Terminal [2018)

Homage, or ripoff?

Pulp Fiction.

Vince (Dexter Fletcher).

A better actor than Travolta, perhaps.

But still…

The Usual Suspects.

Mike Myers stands in for Kevin Spacey.

But let’s talk about the upside.

This film started slow.

Boring.

Trite.

But it got better.

Indeed, it resurfaced and landed at mediocre.

Much better than I initially thought was possible.

Simon Pegg is a bit hamstrung here.

Shame, that.

Sin City.

The néo-noir is not very original.

But the color does it justice.

Better than hackneyed black and white.

Super-vivid black and white.

Here, more like Blade Runner (1982).

Margot Robbie is pretty good here.

And yet, the end is more ripoff.

Kill Bill.

Nurse.

Whistling.

Bernard Herrmann.

Standing in for Daryl Hannah.

I guess Margot Robbie is famous or something…

Harley Quinn.

Seems she is already typecast.

Self-parody.

Pigeonholed.

Quite a lot of QAnon here, what?

Q in a heart.

La Lapine Blanche (follow the white rabbit).

Lewis Carroll.

Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum.

Bob Dylan.

Adele.

Down the rabbit hole.

A trail of crumbs.

Clues.

Mystery.

Theatrical.

Hard Candy.

End.

Skyfall.

Modigliani.

NSA.

Marionettes.

I’m usually bewitched by the broads, but it’s the gents who rule here.

And not the ones you’d think.

The best part of this film is the acting of Max Irons and Dexter Fletcher.

Fletcher is pithy.

Splenetic.

Irons is naive.

Real.

Sure, there is a plot twist, but the lobotomy is in extremely poor taste.

And another ripoff.

Spectre.

Myers is good.

Robbie is good.

Pegg is good.

 

-PD

Who Is America? [2018)

Who is #QAnon?

Or, more aptly, what is QAnon?

Is it a joke?

Is it a trick?

Is it a flypaper coup (as Wayne Madsen might call it)?

I don’t know.

But there is an essential point to consider:

  1.  A party/person in power cannot (by virtue of their ruling position) effect a coup
  2. In the event of a coup, is a “counter coup” then justified?
  3. Ottoman countercoup of 1909, 1960 Laotian counter-coup, Indonesian mass killings of 1965-66, 1966 Nigerian counter-coup, 1967 Greek counter-coup, 1971 Sudanese counter-coup…
  4. Notice the grouping.  How likely is it that Steve Pieczenik came to know of these countercoups during his PhD studies (international relations) at MIT?
  5. A simple search on Google of a specific term (“counter coup d’état”) will presently yield a very intriguing pair of videos featuring Dr. Pieczenik.
  6. Clinton silent coup of November 1, 2016.  Silent countercoup “through Julian Assange and WikiLeaks” effected the next day (11/2/16) by element of the American intelligence community.  Corruption.  Clinton Foundation.  Both coups initiated through the Internet.  “Second American Revolution”.  Forced Comey’s hand re:  Weiner investigation.
  7. https://youtu.be/LHN66mfgsKk
  8. If this video is to be understood in the context of other statements by Pieczenik, it appears that Donald Trump gained power by way of a (counter)-coup.
  9. Which is to say, the coup has already happened.  Yet another reason to embrace the counterintuitive truth that QANON IS NOT A COUP.
  10. Counterintuitive because QAnon indeed SEEMS like a coup.
  11.  Baudrillard.
  12. Debord.
  13. Who is America?
  14. Bernie is exasperated at Billy Wayne Ruddick, Jr., PhD
  15. Dr. Nira Cain-N’Degeocello and his conservative hosts both fancy Herman Miller chairs
  16. Rick Sherman does some “spirit cooking” art with his bodily fluids and excrement
  17. Erran Morad dupes some dense conservatives (but not Matt Gaetz*)
  18. Jason Spencer yells, “Nigger!  Nigger!  Nigger!  Nigger!!!” and thereby has his legislative career ended by Sacha Baron Cohen
  19. Corinne Olympios (!) stood no chance
  20. Dick Cheney
  21. redneck “dream mosque”
  22. Show becomes indistinguishable from political op with extremely mean-spirited character assassination of Judge Roy Moore
  23. Rohypnol in the guacamole at a quinceañera
  24. jokes about human trafficking…stacking girls 20 or 30-high in compartments aboard a luxury yacht (attributed to Bashar al-Assad)
  25. OMGWhizzBoyOMG! Finland hipster Shopkins
  26. Rick Sherman as DJ Solitary walking ground already tread by Matmos on A Chance to Cut is a Chance to Cure
  27. Lewandowski doesn’t fall for it
  28. OMG Antifa dig at black sheriff (implied to be a fascist) by way of inaccurate reference to 1930s Germany
  29. Truth reveals itself.  “Anti-fascists” were communists.  And “fascists” were anti-communist.  A worthwhile movement would be anti-totalitarian (irrespective of right/left paradigm)
  30. Rick Sherman:  chef
  31. #Pizzagate cover from SBC
  32. Infiltration of Antifa.
  33. O.J. hidden footage not really funny
  34. But series is worth watching.
  35. Sacha Baron Cohen is essential

