#fuck the nazis film fest

[antifainternational]

ALERTA! ALERTA! SOMERVILLE ANTIFASCISTA! Running until June 21st!

[cordeliaflyte]

My dream today!! It was a nightmare and it wasn't lucid which is rare for me. Like it was only scary dreamwise it's not scary to read. But does contain lots of Nazis. So basically there was this film rated 3.8 in letterboxd but this was an alternative universe when even the Godfather was rated like, 3.9, so this was insanely good. It was an animated children's film with a wolf in it so I was not expecting it to be terrifying right. WRONG. the wolf wasn't an actual wolf but a murderer who murdered the main character and his father very graphically and tortured his mother in a cemetery where they were digging up a corpse. I do not know why they were digging up a corpse. And this just sounds kind of disturbing and not like, genuinely terrifying, but it was saur terrifying because I somehow became the main character or whatever. And apparently this film, which was advertised as like. Equivalent to Coraline in scariness. Was a remake of a Stanley Kubrick thriller. In which the wolf was a Nazi but like in a way that's just like "wouldn't it be creepy if the villain was a Nazi!!" Without actually examining Nazi ideology in any way. So basically there was a woman working as a car mechanic and her car mechanic place or whatever hired this oldish guy to be like... Idk some job at the car mechanic place. And a month or so into him being hired she found out he was one of the most cruel concentration camp guards ever like torturous even by concentration camp guard standards. And she goes up to her boss and was like what the FUCK and it turns out that everyone knew and was fine with it they just didn't tell her because they thought she would freak out because she was Jewish. And they saw that as a totally unreasonable explanation for not wanting to work alongside a concentration camp guard. And his name was something ridiculously lupine think the German equivalent of Remus Lupin like idk Wolfgang Wolf or something. And he was also known as the wolf in court files or whatever due to the manner in which he tortured his prisoners. And literally no-one but her saw that as an issue and the rest of the film was this woman gets kidnapped and tortured and killed shock value fest. It was mostly disliked by critics because they saw it as exploitative and they hated how it made the villain a Nazi and the main character Jewish just for a laff like none of it made sense the Nazi was American for some reason it was just weird. And the children's remake which was even scarier and more torturous was like yeah we'll cut the Nazi part that's too mature for children. We will keep the rape and necrophilia though. And I was stuck in these films I kept being like wow this was just a film and then you dreamt of it ok but then I'd see the killer guy everywhere or something this doesn't sound scary in a way that awakens an ancient terror inside your soul. But it was!! The exact same ancient terror I felt in the "my great grandmother was a cannibal who fed my brother and I human flesh" dream and the "Nazi documentary film" dream

[darkarfs]

the worst movie tie-ins in the history of wrestling

Wrestling is stupid, and will show its ass at the mere mention of cross-promotion, especially when it comes to movies, which is it's cooler older brother that can get away with a lot more. Hell, the 2nd ever SummerSlam's main event, in 1989, was Hulk Hogan facing the main villain, Tiny Lister as Zeus (RIP), from the film they were both in, No Holds Barred. So wrestling's always wanted a piece of that. So... - Army of the Dead Let's just get this one out of the way. Here's the thing; I thought the WrestleMania Backlash's card was fucking perfect...except for this weird business. WMB MIGHT've been the best show of the pandemic (hot take) were it not for making sure we sell Big Dave's big zombie heist movie. If they had just kept some of the guys in zombie makeup on the Thunderdome's webcam footage, that would have been borderline charming. But instead, the Miz (who was WWE champion 3 months ago, don't forget) and Damien Priest (who they're making WWE's pop-culture liaison so far on the main roster, for some reason) had to sell for zombies in a lumberjack match. If this was the first ever wrestling show you watched with a loved one who had never watched wrestling or hadn't since like, the end of the Attitude Era, would you for a second want them to stick around after Miz and Morrison get, for all intents and purposes, kayfabe killed and eaten, and then watch Damien Priest shoot the logo at the ceiling? My money's on "no." - Shaft Speaking of the Attitude Era, anytime someone tells you that wrestling was cooler in that 3-year time frame, point them to the June 15th of 2000 episode of SmackDown, where a storyline that ran throughout the show followed Patterson and Briscoe through New York City to find Crash Holly and his Hardcore Title. Now, I admit parts of this are kinda funny, like Briscoe just wanting to give up and find a "gen-yoo-WINE New York hot dawg!" That's fun! And who does Crash Holly run into but none other than Shaft, and his woman, the only one who understands this complicated man, John Shaft. So, we have real Samuel L. Jackson, playing fake John Shaft, talking to real/fictional Crash Holly, and man is it weird. Anyway, Shaft agrees to be Crash's bodyguard for the night, and he slaps around Patterson and Briscoe in a nightclub. After all, what better way to get across how cool and badass a character is than having him knock around the fucking Stooges? - The Wrestler Well, this is complicated. The Wrestler, starring ancient wooden lion Mickey Rourke, is a somber tale about an industry that, in its heyday, left people physically spent, washed-up and addicted to adrenaline at best, and dead at worst. It famously moved Roddy Piper to tears because he recognized what destruction and brokenness the industry once left in its wake. Which is why it's super-weird that WWE jumped at the chance to promote maybe the bleakest possible look at their world in 2009, and did so by having Chris Jericho smack the shit out of three old wrestlers at WrestleMania 25, including Roddy Piper. And then have Rourke jump into the ring, wearing his "do you want to take peyote in the desert?" starter kit and bring out his amateur boxing chops. Tonally, it's just really bleak. Like if the creator of Super Size Me screened the premiere at the world's biggest McDonald's. - Bride of Chucky Poor Rick Steiner. You didn't deserve this. You're the sane Steiner. They shouldn't have made you talk to the puppet. So, WCW was heading into Halloween Havoc 1998, and after years of stomping all over the WWF in the ratings, the wheels had come off, and dramatically. Like, all at once. Like the car in the Blues Brothers. To boost PPV buys, they spent a fortune bringing in the Ultimate Warrior to rekindle a feud with Hulk Hogan, mostly by hiding in his fucking mirror. And the Steiner Brothers, one of the best teams of the early 90s, had been feuding with one another since Scott turned on his at SuperBrawl. What was the best way to build hype around this match at Halloween Havoc? Why, to have Rick get into a war of words - and lose - to Chucky. Yes.

Serial killer doll voiced by Brad Dourif, and it's so sad. Chucky cusses Rick out while Rick challenges the fucking doll to a fight, which is promptly ignored (Chucky's video segment is pre-recorded, and you can tell because he starts talking about 3 times in 3 minutes while Rick's mid-promo and missing his cues to stop) and then is made fun of. And all the while, people were probably wondering "what's going on on Vince's show?" and the answer is...that was the episode of Raw where Austin fills Vince's Corvette with cement, which is slightly more badass than being teased by a puppet. - The Goods Here's the thing: Raw is, right now, a bad show. It is bad TV. It's been bad for a while now. And as bad as it is right now, it's still not as fuck-awful as it was in 2009, aka the Age of the Guest Hosts (which, in kayfabe, was given to us by Donald J. Trump, so blame that ambulatory Nazi scrotum for one more thing, he's certainly earned it). For those of you fortunate enough to not be watching what was objectively unwatchable at the time - and hell, I sure as shit wasn't checking in very often - from mid-2009 to around mid-2010, a celebrity would be the special guest host of Monday Night Raw, often to promote a TV show or movie, and it was nearly all horribly-written, cheesy wank. Imagine if every week was the week of the zombie attack at Backlash. That's what it was like. Bob Barker was funny. The Muppets were good. And THAT'S the end of the list. MacGruber coming out to blow up R-Truth made me want to fall on a knife. The A-Team coming out to beat up Virgil was fucking awful. Go straight to fucking HELL, the Three Stooges, Dennis Miller, the reverend Al Sharpton, the 2010 Pittsburgh Steelers, Don Johnson and Jon Heder, the poor entire cast of Hot Tub Time Machine...and then there's Piven. Jeremy Piven. He showed up with Ken Jeong to promote a movie no one remembers...called the Goods. He stunk up several segments, infamously called SummerSlam "the Summer Fest" and then got roughed up by John Cena. Wrestling's the worst. Stop watching. And many did. For a looooooong time. - Robocop 2 This one's infamous, so I'll keep it brief. Robocop 2 came out in 1990, and goddamn, I don't know how much money the producers threw at WCW, but it was enough for them to rebrand an entire PPV "Capitol Combat: the Return of Robocop" and marketed the entire thing around the fancy metallic gentleman. The branding really made it seem like Robert Cop was old friends with the promotion, and indeed, old friends with Sting. Makes sense; two big, heroic idiots running on BASIC. He had been feuding with the Four Horsemen, who locked him in a cage at ringside. Out comes Robocop, called completely straight by Jim Ross, who rips the cage door off his hinges, and then leaves. An accumulated 85 seconds of screen time. Totally worth being the centerpiece of this PPV! But a little context as to why WCW fans hated it so much: 1989, the year before, was regarded by WCW fans as one of the best in company history. The era that gave us stuff like Chi-Town Rumble and the still-very-much-lauded peak of the Steamboat/Flair feud. To go from that to Robocop was seen as a bit of a slap in the face, because WCW was always seen as the more traditional "wrasslin'" company and was never into cheesy pop-culture crossovers, which is why the last one...is all the funnier.

- Ready To Rumble First of all, those dumbasses at Turner had to give Michael Buffer - who they still had on retainer - around $350,000 just to use that title, because he owns the trademark to that phrase. Strike 127 million, capitalism, that a guy gets to own a phrase and gets paid an obscene amount when he or anyone else uses it. Secondly, I initially wasn't going to do movies where the promotion itself is producing the movie, or oh holy HELL would See No Evil and the infamous May 19 shit be on here. But unlike See No Evil, this had a hand in killing a decades-old wrestling promotion, so it feels weird to not include it. On April 7th, 2000, bad movie Ready To Rumble was released, a film about two hapless dorks trying to help Oilver Platt, aka the lawyer from the West Wing, become WCW World Heavyweight Champion. Two weeks later, to promote the movie, they made David Arquette, the lead actor in the movie, the WCW World Heavyweight Champion. He pinned Eric Bischoff, who wasn't the champion, of course, in a match where he was teamed with Diamond Dallas Page, his best pal and the company's top babyface at the time, but who is also one of the villains in the film to make it extra confusing for the mainstream casual audience the movie was made to attract. And, to be fair, Arquette didn't want to do it, NO ONE really wanted to do it, and it tanked viewership for WCW once and for all. At the very least, David took his payday from the wrestling appearances and the film and gave it to the families of Owen Hart, Brian Pillman and to Darren Drozdov, who had been paralyzed from the neck down in a wrestling match the previous year.

[letterboxd]

Cannes 2019.

Doug Dillaman reports from the first few days at Cannes, where a polarizing Brazilian mystery draws inspiration from Directors’ Fortnight honoree John Carpenter.

Films receiving riotous mid-film applause. People walking out. Wildly unpredictable audience behavior is par for the course at the Cannes Film Festival, but at the premiere of Bacurau, Kleber Mendonça Filho and Juliano Dornelles’ rousingly assured and constantly surprising film, both happened at the same moment. That sums up the polarizing nature of the work. Fans of Aquarius will recognize aspects of Mendonça Filho’s extraordinary technique, to be sure, but may also be taken aback by the directions in which he goes.

A quick scan of our members at the fest confirms the confusion: “Doesn’t always work but is excitingly ambitious in what it packs into its runtime,” writes Andy Hazel. “A gloriously demented (and lightly psychedelic) Western,” enthuses David Ehrlich. “The experience was just unpleasant for me,” writes Victor Cannell, who left early.

Directors Juliano Dornelles and Kleber Mendonça Filho in Cannes. / Macri Roland/Shutterstock.com

It won’t be a surprise to those who have followed Mendonça Filho’s career, including his red-carpet protest of Brazil’s government at the 2016 Aquarius premiere in Cannes, that Bacurau—named after the small northern Brazilian town where the film unfolds—is a heavily political film. It arrived on the world stage amid controversy, as the government has demanded the return of money used to fund Mendonça Filho’s debut, O Som ao Redor (Neighboring Sounds). “It’s unprecedented in the history of filmmaking in Brazil, to return this money with interest. It makes no sense at all. We are fighting it with lawyers,” he says.

