Shut Your Fucking Mouth James Cameron

From the self proclaimed socially inept "King Of The World":
“I don’t want to say too much about the film cos I also have a lot of respect for J.J. Abrams, and I want to see where they’re taking it next, to see what they’re doing with it,” he said.
“I have to say that I felt that George’s group of six films had more innovative visual imagination, and this film was more of a retrenchment to things you had seen before and characters you had seen before, and it took a few baby steps forward with new characters. So for me the jury’s out, I wanna see where they go with it.”

Know what else the juries out on...why you would steal "Dances With Wolves" "FernGully" or "Pocahontas" and inject it with robots and comment on others' originality? I'm not saying he's not wrong, I'm saying he's the wrong person to be saying it. But, I'm sure he meant something else. His piece of absolute shit "Avatar" still holds box office records as does that awful garbage "Titanic." Does he ever admit that these are terrible awful unimaginative movies? Of course not. He's attempting to make money. I think what he really meant was this..."Fuck all the nerds who supported you. They're losers who live with their parents and collect figurines. Make it YOUR way. They will follow." Which is probably closer to his intention. And, unfortunately, closer to the truth. However, did it ever occurred to Iron Jim that maybe J.J. doesn't have absolute contempt for his fans? I don't see how him making a Big Mac clone did any harm to the franchise, other than to give the people what they want. I think J.C. was attempting to warm us up by telling people to make something original. Ha! You could say that about any Disney movie. Or James Cameron movie. Or...um...movies. There are great stories, it's just everything will be compared to everything else. We outbid, out-steal and out think each other. Perhaps that's why he sunk himself 2 miles deep. Most likely the air bubbles popped his brain cells. By the way, please let his plans of multiple installments of "Avatar" to tank him as deep as the sunken cruise liner. That'll learn him. Maybe humble his Canadian ass.

You Poor Unfortunate Souls

There’s  a woman in my neighborhood whom I’ve know as long as I’ve been living here in Van Nuys. A nice lady who lives with an ex-hippie. The old California guard. I can almost imagine them living in some commune somewhere, peace and love. Around here, they’ve entrenched themselves with a trickling water fall and a nice garden. I visited recently and found the tranquility a nice salve from the gloves-up-defense pose. A minute to relax as there is no music thumping, no eastern block language being shouted at each other. A sanctuary.

I understand now why she can be so live-and-let-live. The best position for someone who has lived a life of peace and love is to drown it out with the good vibrations of existing. To manage her anger, rage and high blood pressure, this is all that can be done. She isn’t the calm exterior she sets herself to be. Because she relates to me the devastating accidents she’s seen on her brief drive in the valley. What she does do, is elect to move on with life. Conceal with comfort.

I can’t imagine what she’s experienced in life. My guess, something much more traumatic than a stupid car being stolen. She’s told me stories of jailed drunken boyfriends who’ve abused her (to which I’ve seen first hand through my sister’s relationships, though without the physical abuse). Most don’t face reality but justify it. Which is to say, ignore it. I believe this defense mechanism to be the truest form of denial. It’s not to give me any wiggle room either. I’m mean, angry and bitter. Which I vent up front. These people vent behind close doors, or worse…eventually in something like a school shooting. I’m not saying either is better or worse, but it is how we cope with adversity. The disappointing thing is…it really doesn’t have to be this way. And maybe that is the defense. Recognizing that the world will drift you into (sometimes) unmanageable situations does have a calmness to it. The fact that energy pushes you to where you need to be. Although, it sometimes pushes you into a tent on skid row, the issue is that you will think clearer without anxiety than make rash decision through HIGH anxiety. Stress management, I suppose.

I would consider this blog somewhat of a stress management for me. My bitterness can be expressed here and left to be analyzed later. Sometimes good, mostly bad. Preferably for entertainment. If one gives up hope on humanity (as I’ve recently seen my neighbor upstairs do), then there really is no reason to continue. I hope he finds his way out of the darkness. It’s hard to determine, since he’s alone and confided in me his limited options. Desperation breeds unique options. It’s a tough way to go about life. Whether you’re rich or poor, it’s just a terrible place to realize the hopelessness he must feel.

Raymond Chandler Is Warning You

I recently learned the history of Raymond Chandler, a novelist/screenwriter whom I’ve had a massive respect for. Turns out he was a friendless drunk who died alone yet successful. In fact, after his death a 13 page story idea based on his celebrated character Philip Marlowe put him back into Hollywood. Was he happy in Los Angeles? Hell no. This town blows, according to him (and writer William Goldman...who lives in Connecticut).

I didn’t realize it before, but it must’ve been the agony and pain of what he’s seen in Los Angeles that drew me to his writing. Or, at least, his story ideas. Boy, the acid was boiling in his pot boilers. Cynicism, yet romantic. Optimisic yet weary. A broken man in the City of Angels.