-PD

Heartbeeps [1981)

Continuing on an era.

And QAnon posted.

So a maximum of counterpoint might be derived.

Andy Kaufman didn’t do many films.

But here he is on full display.

As we’ve already reviewed My Breakfast with Blassie, we are getting quite close to surveying his entire big-screen oeuvre.

Down to brass tacks…

This film is mostly mediocre.

I could see some people getting a huge kick out of it.

But not me.

My main complaint is that it restrains Kaufman’s abilities far too much.

Sadly, his robot character, ValCom-17485, isn’t that convincing.

The premise of this film is GREAT!

The delivery/execution is mostly pure mediocrity.

But there is one exception.

And for that we must give a nod to Allan Arkush.

Yes, he had just come off directing The Ramones in Rock ‘n’ Roll High School.

And sadly he would go on to helm the atrocious Caddyshack II.

But at least he shows some talent in Heartbeeps…if only briefly.

When Kaufman and Bernadette Peters’ batteries hit zero.

It is truly a wistful moment.

With their “son” Phil (a robot made by robots) looking on.

Jerry Garcia apparently was the “voice” for Phil (though Phil mostly emits bleeps and swoops).

In any case, the batteries running out…that is poignant.

Because parents will go to the ends of the Earth for their kids.

Thus, one true cinematic moment.

But the rest is cutout bin.

 

-PD

The Fiendish Plot of Dr. Fu Manchu [1980)

Again we come back.

Revitalized?

Perhaps.

Definitely living with chemistry.

Better living ahead?

Maybe.

But death followed for Peter Sellers.

This was his final film.

And so it is spooky (in a way).

It came out two weeks after his death.

I must admit.

I had a hard time watching this one at first.

On first view, it wasn’t that funny to me.

Indeed, it is a rather strange comedy.

But let’s get really strange.

The executive producer was Hugh Hefner.

Follow the white rabbit.

And now we shall come to QAnon in full force.

Is it real?

Is it bullshit?

Fred Manchu.

Call me Fred.

Who is QAnon?

They don’t mention much about rabbits anymore, do they?

And like me, they are fond of taking inordinately-long pauses between bursts of communication.

Transient random-noise bursts with announcements.

My brain is coming back.

Watch out, world!

Fred Manchu did laundry at Eton.

Eton blue or shelduck blue.

Sid Caesar or Cyd Charisse.

Caesar’s Palace or…

Down to brass tacks.

Tax?

This film is in parallel to (believe it or not) Live and Let Die.

Jane Seymour (Bond) and Helen Mirren (Sellers).

And Sellers in Casino Royale of 1967.

Not to be confused with the best Bond film made thus far:  Casino Royale of 2006.

Seymour (OBE)

born Joyce Penelope Wilhelmina Frankenberg

Mirren (DBE)

born Helen Lydia Mironoff

Live and Let Die (1973) was really the breakout performance of young Seymour’s early career.

There is juxtaposition…because you might know Seymour best as Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman (1993-1998).