At the Cannes premiere, the cast and crew found themselves overwhelmed with emotion and caught crying by the cameras. At the following day’s press conference, Mendonça Filho elaborated: “There is this whole idea of destroying the arts in Brazil. It’s fucking amazing to have these Brazilian films here while they’re trying to hide the Brazilian cultural output. That’s one of the 57 reasons we were crying.”

Also shedding a tear was prolific German star Udo Kier, who spoke lovingly of the three weeks he spent filming in “paradise”, and the honor of sharing a scene with Sônia Braga, who he’d adored watching in Kiss of the Spider Woman. “Someone said to me last night ‘you made over 200 films’. But! 100 are bad. 50 you can enjoy with alcohol. And 50 are good.” (It’s safe to say Bacurau is in the latter category.)

Producer Emilie Lesclaux and actors Udo Kier and Bárbara Colen do press for ‘Bacurau’ in Cannes. / Macri Roland/Shutterstock.com

The Brazilian cast members were equally proud of the film, if not more so, given the voice it gave to their struggle. It would be a spoiler to tell you which character said it was an honor to die on screen, but Thomas Aquino, who plays a native of Bacurau, spoke plainly about the value of the film as a cultural object. “We use this movie as our weapon. This is our protest. This is how we fight. Doing culture, doing education.”

While the press conference focused on Bacurau’s cultural content, its cinematic roots are equally front and center. And no influence is more primary than horror directing legend John Carpenter, which Mendonça Filho and Dornelles make clear in the film, from a local school that bears the name of ‘Joao Carpenteiro’ to the bold use of one of the maestro’s recent tracks during a key night scene.

“I have no choice. I must make movies. It's a lifelong affair.”

John Carpenter stops for the cameras ahead of receiving the Carrosse d’Or at the 72nd Cannes Film Festival. / Regis Duvignau/Reuters

The respectability of John Carpenter—hurrah!—is official, a move that comes as a long overdue but pleasing development for the maestro. During the first days of Quinzaine des Realisteurs (Directors’ Fortnight), Carpenter received Le Carosse D’Or, an honorary award for his lifetime of work. He chose a screening of The Thing to mark the occasion, noting that at the time of its release, it bombed. “Even the fans hated it. So I thought it would be incredible revenge on them to screen it at Cannes.”

In an hour-long Q&A hosted by French directors Katell Quillévéré and Yann Gonzales, Carpenter delivered pearls of wisdom in humble, self-deprecating style. From making the titular Thing work on screen (“it’s just a pile of rubber in a room, you’ve got to make it scary”) to finding a crew (“you want to find people who are better than you”—the best advice of the fest so far) to underplaying his use of the Steadicam (“It’s a poor man’s dolly, you don’t have to set up tracks … I’m not an innovator. But if it makes me sound smarter, I will accept innovation.”), he happily gave the impression of someone who doesn’t overthink things.

This came through especially clearly in his description of his directing style: “I get the actors out of makeup, have them roughly walk through the scene, see where they’re going to stand through my viewfinder, and set up the shot. It takes about five minutes. All this has become instinctual over the years.”

Carpenter’s favorite part of making a film, though, is just before cameras roll: “The anticipation of making a movie is exciting, when you have the script and the funding … but then the hard work and pain comes. The most exciting thing is when it opens in theaters, and means I never have to think about it again.” While he doesn’t have a script ready to go, he did note that he “needs to do another alien invasion movie” and “would love to make a thriller in Europe”.

Fingers crossed. In the meantime, he eschews going to the cinema himself: “In America it can be an unpleasant experience. People use their phones … I’m afraid of what I would do to people if I experience that,” but keeps up with recent horror via screeners, noting that it’s inspiring to see how other directors approach a scene and what they choose to emphasize.

Roddy Piper as John Nada in ‘They Live’ (1988).

Inevitably in 2019, politics raised its head. Carpenter noted that he’d gotten into a blow-up online regarding 1988’s They Live, which had been mis-interpreted by Nazi apologists as being about Jews. “I made it clear that it wasn’t. It was about yuppies! And then they’re arguing with me about what my film means!” He lamented that America is in a bad state, but also noted that what really makes him despair are international tragedies like the gassing of children in Syria. When asked what gives him hope, his answer was simple. “Talking to people gives me hope. You’re here, you care about cinema, you care about something other than yourself.”

That said, there’s a limit to what he’d reveal: when a fan asked if he could say which of the two characters at the end of The Thing was the monster, he replied simply, “I know which of those two men it is, but I’m not going to tell you.”

Carpenter hasn’t directed a film since 2010’s The Ward, enjoying a “rock star” life of watching basketball and playing video games (most recently, Fallout ’76), but he still sees himself as a filmmaker. “I have no choice. I must make movies. It’s a lifelong affair.”

While we wait for Carpenter to make his return to screen, it’s worth catching up with the films he shared as his biggest influences.

Reporting by Doug Dillaman.

[rynnaaurelius]

The de-sexing of superheroes, the frankly skillful de-politicization of one of the most political literary genres in comics, the frantic attempts to "no homo", to maintain the social status quo at all costs--this article is a must-read, frankly, if you call yourself a Marvel, MCU, or Disney fan.

Lately, I've been re-watching the so-called MCU highs (My parents got Disney+ and I'm at home). Black Panther, Iron Man, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Avengers: Infinity War and Endgame, most of WandaVision because I like making myself angry. Hell, I even re-watched Captain Marvel, Ep. 3 of TFatWS, and Loki.

And there was a very interesting common thread among them and their themes: Two-Act Syndrome. Basically, here's what goes down:

-Act I sets up interesting characters, world, and investment in conflict. Will include some fun fight scenes and badassery.

-Act II threatens to include interesting, even subversive themes. Will likely include varying levels of queerness, promises of unconventional bonding, and threats of interesting, complex dynamics.

-Act III. Bad CGI Fest. Follows the same damn template every time. If the villain has left-wing or left-adjacent politics they are Without Redemption. Will neatly tie everything off in a heteronormative, magical, ultimately hierarchy re-enforcing ending that's just satisfying enough and saves just enough of your faves that you don't feel inclined to object or look too deeply into why that ending feels vaguely empty.

Black Panther introduces the idea of a country of Black people untouched by colonialism and white supremacy, the idea that it owes something to the rest of the world, that it can and should break the chains of white supremacy by force.

(And also maybe an absolute monarchy is still bad, even if Chadwick Boseman is great, but hey, Michael B. Jordan's playing a guy who hates Black women and wants to kill Chadwick Boseman, which is a lucky coincidence so that we can kill him off real quick there without you feeling too bad about it.

. . .please ignore the Nazi getting the redemption arc off to the side)

The Winter Soldier is so fucking gay it then spends three movies having to walk that shit back.

Like, I am not getting into the "Are MCU!SteveBucky queerbait?" argument on fucking Tumblr because that way lies madness (Spoiler: They're not, because Disney, but the material they're drawing from is queer in its own right so some of that stuck) but, uh.

One Totally Platonic Best Friend Who Has Been Brainwashed Into What He Hates And Sent to Kill Other Platonic Best Friend, Who Refuses To Fight Him As Platonic Best Friend 1 Punches Him In The Face And Screams, "You Are My Mission!" . . .

. . .After Firmly Re-Establishing In Same Film That He Has Vowed To Protect Best Platonic Friend "To The End Of The Line" On Repeat?

. . .that's not heterosexual, my guys, gals, nonbinary pals. There is a non-zero amount of queerness there, and if you don't believe me, just mentally swap around Peggy and Bucky in TWS and imagine the reaction in the considerably less queer mainstream.

(And then basically re-starts the cycle with Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes in TFatWS, by the look of things).

WandaVision has. . .okay, so I really fucking hate MCU!Wanda Maximoff, because she's whitewashed and Christianized when she's Jewish and Romani in the comics and that's a huge part of her identity (And she's played by an actress who won't stop saying the g-slur), but that aside. Valorizing and whitewashing the "fifties American dream" as something to aspire to without any de-construction of that at all--

--especially considering Wanda would barely be considered white in fifties America--

--is shite. I hate it. I see Vision and Wanda smiling happily because they're in the Fifties American DreamTM and my gay trans ass gets hives.

I refuse to engage with the material until people at large deal with that fact. Anyway. Those are some of the highlights (Some lowlights include Captain Marvel turning my beloved Carol and Monica into Air Force propaganda, Loki being a mess that wants so bad to be queer but can't make it, Tony Stark is a libertarian wet dream, etc).

And. . .look. While this article is an indictment of capitalism and Disney and our entire attitude around the arts, I think it's very much worth interrogating why this is so accepted.

"Because capitalism" is useful in some regards, but not in this. These movies would not go down so easily if their politics were not also popular.

I am, of course, not saying to seek out only ideologically pure media, because that doesn't exist and would only exhaust you and make your life that bit less richer, but to be wary of the politics in the films you consume. Be aware of what you're looking at and what you're agreeing with.

"I like to watch the MCU but a lot of its regressive, conservative politics annoy the hell out of me and I avoid giving money to Disney via piracy," is a sentence you can say.

Stop giving Disney money. Learn how to pirate stuff. Be ungovernable. Live, laugh, love. I dunno.

The Marvel Juggernaut: With Great Power Comes Zero Responsibility by Megan White

[ask-lightning-n-dusk-blog]

Am I the Only One to Notice?

This is inference I suppose.

How many of you have to blush when you admit you like this:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hwK_WOXjfc0

(If it’s because you’re a feminist with a broom handle up her four point of contact, declaring it sexist because-

I’m not talking to you and you won’t like this article.

If you’re a man or woman ashamed to like it because just feels like you... it’s hard to explain, you just feel like you shouldn’t... read on

I’ve been noticing what seems like a trend over the years when it comes to gender differences in entertainment- they’re getting bigger. The more we hear feminists brag about killing “toxic masculinity” the more men and “tom boys” seem to want to eliminate more feminine or even neutral titles from their film libraries. In the military guys and even girls were mocked for liking, of all films, Sound of Music- ya know, only the third most popular film of all time, just two down from Gone with the Wind, and no guy these days would admit to THAT being in his top ten.

I’ve done a little research and yes, I’m aware of the phenomenon of gender differences actually amplifying in egalitarian societies. However one thing I would put forward. What if there is a reason for this outside of nature and economics? Particularly with the “toxic masculine”, is there a reason more men and boys love to talk about the brainless crap put out by Michael Bay, but are scared to talk about Pride and Prejudice?

I mean, yeah, I’ve noticed a number of romance stories tend to view male characters in a very demeaning way, Edward and Jacob are card board cut outs made overtly to please women and their feelings and futures are portrayed as not even mattering. I can see men having a problem with Twilight, but Citizen Cain? That’s not even a romance but many guys are afraid to talk about it because it’s not, I guess, “manly enough”. It’s even ironic to talk to these “manly men” about films like Sound of Music and notice how they can practically quote the film verbatim and yet they “don’t like it”.

(Skip this paragraph if you frankly don’t care about the feminist explanation.) The feminist explanation for this is an international subconscious male conspiracy that can never be proven real or not by science because its definition is too nebulous. (Am I wrong? Am I really? How is it you know exactly what I’m talking about Fems?) The same subconscious male conspiracy referenced in the Duluth Model, which is used to assume default male responsibility in cases of domestic abuse which has seen men put away for trying to report abusive women. It also probably has something to do with rape, one of the most basic, terrifying and violent crimes known to human kind, being declared a women’s issue, despite little to no evidence that men are less likely to experience it. (I guess you feminists can take solace on that one, after all, when you refuse to protest the FBI not referencing “made to penetrate” in it’s definition of rape, you are indeed not supporting thousands upon thousands of women whose rapes would fall into that category, so hey, “equality” there.) So yeah, fuck off with your dumb conspiracy theory.