I would say, at least, in his case, perhaps his time served in the war was justified to the horrors of man. It seems the description of his Los Angeles and it’s seedy tinsel streets were more inhumane than watching a man die after being shot. The look in the eyes was what most likely haunted him. Having ostracized anyone close, may have been because he feared their untimely death may adversely effect him. Thus is the life that is so well illustrated in a detective that sees the city in such a ugly burnt way. Philip Marlowe is Raymond Chandler. A tough to know angry person, upset humans have the capacity to murder with no cause. Even with being nationally acclaimed and doted on by awards, he still remained an unrepentant drunk.

His legacy lives on in the disenchanted of this city. Even though he died before the worse even showed up. How strange, the stories we’re robbed of because of his demise. My guess…he didn’t write for money for fame. He wrote to outrun his nightmares.

Los Angeles: Exit Strategy

I was talking to a guy at the gym today. Seen the dude around. We've chit-chatted. I talked to him about my car being stolen. To which he regaled me with tales of shit that's been stolen from him. Motorcycles and trucks. He's long done with Los Angeles. He's been through an ex-wife. He lives for his kids...one about to graduate college. He works really really hard. I can see he maybe was a frat guy decades ago. Now he just wants to go in peace. Guy lives in Acton, CA, but commutes only to the city to work as a driver for FedEx. He works hard. You can see it. Really responsible guy too. You can hear it.
We both agreed on this...
The state of California is in shambles. The state is just way too close to too many people who spend countless time making it worst. Politicians to local leaders, this town...and everyone seems to see it, has imploded. We're the idiots who've elected to stay this long. Well, he's on his way to Colorado as soon as his daughter is done with school.

What will be my exit strategy? I fucking hate this town so much and not because of just my whining and garbage that comes with being poor and working class or whatever, but because I can't comprehend the common sense that lacks in this town. You allow undocumented illegals in this town...why? So they can vote you into office. Then you hire your own people who don't do shit for the town. But cry racism if anyone realizes you're fleecing the city. Atop all that, criminals are actualy in charge of the police. Because they are too lazy to give a shit about you. It didn't start like that, but after years, the only thing that drives police now is not the love of enforcing law, but because it's the only job and idiot can get (in this town). I can't tell you how many times police have shrugged when asked a question...as if they don't give a shit, or they don't know the answer. They get paid anyway, and it takes a disaster to really get fired. Why try? In smaller cities, there is a pride of being a cop. The more we've taken control away from police, the less we care. That's a big city mentality. How much they can get from you with doing the least amount. God forbid they make an effort to find my car. Not to get real cynical but I also doubt they even put it into the system. You can be genial and polite. It gets you nowhere in Los Angeles. Being hard is what eventually torches EVERYONE in this town. And it really saddens me. closing on 20 years and it gets worst. This dude at the gym solidifies a lot about this town...it's not made for the morally upstanding people.

So I'm devising a way to leave this fucking town. I've got nothing biding me here. I've done enough, had enough done to me. I'll probably take a year, start selling off everything I own. Send out resumes to cities I want to live in. Los Angeles doesn't have that hope I'd once thought. It doesn't really bother me that I want to leave (bad sign). The animals in this town will/have already taken over. And no one cares (unless, of course, it happens to them). Obviously there is a sadness to come to this conclusion. It'd be great if the virus of criminals didn't get imported here, or are undocumented or whatever the fuck you want to call them. The point is, more people come in, more people exploit the ones here legally and the police can't control any of it. I pity the ones who still believe there is a line that can't crossed. They won't be there for you. Trust me.

"Independence Day: Resurgence" (2016)

It’s bad. Really bad. There is not really a redeemable quality to this movie. It’s “Plan 9 From Outer Space” bad without the sincerity. Why? It costs way too much for this piece of shit.

Essentially, as I don’t want to waste your time, it’s a retread of the first movie. Except 20 years in the future. And the scientists used their weaponry to design weapons to combat future alien invasions. Great idea. Yeah…key word “idea” the massive issue with this movie is it wraps its brain around this clever thing, and then forgets all about it.

Who is to suffer through this? The old guard from 20 years ago. Which, they become this psychic thread to the alien abroad. Fuck, 20 years ago I was wallowing in mopey college life most likely obsessed with a girl who didn’t like me back. So I watched the Hell out of the original. The characters that do return are tired. And know it’s a paycheck. The new guard, are really bad. I mean…laughably stupid heroic lines that fall achingly flat. You want to cheer and someone throws a bucket of ice water on you. So what was it that made the original so iconic. For one thing, they blew the fuck out of world landmarks. To which they do joke about. For another, AND I’VE WRITTEN THIS ALREADY…pay attention now: 90’s suck fucking ass. Here’s proof. The original actually is not any better than this one. It has slightly more charismatic people, and the element of wonder. In this one, we don’t wonder about any of it. Alien invasion movies are done better. This one just seems to be by the numbers. Instant clichés, down to even the beacon that transmits distress call (um…”Alien”).

