not that this matters to the righties in the bubble. They can shut out anything. They’re Jedi Masters at that.
If you’ve read John Heilemann and Mark Halperin ‘s “Game Change,” a well-vetted history of the ’08 campaign on both sides, the content of Jay Roach‘s Game Change, which focuses only on the McCain-Palin side of things, will add nothing to your knowledge of Palin’s antics. The film does, however, make clear how thick she really was, and it does, in my view, seal her political tomb with fresh warm cement.
Game Change (HBO, debuting Saturday) is absolutely vital viewing, and not just because it’s great truth candy. It also delivers two superb performances — Woody Harrelson‘s as McCain campaign manager Steve Schmidt and Julianne Moore as Palin. Both will be up for Emmy’s later this year, trust me.
There are two phases in both performances. For the first 30 or 35 minutes Schmidt and Palin are about ambition, anticipation and excitement. And when it starts to becomes clear what a myopic boob Palin is and how little she knows (and what great fodder this is becoming for the liberal media), they’re both enveloped by increasing levels of shock.
Harrelson is especially effective at conveying a sense of steadily building alarm that gradually morphs into something close to terror. Moore is playing the source of that, of course, so I didn’t feel the same empathy, but she’s awfully good at portraying a woman under the influence of all sorts of horrible denials and suppressions.
On top of which Game Change is a fascinating political drama that just tells what happened (everything has been vetted and verified), and yet is not really about “what happened” as much as a portrait of how the political arena changed four years ago — how an insubstantial woman and a very substantial man both ascended to great political heights on the strength of their personal metaphors and natural charismatic appeal. Barack Obama had the smarts and the patter and political background and Palin didn’t…but they were both manifestations of the same cloth.
I was also moved and persuaded by Ed Harris‘s portrayal of John McCain and especiallly Sarah Paulson‘s as Nicolle Wallace, a senior McCain campaign adviser who was charged with trying to prepare Palin for her various press encounters. In fact, this is the first performance Paulson has given that has prompted me to stand back and go “whoa.”
Because it’s an accurate retelling Game Change is not on Palin’s side. It couldn’t be. It’s mainly Schmidt’s story with a seasoning of Wallace for added pathos. They both suffered greatly, but it was Schmidt who urged McCain to pick Palin as his running mate so he’s got the python wrapped around his neck. I’ve been there. I’ve made mistakes that won’t go away, and I know what kind of hell that can be. This is one of Harrelson’s best-ever performances. I liked it better than his work in Rampart, and that’s saying something.
“Like most great films, The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo gets better with the second viewing,” writes Awards Daily‘s Sasha Stone, “and probably even better with the third and fourth viewings.” In other words, Stone blew off last night’s IMAX screening of Mission: Impossible 4 — Ghost Protocol for a second gander at Tattoo. Life is choices.
“The Stieg Larsson books are densely detailed. Once the names settle in and the plot somewhat becomes less complicated, the film breathes. Fincher is well known for his exactitude and one simply cannot get everything that’s going on the first time through — especially some of the more intricate shots, like one in particular of Rooney Mara’s thighs with her hand dangling to one side holding a gun. His films, like Hitchcock’s and Scorsese’s, are made to be studied. He takes so much time with each shot that repeated viewings will always pay you back with one discovery after the next.
“Sure, but listen to critics who write it off because it’s not The Social Network.” That means me, folks! I’m a bad guy because I said it’s first-rate but still second-tier Fincher.
“By the end of the film, the whole point of it comes to life. This is a movie about a girl, all right. Her hard shell finally cut through, as she encounters the one man who cares enough about her to bring her a sandwich for breakfast and stand ten feet back from her, never reaching out his hand so much as to shake hers. As Blomkvist, sweetly rendered irresistible by Daniel Craig, keeps his distance from Salander, so does the girl with the dragon tattoo want to move closer to him.
“To fall in love is to have the most important layer pulled back, and the softest of flesh exposed. It’s a risk Salander has avoided for her own sake for most of her life. But to keep all surfaces protected means to repel everything that comes softly near. And that is an even bigger risk: to never have the sweetest thing.
“I look around this year at the films that are headed for Best Picture and I’m seeing mostly movies about men. Even if Dragon Tattoo wanted to be about about a man it has been overtaken by a girl.”
Yesterday afternoon I announced Hollywood Elsewhere’s Tyrannosaur fundraising campaign with the idea of raising $2000 to cover the rental of a screening room that Strand Releasing doesn’t want to pay for. I’m happy to announce that just shy of $700 — more than a third of the amount required! — is now in the safe. So I’m asking again for all believers to step up and throw in $20 or so to help pay for this. Tyrannosaur power!
Send your Pay Pal dollars to Jeffrey Wells (gruver1@gmail.com).
