Red Dawn [1984)

Wikipedia wants to focus on NATO.

“–Soviet Union suffers worst wheat harvest in 55 years.

–labor and food riots in Poland. Soviet troops invade.

–Cuba and Nicaragua reach troop strength goals of 500,000.

El Salvador and Honduras fall.

–Greens [sic] Party gains control of West German parliament.

Demands withdrawal of nuclear weapons from European soil.

–Mexico plunged into revolution.

–NATO dissolves.

United States stands alone.”

Gist correct.

Minor typographical errors possible.

Agenda set by Joi Ito’s sister Mimi.

Jeffrey.

Benjamin Mako Hill.

MIT Media Lab.

One Laptop per Child.

What could possibly go wrong?

Nicholas Negroponte.

Epstein.

John Negroponte.

First DNI.

Beneficiary of 9/11.

Now Avril Haines.

Rewarded for being a “player” in Event 201.

Mexico and Honduras.

Davenport College.

Yale.

George H.W. Bush (Skull and Bones [CIA]).

George W. Bush (Skull and Bones).

William F. Buckley Jr. (Skull and Bones [CIA]).

Samantha Power.

Trevor Neilson (Gates Foundation).

Craig Newmark (Obama/Biden).

Melissa Hagemann (Soros).

Essa’a Al Shafei (MIT Media Lab [WEF]).

How snow looks in Texas from a 4th grade window.

Gets a bit ridiculous quite quickly.

A bit implausible.

Thinking Soviet.

Red.

They heard some Spanish.

Find the gun owners.

Confiscation.

Lots of batteries.

Soda water.

Cereal.

Arrows.

Ammunition.

7,000 Bell helicopters in the Vietnam War.

Re-education at the drive-in.

Harry Dean Stanton.

Film on repeat.

Saying how America was never great.*

120/124 #FlagOfficers4America .

Boykin.

Bolduc.

72 special operators from USSOCAF lost under Bolduc’s command.

4thPOG.

Avenge me!

Toni and Erica join up.

Hidden in the cellar.

Like Jews.

Because of an invading force of pillaging rapists.

A constant in war.

Lea Thompson gunner.

Headless.

Jennifer Grey nade.

Keep me warm.

No surgery now.

No surviving a wound of this sort.

Multiple gunshots.

Abdomen.

Chest.

Bleeding out of mouth.

Pull the pin for me.

Wolverines.

Michigan.

Matthew DePerno.

Families of rebels killed.

Break the spirit of the rebels.

Mayor Bates is Mike Pence.

Powers Boothe.

F-15 ejection St. Louis on runway.

https://www.businessinsider.com/st-louis-airport-f15-pilots-reportedly-ejected-2021-5

Southwest Texas State.

Me too.

Year two.

Later return.

Texas State.

Omaha (Offutt) overrun by Cubans [STRATCOM].

D.C. nuked.

Invasion across U.S. southern AND northern borders.

Middle of country taken.

Stopped at Rockies and Mississippi.

Conventional warfare prevails.

Asymmetrical wolverines.

Legendary on the coasts.

In California.

In the mountains of Colorado.

Northwestern Canada seized by Soviets.

Most important line.

600,000,000 Chinese on our side.

Give me a fucking break.

Wait for the remake.

China has never been a U.S. ally.

Wikipedia riddled with subtle propaganda.

Shaffer.

Sellin.

10th Mountain.

Fort Drum.

A chopper from Rambo III.

Where were they getting these things?

Iraq?

Israel?

Defectors?

MIGs at Area 51.

Must be willing to fly vertical.

Looked like Erica shot Daryl.

Mil Mi-24.

Ravenous.

Apples.

Cereal.

Pour in mouth.

Milk later.

Squeeze rind to flirt.

A moment of joy in the mountain sun.

Orange freshly.

A bit maudlin.

Propaganda.

Cuban revolutionary cannot kill other revolutionaries.

Actually, a very interesting theoretical conundrum.

John Milius more writer than director?

Dirty Harry.

Apocalypse Now.

The Hunt for Red October.

Clear and Present Danger.

The film peaks.

By the swing set.

What we never thought we’d become.

Soldiers.

In a war.

China is the threat and the invader.

The war is now.

Bio psywar economic sabotage Marxist divide and conquer British bolsheviks.

Cheney out.

Operation moving.

1 by 1.

Just sayin’.