The one bright shining moment is Jeff Goldblum’s character. He is silly. And does his damndest with the material. Most likely ad libbed. Between him and Judd Hirsch, it makes it slightly above a snooze fest like “John Carter From Mars.” This movie offered zero reason to stand up and feel patriotic. It’s surprisingly heartbreaking how far this movie fell. But glad it vindicated my assessment of the 90’s. Man were we dumb.

Kelly McGillis Attacked

Remember her? The sexy trainer in "Top Gun." And a great lawyer in "The Accused"
She was attacked in her home in Hendersonville, North Carolina. On top of a mountain.

I don't know how far you have to get in the world to ever feel safe, but for the most part, a lot of us can't afford a mountain or island to escape humanity. The fear is palpable. Unfortunately, the more news we hear about violations like this or my car stolen...this is such a terrible way to exist. I'm not sure many people realize the virus it is to be violated. I would never compare her attack to my property being stolen, but violation is violation. Maybe the people who commit these crimes against others feel they are just passing on the unfair nature of the world. They may feel they are righting a wrong done to them...on complete strangers. We represent the world, I suppose.

People have also mentioned that I should move from where I live as well. I most definitely considered that. But Ms. McGillis's situation put it in perspective...which I've know even before it, wherever you go...even to the top of a mountain, freedom isn't much of a freedom if you have to dodge the criminals. Because you can't. As much as you would like to lock your way into some hermit dwelling and get off the grid (like one of my sisters has), the world peeks in on you. Keeps you on your toes.

I don't living like that. I'm sure no one does. The point is to adapt to the new world that's in front of us, instead of a blind optimism of a bygone era. I would also hate to start really hating humanity. At the ground level, we aren't bad people. Even the assholes who took my car. The strength and steel core of our being needs to maintain perspective over the ones who are too mentally weak to fold and cycle their criminal behavior. I can only pity people like these. It really is daunting if you've ever been in an uncontrollable situation when all you can do is put up your hands wondering how someone could do any of this someone else. The logic is that if I don't bother you, you wouldn't bother me. I would say...be thankful you cannot think like this. I am grateful it was just my car, and not endangering my family atop a mountain.

Perspective.

I don't like guns but if anyone deserves one:
From Kelly McGillis Facebook:

For those of you on my feed that are telling me that getting a cc permit is not the best choice for me to make, well let me fill you in on a few things that have lead me to this decision. Which by the way, I have struggled over for a long long time. Not being pro gun fanatic. When I was 12 I was gang raped by three men. Later while in College I was living in NY I was held up at gun point. A year or so after that while finding the subway I was hit across the face a few time by a man long who wanted me to give him some kind of a response to his calling me 'just a white bitch.' Remarkably or not, no one on the train offered any kind of assistance. Not long after that is when two men broke broke into my apartment while I was there and repeatedly rapped me. I have been stalked by and ex girlfriend who took great pains to try to poison my animals and wreak a swath of destruction of my personal property. After each one of these attacks I moved thinking I could find a safe place. Not. The incident Friday night has now pushed
me over the edge. It has been my tipping point. No I am not a victim. I am a survivor. The last few hours I have
been alternating between tears, anger, despair and the 'why me' of it all. And if one fucking person out there something like 'why not you' I will go absolutely ballistic. A cute little phrase to make all okay? For who...you? Me? It will not be okay. I am
now left with all the terrifying feelings of PTSD and trying to pull
myself out of the very depth of the all consuming depression and despair. All
that background pain has
pushed itself to the fore of my psyche.And those Demons are raging inside me right now. I do not ever want to feel violated again. Ever. Hence the conceal and carry. All I have ever wanted is to feel safe. Safe in my own amhome. And now two separate times has been broken. I have thought about it long and hard. Ever since 1982. I don't know why this shit keeps
happenIng to me. Bad Karma?So a
wierdo magnet. Am I supposed to be getting some kind of lesson from all
of this. Or is he Universe out to get me? Or God? I don't know if there are answers. I just know I am deeply frightened. I can't think. I can't eat. And I am terrified to be alone. And the worse thing...my neighbor heard me
screaming and yelling help and my car alarm going off and did absolutely nothing. That is the kind me of world we live in. No one is willing to help
their neighbor, the stranger, their brother of sister, he orphan or the widow. That's why I am going to start carrying a gun.

The Day After

Everything seems so different after a violation. People don't seem as normal as they use to be. Their faces don't read the same. It's not them. It's me. The facade of normal people who are capable of invading your space and taking your things.

A younger version of myself would get OCD heated. I see that in talking to my Mom. She gets "Rain Man" sometimes, going over the same ground over and over again. Would've/Could've/Should'ves and the place I lived seem so much less botanical, and much more ugly.

It's obviously going to take more time to get back up to speed with seeing people normal again. For the time being, I have to wait it out away from my pad. Strangely, a similar feeling to abandoning the other oasis in the complex after that roommate practically burned down the place. I think the home should be a place you feel comfortable. Right now, I think wherever I go, my eyes search a little deeper these days.