Sultry “Solitaire” (Seymour) is hardly recognizable next to her twenty-year-senior “Dr. Quinn”.

But sex sells.

And it just goes to show that HARDLY ANYONE gets to start off classy.

Stay classy.

In our film, the promiscuous Alice Rage (Mirren) ironically (?) gets an undercover job as a double for the Queen of England.  She then falls for the black-fingernailed Fu Manchu and becomes the 166-year-old (?) villain’s wife.

For those who only know Mirren as The Queen (2006), it is worth revisiting her early years for a jolt of WTF.

Though Mirren had been working in film seven times as long as Seymour when she took this role of Alice Rage in The Fiendish Plot of Dr. Fu Manchu, it was still something of a feather in her cap (one might imagine).

And though we might suspect this was the depth of her crappy early roles, it wasn’t.

The previous year, Mirren had been in the infamous film Caligula (produced by Penthouse magazine).

[as noted earlier, our film was a Playboy Productions venture with Hugh Hefner acting as executive producer]

Further, Mirren played a prostitute in the contemporaneous Hussy of 1980.

If you only know Mirren from American Treasure:  Book of Secrets, I can imagine your shock.

BTW…don’t make the easily-forgivable mistake of confusing Mirren for Judi Dench (the “M” of the Pierce Brosnan and Daniel Craig-era Bond films).

Which brings us back to Q.

Is QAnon legit?

Where is Q?

Why hasn’t Steve Pieczenik commented on Q?

Is Q a “flypaper coup” (to quote Wayne Madsen re: Turkey’s failed coup)?

Hard to say.

For me.

One thing is for sure:  Mirren and Dench both appeared in 1968’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

Burt Kwouk makes a brief appearance early in our film…as he drops the MacGuffin (after drenching his burning sleeve with it).

Look to Stonehenge.

Moreover, Steve Franken (the butler from The Party) plays Sid Caesar’s FBI partner here.

Franken was disgraced Minnesota Senator Al Franken’s cousin.

Let’s see if Q has posted anything.

Nope.

Weird.

 

-PD

 

Uncle Buck [1989)

Good one.

John Hughes.

It really started with National Lampoon’s Vacation.

Writer.

Chase.

Ramis was at the stick.

Egon from Ghostbusters.

Hughes really took off with Sixteen Candles.

He directed.

And that’s the first I saw of the big trilogy.

Those ’80s movies which transcend decade and genre:

Sixteen Candles, The Breakfast Club, and Pretty in Pink.

The middle one is the best.

Hughes needed a dry run with Sixteen Candles.

The Breakfast Club was the home run.

The grand slam.

Which leaves some holes.

European Vaction [writer].

Weird Science [hasn’t aged well…unless you’re a horny boy].

By Pretty in Pink, Hughes had relinquished direction to Howard Deutch.

Bueller [director] hasn’t aged that well.

WarGames [piece on #QAnon in the works] is much, much better.

Some Kind of Wonderful is another Deutch-directed hole.

Crosses paths with Back to the Future [Lea Thompson].

All of which is to say that Uncle Buck pales in comparison the the true Candy/Hughes masterpiece:  Planes, Trains and Automobiles [sic].

No Oxford comma.

Holes.

She’s Having a Baby [director].

PTA [director] was his second great auteurist masterpiece after The Breakfast Club.

But in Hughes, auteur once again becomes AUTHOR [in the sense of writing].

Hughes was no camérastylo savant–no Orson Welles or Hitchcock of angle and mise-en-scène.

It’s the story that matters.

And yet…Judd Nelson’s neorealist performance in The Breakfast Club must have made Hughes the Rossellini of the ’80s…if for only a moment.

[and Nelson the its James Dean…briefly]

The Great Outdoors [writer] is worse than even Uncle Buck.

Which is to say, Uncle Buck is WAY better than The Great Outdoors.

But both pale in comparison to Planes, Trains and Automobiles.

Christmas Vacation was a comeback.

Jeremiah S. Chechik owes his career to Hughes [writer] and Randy Quaid [genius].

Hughes only directed once more after Uncle Buck.

Curly Sue.

Sad.