-PD

Vénus et Fleur [2004)

Why?

Why sexual tension.

Why do we like who we like.

Why do we choose certain people.

We must make a choice.

Did you ever have to make up your mind?

Vénus et Fleur operates on the principle of sexual tension.

The world turns on the tips of tits.

We can wait a lifetime.

20 years.

Or 1 hr. and 16 minutes (in this case).

To see the bride stripped bare.

In the end, perhaps it doesn’t matter.

If it happens or not.

Because the journey has been sustained by sexual tension.

So I will give director Emmanuel Mouret credit.

He buoyed a whole film on the prospect of nudity.

There is some nudity here, but perhaps not the nudity which we seek.

That is my take.

Like Finnegans Wake.

Something is disallowed.

Something is taboo.

It is our puritanical instinct which causes us shame.

One would think such honi soit would only be found in England.

We become tangled in a web of meaning.

That any French person could feel shame is astounding.

But Fleur feels it.

She in an SJW.

A BBW.

Honestly, Isabelle Pirès is stunning here!

She is the reason I kept watching.

Sure, her character can be pitifully PC.

As when she lectures the third world about their plight.

It is maudlin.

Or is Russia the second world?

It was second.

But what is it now?

Doesn’t matter.

People still get drunk and fuck.

Says Venus.

Marseille.

Beautiful film.

Keep hoping.

And Veroushka Knoge reminds us of yet another lover.

Love is quintessentially French.

Four films and then career falls off.

Tough.

Magic moment by the sea.

-PD

E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial [1982)

I’ve been unmercifully harsh on Steven Spielberg over the years.

But this is the first time I’ve written about one of his films.

And, of course, it doesn’t really matter what I think of this movie.

The director couldn’t care less what I think.

And that is fine.

But there is a more profound lesson in all of this.

This situation.

I know the psychology of it.

And I can trace the genesis.

So let me start by saying that E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial is a good film.

Not great, but certainly good.

That is, of course, a statement of opinion.

That’s the nature of what I do.

As I wrote recently, I don’t like to belittle films.

In the end, it hurts me as much as anyone.

It’s simply a poisonous activity.

So I watched this blockbuster from my youth.

Tonight.

A film I hadn’t seen in a looong time.

It almost holds together as a great film.

But Spielberg seems to be the chess prodigy who can’t win a game.

He has the beginnings down.

That’s important.

And his middle game is decent.

But his final approach is a maudlin catastrophe.

Or, put another way, he gives the audience exactly what they want.

But put more precisely, he gives the audience what he THINKS they want.

There is a lot of guessing here.

The old formula ending in, “…you can’t please all of the people all the time.”

There is a lot of good filmmaking in E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial.

Some truly special scenes!

A great concept!

But some parts haven’t aged so well.

And it’s not just because the special effects seem dated.

At issue is the artfulness of Steven Spielberg.

My guess is that he’s just not a very artful fellow.

But I want to give him the benefit of the doubt.

So we might say, in 1982 he was still not a mature filmmaker.

That is, I think, a relatively fair statement.

This was, of course, Spielberg’s second “space” film.

Indeed, perhaps this was the watered-down, family version of Close Encounters…

And I respect Spielberg for making a family film.

But there is something profoundly grating about his mise-en-scène.

It’s not a pandering of genuine naïveté.

It’s more of a director trying to get into your wallet.

And he did.

Almost $800 million (!) at the box office.

In 1982.

That’s about $2 billion today (inflation-adjusted).

Let me make it very simple.

E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial goes astray the first time the bike takes flight.

And completely goes off the rails when the BMX bandits flock to the friendly skies.

But what is most excruciating is the melodramatic “hospital” scene.

Makeshift.

Henry Thomas is really good in this film.

He’s from my hometown (for Christsakes!).

But an 11-year-old boy needs some direction when he’s in a $10 million movie.

He either got bad direction at certain points, or (even worse) no direction.

Sure.

I admire Spielberg for getting in the wallets so deftly.

But poetic pickpockets will be found out sooner or later.

And E.T…., as a whole, has not aged well.

Look…Spielberg is not a bad director.

I always insult Schindler’s List.

That’s because there are some serious problems with how Mr. Jaws took on the Holocaust.

As overwrought as it is, it’s still a popcorn affair.

We will get to it eventually.

But the dead deserve a poet.

The Holocaust is not blockbuster material.