The Old Neighborhood

When I was in 2^nd grade, I recall living in a dingy apartment with my parents and two sisters. My parents were getting massively ripped off since they didn’t speak English. But it was the same guy who rented us the apartment also leased the restaurant space my Dad just bought down the street. So it was easier to deal with.

We lived above a hair salon. During the summers the place was so hot and muggy we had to walk a few blocks down to the community pool to cool off. We had a token we’d sewn to our swim trunks to show we had paid the fee for the use of the facilities. The Pleasant Ridge community center was a nasty predominantly Black place where I’d get into fights constantly. At first I thought it was because I was an Asian dude in that community. Only to discover later on, ALL kids got into fights, all the time. Being 7 years old sucked. Too small to fight like they did in movies. Too big to beat up the little kids in frustration of getting walloped on by the big guys.

I recall being a pretty timid kid. I would shadow my oldest sister Jenny. She was a pretty cool calm person. Quiet mostly. She would walk me to the community pool and keep an eye out for me. Parents would be at work all day. SO we were on our own. Debbie, my other sister ventured out on her own. The place was usually packed. It was the 80’s so Madonna or The Cars would blast through the speakers at the pool. Can you imagine that? Today it would be brain-deadening shit that electronica drone. Or low bass hip-hop that riles up beehives.

I didn’t realize this before, but it seemed all so different now, the lifeguards were probably 18 years old, but they seemed like legit adults. I thought they were old. But, they were just kids. I can’t even imagine how my niece sees me. Like some old guy. But I only know this, because an ex-girlfriend of mine lifeguarded at a similar community pool in Maryland, and when I went to visit one year, she told me they were cheap bastards who paid teens to watch over the kids. They were CPR trained, but I can’t believe an 18 year old today would be that responsible.

During the winter, our apartment was so cold, we’d huddle next to the clawfoot radiator. The thing hissed through the tubing. It was painted over with some sort of sealant. Probably lead based. And we’d hang socks on it, then quickly throw them on our feet, then pull blankets over ourselves. My parents had their own room, the three of us shared. I’d usually end up on our 70’s style sofa. I don’t recall ever taking baths in the winter, because it was so cold. Plus, at 7 you don’t really have B.O. yet.

I remember also one day my parents being out. My sister Jenny usually hid out and read a book and generally ignored us, unless Deb and I would cause noise. I got the bright idea one day to mop the hardwood floors. Deb dumped a bucket of water on the floor as I ran the mop across it. Clean floors and the folks would be happy.

A few minutes later we heard a pounding at the front door. Jenny leapt out of wherever she was hiding and came into the living room. We stared at each other, freaked out to who could be on the other side. Our folks had drilled into our brains “NEVER OPEN THE DOOR!!” Jenny is a pretty fearless person. So she crept to the door and peeked into the peephole. Jenny turned to us. Hard to read her expression. She shrugged. Deb and I took positions behind the couch. Me, still armed with mop. To Deb and my surprise, she clicked the lock and pulled open the door. There we were standing and looking in mouth open awe. Two grey-haired ladies standing at the doorway visibly angry. I’ve never seen White women angry before, to my recollection…well, not THIS angry. The fatter of the two pointed to me “You!”

I was taken back. I understood English but had no idea why she singled me out.

“Don’t mop the floor. The water is leaking from our ceiling.” I didn’t have time to snitch out Deb for pouring the water on the floor. And I was too scared to move. So I just stared at the mop, hoping they would stop looking at me. Old White ladies are scary. At that age, they could be aliens. I think they were more shocked to see three little kids at the other end of that door.

“Where are your parents?!”

We didn’t answer. Jenny was the more defiant one of us all and just stood there smirking.

The skinnier one seemed to be the kinder one. She simply said “Well, don’t open the door for other strangers. And stop mopping.” They looked at each other, almost perplexed at what they saw. Three Asian kids just standing there…alone. When my folks came home around the afternoon, I recall Jenny got an earful about opening doors to strangers. To which I recall Deb maybe defended her by saying it was a couple of old ladies downstairs. That didn’t really soften their position. Immigrants don’t need any spotlight on them.

I went back to that neighborhood now 34 years later. A hair salon is STILL there. I didn’t venture to see if those are rented apartments now. Only that the neighborhood is gentrified into a hipsters paradise. The bar around the corner has a bazillion craft brewery. And the comic book shop, where I spent countless hours staring out of my window praying I could cross the street to look inside, moved away, came back and moved away again, and then came back again. It had a really cool corner spot, that was the angle of the corner. Old school looking. The building was old, but it had some awesome memorabilia, once I was old enough to venture to it, a few years later and when we moved to a house a few miles away.