The backstory behind this bizarre but encouraging turn of events is right here.
Strand has told me that BAFTA will probably offer their facilities for a screening under their auspices, but that they also appreciate HE’s efforts and will work with me to set up this tastemaker screening, which will presumably happen next week or the week after.
Here’s a link to all my Tyrannosaur stories over the last nine months or so
“The most original adult love story I’ve seen in ages,” I wrote during Sundance 2011. “Easily the biggest shock of the Sundance Film Festival so far. I didn’t see this one coming — it’s a much stronger and more focused film than I expected from a smallish British drama about an older working-class guy with a temper problem. It curiously touches.
“Tyrannosaur is a drama that deals almost nothing but surprise cards — a tough story of discipline, redemption and wounded love. Cheers to director-writer Considine for making something genuine and extra-unique. He’s not just an actor who’s branched into directing with a special facility for coaxing good performances — he’s a world-class director who knows from shaping, cutting, timing, holding back and making it all come together.”
“I didn’t mention the actors — Peter Mullan, Olivia Colman, Eddie Marsan — but their performances simultaneously stand alone and reach in and grab hold. In fact each and every performance (and I mean right down to the dogs) is aces.
“The beast of the title is Joseph (Mullan), an alcoholic, widowed, violence-prone rage monster who lives alone in Leeds. He all but melts when he encounters Hannah (Colman), a kind and trusting shop merchant who shows Joseph a little tenderness. Hannah talks the Christian talk but is just as close to alcohol, which she’s turned to as a sanctuary from her ghastly marriage to a homely, ultra-possessive monster of another sort (Marsan) who brings violence and subjugation to Hannah on a constant basis.
“Once Mullan and Colman have formed a kind of friendship, the inevitable final conflict with Marsan awaits. One naturally expects (and in facts savors, truth be told) some sort of howling, knock-down, face-gashing fight between Mullan and Marsan, but…well, I’ll leave it there but it’s more than a bit of a surprise what happens.
“I was so taken with Tyrannosaur in the screening’s immediate wake that I shared my reactions with a young freelancer I’d spoken with in the cattle tent. He’d just seen it as well, and basically went ‘meh.’ My mouth almost fell open. ‘You think what we just saw is just okay?,’ I thought but didn’t say. Jeezus Christ. It takes all sorts and sensibilities to make a world.”
Just another $1300 to go! Please give if you can.
Paddy Considine‘s Tyrannosaur, one of the most assuredly artful and emotionally affecting films I’ve seen this year, is playing on Friday (i.e., tomorrow) and Sunday at the L.A. Film Festival. I’d been presuming that an opportunity to interview Considine would be there for interested journalists. But Considine isn’t attending the festival deu to being on a shoot somewhere, and he’s not doing any phoners either, I’m told.
Tyrannosaur costars Peter Mullan, Olivia Colman, Eddie Marsan.
And there’s no YouTube trailer, although I’m informed that one is being finalized as we speak. I don’t get the absence of a trailer for a major film that played at Sundance 2011, which was six months ago, with the film about to show twice at LAFF. What could Strand be waiting for? I’m trying to persuade them to let me speak to Considine anyway.
Here‘s what I wrote last January:
“A publicist asked for a quote about Paddy Considine’s Tyrannosaur, and here’s what I gave her: “The most original adult love story I’ve seen in ages. Easily the biggest shock of the Sundance Film Festival so far. I didn’t see this one coming — it’s a much stronger and more focused film than I expected from a smallish British drama about an older working-class guy with a temper problem. It curiously touches.
“Tyrannosaur is a drama that deals almost nothing but surprise cards — a tough story of discipline, redemption and wounded love. Cheers to director-writer Considine for making something genuine and extra-unique. He’s not just an actor who’s branched into directing with a special facility for coaxing good performances — he’s a world-class director who knows from shaping, cutting, timing, holding back and making it all come together.”
“The performances from Peter Mullan, Olivia Colman and Eddie Marsan simultaneously stand alone and reach in and grab hold. In fact each and every performance (and I mean right down to the dogs) is aces.
“The beast of the title is Joseph (Mullan), an alcoholic, widowed, violence-prone rage monster who lives alone in Leeds. He all but melts when he encounters Hannah (Colman), a kind and trusting shop merchant who shows Joseph a little tenderness. Hannah talks the Christian talk but is just as close to alcohol, which she’s turned to as a sanctuary from her ghastly marriage to a homely, ultra-possessive monster of another sort (Marsan) who brings violence and subjugation to Hannah on a constant basis.
“Once Mullan and Colman have formed a kind of friendship, the inevitable final conflict with Marsan awaits. One naturally expects (and in facts savors, if truth be told) some sort of howling, knock-down, face-gashing fight between Mullan and Marsan, but…well, I’ll leave it there but it’s more than a bit of a surprise what happens.