Well here’s my own subconscious analysis. When you tell someone their interests, like action heroes and brutal fast paced animes are “toxic” particularly because of born traits that they can’t change, they become defensive of those interests. When someone has to defend their interest or feels their interest is being delegitimized, they focus undo attention on it. They then try to justify how their interest is good, often turning a product that is decent or even sub par, into a magnum opus in their own head, an opus so amazing, nothing that doesn’t replicate it is worthy of your time.

Want an example of this in a different place? Look at the brony fandom. Yep, I’m honestly examining something I’m part of. My Little Pony is- okay. That’s it, it’s- okay. Even as kids shows go its-okay. But for some bronies, they have made MLP their gold standard, even guys who used to have much more diverse interests. There are MANY MANY bronies like this. In fact MANY male fan bases for feminine shows end up calling their show some kind of gold standard, like the small niche of male Winx fans or male fans of Lady Bug.

If you have to defend your love of something, that love intensifies, and as that love intensifies, other interests start to pale. They pale to the point where you honestly start to feel shame that you like things that are TOO different from the interest your defensive of.

Basically, yes fems, by constantly calling legitimate interests, like super heroes and action movies “toxic” YOU are the ones causing growing divides. Men who have these interests are now feeling the need to defend them

“Boo hoo, male tears!” Yeah yeah, never said this was serious, but seriously, tell me again about the pink bottle being more expensive than the blue bottle and why you can’t just buy the blue one

So, to men and women alike who love super heroes and action movies and have trouble admitting that you also like things like Gone With the Wind, my solution is to say “it’s fine”. If you like the dumb explosion fests that are the Michael Bay Transformers franchise, that’s fine. You don’t have to defend it. Lots of money, time, creativity (at one point), ingenuity, expertise and know how went into those films. I could sooner reproduce a scene from the latest AMC version of Pride and Prejudice than a Transformers squeal. I hate them personally, but there is probably a lot to love. Your interest is FINE. It’s NOT toxic. I hear you, the explosions look amazing and the special effects were and sometimes are ahead of their time. I get the same chills you do hearing Optomis’ voice done so well. I get that you love seeing a beloved franchise you thought dead, reborn on the big screen, there’s nothing wrong with liking that. For those of your waiting for the “but” there isn’t one. Like whatever you like, it’s fine. Your personality doesn’t require my approval.

Okay so I guess there is a “but”. Can you give movies like Sound of Music and Gone with the Wind another chance? To the girls, its fine to like girl and guy things, it’s even fine if you recognize them as “girl” and “guy” things and like seeing them that way (how many people had to pause after reading that line?). If you’re a girl who loves Transformers and really does want to be seen as different for liking it, though different in a positive way, especially because you put hours of effort into that Bumble Bee cosplay, and your tired of people telling you your beloved movie is the worst thing ever- it’s not the worst thing ever- and seriously, that costume is AWESOME! To guys, I’m on your side. The explosions were pretty cool. And ya know what, if you like those explosions, it doesn’t mean you want to beat your wife or anything else that might be implied by the term “toxic”. Now that I said all that, can you give classic and varied cinema a chance again? C’mon, I doubt the highest rated stories of all time got that way by being gender specific or nechie. You might still not like them, but c’mon... this is just so beautiful:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5fH2FOn1V5g

And for those of you who think its just for girls, this too is amazing:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mMuTDdWXbNo

He’s probably one of the best male protags I’ve seen in film to date. And yes, someone is trying to make him change and evolve- difference? He’s not the only one who has to, his discipline is shown to be good in it’s proper place, and we’re made to care about him as a person. The Captain is never portrayed as just a brute. The Captain is broken and his masculinity is corrupted. When he’s shown how to open up again, he then uses his discipline and true manliness, to protect his family from the REAL Nazi empire. Don’t think he’s manly? The dude stares down a gun from a real life Nazi and doesn’t even blink.

[avanneman]

Quentin Tarantino’s Once Upon A Time In Hollywood: not entirely the all-out misogynistic gore-fest I had been expecting!

When Quentin Tarantino was a young man, he had dreams, as young men do. These are among the things that Quentin Tarantino dreamed:

That he would kick Bruce Lee’s ass;

That he would save Sharon Tate’s ass;

That he would have a pitbull that would bite people on the ass (also the nuts);

That he would share a “moment”—an extended one, actually—with an insanely precocious eight-year-old girl, like that Eloise of the Plaza girl or maybe that Esmé girl in that Salinger story;1

That he would have maybe murdered someone (like his wife, just for example);

That he would beat the crap out of some dames; and

That he would be a bottom.

Tarantino reveals his dreams in a meticulously tricked out mélange of fake reality, real reality, fake dreams and reals ones, all basking in the warm California sun that shines over the capital of dreams, fake and real, Hollywood, California, the place that makes Oz seem normal. Tarantino subjects us to an elaborate collage of fake and real film clips, fake ads for fake tv shows, fake promos for fake tv shows, fake versions of real tv shows, fake movies, real movies, even fantasy versions of real films, in the service of four separate story lines, all set, naturally, to a carefully honed and seriously swinging sixties soundtrack, much of it heard on car radios, complete with “period’ DJs, jingles, and ads.2 But despite all the artifice, once the narrative gets going, the whole story is very simple, despite all the detours, which generally come off as self-indulgent and sentimental, since Tarantino is self-indulgent and sentimental—except when it comes to dames.

I’m sure that the idea for Once Upon A Time must have been kicking around in Tarantino’s head for years, if not decades, but the film’s basic vibe still seems heavily influenced by James Franco’s recent semi-classic The Disaster Artist, the now-legendary tale of Tommy Wiseau and Greg Sestero,3 two star-struck shaggy-dog scooby-doo dudes adrift and a-dreamin’ in the LA LA Land shark tank who escape eating only because they aren’t worth the consumption. Tarantino’s leads, Leonardo DiCaprio as “Rick Dalton” and Brad Pitt as “Cliff Booth”, are a little bit further up the food chain. Once upon a time, Rick was a star, with a big house and the whole schmear, the star of the TV western Bounty Law that finished its run in 1963. Six years later, he’s still got the big house, but the career is flagging. In fact, he’s so down on his luck his posse consists exclusively of his main man/stunt man Cliff, who chauffeurs Rick around (because, of course, Rick lost his license), listens to his frequent tales of woe, and tries, ever so gently, to keep him on the straight and narrow, while always assuring him that he’s still the Man, and always will be.

We first pick up on Rick and Cliff, the first two strands of our story, via what strikes me as an, well, insanely unnecessary device—a black and white TV “featurette” on Bounty Law when the show was still running, featuring both men, in which Rick explains to the folks at home just what a stunt man is and why they’re so necessary—as if audiences in 2019 need to know this. The Bounty Law stuff is intercut with the third thread—a Pan Am jet arriving in LAX bearing a pair of obvious big shots, a short dude and a tall blonde who stride through the place surrounded by a crowd of paparazzi before transferring to a cute little vintage MG TF, whose 1250 cc engine bellows like a Ferrari 12 cylinder sans muffler4 when they hit the freeway.

After the black and white clip ends we catch up with Rick and Cliff in real life as Cliff drives Rick to a lunch meeting with agent Marvin Schwarz (Al Pacino, actin’ all Jewish on our ass and clearly having a ball), both Rick and Cliff enjoying lushly photographed mixed drinks in the grand tradition of Hollywood eye-openers while they wait for Marvin to show. When Marvin does, Rick introduces him to Cliff, “explaining” that his car is in the shop, so Cliff is filling in as his wheel man. “A good friend!” exclaims Marvin. “I try,” says Cliff.

Marvin and Rick have a sitdown and Marvin does a lot of talking, his spiel giving us more backstory on Rick, and it ain’t pretty. After Bounty Law died, Rick made a few movies (Tarantino naturally shows us some clips, including one of Rick incinerating some Nazis with a flamethrower) that died at the box office, and we even see a “kinescope” of Rick singing a fifties oldie, “The Green Door”, on Hullabaloo.5 Now he’s reduced to appearing as a “guest star” on other TV westerns, the villain du jour whose job is to be plugged by the real leading man. “Face it, Rick,” Schwarz tells him. “You’re in the rear-view mirror in this town, fading to black. Italy’s the place, and spaghetti westerns are the future! Give me the word and I’ll make it happen! But give me your decision soon, ‘cause I ain’t getting’ any younger, and, more to the point, neither are you!”5

Rick staggers out into a California sun that ain’t so much warm as scalding, throwing himself bodily into Cliff’s arms. I’m fucked, motherfucker! Fucked! I’m a fucked-up fucking former cowboy star who ain’t worth a damn! Italy, for Christ’s sake! Italy! Fuckin’ Italy! That’s all I’m goddamn good for any more! Goddamn fucking Italy!

Gently, Cliff talks him down, as he clearly does once or twice a week. Take it easy, big guy. You’re still the man. You’re still the man! And so they head out in Rick’s Caddy, Cliff at the wheel, a classic case of LA co-dependency, a West Coast version of Joe Buck and Ratso Rizzo, two guys chasin’ that dream, that dream that don’t seem to be getting all that closer, but, well, when you’re headin’ down La Cienega6 in a sweet Caddy, rockin’ those sweet sixties tunes, it still seems like it could come true.

As they pass down La Cienega, or wherever they are, they pass a bunch of dumpster-divin’ hippie chicks, setting up what will be the fourth strand of the story. After that, well, it seems that time passes, because all of a sudden it’s gettin’ dark, and Cliff takes the Caddy up a winding private drive, dropping Rick off at his big house, giving Rick a chance to fill us in on some more exposition. You know the secret of LA? Real estate, my man, real estate! Own, don’t rent! Then you belong here. Right on cue, the MG we saw earlier rumbles up the drive. It’s Rick’s neighbor, who, unlike Rick, has a gated entrance. See what I mean! You know who that is? Roman fucking Polanski, that’s all! Hottest director in Hollywood! What did I just say? What did I just say? In this town, you’re just one pool party away from the big time!. Cliff nods, as if he hasn’t heard all this a dozen times before, and then lectures Rick on the need for punctuality, for like tomorrow— “7:15! 7:15 out the door! 7:15 in the car”—before taking off in his sweet ride, a Karmann Ghia, which, by the sound, also seems to have had a Ferrari implant, replacing its stock four-cylinder VW mill with a V-12.7

Cliff blasts down the mountain-side in total LA bad boy mode, top down, hair ripplin’ in the wind, and heavy tunes blastin’ on the radio. Fuckin’ LA, man, fuckin’ LA! This is how we roll!

Well, this is how Cliff rolls until he gets out of the car, because LA is all about the wheels. Cliff doesn’t live in the canyon. He lives in the serious low-rent district (that is to say, Van Nuys), in a trailer, with both a pumping oil well and a drive-in movie theater to create a little noise pollution, which he combats, once he’s inside, with a black and white tv featuring Bob Goulet belting out “MacArthur Park”! The horror, man, the goddamn horror!

But he does have some company, in the form of “Brandy”, perhaps the world’s best-trained pitbull.8 To let us know that we’re watching a Quentin Tarantino movie—we were starting to wonder—Quentin ups the grossisity level considerably by having Cliff feed Brandy “Wolf Tooth” dog food (“raccoon” and “rat flavor”, no less), which looks exactly like shit, letting the slop drop plop in the bowl from about waist level. Two cans of the slop, plus a pound or two of kibble, make quite a mess, but real men ain’t neat. Cliff makes himself a saucepan of mac and cheese, pops open a beer, and plops in front of the tv. Life is good!

Life is good because Cliff is really happy that Rick is a loser. If Rick were a star, a real star, he wouldn’t need Rick. He’d use him, because that’s what stars do, but he wouldn’t need him. And Cliff needs to be needed.

Rick, meanwhile, is slurpin’ whiskey sours and learning his lines for the morrow’s shoot, the pilot for a new show called Lancer, while floating in his elegant, kidney-shaped pool, which, remarkably enough, has a killer view,9 as Tarantino’s elegant camera work will elegantly reveal.