And his writing went strictly downhill after the rollercoaster pinnacle of Home Alone.

Money isn’t everything.

 

-PD

 

The Breakfast Club [1985)

Essential films.

As film accrues decades.

Perhaps another century.

Even Godard hired Molly Ringwald.

Likely because these films touched him in some sort of Rebel Without a Cause way.

Either that, or the producer forced her on him.

But this film is really special.

Emilio Estevez is a dead ringer for Michael Flynn.

Which brings us back again:

Is #QAnon real?

We are drip-dropping back to war mode.

Full-on, shit-slinging war mode.

Slowly.

Fear us.

But for cinematic purposes, it is most direct to point out the two essential personages in this film:

Ally Sheedy and Judd Nelson.

And, boiled down, Judd Nelson.

Sheedy is attractive.

Mysterious.

Bat-shit crazy.

The Sheedy makeover is kinda lame.

The Estevez swoon mostly hollow.

But Judd Nelson is solid to the end.

This is a powerful film.

John Hughes created and directed the reality of John Bender (Nelson) onto the screen.

That’s would have been enough verismo for an entire career.

 

-PD

Murderers’ Row [1966)

Why do we watch bad movies?

Why do some films relax us?

What makes a flick watchable, yet vacuous [or vice versa]?

Panic in D.C.

World government as bogeyman.

Rightly so.

And sovereignty reasserts as to be valued.

Though we are still trying to get to the bottom of 9/11, we ask again:  is #QAnon real?

You only live thrice.

And solar terror.

Karl Malden plays the bad guy.

 

-PD

The Silencers [1966)

If you wanna know why Austin Powers was a “photographer” (strange bit of dilettantism that), then look no further than the beginning of the four-film spy-spoof series starring Dean Martin.

Matt Helm (Martin) is very much in the Derek Flint vein.

A couple of interesting possibilities exist in these films.

First, Martin’s parent agency in the spooky, alphabet soup world of espionage is ICE:  Intelligence and Counter-Espionage.

Second, the SPECTRE-like organization he fights is called The Big O.

obama.png

bigO

bigO2

Which brings us to #QAnon.

Sleeper.

…all of a sudden.

Hussein.

Tung-Tse might drink egg foo yung out of a can–might be a Dr. No knockoff, but it brings up the question:

Is QAnon real?

Fortunately, we have Stella Stevens to reassure us.

Just as magical as she was in the Jerry Lewis masterpiece The Nutty Professor.

But even hotter here.

Heat among friends.

Furnace.

Learn our comms.

Cyd Charisse drops in…festooned with pasties.

Twirling like an Amish stripper.

Now comes the pain.

Panic in DC.

 

-PD

bowie

Bean [1997)

Maybe think I’m not taking this writing thing serious.

Au contraire.

To rethink fundamental things.

Good movie.

Hideous painting.

De Kooning.

Superimposed.

[Ah!]

Perhaps not as solid as show.

But big difference feature length to sitcom squash.

Can I ever regain?

Yes.

Will I?

Maybe.

Wait for next episode to see Bean Cannes.

But, at root, watching a film.

For enjoyment.

Doesn’t matter.

See it again.

Welcome to the trauma of real life.

Daft.

Formulaic.

Heartwarming.

All.  Like Dostoyevsky.

Art has dribbled out since Podesta débâcle.

And then we come to QAnon.

Real or fake?

What would Orson Welles make of this PSYOP?

War of the world.

Buried deep in a movie review.

Experts.

I cannot say for sure.

I hope it’s real.

A good movie.

Popcorn.

 

-PD

Lady Bird [2017)

So much has happened since I last wrote.

Since I last really wrote.

The world has changed.

Donald Trump is President.

And the effort to oust him continues.

But I still support him.

Not blindly.

And yet.

A movie.

Here.

Lady Bird.

At first glance, a daft filmic gesture.

Taken again, a poignant slow-boiler.

And finally I watched the whole thing.

On the third try.

It’s like making a hazelnut blonde latte.

You put the hazelnut.

Pump-specific for size.

And you pull your shots of espresso.

And midway through, you realize you are pulling regular shots.

So you start over.

