I wouldn’t call myself “sad and lonely,” at least not in the Buck Owens sense of that term. But I do understand and relate to those anxious, intensely focused, mostly melancholy fellows who tend to populate Paul Schrader‘s films — aka “God’s lonely men”.

Because I’m more or less one of them. Not in a mopey or morose sense (or so I prefer to think) but certainly in the sense of being aware of the anxious and predatory nature of things out there, and certainly since the monsters came to Maple Street two or three years ago.

I have, I think, a livelier, spritzier attitude about things than, say, Ethan Hawke‘s “Reverend Toller” in First Reformed or Willem Dafoe‘s “John LeTour” in Light Sleeper, and I’m certainly more talkative and less guarded than Oscar Isaacs‘ William Tell in The Card Counter. But I relate in certain basic ways.

The Card Counter is a tight, well-organized, stripped-down drama about Tell and his basic situation, which is to play cards in various casinos and frequently win but at the same time stay away from the big pots — bet modestly, win modestly. Because he’s a shrewd and meticulous-minded fellow, and not stupid enough to agitate the pit bosses, who are always on the lookout for “counters.”

The film is only peripherally about cards and casinos, of course — it’s mainly about the wearing of a Schrader mask while grappling with buried guilt.

I found The Card Counter entirely solid and sturdy for the first 70 or 80 minutes. In my view it doesn’t end right — doesn’t quite bring it all home. But I didn’t feel burned or under-nourished either.

It’s basically a three-hander — Isaac plus costars Tye Sheridan (“Cirk”) and Tiffany Haddish (“La Linda”). Willem Dafoe‘s character, a former military guy (“Major John Gordo”) whom Isaac’s character served with during the Iraq War, is too peripheral (at least in terms of screen time) to be called an ensemble member.

In any event four-fifths of the film is taut and absorbing, and Isaac’s performance is highly respectable.

But Haddish’s character, a kind of casino scout who reps big-money guys who are looking to invest in exceptional poker players, never seems to really matter that much. I have to add that I didn’t believe her performance, and that she has no chemistry with Isaac. Matters of trust, attraction and sexuality between these two never seem the least bit interesting, much less central or necessary.

The film definitely goes soft when William and La Linda go on a date, taking an evening stroll through a lighted outdoor garden and becoming intimate later that evening. (Or soon after.) I was asking myself “why is this happening?” and “what could William having sex with La Linda possibly have to do with anything>?”

The sexual communion and levitation moment between Ethan Hawke and Amanda Seyfried in First Reformed was a whole different thing. It was transcendent, liberating, other-worldly.

At the very end La Linda pays a visit to William in the same manner that Lauren Hutton visited Richard Gere at the close of Schrader’s American Gigolo, and in which Marika Green visits Martin LaSalle at the end of Robert Bresson‘s Pickpocket. My basic reaction was “this isn’t right…it diminishes the value of the previous two visits.” I’m not saying the ending fails, but it certainly underwhelms.

And yet the fact that I found The Card Counter to be four-fifths effective is a ringing endorsement — seriously. I can shrug off an ending if it doesn’t quite get it.

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So that’s all she wrote for Ridley Scott’s The Last Duel — seen, considered and more or less dismissed as a sullen “damp mullet” melodrama by the Venice Film Festival critical watchdogs. What turned me off in West Hollywood is Dariusz Wolski’s affected bluish-gray color scheme. I’m a huge fan of Frank Tidy’s natural toned, Barry Lyndon-ish cinematography in Scott’s The Duellists (‘77); it would have been heavenly to return to that palette in Duel…but nope.

Having premiered a week ago at the Venice Film Festival, Edgar Wright‘s Last Night in Soho (Universal, 10.29) screened last night at the Toronto Film Festival. A cool and sexy time-trip ride during the first hour (visually mesmerizing, transporting ’60s pop tunes), but then it devolves into horror…WHAT ELSE?

Welcome once again to the realm of Edgar Wright, a gifted director with a geek maestro sensibility that always gets the better of him.

World of Reel‘s Jordan Ruimy: “It’s a very silly movie. Wright’s strongest work is still Baby Driver if you subtract the last 20 minutes, when it goes off the rails.”

HE: “Agree about Baby Driver. I know that I’ll never, EVER trust Jason Gorber’s opinion about any Wright film.”

JR: “Soho has a strong first hour. First half is pure pleasure. An amazing swinging ‘60s soundtrack. You live and breathe the setting. But then it devolves into infantilism.”

HE: “Thank God — you’ve made my day feel right.”

JR: “Wright’s obsession with genre cinema, particularly giallo stuff, becomes a bit too much.”

HE: “I could tell that from the trailer.”

JR: “He’s such a gifted visualist but can’t seem to let go of his obsession for more, more, MORE.”

HE: “Yup — no discipline.”