Next door, things are a bit more lively. Roman and Sharon (she isn’t named, but of course we figure it out) slip on their glad rags and head for just the hippest place in town, the Playboy Mansion! Which didn’t actually exist yet in 1969, but whatever. One could wish—a little—that poor old Hugh Hefner were still alive (alive and, well, sentient) to see his old haunt pictured as the place where all the cool kids hung out back in the day.10 For whatever reason, Tarantino actually labels some of the big shots present so we’ll know who’s who, including Steve McQueen and Michelle Phillips and “Mama Cass” Elliot,11 the female singers of the sixties group The Mamas and the Papas.12

The shindig at the Mansion turns out to be the most carefully choreographed shindig I’ve ever seen. Everyone can dance—even the folks in the pool—and everyone’s in perfect time! It’s also the most chaste Playboy Mansion shindig I’ve ever seen—not a nipple in sight. But, even more strangely, we get a sour disquisition from wallflower Steve McQueen, no less, staring at Sharon’s sweet, swingin bod and moaning strangely about her strange taste in men, that leaves him shit out of luck. Hey, lighten up, Steve, and join the party! Why Tarantino thought we needed to know all this is beyond me. (Whether Steve really did have the hots for Sharon is also beyond me.)

The next morning, Roman is up, bright and early—at around 7:15, as a matter of fact—enjoying an outdoor French press while Sharon still slumbers—slumbers and snores, actually, because when you get up close, all chicks are just a little gross.13

Rick actually is up at 7:15 as well and heads off to the shoot with Cliff, though he clearly feels, if he does not exactly look, like shit, bent over double with one coughing fit after another and hacking up so much phlegm we figure he doesn’t have to worry about lung cancer because he won’t live long enough to get it. He tells Cliff that, no, he won’t be needed on the set—and he knows damn well why—so he might as well go back to Rick’s place and fix Rick’s tv antenna, because it needs fixin’. Cliff nods and takes off.

Rick stumbles through the set of Lancer looking for wardrobe. When he finds it he soaks his face in ice water—gotta tighten the damn pores, after all. Any star knows that. Plus it might help him remember his name, or even his lines. While Rick is still no more than half conscious, director Sam Wanamaker (Nicholas Hammond) bursts in, maybe not gay, but seriously exquisite. “Rick Dalton! Have I got plans for you! This is going to be amazing!”

Sam rattles and prattles on in a fit of aesthetic ecstasy, while Rick stares in semi-conscious horror. He doesn’t need this much enthusiasm. He’s here for a paycheck and this dude is talkin’ about “zeitgeists”, whatever the fuck they are. Seriously! Zeitgeists! And it’s waaayyyy too early for fuckin’ zeitgeists!

While Rick suffers, Cliff heads back to the canyon, running into the hippie chicks once more before reaching Rick’s place. It what seems like a parody of gay porno, he straps on a tool belt, and then leaps to the top of first one wall and then another until he’s up on the roof, much like a cat and not at all like the 40-year-old man he’s supposed to be. Then he pulls off his shirt, lights a cigarette and dons a pair of work gloves. Ready for action? Hell, yeah!

But before he starts to work Cliff has time for an extended reverie on just why he isn’t welcome on the Lancer set. Earlier, he had a job as Rick’s stunt man in an (imaginary) tv series starring Bruce Lee. Bruce, played by Mike Moh, comes off as a pretentious asshole, prompting Cliff to give him some serious sass. In real life, one suspects, sassing a star would get you not merely booted off the set but out of Hollywood forever, but instead Bruce and Rick agree to a genteel face-off, no punches to the head, just knock the other fellow down, best two out of three. Cliff goes down the first time, but then throws Bruce bodily against the side of a Lincoln Continental, causing a dent that looks like it was made by a 500-pound wrecking ball rather than a 130-pound Asian. That’s what you get for stealing our jobs, hot shot!14

But that isn’t the only reason why Cliff isn’t welcome on the set: there’s this crazy rumor that he killed his wife, which Tarantino encourages us to believe is true by showing us a flashback—whether Cliff “remembering” or Tarantino showing us “the truth” isn’t clear—of Cliff in skin diver gear on a boat listening to his bikini-clad wife bitching her head off about what a loser he is and Cliff maybe pointing his spear gun at her. Uh, so what is the point of all this? It has no payoff in the rest of the movie, leaving us to feel that Tarantino sort of wishes that people, especially women, would be afraid of him. You know that guy, Quentin Tarantino? Oh, yeah, he looks harmless, but I hear he killed his wife! Seriously!

Once Cliff finishes his reverie, he has a glimpse of the future instead of the past: a weird, hippie-lookin’ dude at the Polanski place asking about the previous tenant. We aren’t clued in, but if you know your back story you know this is Charles Manson.

While all this is going on in and out of Cliff’s head, Rick is having multiple adventures on the Lancer set. The whole Lancer episode is a curious mish-mash of fact and fancy. The “real” Sam Wanamaker did direct the pilot of Lancer. Whether Sam was as exquisite as portrayed seems a pretty open question. The actual Lancer series was a short-lived rip-off of Bonanza, which Tarantino sort of follows and sort of not, and sometimes it seems that Rick’s character “Caleb” is the good guy and the Lancers are the bad guys, and sometimes the other way around. We see several large chunks of the show, presented to us as the audience would see them—no crew or equipment visible—and in fact what we see is not at all what a sixties tv series would look like but rather a sort of ideal spaghetti western that Tarantino probably dreamed of making back in the day.

Before we even get there, however, Rick, dressed in character as “Caleb” has several “pregnant” conversations, the first with the stunningly precocious (and precociously PC) “actor” “Trudi Fraser” (Julia Butters), already in character as “Maribella”. Rick can’t eat lunch because of his makeup and “Maribella” likes to stay lean and hungry before a shoot. “We aim for 100% efficiency. We never achieve it, of course. But it’s the pursuit that counts.”

Rick, conveniently hocking up another loogie, looks like there’s nothing he’d like to pursue other than a whiskey sour or two and maybe a nap, but he takes a seat next to her to read his paperback western—a little surprising since I never saw him as having much appetite for print. Maribella, after correcting Rick’s pronunciation of his character’s last name (it’s not “Dakota”) and generally playing the eight-year-old dominatrix to a tee (though, as an “actor”, she would object to the feminine suffix), asks him what his book is about, and Rick launches into an extended précis: see, there’s this guy, he used to be just the coolest, toughest bronco buster around, but now, well, he’s getting’ old, his back ain’t so good no more, and every day he gets up knowin’ that, every day, he’s less of a man.

Rick tears up/chokes up as he’s delivering this thumbnail—because it’s his fucking story, get it? Maribella, as conveniently obtuse now as she was prescient before, misses the subtext. “It sounds like a really good story!” she exclaims, thinking he’s moved purely by the power of art. “In 15 years you’ll be livin’ it!” Rick gasps, and fortunately she doesn’t get this one either. And so she comforts him, not knowing just how very much he needs her solace. It’s sort of ironic when you think about it. But, you know, touching!

Somewhere about this time we cut to Sharon, who’s finally in motion in a spiffy new Porsche, heading to, where else, a book store! To get a first edition of Thomas Hardy’s Tess of the d’Urbervilles as a gift for Roman!15 Which may be true, or may be the biggest whopper in the movie. Anyway, who would figure Tarantino for a “reader”? Not me!

Once Sharon gets her book, she spots a movie theater showing The Wrecking Crew, one of the “Matt Helms” sixties flicks ripping off James Bond, starring the very tongue in cheek, and semi-over-the-hill Dean Martin, but co-starring, yes, Sharon Tate!16 When she’s inside we see clips of the real film featuring Sharon, first a meet cute with Matt/Dean that features clumsy Sharon falling on her ass and showing us her panties, and later a fight scene between good Sharon and evil Nancy Kwan, with Nancy falling on her ass and showing us her panties! Take that, Asian bitch!

Well, it’s always good to see chicks’ panties, but Sharon’s repeated piano key smiles as the audience conveniently laughs and cheers her on get a little self-congratulatory for my ass. Sharon is clearly depicted as the “new Marilyn,” speaking in the same breathy, little girl voice, utterly stunning and cool, yet innocent and sweet, a combination not often found in the real world.

Rick, meanwhile, is having his second serious sitdown, this time with the budding star of Lancer, Timothy Olyphant as “James Stacy” as gunfighter “Johnny Madrid”, Since James Stacy is supposed to be the new kid on the way up, he might be expected to look younger than Rick, and thus intimidating. In fact, Olyphant is six years older than Leo and pretty much looks it, and Stacy treats Rick with surprising respect. (Surprising to me, at least. Aren’t young actors supposed to be assholes?) But the real point of this is for Jim to ask Rick if it’s true that he was once up for Steve McQueen’s role in The Great Escape, the film that made Steve a star?17

Rick modestly denies the story, or at least strongly soft-pedals it. Me in Steve’s big part? No, not really. Brief possibility, that’s all. Very brief. But then we see, more or less, “Rick’s dream”—clips from the real Great Escape with Leo/Rick visually dubbed in to replace Steve. It could have been him. He could have had Steve’s career. Bullitt? The Thomas Crown Affair? It could have been him. It could have been him. He coulda had class. He coulda been a contendah.18

The thing is, Rick has never been presented to us this way. He’s been the big, strong, good-looking boy with the big, strong shoulders, who could get on and off a horse without falling on his ass, and that’s it. Rick is the kind of pretty boy who cruises through life as long as everything comes easy and then crashes in middle age, like Erik Estrada, not the relentless egomaniacal striver who never takes no for an answer no matter how many times he gets it, like William Shatner.

In the meantime, finally, Cliff makes actual contact with one of the hippie chicks, the cute ‘n wanton Pussycat (Margaret Qualley), swinging her tight little butt around like she owns the world. The thing is, she probably does.19 He agrees to give her a lift, but won’t let her give him a blowjob, “explaining” that he doesn’t want to go to jail, although we can tell that the real reason is that he’s a gentlemen. Cliff has the definite vibe of the old-fashioned B-movie cowboy hero that I grew up watching on tv, utterly chaste and emotionally devoted only to his horse (Cliff has Brandy, of course), too complete in himself to even consider sharing his essence with anything as, well, as common, as a woman.

Cliff gets a jolt when he learns that Pussycat is living at the “Spahn movie ranch”, where Cliff and Rick used to film Bounty Law. He explains to her that he used to be a stunt man there, allowing her to explain to us that stunt men are the real heroes, because what they do is real, they aren’t phonies like actors. Just in case we couldn’t figure that part out for ourselves.

Well, back to Rick now, I think, and get to see an actual chunk of Lancer, filmed far more extravagantly, and elegantly, than any tv western would have been, yet with a pretty much standard script, though with some pretty spectacular behind the back shooting from Johnny Madrid, putting an uppity “businessman” in his place. Better stick to your ledgers, pencilneck!

The bit rumbles on, with plenty of moody, “intense” attitude from Rick, a seen it all, done it all, existential cowpoke who might remind some us of another Rick, the one who ran Rick's Café Américain down Casablanca way. But midway through the scene he starts blowing his lines and ends up stalking back to his trailer (but would he really have one?) to explode at himself in a predicable yet enjoyable scene. You goddamned asshole! You’re going to quit drinking, you hear me, you goddamned alcoholic! God damn it!

Well, back to Cliff, I think, in what is easily the most impressive section of the film, the visit to the Spahn ranch to see Charlie’s angels. The girls are beautifully creepy, staring at the intruder like so many marmosets, Dakota Fanning particularly memorable as ruthless boss lady Squeaky Fromme, who in real life was not involved directly in any of the murders but became notorious as the “spokeswoman” for the Manson family during his trial, and more notorious several years later when she tried to assassinate President Ford.

Squeaky sends a girl to fetch “Tex”, Charles Watson, played by Austin Butler, who played the lead role in the Sharon Tate murders, to check out the new guy. Tex arrives on horseback, suitably enough, and, in some serious dick measuring, Cliff reminisces about his visit to Houston, where he spent two weeks on a chain gang. “That was the last time I broke a policeman’s jaw, I can tell you that!” Although I expect that if you broke a policeman’s jaw in Houston, Texas back in the fifties you probably wouldn’t live to talk about it.