And the daft pickpocket, no matter how good his intentions, will never recuse himself from such a haul.

But more specifically…

I’m sure Spielberg’s motives for making Schindler’s List were as pure as the driven snow.

Really.

I’m not being facetious.

But he was not prepared to make such a picture.

Indeed, the picture he made is not possible.

But that is a different matter for a different day.

The Terminal is a very fine film.

E.T. is a good one.

The most troubling part is that this was Spielberg’s seventh feature-length film.

That’s really not a promising sign.

But we will give him a fair chance.

The guy has immense talent.

It just seems that his puffed-up reputation is disproportionate to the largely mediocre films he’s made.

-PD

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Невиност без заштите [1968)

[INNOCENCE UNPROTECTED (1968)]

I’m taking a wild guess here.

Because life is the greatest complexity.

Only yesterday I was tempting death.

But my name is Deathwish.

Death, for short.

A hard name to live up to.

I’m taking a guess that I have been forgotten…by most of those who meant so much to me.

Such a maudlin (Magdalen) sentiment, but fitting after such a lackluster evening.

If you have read this far, then you are likely qualified to view the ikonoclastic (!) film Innocence Unprotected.

It’s a film about a film. Wikipedia really likes Croatian. I suppose because of the Roman letters.

So the original film is question was ostensibly called Nevinost bez zaštite.

It was made during the war. 1941.

Under Nazi occupation (just like Les Visiteurs du soir).

But our 1968 film (the film about a film…sort of) is by my favorite Serbian director: Душан Макавејев. Which is to say (with pity) Dušan Makavejev.

And about that title…well, it sounds the same. That enigma “Serbo-Croatian”…but I can only guess (“taking a wild guess here”) that it was Невиност без заштите.

It flashes before my eyes so quickly.

The H that sounds like N.

The B that sounds like V.

The upside-down N that sounds like I.

The C that sounds like S.

The b with its tail in the crosswind…blowing west to east…which, mercifully, sounds like a B (or b).

The 3 that sounds like a Z.

The Roman numeral III with a floor beneath it…like a Greek temple without a roof…sounds like “Shhh…(peaceful)”.

Those are the tough ones at issue.

Cyrillic letters.

Yes?

Now that I have bent linguistic steel like Dragoljub Aleksić, we shall move on to more pressing matters.

Bending spoons. Like Uri Geller.

An Israeli. You know how much I love Israelis 🙂

It is true, in a sense.

Once upon a time…that the French and the Jews were my favorite people.

Completely true.

What happened? How did I get bent from my Henry Miller humanism?

How did I move to a Jean-Luc Godard humanism?

Shouldn’t humanism value all humans equally?

Yes.

In my wrath…in my protective love for the Palestinians I have said some very unkind things about the Israelis. Nothing I’m sure they haven’t heard before.

I am not really at the vanguard of anti-Semitism.

But I said it to be hurtful.

Strong words.

Because I was mad.

I’m sure Norman Finkelstein is a fine person.

Anyone who would argue with Alan Dershowitz must basically be alright.

As for Dersh, any lawyer who would deign write a book called The Case for Israel (in 2003, no less…year of the Iraq invasion) must have a loose screw.

As for me, all my screws are loose.

I don’t give (nor do I receive) a fuck. Err…

That is Innocence Unprotected…a rather Dodoist film which wonders whether the dots of my most recent ellipsis were italicized. The dots.

It would be like writing a poem about Allen Ginsberg’s poem “Howl” (in full-on ekphrasis mode) and calling it “Howl”.

To say there is a considerable amount of film quotation in Невиност без заштите would be an understatement.

It is truly (Poetically) a film within a film.

I dreamt.

And as I did,

I hawked plywood espadrilles

in Belgrade.

Proudly,

to fund my feature film.

Writing is an attempt to live again.

Which is to say, if I begin to live again, then

I shall have to stop writing.

Not like this.

In misery.

Like Baudelaire.

Who only ever laid a hooker.

Because Jeffrey Immelt has neither the time nor mental capacity to read Walter Benjamin.

And that’s why General Electric will fail.

Because the futures of most things are the opposites of their current states.

The future of marketing? Anti-marketing.

Because people are tired of being tricked.

They want a refreshingly frank admission of inferiority.

And the endearment begins.

Capitalism hasn’t yet cashed in on socialism.

Because to do so would mean its death.

Both.