JR: “The twist is idiotic. Wright goes for wokeness. More or less a #MeToo horror revenge film. It’s a mess.”

Excerpt of 9.4.21 Venice Film Festival review by Variety‘s Guy Lodge: “Wright’s murky, middling blend of horror and time-traveling fantasy briefly makes the heart quicken. Otherwise, Last Night in Soho is a surprising misfire, all the more disappointing for being made with such palpable care and conviction.

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Last night a guy named Jack Yonover (@jyonnie18) raved about a projected 35mm trailer for Paul Thomas Anderson’s Licorice Pizza (seen in what theatre?). He was impressed by the “texture and feel of the ‘70s.”. Which was what Inherent Vice looked and felt like (simulations of dirt, scratches, reel-change marks) and nobody was particularly mesmerized. It was just “okay, PTA is conveying that celluloid ‘70s vibe”…whatever.

Another guy, Andrew Bundy (@andrewjohnbundy), saw the same trailer and was impressed by Sean Penn‘s excited portrayal of a ‘70s Nazi (in Los Angeles?) and Bradley Cooper kneeling between red and blue muscle cars while holding hammers in a way that reminded Bundy of PTA’s Punch Drunk Love.

In short Yonover and Bundy were taken with the mood, visual stylings and atmospheric minutiae of the trailer. Which suggests that the trailer cutters may have decided against conveying a hint of a basic story. Which suggests…

This 104-second passage is, I feel, the greatest ending of a feature-length documentary ever assembled. Particularlv between the 1:00 and 1:25 marks. Neil Young‘s “Keep On Rockin’ In the Free World” never sounded so glorious as it did in this instance. Fahrenheit 9/11 opened in Cannes on 5.17.04 and won the Palme d’Or, opened theatrically on 6.25.04, earned $222.4 million domestic, and George Bush was re-elected.

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As we speak Ridley Scott‘s The Last Duel (20th Century Studios, 10.15) has a failing (60%) grade on both Rotten Tomatoes and Metacritic. Plus Hollywood Reporter critic David Rooney has called it “an uneven Middle Ages #MeToo epic.” And Variety‘s Owen Gleiberman has described it as “sort of medieval, anachronistic, and more than a bit concocted.”

From Gleiberman’s 9.10 Variety review: “The plot turns on an act of sexual assault, and in the second segment the movie flirts, however briefly, with treating that act the way that Kurosawa’s Rashomon did: with supreme ambiguity.

“But that would be a dicey thing to do in our era, so the film backs off from any ambiguity. Morally, that leaves it in good standing. But dramatically, it leaves it sort of just sitting there.

“We get de Carrouges’ [i.e., Matt Damon‘s] version of the events. Then we get Le Gris’ [Adam Driver‘s], which is just different enough to tease us. Then we get Marguerite’s [i.e., Jodie Comer], which matches up entirely with de Carougges’. By then you feel the wind going out of the movie’s sails.

“There are entertaining bits throughout. Ben Affleck plays the count as a supercilious, foul-mouthed libertine who likes to bed four women at once, and you feel how much fun the actor is having playing someone this piggish in his arrogance. Jodie Comer makes her mark, holding the screen with a calm fire. And though it’s occasionally hard to distinguish the intentional from the unintentional awkwardness in Damon’s performance, it’s amusing to see him stray so willfully out of his comfort zone.”

When Damon was co-writing and then acting in The Last Duel, he probably wasn’t anticipating that a Variety critic would describe his performance as partly “amusing.”

Gleiberman: “The climactic duel, a re-enactment of the last one ever sanctioned in France, is certainly a slash-to-the-death rouser in that Gladiator-in-chain-mail way.”

The Wikipage for Licorice Pizza (UA Releasing, 11.26), Paul Thomas Anderson‘s L.A.-based ’70s drama, includes the following cast members:

Bradley Cooper as Jon Peters
Cooper Hoffman as a child actor and high school student
Skyler Gisondo
Benny Safdie as Joel Wachs, a politician running for office.
Ben Stiller as Cowboy Carl

Plus: Alana Haim, John C. Reilly, Christopher Walken, Joseph Cross, Nate Mann, Sean Penn, Tom Waits, Maya Rudolph, Mary Elizabeth Ellis and Destry Allyn Spielberg.

Even among those who didn’t care for Pablo Larrain‘s Spencer (like myself) there’s a fairly broad consensus that Kristen Stewart‘s performance as Diana, the tormented Princess of Wales, will probably snag a Best Actress nomination.

And yet a post-TIFF-screening tweet by senior CBC entertainment reporter Eli Glasner avoids praising the film (he merely describes what Spencer is like) and says that Sally Hawkins‘ performance as a royal maid whose big dramatic moment arrives when she quietly announces her sapphic love for Diana…Glasner ignores Stewart’s acting and tweets “Hawkins for the win.” What does that tell you?