Pussycat really digs guys who break cops’ jaws, and it must sound good to Tex as well, so he rides off, getting back to his job as guide for dudes who want to visit the mountains. But once he’s gone, Cliff starts to get a little pushy. Is old George Spahn still around? Sure would like to visit old George and see how he’s doing. The girls all tell him no, clearly infuriated by his decision to penetrate beneath the surface of their groupthink. Word gets back to Squeaky, holed up in what Cliff knows is George’s old house, so she sends all the girls away and tries to face down Cliff, but he faces her down instead and finally has a thoroughly creepy conversation with old George (Bruce Dern), blind and helpless and utterly dependent on the girls.

Cliff, utterly frustrated by George’s utter dependence—he can’t be “saved” because he doesn’t want to be—strides out to meet the glaring, feral eyes of the assembled family. As he passes, Pussycat leaps onto the hood of a car and screams “George isn’t blind! You’re the one who’s blind!”

Cliff keeps on walking, only to find out that Rick’s Caddy has a flat, thanks to a giggly, half-naked Jesus clone with hillbilly teeth. Definitely time to kick some goddamn hippie ass! Something Tarantino clearly digs almost as much as smelling chick’s feet.

Cliff grabs the punk by the hair and pummels him half to death. That’ll teach you! Now fix the goddamn flat! “Gypsy” (Lena Dunham) sends one of the girls off on a horse to get Tex—something she might have thought of earlier—and Tex comes riding up in an excellent display of horsemanship, that is as gratuitous as the beatdown Cliff gives the Jesus dude,20 because by the time he gets back Cliff is gone.

Finally (I guess), we cut back to Rick, headed back on the set for one last shot at redemption. Spaghetti western “bullfighter/showdown” music blares operatically on the soundtrack, as Rick walks through the soundstage for the final showdown, the one between Rick Dalton and ... Rick Dalton! Can he cut it, or is he history?

In Rick’s big scene, he’s kidnapped Maribella, holding her on his lap with his six-shooter pointed at her head while he holds forth in a swaggering conversation with “Scott Lancer” (Luke Perry in his last role, as the actor Wayne Maunder). Since Rick/Caleb clearly has the upper hand, fancy-pants Scott (he apparently went to Harvard) can do nothing other than listen to Caleb’s trash talk, which Caleb concludes by throwing Maribella violently to the floor in a display of his ruthlessness. Cut! Cut! Rick made it all the way through the scene! In flying colors!

“I didn’t hurt you, did I, darlin’?” Rick asks.

“I’m fine,” Maribella reassures him, popping up to show him her arm. “See, I have padding!”

Sam Wanamaker (Sam the director) rushes up.

“Rick, you were fabulous! Exactly what I wanted! Evil, sexy Hamlet!”

Rick sits there, a little stunned by the outpouring of passion he’s achieved.

“Rick, Rick, your adlibs were amazing! ‘Beaner bronco-buster’?21 Why, that’s triple alliteration! And throwing the little girl on the floor! Beautiful!”

Yeah, but, uh, if the toss was an adlib, why was Maribella wearing padding?22 Anyway, tossing an eight-year-old around like a ping-pong ball as an adlib sounds a little dubious to me. Good thing her parents weren’t around!

But Tarantino isn’t done gilding the lily. Trudi/Maribella, whose dedication to her craft makes Stanislavski look like a slacker, tells him “that’s the best acting I’ve ever seen!”

Which is all a little silly, because no one, but no one has ever suggested that he had any real talent as an actor, and he’s never expressed any interest in his “craft”, other than not looking like an asshole and not losing his paycheck. But Tarantino somehow can’t resist violating Rick’s real character in order to make him look heroic, a goddamn Laurence Olivier in chaps!

After all this, we have a grotesquely awkward “transition”, narrated by Kurt Russell, about Rick and Cliff’s excellent Italian adventure, which one can very easily believe was originally intended to take up a good chunk of the film, probably extending its running time to something close to three and half hours, but, for whatever reason, that doesn’t happen. Instead, we get a few cutesy movie posters, and a few little anti-PC snickers directed at American Indians, who seem to rub Quentin the wrong way for whatever reason, and also Rick gets married to this Italian broad, who snores a lot, just like Sharon. As for “acting”—evil, sexy Hamlet and all that—well, Quentin seems to have forgotten all about it, and Rick is back in character as the self-indulgent bad boy who loafs through life, traveling first class thanks to his broad shoulders and pretty face, while devoted Cliff sits in coach and chugs Bloody Marys, because, it seems, Rick’s cutting him loose. Can’t afford a wife and a bottom at the same time!

Once Rick and “Francesca” (Lorenza Izzo) are installed in Rick’s old place, Russell continues his tiresome narration, setting up that fateful night when all four story lines will coincide. Rick and Cliff head out for one last celebratory drunk and then head back, Russell constantly stressing to us, for some reason, that Rick and Cliff are like totally blind, stinking drunk, even though they don’t really act that way. Francesca’s already in bed (she stayed home, naturally), Rick’s mixing margheritas, and Cliff’s taking Brandy for a walk. S/He’s there, for some reason (really, of course, for plot reasons). Cliff decides he’ll smoke this LSD-soaked cigarette that Pussycat sold him, even though, the web informs me, “smoking” LSD destroys its hallucinogenic power (because the heat causes it to break down chemically).

While Cliff’s gone, Tex and three of the Manson girls—Susan Atkins (Mikey Madison), Patricia Krenwinkle (Madisen Beaty), and Linda Kasabian (Maya Hawke)—arrive to do the Polanski household in, pulling up in a noisy, busted muffler car. Rick stumbles out with his carafe full of margheritas to tell those goddamn hippies to get off his goddamn private drive and smoke their goddamn pot someplace else. Tex, apparently not wanting to have to kill this guy, backs the car down the drive, while Rick takes his margheritas out to one of his favorite retreats, the chair floating in his kidney-shaped pool.

The hippies reconnoiter. “You know who that was? Rick Dalton!” “Rick Dalton? Rick fucking Dalton?” “Rick Fucking Dalton!” “Fuck! You know what? Guys like that, they taught us to murder. I say, let’s murder the murderers!”

As it turns out, Kasabian bails, driving away in the car,23 but Tex, with a six-shooter shoved in his pants, and Patricia and Susan, armed with knives, head up the drive.

Cliff, by this time, is back inside the house, fixing Brandy dinner when the kids show up. After some cutesy, high on LSD antics, the action finally starts, Tex pointing his six-shooter at Cliff’s head. Brandy, flying through the air, disarms him and then fixes her teeth in his balls while Cliff brains Atkins with a can of Wolf’s Tooth. Krenwinkle stabs Cliff in the thigh, causing him to grab her by the hair and smash her face into a variety of unyielding surfaces, which starts to look a little sadistic on Tarantino’s part after the third or fourth smash. Somewhere along the line Brandy switches from Tex to Atkins, dragging her around the room like the shark in the beginning of Jaws. Tex stumbles to his feet and tries to stab Cliff, but gets stabbed instead, then gets knocked down and then (I think) Cliff breaks his neck. But then Atkins gets hold of Tex’s gun and shoots Cliff, causing him to fall over as though he were dead. The girl staggers to her feet, her face covered in blood and screaming like a maniac, and stumbles out to the pool, waving Tex’s gun and firing off a round or two, finally catching Rick’s attention. Guess what, headphones!

Atkins crashes into the pool, still firing the gun. Rick sobers up quickly and, finding his trusty flamethrower—you didn’t see that coming? Amateur!—roasts the bitch.

The police arrive to figure things out. Guess what? Cliff ain’t dead! Sounding awfully coherent for a guy who’s drunk, high on LSD, stabbed in the thigh, and shot, he tells Rick not to come to the hospital with him but tend to his lady. Because greater love hath no bottom than to give up his life, not for his top, but for his top’s lady!

“You’re a good friend, Cliff,” Rick tells him.

“I try,” says Cliff.

Hey! Didn’t we hear that line before?

But the good news isn’t over yet! Jay Sebring (Emile Hirsch), one of Sharon’s houseguests, hears the commotion and asks Rick what’s happening. Rick fills him in and, one way or another, Sharon hears their conversation and calls down on the intercom to invite Rick up for a drink. And so the gates to the magic kingdom—the magic kingdom of A-listers and Playboy Mansion attenders—open for Rick. Let the pool parties begin!

Afterwords I Movie Violence

When I first heard that Tarantino was making a movie about “old” Hollywood starring Leo and Brad I was intrigued. When I learned that Leo would be living next door to Sharon Tate, not so much. I hated Tarantino’s chef d'œuvre Pulp Fiction, and I detested Kill Bill Volume I, and one thing I did not want to see was Tarantino’s take on the Tate/Manson murders. When I learned that Quentin was rewriting history—in tune, really, with my own squeamish predilections—I thought I would take a chance. In any event, there are lots of violent films that I do like, including Bonnie & Clyde and Terminator 2. What’s the difference between “good violence” and “bad violence” other than the eye of the beholder?

Well, not much, obviously. The “sword blade through the milk carton and the mouth and out the back of the head” shot from Terminator 2 is “classic”,24 but you wouldn’t like it if someone did that to you, would you?

Much of the violence in Once Upon A Time is gratuitous in that it’s clearly wish fulfillment on Tarantino’s part, but there’s little that I found outright sadistic, which is what I really object to. It’s notably less sadistic than the coming features that I saw advertised with the film—It Chapter 2, Hide and Seek, and Joker. Obviously, audiences like sadistic.

Afterwords II Helter Skelter Despite the “massive” sixties soundtrack, in one sense the silence is deafening, because there is, unsurprisingly, nothing from the “White Album”. Like several million other people, Charles Manson thought the Beatles recorded this famous double album just for him, and that every song had a particular meaning. “Helter Skelter” (in Great Britain, an amusement park ride) was for Manson the signal for the start of a race war in America, which would some how allow him to seize power, in some manner. The Tate murders were intended, more or less, to provoke that war because the police were intended to believe that black revolutionaries had committed them. Vincent Bugliosi, the district attorney who prosecuted Manson and the others, wrote a book, with Curt Gentry, Helter Skelter, about the case, which was later turned into a television mini-series.