Trump and Sanders frozen for all time.

Which would mean the humorous death of politics.

And MegYn Kelly would pull her hair out as she stumbled down the steps of the U.S. Capitol.

A lifetime wasted.

But not over yet.

There’s still night school.

She could learn a useful trade.

Now that journalism is dead.

But maybe in some Ethiopian rainforest the last shrub of curiosity/courage/integrity sits waiting for some Amazon former Fox News reporter to scale its unwieldy 39 feet…to take a clipping from the top.

Journalisa arabica.

Caught in the middle like 5 Broken Cameras.

Nothing could curse a presidential candidate more now than positive coverage by Fox News.

Fox News: a more toxic endorsement than David Duke.

So now they change their tune.

Which begs the question: does that mean you think that Republicans were rational (God forbid) to oppose Trump so long?

Or was it merely their house organ which disapproved of the ginger waker?

“Wake up kids! I didn’t go to the University of Pennsylvania for nothing!!”

I would…as a paean to Mr. Georgia Guidestones himself, like to “expand upon” Gone With the Wind. You know…add some rap music to certain scenes, show Clark Gable brushing his teeth, and such. And then call it (wait for it…): Gone With the Wind.

Yes?

Because that last period is almost certainly italicized.

It was not good enough to be amateur.

But Makavejev fixed that.

-PD

SNL Season 1 Episode 11 [1976)

Just as Buck Henry had me stumped in the last episode (Buck Who?), Peter Cook threw me for a loop right off the bat here.

Dudley Moore I knew, but Cook? No idea. In terms of firsts, this appears to be the first SNL hosted by more than one person (simultaneously).

Cook met Moore while at Cambridge University as a student (Cook) of Radley and (later) Pembroke Colleges. Moore, on the other hand, was himself a student at Magdalene College (pronounced “maudlin”) of Oxford University. They started performing together in these school days.

But the act which Cook and Moore were essentially reviving on this night in 1976 was their comedy duo which powered the BBC’s Not Only…But Also (1965-1970). We can be fairly confident of this based on their throwback chestnut Sir Arthur Streeb-Greebling.

Sir Streeb-Greebling’s featured skit (Table Talk) is one of the highlights of this episode. In it, we learn of the knighted eccentric’s restaurant Frog & Peach (which serves, unsurprisingly, frog…and peaches [exclusively]). If I remember correctly, the two dishes on the menu are frog à la pêche and, conversely, pêche à la frog. This bit of absurd, excellent humor is indicative of the talents which Cook and Moore possessed as both writers and comedians.

Cook and Moore additionally did film work together such as Bedazzled (1967). For all of you Yo La Tengo fans out there, this gives me an opportunity to wax informative on the song “Tom Courtenay”. It is one of my favorite YLT songs (from the excellent Electr-O-Pura album). Perusing the lyric sheet of the above song, not only is English actor Courtenay mentioned in the title (the narrative is likely from his perspective) but Julie Christie makes an appearance (her name being the first words sung by Ira Kaplan). For our purposes, however, it is simply enough to point out that the real “star” of said lyrics (Eleanor Bron) played Margaret Spencer in Bedazzled.

Moving on…

Now that I have spent an inordinate amount of time on Cook and Moore, I should point out something important. Saturday Night Live in its inaugural season was attracting what might be called B-list entertainers. To illustrate this point, I would direct readers to my piece on the previous episode. To have Bill Withers do but one song and have it be a tune from 1971 (on a 1976 broadcast) illustrates this point which has a parallel in Cook and Moore (who were ostensibly rehashing material from their show which ran 1965-1970).

But credit must be given to the comedic duo in question who persevered and relocated to New York City in 1973. They did, in fact, win a Tony and Grammy for their production Good Evening. This success was parlayed (partially) into a more risqué act where they assumed the personalities Derek and Clive. In total, this new incarnation was featured on three LPs (that would be, for the young’uns, VI-NYL/RE-CORDS).

Ok, so Cook and Moore weren’t totally washed up. That much is obvious when seeing this episode. In fact, I find their humor much more effective than most of the hacks which preceded them as hosts. The “One Legged Tarzan” skit near the top of the show exemplifies their shrewd method of laugh-getting.

It should also be mentioned that stars on one side of the pond aren’t necessarily stars on the other. And so, dear readers, you must forgive my ignorance regarding Cook. I have now done my research.