“I was so taken with Tyrannosaur in the screening’s immediate wake that I shared my reactions with a young freelancer I’d spoken with in the cattle tent. He’d just seen it as well, and basically went ‘meh.’ My mouth almost fell open. ‘You think what we just saw is just okay?,” I thought but didn’t say. Jeezus Christ. It takes all sorts and sensibilities to make a world.”
A publicist asked for a quote about Paddy Considine‘s Tyrannosaur, which I saw late this afternoon. I haven’t written a review, but here’s what I gave her: “The most original adult love story I’ve seen in ages. Easily the biggest shock of the Sundance Film Festival so far. I didn’t see this one coming — it’s a much stronger and more focused film than I expected from a smallish British drama about an older working-class guy with a temper problem. It curiously touches.
Tyrannosaur costars Peter Mullan, Olivia Colman, Eddie Marsan.
Tyrannosaur director-writer Paddy Considine during filming with Olivia Colman.
Tyrannosaur is a drama that deals almost nothing but surprise cards — a tough story of discipline, redemption and wounded love. Cheers to director-writer Considine for making something genuine and extra-unique. He’s not just an actor who’s branched into directing with a special facility for coaxing good performances — he’s a world-class director who knows from shaping, cutting, timing, holding back and making it all come together.”
I didn’t mention the actors — Peter Mullan, Olivia Colman, Eddie Marsan — but their performances simultaneously stand alone and reach in and grab hold. In fact each and every performance (and I mean right down to the dogs) is aces.
The beast of the title is Joseph (Mullan), an alcoholic, widowed, violence-prone rage monster who lives alone in Leeds. He all but melts when he encounters Hannah (Colman), a kind and trusting shop merchant who shows Joseph a little tenderness. Hannah talks the Christian talk but is just as close to alcohol, which she’s turned to as a sanctuary from her ghastly marriage to a homely, ultra-possessive monster of another sort (Marsan) who brings violence and subjugation to Hannah on a constant basis.
Once Mullan and Colman have formed a kind of friendship, the inevitable final conflict with Marsan awaits. One naturally expects (and in facts savors, if truth be told) some sort of howling, knock-down, face-gashing fight between Mullan and Marsan, but…well, I’ll leave it there but it’s more than a bit of a surprise what happens.
I was so taken with Tyrannosaur in the screening’s immediate wake that I shared my reactions with a young freelancer I’d spoken with in the cattle tent. He’d just seen it as well, and basically went “meh.” My mouth almost fell open. “You think what we just saw is just okay?,” I thought but didn’t say. Jeezus Christ. It takes all sorts and sensibilities to make a world.
N.Y. Times critic A.O. Scott begins his Shutter Island review as follows: “[The film] takes place off the coast of Massachusetts in 1954. I’m sorry, that should be OFF THE COAST OF MASSACHUSETTS! IN 1954! since every detail and incident in the movie, however minor, is subjected to frantic, almost demented (and not always unenjoyable) amplification.”
Mark Ruffalo, Leonardo DiCaprio in Martin Scorsese’s Shutter Island.
“The wail of strangled cellos accompanies shots of the titular island, a sinister, rain-lashed outcropping that is home to a mental hospital for the CRIMINALLY INSANE! The color scheme is lurid, and the camera movements telegraph anxiety. Nothing is as it seems. Something TERRIBLE is afoot.
“Sadly, that something turns out to be the movie itself.
“The full dimensions of [this] catastrophe come into view only gradually. At first everything is fine, or at least not quite right in a way that seems agreeably intriguing. Mr. Scorsese uses his considerable formal dexterity — his intimate, comprehensive understanding of how sound and image work together to create meanings and moods — to conjure a tingly atmosphere of uncertainty and dread.
“[But] you begin to suspect almost immediately that a lot of narrative misdirection is at work here, as MacGuffins and red herrings spawn and swarm. But just when the puzzle should accelerate, the picture slows down, pushing poor Teddy into a series of encounters with excellent actors (Emily Mortimer, Jackie Earle Haley, Patricia Clarkson) who provide painstaking exposition of matters that the audience already suspects are completely irrelevant.
“Mr. Scorsese in effect forces you to study the threads on the rug he is preparing, with lugubrious deliberateness, to pull out from under you. As the final revelations approach, the stakes diminish precipitously, and the sense that the whole movie has been a strained and pointless contrivance starts to take hold.
“[Scorsese] seems to have been unable to locate what it is in this movie he cares about, beyond any particular, local formal concern. He has, in the past, used characters whose grasp of reality was shaky — or who stubbornly lived in realities of their own making — as vehicles for psychological exploration and even social criticism. But both Teddy’s mind and the world of Shutter Island are closed, airless systems, illuminated with flashes of virtuosity but with no particular heat, conviction or purpose.”