It gets me thinking about the independence of children today. There are none. The town where I grew up, the kids banded together and went out into the woods to explore. We’ve found old abandoned houses, played in junkyards, made treehouses. Never under the heavy hand of adults. They were pretty much what you saw in most “Muppet Babies” show or “Charlie Brown” a disembodied voice of authority through some filter. We would go to construction sites and set up shop. Go play ninja and sneak into the ol’ country club golf course under moonlight. I pity the children today who will never experience that freedom. Either we’re too scared now, or things have gotten worse through what we know. The world, and generations below us really need to feel empowered with the fact that a psycho religious zealot isn’t going to shoot up a school or club. It seems nowadays, the knowledge we’ve got at our fingertips make us more fearful than less.

My Car Was Stolen

You never know what you're losing until it's gone. And man, do I miss her.
The 1995 White Mercedes Benz is gone. Most likely by these two Russian couple who I saw looking at me from across the parking complex in my own driveway. Though I can't accused them to the police, I suspect highly it was them. Can I confront them? Probably not. What would they need with a car this old with this many miles. It's in parts, most likely. It sucks since I left a lot of paperwork in it. So I don't know if they could use any of it to steal my identity. What I do know....some stranger is operating my car and it really sucks. Especially cause the violation is that someone was watching me the whole time. The fact that someone thinks I'm THAT big of sucker.
They're not wrong.

So that's that. It sickens me, and makes me a little afraid to go home. But things could be worse. I could be crushed by my own car. The car had a ton of miles. But we went through a lot together. It hurts because it wasn't me who let the car go, it was pried away.

I guess that's life. People will come in and take these things. And you have to move on. As my great sister mentioned, don't be angry or bitter but decide what you need to do to move on. It's a car, not a life.

Michael Sandford: The Trump Assassin

This illegally-entered-into-U.S. 20 year old limey, could've proven a point had he taken a cop's gun and killed the Don. Instead, he reinforced the idea that walls should be built into America, and that perhaps we are too lax'd when it comes to the freedoms at these things. Which, in this case, was a rally in Las Vegas.

The other problem is...the election hasn't even happened yet and people already want the hairplugged one dead. Well, if you live for the extreme, extreme people will meet you halfway. Perhaps Sandford thought he could impress the unshaven chicks of the Left American trim that would gladly marry him in prison. Yeah, we got some really retarded women here. Think about the dumb broad who married one of the Menendez brothers (killed parents). Either way, this didn't really make that big of news, which is odd. The freak death of Anton Yelchin gathered more steam than this dude. Which may say something about how little we care about whether or not Trump gets killed.

This kid'll get raped in prison. Then was it worth it? Maybe, seems his other option was death.

Wendy Bell: Just Leave Pittsburgh, Yo

Remember this newscaster who posted on their social media page about how Blacks should stop killing one another...here's something from the Washington Post:

On Monday, an attorney for the mother of five filed a federal lawsuit on her behalf claiming that if she were black, her Facebook post would not have been considered a fireable offense in the eyes of her employer.

“Had an African-American journalist said the same thing, it wouldn’t have generated the same quote-outcry-unquote,” her attorney, Sam Cordes, “What she said was benign at best. President Obama has said similar things.”

The lawsuit claims that WTAE-TV, an affiliate of Hearst Television, violated the Civil Rights Act when it fired Bell. She wants her job reinstated and to be compensated for backpay and attorney fees.

“Had Ms. Bell written the same comments about white criminal suspects or had her race not been white, Defendant would not have fired her, much less disciplined her,” the suit claims.

Bell’s attorney also suggests in the filing that WTAE-TV “consistently downplays misconduct” by other reporters and anchors because of their race or gender, citing one instance where an employee was not disciplined for making lewd comments to interns that led to the termination of the internship program and another where a reporter was not disciplined after being arrested for propositioning an undercover police officer.

After she was fired in March, Bell told AP she didn’t get a “fair shake” from the station.

“It makes me sick,” she said at the time. “What matters is what’s going on in America, and it is the death of black people in this country. … I live next to three war-torn communities in the city of Pittsburgh, that I love dearly. My stories, they struck a nerve. They touched people, but it’s not enough. More needs to be done. The problem needs to be addressed.”

Bell had worked at the station since 1998 and won more than 20 regional Emmy awards for broadcast excellence. In the suit, her attorney describes her as a beloved community journalist who was regularly praised by her employers for her professionalism, judgment and work ethic. It claims that in her most recent performance review, Bell’s bosses encouraged the anchor to continue engaging with the audience on her Facebook page.

The suit claims that the last performance review also said that Bell was “often exceeding expectations in the way she embodies [the station’s] core values.”

The news of Bell’s dismissal was leaked to news outlets hours before the station told her, the suit claims, and emphasized that the decision coincided with a meeting the station held that same day with the Pittsburgh Black Media Federation to discuss the Facebook post and issues of racial diversity.

The federation said they did not call for Bell to be fired and that their meeting took place after news of her termination was announced.

In the immediate aftermath of Bell’s post, angry viewers and commenters flooded the TV station Facebook page, the comments sections of news reports on the issue, Twitter and Reddit. Others, however, vehemently defended Bell and praised her for speaking what was on her mind. In the post, she expressed anger and sadness for the senseless loss of life at the hands of gunmen she called cowards.