I should mention a further two bits. Cook himself went on to work with some of my favorite musical acts (Sparks and 10cc). That Ron Mael, Kevin Godley, and Lol Creme saw something in this chap is good enough for me.

Again, the separation between British and American entertainment really can’t be overemphasized. I know there is a Doctor Who craze in the States now, but (back to Peter Cook) this bloke had a bleeding planet named after him in 1999 [20468 Petercook].

Furthermore, I am ashamed to say that I needed Wikipedia to tell me that Mr. Cook gave the world “mayorwidge” as the clergyman in The Princess Bride (1987).

Ok, ok…enough about Cook. [I’ve hardly said a word about Moore, but we must press on.]

This is generally a great episode (with the notable exception of Neil Sedaka). I really don’t want to hate on this guy, but his repertoire…ugh. And his sartorial choices (burgundy velvet jacket). The jacket would have been great if he didn’t have Meathead’s haircut (Rob Reiner…Archie Bunker). [“And now I would like to impersonate the Archie Bunker. (…) Tank you veddy much.”]

To be fair, Sedaka had talent. Singing voice? Check. Piano chops? Check. But the schmaltz gluing it all together is what made it unpalatable. Not to mention, what was an MOR guy like this doing on such a counterculture show as SNL? Look to the corner office, my friend…the corner office.

On the whole, a great episode. Just bite the bullet when Neil starts crooning 🙂

-PD

2 Comments

里見八犬伝 [1983)

[LEGEND OF THE EIGHT SAMURAI (1983)]

Woof. I really got my years mixed up. Not by much, but a few years in technological terms is quite meaningful nowadays. And it started really exploding in the 80s.

In some respects we have Japan to thank. And while we might think strictly of Atari when remembering the techno 80s there were other advances outside of home entertainment.

But yes. I thought I was watching a movie from 1979. I misread the box.

I missed the fine print (Made on Mars).

We have previously seen Sonny Chiba as an ass-kicking karate expert, but here the name of the game is swordplay.

Yet that is just the tip of the iceberg.

Really, this film makes my recent proclamation of The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly as being a weird film almost completely meaningless.

THIS is a weird film!

It is weird even when it’s not weird, and when it’s actually weird? This is some far-out David Icke kind of stuff.

But first a word about the atrocious title.

For all I know there may actually be a story of seven samurai in Japanese history, but the reference (and plot) to eight samurai is to Kurosawa what 14 Minute Abs would be to 15 Minute Abs. Put differently, “If you liked The Seven Samurai, then you’ll LOVE The Eight Samurai.” Or, “Purchase admission to Seven Samurai and receive an additional samurai at no extra cost.”

But wait…there’s more!

Director Kenji Fukasaku really had a dodgy band of art directors/set designers to work with. It’s not that they don’t have the chops…it’s their taste which we question. And the music supervisor should absolutely be made to sit in the corner and listen to John O’Banion for all eternity.

Plain and simple: this film is as cheesy as a Velveeta milkshake. Indeed. Bottoms up.

And yet, for all of that maudlin naivete it still passes muster as not only a watchable film but (dare I say?) a good film. Not great, good…

Why? Mostly the acting. Yes, amidst this candy store of sugary-sweet special effects and fantasy costumes there are moments of real, inspired acting with actual technical proficiency.

Hiroko Yakushimaru is really pretty good as the princess (always has to be a princess in these kinds of stories).

Hiroyuki Sanada plays what for perceptive Western audiences would be the Han Solo character (though Solo’s precedent is almost certainly in the older, classic samurai films).

Sadly, Sonny Chiba doesn’t really get a chance to shine here. There are all sorts of ridiculous hand-weapon battles, but not much in the way of empty-fist war ballet.

As with the ubiquitous princess, we also have lots of crystals…glowing crystals.

If it seems I’m making fun of this film, that’s because I am. But the truth is that I really liked it.

Would I watch it again? Sober? Probably not.

But am I disappointed to have sat through it? Absolutely not. It was entertaining and, in its own way, touchingly artful.

One last note. Mari Natsuki is one bad bitch. Ever wanted to see a smoking-hot undead person (reptilian?) bathe in a pool of blood before lasciviously kissing her grown son? Me neither. But I saw it. And in some strange way my life is richer for having had that experience. Happy viewing!

-PD

5 Comments

paulydeathwish

musician and film critic

Tag Archives: maudlin