Laugh-out-loud amusing and “outrageous” as it sometimes is, Sacha Baron Cohen‘s Bruno (Universal, 7.10) — oddly — isn’t all that funny. Certainly not in a convulsive sense. It is sort of heh-heh funny in a dry, observational, “is that all there is?” sense… but what’s that? It’s basically a series of misanthropic “screw you” jokes — 82 minutes worth of effete put-on gags, each one meant to provoke homophobic reactions to SBC’s flamboyantly gay, blonde-coiffed Austrian fashion reporter. The point being to “get” the constipated illiberal, small-minded types by making them look bad.
All I can say is that clips and promotions and put-ons are one thing, but when you sit down for a movie you expect a certain build-up of dramatic and emotional elements — you need to see characters and story threads start to take shape and transform and “pay off” in some way. Bruno never even tries to get off the ground in this sense.
Neither did Borat, I realize, but this time the lack of undertow felt like more of an issue. I said to myself about 20 minutes in, “Wow…this isn’t happening.” I said the same thing at the 40-minute mark. Although Bruno has loads of great bits and goofs and snide attitude to spread around. Let no one say it doesn’t score from time to time.
The problem for me is that (a) the tread has worn down on the tires since Borat — a comedy of this kind just doesn’t feel as out-there brash as it did three years ago, in part because it’s harder to believe that the encounters in the film aren’t staged or performed by the victims, (b) the humor is more than a bit cruel and misanthropic at times, and (c) SBC’s Bruno character simply doesn’t work as well as the revolutionary Borat.
Borat was funnier because it was at least faintly conceivable that a dorky moustachioed TV correspondent from a small Kazakhstan backwater could be that culturally clueless. But Bruno is no idiot — he’s from Vienna, knows the fashion world, knows the rules of the game. The joke is supposed to be that he’s so blinded by ego, arrogance, ambition and random sexual arousal that he doesn’t realize how offensive and irritating he is to everyone he meets. And that’s just not buyable.
So what we’re left with is just watching SBC doing his best to put people on and make them squirm as best he can. I’m obviously gay, you’re perhaps a little uncomfortable with gay men, and so I’m going to up the ante more and more until that discomfort tips into some form of hostility (usually suppressed). Over and over and over. Because I’m convinced that you’re a yahoo of some kind, and the point of this film is to expose you as same and too bad if you don’t like it, Ugly American.
For me the best Bruno material has already been seen in the trailers and clip reels. The marketing campaign has been amazing. There’s certainly nothing in the film as good as SBC dropping into Eminem‘s lap on the MTV Award show. Or his recent Tonight Show appearance with Conan. All right, the Arkansas wrestling match sequence comes close, although (again) it’s not really all that hah-hah funny.
My favorite Bruno moment comes when Harrison Ford is confronted by a microphone-wielding SBC and barks a harsh “fuck off!” as he gets into a car. Why did I savor this in particular? Because it’s the only time that a victim expresses more hostility towards SBC than what he/she is getting from SBC to begin with. In short, Ford trumps. He’s saying in effect, “I don’t want to hear it, just go away, you’re not worth it, don’t even start…I’m ahead of you!”
I also liked a visual gag that I’m not going to spoil (although Variety‘s Todd McCarthy already has in his review) that involves a certain part of the male anatomy talking and gyrating.
Who was the first Bruno? Andreas Voutsinas, the thin, devil-bearded gay guy in Mel Brooks‘ original film of The Producers (’68). His character’s name was Carmen Ghia. He was living with Christopher Hewett‘s Roger De Bris (the guy Gene Wilder was referring to when he said “Max, he’s wearing a dress!”), and his first Bruno bit was when he, Wilder and Zero Mostel take a brief elevator ride together and he does a kind of suppressed-erotic-writhing routine.
I agree with McCarthy that the “gotcha!” sequence in which SBC pretends to come on to Ron Paul, who ran in last year’s Republican primaries (and whom my son Dylan was for until he switched to Obama), is “noxious.” When Paul realizes what’s going on he freaks and shows his true homophobic colors, but it didn’t feel fair or right.
I don’t want to sound overly negative here. I did laugh several times during Bruno. I came out in a relatively okay mood, wasn’t pissed off. But a feeling that it didn’t really make it began to grow in the days that followed. I tried writing about it yesterday but the review wouldn’t come, probably because I was torn between admitting to myself that I laughed and chortled at times and also realizing that the film has hostility and believability problems.
Remember that moment in Mad Dog and Glory when Robert DeNiro‘s cop character tells Bill Murray‘s mafioso character (who does a little stand-up) that jokes don’t work as well when they’re “aimed out” and that people tend to laugh more when they’re “aimed a little more in” — i.e., at the teller?
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