Esmé was thirteen. Making “Trudi Fraser” eight seems really a stretch to me. ↩︎

Did Tarantino invent “fake” sixties tunes as well? Not impossible, but it seems unlikely. ↩︎

Word can spell “Sestero” but not “Wiseau”? Tommy won’t like that! Greg’s book, The Disaster Artist, which he co-wrote with Tom Bissell, revealed to the world the bizarre backstory behind Wiseau’s cult classic di tutti cult classics, The Room, and is definitely superior to Franco’s film, which derives half its considerable charm by simply recreating classic scenes from Wiseau’s ineffable creation. ↩︎

Dunno if Tarantino just wanted the car to sound cool or if he was parodying this frequent device as used by other directors. Anyone who knows anything about cars knows that tiny, underpowered English sports cars do not sound like this. As dubious car enthusiast Mort Sahl put it, “MGs are great if you don’t mind being blown off by housewives in Plymouth station wagons.” Jews are into cars? ↩︎

Marvin says “kinescope” rather than “tape” because consumer videotape machines didn’t exist in 1969. The networks used tape, but Marvin would have needed a film version, a “kinescope”, which is what the networks used before the development of videotape, to view using a projector. *Once Upon A Time” is filled with anachronisms, but film buff Tarantino gets this one right. However, the “Hullabaloo” clip is filmed in wide-screen, which of course is totally inaccurate. Leo’s performance looks as though it were based on the persona of fifties super-square Pat Boone. ↩︎ ↩︎

I have no grasp of LA geography, so I have no idea of where Rick and Cliff are. ↩︎

The Karmann Ghia was simply an Italian-bodied Volkswagen bug. If Cliff had the “big” engine (presumably, he did), he could hit 90. If not, 75 was probably the top. ↩︎

Brad addresses Brandy as “man” in this scene even though the actual dog, "Sayuri", is a female and is referred to as such in the final scenes. ↩︎

A place like Rick’s would of course require constant upkeep to avoid turning into a mess, but, as is so often the case in film, the place somehow cleans itself. ↩︎

Jay Leno described his one Mansion visit as “a lot of middle-aged men hitting on a lot of young women.” ↩︎

Cass Elliot grew up in Alexandria, Virginia, which is next to Falls Church, where I grew up. On the M&Ps’ cover of the Martha and the Vandellas hit “Dancin’ in the Street”, the M&Ps fade out the song with the list of the cities where they’re, you know, dancing in the street—“Baltimore and DC now”—with the following barely audible dialogue: “Alexandria?” “In Virginia, Virginia.” “Falls Church?” “Never heard of it.” Both are suburbs of Washington, DC. Falls Church is supposedly the setting for at least two tv shows, JAG and The Americans. ↩︎

Three of their songs are heard on the soundtrack, though they only sing one of them—“Twelve Thirty”. Both “Twelve Thirty” and “Straight Shooter” are explicitly about heroin addiction, while the third and most famous, “California Dreamin’”, strongly hints at it. The sheet music for “Straight Shooter” was found on a piano at the scene of the actual Manson/Tate murders. ↩︎

“Stella shits!” exclaimed Jonathan Swift regarding Esther Johnson, his life-long obsessive love, whom he first met when she was eight. Quentin seems to hate women yet want to smell their feet. ↩︎

In an interview, Tarantino has “explained” that in “real life” Cliff would kick Bruce Lee’s ass because war hero Cliff was a Green Beret. Since Cliff, like Rick, is supposed to be pushing 40, he would have to have been a “war hero” in Korea. Combat operations in Korea ended with the 1954 armistice. Special forces troops never wore the green beret until 1955, and it was almost immediately discontinued until revived in 1961. They received enormous publicity in the sixties. I don’t know why they’ve been supplanted by the Seals as the ultimate bad asses. ↩︎

Anyone who likes books likes first editions, but I very much dislike the use of first editions as a way to make books expensive status symbols. Go Kindle! (And, in any event, if I had a copy of a 90-year-old first edition, I wouldn’t carry it unprotected in my sweaty little hand, as Sharon does.) ↩︎

I rented one of Matt’s/Dean’s films for some purpose—I can’t remember why—and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t The Wrecking Crew, but it was so slow-paced and boring that I couldn’t watch it, il Dino wandering around like he’d had more whiskey sours than Rick Dalton. ↩︎

McQueen started out in tv as the star of Wanted Dead or Alive, the very obvious “inspiration” for Bounty Law. McQueen, a very big star in 1969, thanks to Bullit and Crown Affair, which were in fact his only two films to be remembered, was supposedly “targeted” by Manson as part of his plan to cause the U.S. to erupt in a race war. Which may be why he’s such a presence in this film. Or not. ↩︎

“Instead of a bum, which is what I am”—Marlon Brando’s lines from On the Waterfront, once among the most quoted in American film, bitterly complaining to his brother, played by Rod Steiger, that his career as a boxer was ruined when he was forced, by his brother, to throw a fight. ↩︎

Qualley, who has had extensive ballet training, is probably the best dancer in the whole film. ↩︎

It would also likely leave the horse exhausted for the rest of the day. Horse races only last a mile or so because horses can’t gallop for much longer than that. ↩︎

Not exactly that, probably, anyway, three “b’s”. ↩︎

Also, the camera backs up to keep Maribella in the shot, which it wouldn’t have done if Cliff’s action had been an adlib. ↩︎

In “real life”, Kasabian did not drive away but remained behind as a lookout. Kasabian was involved—always as a bystander, she claimed—in many of the murders committed by Manson and his followers, but was able to avoid prison time by serving as the key witness against the others. ↩︎

“God damn it! How many times do I have to tell you? Don’t drink out of the carton?” It’s “nice” that the T-1000 stays in character as the past her limit housewife as “she” pulls her blade/hand from the dumb shit’s head. ↩︎

[jc]

Das Beste aus Twitter, August-Edition

Auch im heißesten Monat vollbringt Twitter wieder wahre Tweetwunder!

Können wir bitte nicht mehr „sozial Schwache“ sagen, wenn wir Menschen meinen, die wenig Geld haben? Viele dieser Menschen sind sozial stärker als die, die finanziell stark sind. Danke.

— Sven Lehmann 🏳️‍🌈 (@svenlehmann) July 30, 2020

Und damit einen wunderschönen guten Morgen! pic.twitter.com/JCme52kiXL

— Krieg und Freitag (@kriegundfreitag) August 1, 2020

auch auf deutschen speisekarten findet man mittlerweile viel vegetarisches. bier und hühnchen z. b.

— katja berlin (@katjaberlin) August 1, 2020

*legt Klopapier in den Rewe-Einkaufswagen… vieeel Klopapier*

— Katz & Tinte (@KatzUndTinte) August 1, 2020

Ich bin beeindruckt von Twitter. Alle hier wissen ganz genau, welche Aufgaben die BaFin hat.

— Ulrich Gelsen (@gelsen) August 1, 2020

Common fucking sense. https://t.co/ouTpLe7x8N

— Marcus John Henry Brown (@MarcusJHBrown) August 1, 2020

Vergessen Sie bitte nie: Kaffee und Tee unterscheiden sich nicht nur in Farbe, Wirkung und Schreibweise, sondern vor allem im Geschmack.

— Herr Kaltenbach (@blauekastanie) August 5, 2020

Folge niemandem ohne abgeschlossener IHK-Ausbildung „Social Media-Manager (m/w/d)“.

— Gavin Karlmeier (@gavinkarlmeier) August 5, 2020

Können wir eigentlich sicher sein, dass es so heiß ist? Oder sind einfach nur vermehrt Thermometer im Einsatz?

— Vanessa Giese (@dieliebenessy) August 7, 2020

Bin gekommen, um euch die frohe Botschaft zu verkünden, dass Hundi gekackt hat.

— Quarkkrokettchen (🏡) (@anneschuessler) August 9, 2020

Gleich kommt die Erstgeborene (13) nach Hause und bringt ihren "Freund" (SECHZEHN!) mit. Mehr dazu demnächst im Blaulicht Report.

— der_Meinereiner (@der_Meinereiner) August 10, 2020

Moin Timeline 😷 Na dann wollen wir mal wieder 🙄 Sorgt bitte für reichlich Abkühlung und Erfrischung bei dieser Affenhitze… Schönen Dienstag ☀️ pic.twitter.com/dK6uUvrHOi

— leeve Jong 🌈 (@leeve_jong) August 11, 2020

»Kokosöl ist bei Raumtemperatur fest.« 🤔 pic.twitter.com/bXu65Rrq0A

— Felix Neumann (@fxneumann) August 10, 2020

Babyschwimmen. Nur für Kinder unter sechs Monaten. Warteliste bis März 2021. Falls ihr euch fragt, wann man anmelden sollte: Bei Geburt oder 9 Monate früher.

— Sebastian Eckert (@SebastianEckert) August 11, 2020

I don’t think there’s a purer, more distilled form of evil than anti-homeless architecture. Imagine spending this much money to prevent people without homes from getting sleep. https://t.co/TYOoN5NLQE

— Aidan Smith ⧖彡 (@AidanSmith2020) August 10, 2020

If k8s is “kubernetes,” does that mean sk8erboy is “skuberneteerboy”?

— emily@home screensaver (@emilyst) August 4, 2020

Nichte, 16 Jahre alt. Nach 2 Tagen die erste Kommunikation. "Ich habe 1000 Follower auf Insta." (Wir haben einen Anfang. Juhu!) "Ich hab 26 Tausend auf Twitter." "Das ist nur was für alte Leute. Die Hälfte ist wahrscheinlich schon tot." Obwohl sie recht hat HALTET MICH ZURÜCK

— Tomster (@namenlos4) August 14, 2020

Ich habe ja bis heute nicht verstanden, warum Bitburger keinen 8er-Kasten rausbringt und ihn "Byte" nennt.

— MasterOfSocialDistancing (🏡) 🇪🇺 🌍 (@MasterOfNone667) August 14, 2020

wenn ich gewollt hätte, dass alle widerspruchslos über meine witze lachen, wäre ich nicht satirikerin geworden, sondern vorgesetzter.

— katja berlin (@katjaberlin) August 15, 2020

All die netten Menschen, die ich niemals kennenlernen werde.

— leonceundlena (@leonceundlena) August 16, 2020

Finger hoch, wer für den Urlaub auch immer 1 Shirt pro Tag einpackt, bloß um zu Hause 10 unbenutzte Shirts wieder sauber in den Schrank zu legen.

— Annabell Bils (@bilsandbytes) August 17, 2020

„Wenn der Wind der Veränderung weht, suchen manche im Hafen Schutz, während andere die Segel setzen!“ von meiner Freundin Katharina – Grundschullehrerin und 1 Jahr im Segel-Sabbatikal zzt in Bergen/Norwegen

— Michele Lichte (@Lichtemomente) August 17, 2020

Ein Kind hat ein Windows Phone. Wie sehr kann man seine Kinder hassen?

— Torsten Beeck (@TorstenBeeck) August 17, 2020

Suche nach Jobs mit dem Schlagwort „Digitalisierung“. Finde Jobs bei denen man Akten einscannen soll. Das beschreibt Deutschland ganz gut.

— Genug Anouk 😷 (@GenugAnouk) August 18, 2020

Karnevalsverbot 2021 Rheinischer Sezessionskrieg 2022-2024

— Frankie Crisp (@cnirbliw) August 18, 2020

Ich muss mit der Tochter mal über passende Ablageplätze für ihre recht lebensecht aussehende Spielzeug-Vogelspinne reden. Eingewickelt in den Abwaschlappen auf der Küchenspüle ist jedenfalls KEIN passender Platz.

— Einhörnchen (@urban_Sqirrel) August 18, 2020

Ich bin Teil von zwei Podcasts, lebe vegan und fahre gerne Rennrad. Täglich zerreißt mich innerlich die Entscheidung, womit ich Leuten zuerst auf die Nerven gehen soll.

— Herm (@hermsfarm) August 19, 2020

ein rätsel meines alltags: wieso haben fast alle babyhosen hosentaschen und meine kleider haben keine?

— Saskia Jungnikl-Gossy (@sjungnikl) August 19, 2020

Hey Leute, lasst uns mal die AfD nächstes Jahr wieder aus dem Bundestag schmeißen!

— Mira Wegener (@MiraWegener) August 18, 2020

The error was later corrected by another @openstreetmap user, BUT, in the interim, Microsoft took an export of the data and used it to build Flight Simulator 2020. The result… this incredible monolith (2/2) pic.twitter.com/wXKBK03Gcd

— Liam O 🦆 (@liamosaur) August 20, 2020

Als ich damals Depressionen hatte, ist meine Freundin mit mir im Schlafanzug im schönsten Restaurant der Stadt Frühstücken gewesen. Ich hatte keine Lust mich umzuziehen und sie wollte nicht, dass ich alleine Assi aussehe… So Freunde musste auch erstmal finden…

— Nuk Lear (@Nu_Kloar) August 20, 2020

I just rang IT help desk to order a new mouse because the one in the office isn’t working…. Turns out it’s a whiteboard cleaner. How’s your friday night going? #Team999 #Nightshift pic.twitter.com/siWxxsyWGl

— Nick The SOM (@ScotAmbSOM_Nick) August 21, 2020

Good morning! pic.twitter.com/LzDiRpoqO5

— Wo sind sie jetzt? (@exprofis) August 22, 2020

don't mind me just floatin by pic.twitter.com/5Q2eTW7lzZ

— Gators Daily 🐊 (@GatorsDaily) August 22, 2020

Ich frage mich, ob es da einen Zusammenhang gibt… #LogoDesign pic.twitter.com/R4Ou8UxdY0

— Benjamin Helsper (@Klausebou) August 24, 2020

Wievielen umgefallenen Säcken Reis entspricht es ungefähr auf eurer Emotionsskala, wenn der FC Bayern irgendwas gewinnt?

