where did she goooo?
…
mah luuuv-ly?
ah wanna nooooo…
wh-r do u whar do u goooo?
“what?”
i’m talkin’ ‘boute that one renter,
you know,
with the smokin’ hot bod
and the mini pincher dog,
who we only ever saw
when they’d test the fire alarm?
the babe, not the dog.
h-h-h-ho-ho-way
h-h-h-ho-ho-way
“who’re you
yammering about now,
hm?
i told you the girl at Jasper’s funeral was
probably twelve.
it’s the GMOs in the food:
that’s why rule of sevens, dude.”
To paraphrase Tarantino, a movie that successfully uses a piece of music, owns that music. Likewise, 1981’s docudrama “Mommie Dearest” (or MD) belongs to its lead actress, Faye Dunaway.
Audiences are fickle. As a broad example (pun not intended), Sydney Sweeney is objectively attractive, but sometimes we need to be reminded that her place in history – as a babe – will only occupy a small space: one inhabited by the ghosts of celebrity babes past, like Farrah Fawcett or Marilyn Monroe.
Same goes for legendary performances: they only become discourse if viewers put the proverbial poster on their wall. As much as I admire Dunaway, there’s only a handful of movies out of her six-decade career I can definitively name – most from one era.
[cont’d]
Management would like to acknowledge & thank the participation of the involved, for their assistance in producing the above feature. It has been shortened from its original exhibition. It was made as a response to my dissatisfaction with post-secondary, and should not be taken seriously. For those interested, an unsanctioned IMDB listing can be found here.
Marvel’s “Thunderbolts*” is lustreless – not just in its “New Avengers” advertising, or its ragtag group of antiheroes: accrued from a roster that studio boss Kevin Feige himself, ironically, would call “homework.”
A lifetime ago, I made an uncouth script pitch for a cop movie to a university girlfriend, with its villain a serial rapist. She asked why it was so important to use rape as a plot device. “Because it sells!”
What I meant to say (retrospectively) was that, along with child peril & domestic abuse, rape elicits a powerful viewer response, which they want ‘avenged’ by the time the credits roll. That’s just one of the stupid things I said & did to send that relationship into free-fall, much like Marvel Studio’s stupid choices since “Avengers: Endgame” in 2019 – theirs’ being a lack of creative honour, and too much contextual juggling.
Irrespectively, Marvel productions still carry a professional-grade aesthetic, even if you don’t connect with them on a human level. But while there’s no literal rape in Thunderbolts*, it violated my other sensibilities.
[cont’d]
“…it’s been so long since I did that stuff, I literally cannot remember how we did most of it. […] I really have to insist that we don’t talk about ‘Scanners’, or special effects, or exploding heads…”
– Canadian filmmaker David Cronenberg on
Ken Finkleman’s “The Newsroom”, 1996
“The Shrouds” is an 82-year-old artist’s auto-elegiac statement. It’s aesthetically pleasing, and way too talky; its themes cerebral, though defeatist; its characters horny but dispassionate; and it’s told from a sanctimonious perspective that engenders viewer apathy.
My high school friends & I once drove an hour to see “A History of Violence”. We walked in late to the screening after getting a parking ticket, and immediately after the big 69’ing scene (but before the diner shootout). We didn’t find out until much later what else we had missed.
[cont’d]
theory of a daskeman 