The Wilkinsburg mass slaying case that inspired the controversial Facebook post has yet to be solved. Two men described as suspects by prosecutors have not been charged with the murders, but are being held at the Allegheny County Jail on drug charges in an unrelated case that dates back to 2013.

Cordes, Bell’s attorney on Monday that he plans to add a gender discrimination claim to the lawsuit once he receives the okay from the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission.

Bell has deleted her WTAE Facebook page and scrubbed her Twitter biography of her ties to the station or the journalism profession. On a new personal Facebook page, she has conducted informal interviews with people around the city.

Cordes told the Post-Gazette that Bell is looking for a job but faces challenges because the TV station told her it would enforce a noncompete clause in her contract that ends on March 30, 2017.

The station has not commented on the suit.

I'm glad she's fighting back. She's got FIVE KIDS! Also, leave Shittsburgh, dude. You'll just always be the White lady who told Black folk to stop killing each other. How awful is that? 

The Fascinating Balls Of Steel Of "Clonus Horror" (1979)

For every movie like “Dark Star” that produced people like Dan O’Bannon & John Carpenter there’s a movie like “Clonus.” Released around the same time as “Alien” this movie made for $257,000 of personal money by director/writer/producer Robert Fiveson died on the vine. Check that, it didn’t get any support, so…it got murdered in shitbox theaters.

There was no real distribution, since back in those days, studios didn’t give a flying fuck if you made a movie on your own dime. They were too busy trying to get their own movies made and shoved out there. Of course, the story of “Clonus” would never be heard from had there not been a spicy little controversy.

The plot of it is pretty interesting. In a hidden mysterious industrial complex, a privileged society has clones being made. But one day a clone, bred to be a dumb shell of a being, starts being aware of their purpose. To support rich and powerful people. Sound familiar yet? Yep…it’s a movie that Dreamworks made with director Michael Bay as “The Island.” Now if you watch the movie, you can see practically shot for shot and beat for beat, the two movies match up. You think movie people would be smart enough to…figure out a way around it. But surprisingly, Spielberg’s company was involved. Fucking wild, huh? To boot, they ended up suing these assholes and settled out of court. Now I’m not sure the deal struck behind closed doors, but I can guarantee they paid out of pocket. Now as far as Robert Fiveson was involved…who knows. According to an interview he gave in 2004, the rights belong to a Sam Arkoff’s company. I wonder…if he got screwed twice. Since…he technically doesn’t even have the rights to his own movie…that he paid for. Lesson: Read the fine print when you decide to sign away your intellectual property. I guess.

I learned something valuable hearing about this. Not that I want to be any more paranoid. Just that there are unscrupulous people out there. It seems hard to decipher who is trying to look out for your best interest versus who’s just a smooth talker. This business can be rough

Speaking of which, Paulette Breen, the big jugged chick in this movie went to my alma mater Bowling Green State University and died alone and penniless in Van Nuys, CA. Most likely near where I live now. They don't tell stories like this in Entertainment Weekly:

Cleveland Cavaliers Win Their First Title....Ever

Congrats to LeBron James and...well, I can't name another dude on that team. But, this is probably going to feel like this if say, my shitty Cincinnati Bengals ever get the Super Bowl monkey off their fucking back.

I'm not a basketball fan, but you can be sure a "Major League" version of this movie is in the works. It's historical if you give a shit about the NBA. Incidentally, wouldn't it have been much more of an accomplishment HAD Lebron not dragged this broken train up the hill. I like the city of Cleveland, simply because it refuses to believe it's part of Ohio. They think they're like a broken New York City. You couldn't be more different from Cincinnati to Cleveland. But that town must feel good about itself now. The curse/loser mentality resets itself. Not bad.

"Gilda" (1946)

 

I know, it’s probably some cosmetic algorithm that figures out the why of Rita Hayworth and how much she just gives you a boner just by her looks. She doesn’t even need to be nekkid. Something about her proportions and symmetry that says “SEX!!!” The same could be said with Ann-Margret. Seems wounded/innocent and mean as a snake at the same time. Is it within them? Most likely. According to Rita’s former husband, she was…prickly.

Anyway, “Gilda” uses the best of these attributes. When we first meet Glenn Ford, he’s grifting on the streets with loaded dice. This catches the attention of a casino owner, played by George Macready. Why am I not using their character names? Who gives a fuck…the real attraction is Gilda. And by her introductory hair flip and the first glib response to “Gilda, are you decent?”

“Me?” even watching this alone, I heard an inner cheer. She is a BOMBSHELL, folks. And we learn later, this coy effect is also used to perfection. Only to realize how she got these skills.

I won’t give too much away for you, since there are great spins to the story. Only that the main story is Ford trying to move up in the criminal world while keeping a sexpot at bay who happens to be married to a cartel boss whose friends are pretty evil.