BLONDE espresso.

And you make the drink the second time.

And you hand it off.

And the drink comes back.

It wa sup be ic.

Iced.

All these fucking abbreviations.

Like being a part of the “intelligence community”.

So you make this same pitiful beverage a third time.

And by now you are woefully behind on the assembly line.

Once behind, there is very little chance of catching up.

Oh.

You will catch up.

Or fall over dead.

And probably no one will care either way.

This is Lady Bird.

Sacramento.

San Antonio.

Orlando.

Shitholes masquerading as metropolises.

Oklahoma City.

Provincial nightmares.

Greta Gerwig did a good job.

I ripped her to shreds the first time I saw her mise-en-scène.

Like a fucking JV football coach blocking The Tempest on a chalkboard.

Bad.

But, as we know, each film is its own language.

Each auteur, or metteur en scène (as the case may be), is a Rosetta Stone.

Mashed together.

Bleeding from one translation to another.

Along the gnarled edge pulled from from the Nile.

Trump is hard-pressed on every side.

And what is this #QAnon business?

Is it real?

I hope so.

Yet it’s terrifying.

Life, mainly.

The whole enchilada.

You work your balls off.

For what?

Are you happy?

Yeah, me neither.

And then you get to a place in life where you have no friends.

Yep.

That’s me.

It’s over.

Right now.

No friends.

Family, yes.

Thank God.

But no friends.

And you feel like a failure to have let down your family.

But maybe you came back for them.

You lazy Messiah, you.

You laid it all on the table…the altar.

Hammered to the sacrifice plane.

And also, you were really dumb.

As always.

But it is an idiot-savant dumbness.

Fuck.

I have a Master’s degree.

And a really specialized bachelor’s degree.

And the two together put me in position to do…just about nothing.

I could find that job.

But it wouldn’t be here.

But let’s talk about drugs.

Sickness.

Exercise.

Work.

Exhaustion.

Sacramento.

Mundane life.

I have hung on.

Barely, sometimes.

As today.

Fucking horrible shift.

God damn it.

Don’t get me started at this late hour.

This elderly midnight.

Premature.

“Time to make the donuts.”

I watch a film, and then I write about it.

Except that it hasn’t happened in a long time.

Because my job is a shock to the senses.

It is a brutal concatenation of events which beat upon my body and soul.

And my PSYCHE!

My brain.

My health.

Exercise good.

Stress bad.

Laziness gets no exercise.

Work gets exercise.

Work gets stress.

It is a tradeoff.

Decision theory.

And so I humbly pray to God.

That God will send me friends.

That love has not passed me by forever.

That my mind will be healed.

That my body will be strengthened.

That i will find the will to make difficult choices.

Which lead to health and happiness.

It is uphill.

I am not young like Lady Bird.

I’m old.

I’m a failure.

“I been all around the world, boys…”

What does life hold for me?

What does tomorrow hold?

Can I get out of fucking bed?

Will my joints ache as much as they usually do?

What’s the point?

What’s the plan?

Must rest to continue.

Must have hope to continue.

Where’s the hope?

I need hope.

I am a religious man.

And so I ask God, here among witnesses, to grant me hope.

I ask that my method be acceptable.

I believe in God.

And I feel the Spirit with me now.

I am scared.

I don’t know what the next day brings.

I don’t know which way to steer my ship.

And so I ask for Divine intervention.

A nudge.

A signal.

A sign.

That still-small voice.

Lord, help me to know.

Where to go.

Help me in my weakness.

Shore up my deficiencies.

Make your power evident in my poverty.

A film.

Lady Bird.

A country.

Coup and countercoup.

Q is the countercoup.

Assuming it’s real.

And a life.

I am here.

I can watch films.

When my brain allows.

But I know that in order to keep going, I need a miracle.

What will it be?

I have no idea.

I ask, Lord, that you have mercy upon me.

I ask that you comfort me and give me guidance.

I come to your feet humbly.

This is an excellent movie.

Saoirse Ronan is great here.

It is a poignant story by Greta Gerwig.

May we all be richly blessed by the Creator.

I pray this is Jesus’ name.

 

-PD