— Waffelsine (@Waffelsine) August 23, 2020

Damals, als Staubsauger-Roboter noch riesig waren …. https://t.co/rtYzyiG2II

— Alexa Brandt (@media_log) August 27, 2020

Suche Mann mit unkompliziertem Nachnamen zum Heiraten. Nur ernstgemeinte Zuschriften.

— Nicole Diekmann (@nicolediekmann) August 26, 2020

Recherche-Protipp: Wenn du feststellst, dass alle anderen, inklusive der Fachleute auf dem Gebiet, etwas ganz Wesentliches übersehen haben, dann ist es viel wahrscheinlicher, dass in Wirklichkeit du etwas ganz Wesentliches übersehen hast.

— Lars Fischer (@Fischblog) August 27, 2020

Eine Pandemie, ein Koch, der zum Sturz der satanistischen Regierung aufruft und Esoterik-Muttis, die Seite an Seite mit Nazis marschieren, weil sie im Supermarkt keine Maske tragen wollen. Gäbe es das als Film, wäre es die unglaubwürdigste, bescheuertste Handlung aller Zeiten.

— Victoria Schwartz (@VictoriaHamburg) August 29, 2020

Bevor es google gab war es so: Man wollte etwas wissen und dann hat man irgendwann gedacht, ach egal.

— David Kebekus (@MisterDavidK) August 28, 2020

Die Herzdame: „Wie heißt noch diese Pflanze hier, die ich bloß nicht ausreißen soll?“ Ich: „Das kann ich von hier aus nicht erkennen.“ Die Herzdame reißt die Pflanze aus und wirft sie mir zu. Die Sonne scheint, es weht ein leichter Wind, es ist ein schöner Tag. Die Ehe hält.

— Max.Buddenbohm (@Buddenbohm) August 30, 2020

Das ganze Schulsystem in DE&AT ist also darauf ausgelegt, dass intelligente Frauen ab Mittags zuhause auf ihre Kinder warten und mit ihnen stundenlang Hausaufgaben machen damit sie gute Noten schreiben & studieren können um eines Tages wiederum auf ihre Kinder Mittags zu warten.

— Joanalistin (@Joanalistin) August 29, 2020

Traue keinem Account mit mehr als zwei Hashtags pro Tweet.

— LaPierrot (@IchBinJazz) August 31, 2020

̶i̶̶c̶̶h̶̶ ̶̶d̶̶a̶̶t̶̶e̶̶ ̶̶m̶̶o̶̶m̶̶e̶̶n̶̶t̶̶a̶̶n̶̶ ̶̶s̶̶o̶̶ ̶̶e̶̶i̶̶n̶̶e̶̶n̶̶ ̶̶t̶̶y̶̶p̶̶e̶̶n̶ ich hab bis vor kurzem so einen Typen gedated der hat mir gerade gesagt dass er keine Lebkuchen oder Spekulatius mag

— Pixie Apfelbaum (@pixieapfelbaum) August 31, 2020

Meine Mutter ist übrigens echt sauer, dass die Uhr an ihrem Herd nach 46 Jahren kaputt ist. Das ist nicht mehr mein Deutschland! Danke Merkel!😡 pic.twitter.com/vMPp7MU2ir

— Han Twerker (@mitWorte) August 31, 2020

* * *

Du möchtest keinen Beitrag mehr verpassen? Du kannst dich per E-Mail benachrichtigen lassen, einfach hier klicken!

(Original unter: https://1ppm.de/2020/09/das-beste-aus-twitter-august-2020/)

[weekendwarriorblog]

WHAT TO WATCH THIS WEEKEND – Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom and More

While to most “normal” people, the summer starts this weekend, to movie buffs, it’s already almost midway through the summer movie season. There are still a few bigger movies to come, but it feels like this might be the last weekend with a mega-juggernaut that will open with more than $100 million.

JURASSIC WORLD: FALLEN KINGDOM (Universal)

Last week, Disney-Pixar’s The Incredibles 2 set a bunch of new records coming out 14 years after the original movie, but it wasn’t the first time this has happened. In 2015, Universal and producers Steven Spielberg and Frank Marshall finally got a fourth Jurassic Park movie off the ground, and the demand was there for the reboot/sequel Jurassic Worldto open with more than $208 million, surpassing the record set by Marvel’s The Avengers a few years earlier, as it became the third highest-grossing movie domestically after only James Cameron’s Avatarand Titanic.  (Since then, Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Black Pantherand Avengers: Infinity Warhave surpassed it with Black Panther edging closer to $700 million.)

Coming out three years after Jurassic World, this sequel takes place three years after with Chris Pratt and Bryce Dallas Howard once again front and center as Owen and Claire, the love-locked dino-trainer and former Jurassic World publicist, who have been called back to Isla Nublar to save the raptor Blue, as a volcano threatens to destroy all that’s left after the last dino-escape.

Taking over the directorial reigns is Spanish filmmaker Juan Bayona, best known for his debut The Orphanage(produced by Guillermo del Toro); its follow-up The Impossible, starring Naomi Watts, Ewan McGregor and a younger Tom Holland; and the adaptation of the book A Monster Calls.  The middle of those did the best with $19 million, but Bayona hasn’t really crossed over to the mainstream with critics still being his biggest fan.

So far, reviews are mixed with 54% on Rotten Tomatoescompared to the 71% Fresh for Jurassic World, but it’s on par with the ratings for Spielberg’s second movie The Lost World – Jurassic Park, which ended up setting and holding an opening weekend record for a number of years. It’s doubtful reviews will have that much of an effect on the movie, because the franchise has so many fans that have seen the previous four movies, and these movies are the type best seen in theaters (especially in IMAX at premium ticket prices).

There isn’t that much more to say to the movie, because it essentially uses the same formula as the previous four Jurassic Park movies, and there’s still a demand to see dinosaurs chasing after and eating humans.  Universal is giving it the maximum possible oversaturation of theaters as it takes over screens that will be vacated by Deadpool 2, Solo and others.

Coming out on the second weekend of The Incredibles 2 could pose a problem going by that movie’s A+ CinemaScore rating that makes it seem like it will remain a player for family audiences and younger kids, but young boys and girls love dinosaurs almost as much as superheroes, so their parents will likely bring the whole family despite the movie’s PG-13 rating and bonafide scares.

It’s highly unlikely Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom can match the opening of the previous movie with so many factors going against it, but I still think it’s good for $150 to 160 million this weekend, which is still very good even if it’s lower than its predecessor. It should do well for the next week or two but then Marvel Studios’ Ant-Man and the Wasp will likely cut off its legs keeping it under $350 million domestic.

My Review

Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom is the only new movie in wide release, but at one point, Focus Features planned on using the slower summer weekend to expand the Mister Rogers doc Won’t You Be My Neighbor nationwide after it grossed $1.7 million in less than 100 theaters.  Instead it’s expanding into 348 theaters Friday, which should allow it to continue to build word-of-mouth and possibly even sneak into the bottom of the Top 10. (Reviews have been great for the film, and it’s definitely a possible frontrunner for the documentary Oscar next year. It’s also my favorite movie of the year, so far, so definitely go see it if you haven’t already.)

The Top 10 should look something like this…

1. Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom (Universal) - $153.2 million N/A

2. The Incredibles 2 (Disney-Pixar) - $85.5 million -53%

3. Ocean’s 8 (Warner Bros.) - $9.8 million -48%

4. Tag (New Line/WB) – $7.5 million -49%

5. Solo: A Star Wars Story (Lucasfilm/Disney) - $4.5 million -55%

6. Deadpool 2 (20thCentury Fox) - $4.3 million -50%

7. Hereditary (A24) – $3.3 million -46%

8. Superfly (Sony) - $3 million -52%

9. Avengers: Infinity War (Marvel/Disney) - $3 million -45%

10. Won’t You Be My Neighbor (Focus Features) - $2 million +100%

LIMITED RELEASES

Fortunately, there are decent and half-decent limited releases that I can also recommend… although the first there are probably for the older set i.e. over 40. I saw a few of the movies at Sundance and a few more in recent weeks.

Ben Lewin’s The Catcher Was a Spy (IFC Films) stars Pal Rudd as Boston Red Sox catcher Moe Berg, who led a double life as an undercover OSS agent for the government, trying to uncover the Nazi’s plans to build an atomic bomb. This may have been a strange choice to premiere at Sundance, but I generally enjoyed the historical drama that also stars Paul Giamatti, Mark Strong, Connie Nielson, Sienna Miller, Guy Pearce, Jeff Daniels and more.  I got to speak with Lewin about the film at Sundance (you can read that interview here), and I thought it was an innovative look at part of World War II that hasn’t already been well-covered in films.

David and Nathan Zellner (Kumiko the Treasure Hunter) return with their quirky Western Damsel (Magnolia), starring Rob Pattinson as Samuel Alabaster, a pioneer who treks across the frontier with plans to marry his beloved Penelope, played by Mia Wasikowska. It’s a quirky movie that played well at Sundance, mainly due to a miniature horse named Butterscotch, but I didn’t like it as much as Kumiko. It’ll open in New York and L.A. on Friday and then in other cities on June 29.

Eugene (Why We Fight) Jarecki’s new doc The King (Oscilloscope) is a road trip doc that uses Elvis Presley’s Rolls Royce as a vehicle (quite literally) to visit all the places that were part of his life and meteoric rise to fame, as well as his career crash and burn until his untimely death.  Some of the actors who go on this journey with Jarecki include Ethan Hawke, Alec Baldwin, Mike Myers and even Ashton Kutcher, and it’s a must-see for music and Elvis fans. The King opens in New York this Friday and then in L.A. next Friday, and hopefully it will get to some of those other areas where Elvis was popular, particularly down South. 

All three of the above movies are opening at the IFC Center in New York with the filmmakers doing QnAs for the last two.

Speaking of road movies, Christopher Plummer and Vera Farmiga play estranged father and daughter in Shana Feste’s Boundaries (Sony Pictures Classics), in which Farmiga plays a single mother who keeps taking in stray cats and dogs, who agrees to drive her pot-dealing father to California in exchange for money to pay her son’s tuition.  The dramedy also stars A Monster Calls’ Lewis McDougall as her son, and includes cameos by Peter Fonda and Christopher Lloyd. I thought the movie was cute if not unspectacular, maybe a little better than The Leisure Seeker, but honestly, the fact that the cute puppies steal scenes from Farmiga and Plummer gives you some idea that this might be the strongest offering this weekend. Either way, it opens in New York and L.A. on Friday.

The always-magnificent Mackenzie Davis stars in Christian Papierniak’s Izzy Gets The Fuck Across Town(Shout! Studios), a hipster comedy in which she plays Izzy, a hung-over woman who needs to get across town… to stop her ex-boyfriend’s engagement party. The movie has an impressive supporting cast that includes Alia Shakat, Haley Joel Osment, Carrie Coon and Annie Potts, and it opens in select cities Friday. Personally, I thought it was a little too hipster-y and L.A. for my tastes, so not sure how well it might place elsewhere. I guess it has its moments? One of those is an impromptu duet between Davis and Coon, as sisters who used to play in a band together.

Then there’s a bunch of movies I haven’t seen, including Laura Fairrie’s timely doc Spiral (Cohen Media), dealing with the new rise of far-right nationalism and how it affects Jews in France; both Pascal Laugier’s thriller Incident in a Ghostland (Vertical) starring Crystal Reed (Teen Wolf) and Jason Saitel’s thriller Beach House (Archstone) will be released in select cities and On Demand.  Opening at the Film Society at Lincoln Center is João Dumans and Affonso Uchôa’s Brazilian road movie* Araby (Grasshopper Film), while the Kyle Gallner movie Zen Dog will also hit VOD and digital platforms Friday.

(*Okay, did I miss the memo that every indie road movie needs to be released on the first official weekend of summer?)

That’s all for this week, and I’ll be back next week talking about Sicario: Day of the Soldado and Uncle Drew, as we get a little breather from the big tentpoles for at least one week.

[headspacepress]

http://headspacepress.com/time-get-fringe-montreal/

Time to get your Fringe on, Montreal!

