Five things to think about right now:
(5) Jack Nicholson. Will he really make a return? It's rumored that he will do Lena Dunham's adaptation of "Toni Erdmann." He insists he does not have memory loss. I have sometimes wondered if his retreat from the spotlight also has to do with MeToo. Famously, he leered at Jennifer Lawrence in the middle of an Oscars interview. And didn't he once impregnate a young woman while still maintaining that he was officially committed to Anjelica Huston? Isn't it likely there are skeletons in Mr. Nicholson's closet? Maybe it's illegal or not-nice to type these things. And I could be wrong.
(4) "The Problem with Apu." Mike Reiss, in his recent history of "The Simpsons," defended the creative decisions behind Apu. His argument is this: "The Simpsons" is a show that makes fun of everyone. In the many bizarre plots, the writers frequently make fun of themselves. They also make fun of gay people, Scottish people, Christian zealots, children, and school authorities. It's a blanket statement of irreverence. I'm sympathetic to this point of view. That said, the problem with Apu may simply be that he isn't funny. Or has lost some of his funniness. There's no shame in changing directions--listening to your audience and writing new material that feels challenging, even a little scary. This Apu crisis could turn into fertile ground.
(3) "Chinatown." Like "The Godfather," "Chinatown" seems immortal. I think that's because it tells a big story about universal human truths. There is always corruption; there is always a cover-up. One thing I really admire in the script is Jake's passage from semi-innocence to brokenness. He begins with a rather smug, shallow attitude toward the world--and his distressing run-ins with the Faye Dunaway character alter (and maybe crush) him. The title "Chinatown" especially dazzles me. "Chinatown" is a stand-in for an upsetting moment in Jake's past, and it also seems to be a stand-in for hell. It is *more* than the physical reality that is L.A.'s Chinatown. We don't see it till the end of the movie, and it's a significant shift for Polanski: The screen is suddenly very dark, with lurid neon signs in the corners. It's a setting for maybe five minutes of action, and yet it's the title of the entire story. This reminds me of "Wolf Hall," which actually isn't set in Wolf Hall. The characters don't plan to go there until the very end of the novel. But, of course, *everywhere* they have been for the past six hundred pages has been its own kind of "Wolf Hall"--with creatures devouring other creatures. I wonder if Hilary Mantel is familiar with Roman Polanski!
(2) Issa Rae. Other lines from the Issa Rae Hall of Fame: "We are not about to be the black couple fighting in Rite Aid." (And I think that there's a new reference to Rite Aid in season three: "I buy my underwear there!") And the killer: "I love how you, like, just don't care at all..." A passive-aggressive observation that means more than it seems to mean. It's like when people cope with awkwardness by saying: "You're so funny!" "That's funny!" Issa's struggle--"Should I be Ms. Give No Fucks or Ms. Give ALL the Fucks?"--is moving to me, and I look forward to seeing its newest chapters.
(1) "Cameron Post." In a recent novel, "Early Work," a character complains about indie movies. "How many times do I need to see some white lady coping with the revelation that her father is gay? Or that her brother has attempted suicide? I'd rather see something starring Bruce Willis." I concur. The "Cameron Post" script is a travesty. It's especially galling, because people will note the somber subject matter and wrongly conclude that they're seeing something important. But pay attention. You can actually predict--within maybe one or two minutes--the exact moment when the two-dimensional gay boy will attempt to "end things" by castrating himself. Ugh. Frequently, during the plodding, formulaic scenes, I wanted Jason Statham to ride in on an angry megalodon. But no one listened to me. You can skip this movie.
(5) Jack Nicholson. Will he really make a return? It's rumored that he will do Lena Dunham's adaptation of "Toni Erdmann." He insists he does not have memory loss. I have sometimes wondered if his retreat from the spotlight also has to do with MeToo. Famously, he leered at Jennifer Lawrence in the middle of an Oscars interview. And didn't he once impregnate a young woman while still maintaining that he was officially committed to Anjelica Huston? Isn't it likely there are skeletons in Mr. Nicholson's closet? Maybe it's illegal or not-nice to type these things. And I could be wrong.
(4) "The Problem with Apu." Mike Reiss, in his recent history of "The Simpsons," defended the creative decisions behind Apu. His argument is this: "The Simpsons" is a show that makes fun of everyone. In the many bizarre plots, the writers frequently make fun of themselves. They also make fun of gay people, Scottish people, Christian zealots, children, and school authorities. It's a blanket statement of irreverence. I'm sympathetic to this point of view. That said, the problem with Apu may simply be that he isn't funny. Or has lost some of his funniness. There's no shame in changing directions--listening to your audience and writing new material that feels challenging, even a little scary. This Apu crisis could turn into fertile ground.
(3) "Chinatown." Like "The Godfather," "Chinatown" seems immortal. I think that's because it tells a big story about universal human truths. There is always corruption; there is always a cover-up. One thing I really admire in the script is Jake's passage from semi-innocence to brokenness. He begins with a rather smug, shallow attitude toward the world--and his distressing run-ins with the Faye Dunaway character alter (and maybe crush) him. The title "Chinatown" especially dazzles me. "Chinatown" is a stand-in for an upsetting moment in Jake's past, and it also seems to be a stand-in for hell. It is *more* than the physical reality that is L.A.'s Chinatown. We don't see it till the end of the movie, and it's a significant shift for Polanski: The screen is suddenly very dark, with lurid neon signs in the corners. It's a setting for maybe five minutes of action, and yet it's the title of the entire story. This reminds me of "Wolf Hall," which actually isn't set in Wolf Hall. The characters don't plan to go there until the very end of the novel. But, of course, *everywhere* they have been for the past six hundred pages has been its own kind of "Wolf Hall"--with creatures devouring other creatures. I wonder if Hilary Mantel is familiar with Roman Polanski!
(2) Issa Rae. Other lines from the Issa Rae Hall of Fame: "We are not about to be the black couple fighting in Rite Aid." (And I think that there's a new reference to Rite Aid in season three: "I buy my underwear there!") And the killer: "I love how you, like, just don't care at all..." A passive-aggressive observation that means more than it seems to mean. It's like when people cope with awkwardness by saying: "You're so funny!" "That's funny!" Issa's struggle--"Should I be Ms. Give No Fucks or Ms. Give ALL the Fucks?"--is moving to me, and I look forward to seeing its newest chapters.
(1) "Cameron Post." In a recent novel, "Early Work," a character complains about indie movies. "How many times do I need to see some white lady coping with the revelation that her father is gay? Or that her brother has attempted suicide? I'd rather see something starring Bruce Willis." I concur. The "Cameron Post" script is a travesty. It's especially galling, because people will note the somber subject matter and wrongly conclude that they're seeing something important. But pay attention. You can actually predict--within maybe one or two minutes--the exact moment when the two-dimensional gay boy will attempt to "end things" by castrating himself. Ugh. Frequently, during the plodding, formulaic scenes, I wanted Jason Statham to ride in on an angry megalodon. But no one listened to me. You can skip this movie.
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