Watch this movie for Rita Hayworth. She sizzles in the final number where she lays herself out bare for the casino/club. Her drunken rendition of “Blame It On Mame” is a nut buster. Since you’ll bust a nut for her coconuts.

Though described as a film noir…it’s weird that it isn’t as dark as say…a Billy Wilder picture. It has romance in it, similar to “Casablanca.” I found it to be more optimistic than most noir films, and the one-liners (with the exception of digging real deep into the core of hurtful comments) to be playful.

Fun stuff people. Seek this movie out if you haven’t already.

"Days Of Wine And Roses" (1962)

There is NOTHING more sobering than watching a vivacious beauty drown herself in booze turning from a soft spoken housewife to a monstrous gin boozer flowing with the acidic ugliness of pent up frustration at life. The simple answer being…life is too ugly to face sober. And to that degree, I completely understand.

The pity party of boozers, as I am though dry now, seems to be never wanting the party to end. Thus is the life of Joe and Kirsten Clay. A San Francisco couple whose casual drinking spirals into unspeakable acts.

Jack Lemmon plays Joe Clay, a public relations hotshot who boozes with his clients. Unhappy with what is required of him, he drowns his sorrows in alcohol. Along the way, he meets a beauty named Kirsten (Lee Remick), who is a secretary for his firm. He offers her the first drink, which becomes a few more. As their life progresses, or rather digresses, booze becomes central to her life. The pull becomes so strong, it causes her to abandon her family.

What I love about this depiction is the honesty. It’s a harsh reality to what boozers do go through. The denial, the binges, the quiet moments of hiding ones drinking. For example, a scene when Joe is convinced he had three bottles of booze instead of two, only we realize from Kirsten’s look…she’s secretly drinking alone. The other great thing about his movie is the accurate portrayal of Alcoholics Anonymous. Recivitism is massive in that organization. And they’re honest about it.

Much like “The Lost Weekend” we are wondering when these people will hit rock bottom. The answer even surprised me. I was expecting a pat answer, or at least a hopeful one. But it’s amazing how a movie like this got greenlit considering the topic is specific to those who suffer and suffer around it. It’s also very rewarding to know…ugly behavior is universal even to the seemingly well-adjusted.

This was a great reminder of why I became sober a few years back.

No Wine & Roses For Me

The movie “Days Of Wine And Roses” brought back a lot of terrible memories of when I was drinking. In particular, the break up of a relationship and the pain it causes to people when you choose the bottle over people. There’s a moment which I love in it, where an Alcoholics Anonymous sponsor tells Joe (Jack Lemmon) that she isn’t that person you first met. The one we remember as a sweet loving gentle person. The hurtful angry one comes out when cornered. And the dynamic of that relationship has changed. I would say, most of my relationships have been when I was boozing. The toughest lost was in college. We were enablers the same as the two in this movie were depicted. The co-dependency of feeling high became associated with why we stuck it out together for so long. Even after she dumped me, which looking back was the most merciful thing she could’ve done, she took years of detox before settling down with a family. Detox in terms of getting her head and heart straight. The hurtful part is, I’ll never know if it was the partying or who I was that made us love each other. I think most college relationships are like that though. A hazy boozy fog.

The other thing mentioned in the movie is that, some people CAN drink and some people cannot. It’s a lottery and I lost. I can’t have one drink. Or even two. I can down a case. Because one isn’t enough. The addictive personality transcends booze. But it’s in us. The genetics suck. I think most men quietly suffer this, since it implies failure and weakness. I know, if I’d felt shame back in college, I would’ve seen there was no future in me through her eyes. I made a lot of pipe dreams that wasn’t ever going to come true. Because she saw I was a drunk.

The other thing is, people can see it. No matter how much you attempt to hide it. I chose to hide in plain sight. No one ever suspects Asian people of this. Only Germans or Irish. Asians function fine drunk, as is the case of Japanese businessmen. I would imagine it being somewhat embarrassing if you are unable to drink like a man.

The culture we’ve established (in most countries, actually) is that if you can’t drink you can’t be macho. The image is that of a man like J.R. Ewing from “Dallas” guy made decisions wasted and went on to bang the prettiest girl in South Fork. Or rather, have affairs with prettier girls while she suffered. That’s virile. But that image has changed. Too late for me. I don’t regret, but wonder how much more could’ve been accomplished had I not been in years of a boozy haze.

The awful thing is to face reality on realities terms. I can’t even think about drinking anymore. Which seems to suit me, since I got too many things on my plate now. But in a social atmosphere, it does get…sad. The moments I gain back by not kicking back seem to lack the luster it did when I was. I’ve been in self-imposed exile to dodge all that. When you’re forced into humanity, as with work and school or whatever, it’s probably much more difficult.