Ok, it’s that time of year again, and I’m just going to cut to the chase and say this: If you’re a Montrealer and haven’t attended a Fringe performance in the past 27 years or have no plans to attend one in the coming weeks, I’m going to sit here and silently judge you. Mainly because it makes absolutely no sense to me.

The Fringe Festival is quirky, unpredictable, original, imaginative, free-spirited, funny, titillating, ground-breaking, heartbreaking, experimental, hysterical, bizarre, fucking strange, and oh so Montreal. It’s simply a creative crapshoot of the weirdly wonderful and a huge part of the fabric of this city and its summer.

Can you tell I’m a fan? No, seriously… where else can you get over 100 original, thought-provoking shows (most in English, many in French, a few bilingual) that span theatre, dance, poetry, puppetry, magic, sketch, drag, clowning, Shakespeare, burlesque, musical, and more to choose from over a span of two weeks?

Where else can you check out over 50 bands and a bunch of fun events for free? Where else can you enjoy the creative fruits of someone’s labour knowing that artists keep 100 percent of their box office revenues and that tickets are super affordable at $10, allowing you to see more than a few shows at a time without taking out a bank loan?

I’m an unabashed Fringe supporter because I love the arts, I love creativity, I love people who live (often dangerously close to the poverty level) to create, I love all the volunteers and staff at Fringe Montreal, I love the vibe at the Fringe Park (a.k.a. the Beer Tent), I love the quirkiness and tiny impossibilities of most of the haphazard Fringe venues sprinkled around the Plateau like afterthoughts.

I love that some productions in the past were so damn good that years later I still can’t believe I paid less than the price of a movie ticket to witness sheer magic on stage, and that some were so bizarrely bad I still giggle uncontrollably and shake my head when I recall them. Either way, they’re always memorable because art is trying stuff out and taking chances and not everything will work, but you can’t help but admire and support folks brave enough to bare their souls for us so we can laugh and cry and commiserate on our existence. There is nothing more beautiful, more intimate, more life-affirming than artistic creation, and the impractical and audacious act of someone standing on stage sharing a part of who they are for you to witness, consume, and hopefully embrace.

So, with that full-blown declaration of Fringe love out of the way, here are the productions that caught my eye during Monday’s Fringe-For-All and which I plan to see. If you find the descriptions intriguing, simply click on the links and find out where and when to see these shows. Keep in mind that I can’t possibly include them all, so do your own homework and scan the website for additional descriptions, times, and all the other fun events (Scavenger Hunt, Drag Races, Pinball Karaoke, 13th Hour, etc.) surrounding the two-week festival. There’s bound to be something here you’ll fall in love with too.

Cherry Docs

A neo-Nazi skinhead is charged with murder, and legal aid has assigned him a liberal Jewish lawyer. An epic battle that leaves each man marked by the other’s belief, David Gow’s Cherry Docs is a provocative exploration if the inescapable and insidious presence of hatred in our society.

Peter Pansexual

Peter Pansexual lures Wendy and her darling brothers from suburbia to Neverland, a.k.a. Montreal. They discover the magic of snorting fairy dust, crushing the patriarchy and exploring their sexuality. Captain Hooker seeks revenge on the Lost Boiz for flaunting their eternal youth on social media. For young at heart adult audiences.

Illustrated Lady

Do you have a tattoo? Do you want one? Sophie had been collecting them since she was eight years old. Through stories of terrible choices and happy mistakes, she will take you on a journey reflecting on memory, body and ink. She also plans on live tattooing drawings made by audience members on her body each night of her show and half-seriously joked on Monday night that she hopes she doesn’t end up with a bunch of penises on her thighs.

Syl-lo-go-ma-ni-e/a

Syllogomanie (ou accumulation compulsive) : fait d’accumuler de manière excessive des objets et incapacité ou réticence à jeter un grand nombre de possessions. Syllogomania (or compulsive hoarding): pattern of behavior that is characterized by excessive acquisition and an inability or unwillingness to discard large quantities of objects. This quirky and frankly quite adorable bilingual duo had me intrigued. I need to see more.

The Thrill of the Chaise

Spirit of the FRINGE winner Chocolate Moose returns with a license to thrill. Intrigue, love and betrayal are hidden just under the table in this well-upholstered epic of Russian spies and world-class set design. Warning: Contains very convincing sex.

Wolves

This “deconstruction” of Little Red Riding Hood fractures a familiar yarn into a prismatic and lacerating reflection of the monsters that lurk in the big city and within. A darkly comic, predatory tale that explores the conflation of sex and fear in modern culture, the comfort of lava lamps and the dangers of a handy axe.

Comment le cancer de mon grand père m’a fait découvrir le disco

Comment les derniers jours d’un homme atteint du cancer seront-ils salutaires pour son petit fils, accro au pot, aux jeux vidéo et à Tinder ? La vie nous ouvre parfois des avenues par le biais d’évènements totalement imprévisibles. Le cancer peut-il se transformer en Disco ?

Crazy Bitch

Crazy Bitch is a fresh, dark and biting look at how the princess becomes the villain. Half autobiography, half social commentary, 100% comedy, MacDonald uses stand-up, film and storytelling to explore the ubiquitous phenomenon of the crazy bitch in this high-energy one-woman show.

Old, Fat & Fucked! Now What?

How do you grow old and fat when you are a gay man living in a community where being young and slim is the official standard of attraction? Puelo Deir’s latest comedic show tackles this struggle with humour, wit and raunchy personal anecdotes.

The Detective, the Dame, and the Devil

A troubled detective, down to his last dime; a mysterious dame, cool as a cucumber; a maniacal husband, out for revenge. But who to believe in this crazy world of danger, intrigue, wordplay, and the odd anachronism? Welcome to Spadesy’s Private Investigation: no case too small, no laugh too cheap.

La Ronde

Don’t you hate it when you’re sleeping with someone who’s sleeping with someone who’s sleeping with someone who’s sleeping with you? We do too! But we still find it funny to watch! Come see this merry-go-round of sex and confusion at La Ronde.

Precinct: An Improvised Cop Story

Montreal’s Plateau is the toughest borough in the roughest city. Officers John Calgary and Carl Boucher are hitting the street to shake down perps. Guided by Captain Bill Garber, Calgary and Boucher will investigate and solve every single miserable case wrapped in manilla that drops on their desk… in the Precinct.

Things Drugs Taught Me

Nisha (Self-Exile, 2016 Best English Production) and Jeff (The Balding, 2013 Best Comedy nominee) have had wildly contrasting drug experiences. In this two-part storytelling show, they share everything they’ve learned from their substance use and abuse. As best they can remember. “Will leave audiences howling.” – Montreal Gazette

Also, a quick shout out to Cabaret Abnormal, 0 Days Without Crying, Mapping Grief, Docile Bodies, and Periscope. Many more shows online, so go check them out.

The 27th edition of the Montreal Fringe Festival runs until June 18. For information and/or tickets,  you can go online to: www.montrealfringe.ca or call 514-849-FEST. Pick up the schedule available around town, and follow the hashtag #FringeBuzz on Twitter for all the latest show reviews. It’s often the best way to find out what’s most popular with audiences. Happy Fringing and see you at the Beer Tent!

[nofomoartworld]

'Song to Song' Review: Terrence Malick's Weird Legend Only Gets Weirder

Last night, Black Lips hosted a screening of Terrence Malick's unreleased Ryan Gosling/Rooney Mara/Michael Fassbender/Natalie Portman/Cate Blanchett/Val Kilmer/Patti Smith/Red Hot Chili Peppers/Iggy Pop/Black Lips movie, which was shot by Emmanuel Lubezki (The Revenant, Gravity), and I'm pretty sure the fact that the theater wasn't totally packed says a lot more about where we're headed as a culture than the actual film, which is actually kind of good. Before I go any further, you should watch the trailer for Song to Song, which you probably haven't seen yet (despite a near-billion-dollar cast in terms of celebrity net worth).

As trailers go, this one's just fine. It's more or less the pacing and tone of the film, it gives an honest picture of the characters without lazily zeroing in on their emotional climaxes, and it gives just enough away to make you want to weigh two or so hours against maybe never knowing what happens to them. And that's true of the actual story, too, which the film's website sums up in just over the length of a tweet (generally the sign of a movie that, too, is just fine): "In this modern love story set against the Austin, TX music scene, two entangled couples chase success through a rock 'n' roll landscape of seduction and betrayal." Nothing too challenging here, nothing that you'd expect anyone to call "Fucking terrible" outright, right? Except that's exactly what the guy sitting next to me did, the second that the lights rose and he could be sure someone would hear him.

Well, I heard him, and I hope he's reading this: You, sir, are wildly incorrect. You're also a dick.

Rooney Mara. Via Facebook

Dicks, actually, made a strong showing at the newly-reopened Roxy Cinema. From the flood of people who evacuated the cozy theater before the Atlanta rockers—on the eve of launching their new album, Satan's Graffiti or God's Art?, no less—could even begin their Q and A, you might expect the film to have some type of Irreversible-y can't-look/can't-look-away moments, or lay claim to an indefensible existential viewpoint akin to a Lars von Trier Nazi joke. You'd think they found something in Song to Song that was so absolutely objectionable that they'd write a note and address it to Malick himself. But they won't, belabored shit-talk-fests at shitty bars afterwards notwithstanding. It's because they're dicks.

The Black Lips. Photo: Lance Laurence

Same goes for the music festival audiences in the film (ok, big surprise there) who were apparently angry enough about the fact that Val Kilmer appeared on stage alongside Black Lips at Fun Fun Fun Fest during Song to Song's production that they sent the band hate mail on Facebook and Myspace, as Cole Alexander and Jared Swilley explained during the Q and A immediately after.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not calling them dicks because they didn't like something that I thought was all-around just fine, either. It's because of the same reason why searching "#blacklips" on Instagram brings up more people pouting in black lipstick than pictures of the only band still holding the torch for rock and roll since The Strokes' silent divorce. It's because we live in a world of raging narcissists for whom the mere idea of something that isn't hashtaggable is a direct affront to all that signals social status, seems worth sharing, and is just challenging enough to generate a handful of smarmy, fake-incredulous thinkpieces.

Ryan Gosling. Via Facebook

I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that, to a certain degree, these people who called Song to Song a "Humiliating Wreck of a Movie" are correct: despite, or perhaps because of, its star-studded-ness, it is profoundly humble; humiliating, even, for a star like Christian Bale, who was cut from the film entirely. It is surely a wreck compared to the original eight-hour version Malick is said to have intended. But what the film does in form and content so surpasses the tired modes of standard Hollywood storytelling that I'm inclined to call it something else entirely (but I won't, because then I would be being a dick, too). Song to Song is not a film about music, it is music, improvised in a way only a true master of his craft could make.

Michael Fassbender. Via Facebook

In between stories about the six-plus years it took to make the film, teaching Ryan Gosling how to shotgun a beer, and giving Val Kilmer a herpes scare, Black Lips spoke of Song to Song in a way that very simply explains why I think the film has merit, and why critics, if it does ever get a theatrical release, will inevitably tear it to pieces in the hopes of exposing the fallible human at the heart of such unfuckwithable films as Badlands and Days of Heaven: "When movies are long and slow, sometimes it's like a challenge," said Cole Alexander, "but it also feels more realistic sometimes, because life can be kind of boring. [Malick] kind of just went into that a little bit. It feels realistic in that way, like the nature of a day passing by."

If you're the kind of person who complains about waking up in the morning, you're not gonna love this movie.

Natalie Portman. Via Facebook

Black Lips' Satan's Graffiti or God's Art? is out today on VICE Records. Listen to it here: Apple Music | Spotify | iTunes | Google

Full disclosure: I'm hosting a screening of Gummo tonight at the Roxy Cinema. Click here for more information.

Related:

25 Years Later, The 'Reservoir Dogs' Reunite at Tribeca Film Festival

Delightful Short Doc Shows Everything Less-Than-Delightful About Sundance

How Olivier Assayas' Unofficial "International Trilogy" Did the Impossible

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