I have a friend now who does booze pretty heavily. I hasten to tell him that keeping yourself busy helps but seems to delay the time when he hits the bottle again. He is clearly an alcoholic. He shared with me one time about his renewed interest to quit. A drunk’s manifesto. Most keep it under wraps for the shame. But he did express his health concerns. I understand sobriety is awful. It’s a lonely road, which people deal with it the way they’ll deal with it. It’s boring and I swear you can hear ever click of a minute hand moving on a clock. It helps to occupy yourself with something. Putting thoughts to paper helps.

The reality is…if you don’t stop, you will go through unspeakable pain. Whether it be exterior or interior, making excuses only fools yourself. In the commentary for “Days Of Wine And Roses”, director Blake Edwards mentions how both he and Jack Lemmon were heavy boozers during the making of this movie. To which, EVEN after the warning signs, and crushing reality in the movie they were making, both elected not to quit drinking. Edwards was curious, asked Lemmon why he wasn’t quitting. To which Lemmon gave a list of reasons. To which Edwards thoughts...they could be lines taken directly from the script. The denial and the excuses. “I can quit anytime I want” being the most common. Weird.

Procrastinating...Sort Of...

I don’t think I can go a day now without writing. To be perfectly frank, I write in my blog to procrastinate from script writing. I’ve got three features now that I’ve not gotten to since…I’ve been distracted by watching movies again. Not sure what the new drive is, but a lot has to do with studying how the great ones did it. To, possibly, make movies the way they did. I LOVE Billy Wilder, Preston Sturges and Ernst Lubitsch. And they all respected each other. I was listening to Peter Bogdanovich speak on Gilbert Gottfried’s podcast recently and he mentioned that the younger filmmakers today refuse to watch older movies. I hope he wasn’t referring to my generation, because the guys I know really love them. They are as fresh to me as any superhero movie. Any of these comedies from the 40’s is EXACTLY the same banter they did 60 years earlier. They didn’t need tights and super powers to do it. It’s like people don’t credit classical music to notice that Aerosmith RIPPED OFF Bach. Or that rappers ripped off EVERYONE. Even Michael MacDonald…you fiends! (Warren G).

But, I suppose I’m no better. I study their movies to see what I can steal. According to Bogdanovich though, a lot of these old timey guys don’t care if you rip them off. He mentions the movie Howard Hawks’ “Bringing Up Baby” to which Bogdanovich told Hawks he stole parts to make “What’s New, Pussycat?” To which, after he saw it, Hawks wondered why he didn’t steal MORE from it. Haha. Then Hawks traveled the world taking photographs of the marquee that showed Bogdanovich’s movie. THAT’S fucking why we make movies.

The best anecdote from this is what Jimmy Stewart said to him. The question being what we all who make movies wonder…why do we make movies? Stewart’s answer was so simple it's endearing…he simply said that there was one time when a guy had stopped him and told him he loved a speech he did for a movie. It was a movie that was already 20 years old. But it left an impression on him. Even that many years later. To Stewart, we make movies to give people moments of and to their lives. Creating memories, or perhaps recalling memories. I think, in the end, all we have are memories. We cherish them like gold. More than gold.

Preston Sturges wrote every day. Even when he was at his lowest and Hollywood turned its back. Like most of his characters, he's an optimist. Something that didn't necessarily set him up for his last days. But...I would guess he lived life to the fullest.

"Magic" (1978)

For an opportunity to see Ann-Margret’s nipples at 00:45:32…Hell ya.

She’s got a magical set for sure. Highly competitive with a Joey Heatherton. She’s a sweet somewhat naïve lonely middle ager named Peggy Snow in this one.

This could be a sister movie to “Misery” since the screenplay was written by the same person. The story is about a magician turned ventriloquist, whose drive to fame makes him create a dummy called Fats. Anthony Hopkins plays Corky, the oddball character who is creepy yet very convincing as a man who loses his mental capacity for real and the unreal. Perhaps his “genius” in this movie is his talent for disarming humor told through his act.

In fact, it makes him so successful that he’s got a standing contract to create a pilot for one of the monster television stations which is overseen by his agent, played by Burgess Meredith. Who should’ve been nominated here for an Oscar rather than the caricature of Mickey in “Rocky.” But whatever, this is a one man show with Hopkins. As a timid weirdo, he is fascinating. Practically scared of his shadow until he speaks through Fats. The issue arises when he vehemently refuses to take a medical exam for fear he will be found out that he suffers from mental illness. This exam is to cover NBC for the pilot and is standard. He freaks out so bad, he disappears to his childhood home hoping to find the girl that he lost so many years earlier. By happenstance, she runs a cabin-for-rent in a practically deserted small town. Unfortunately, we discover she is in a sexless marriage, and agrees with Corky to leave. Things get messed up when Corky’s agent finds out why he has been so sidetracked to take a medical exam. Then things get REALLY muddy.

I have a fondness for movies like this, simply because it requires so little. Three main characters and a tangled web. It gets worse an worse for Corky, but due to the sweet loving person that Peggy is, we are left with some frustration. Generally wanting to shake Corky to his senses. A smoking hot woman like Ann-Margaret is the prize, yet…he can’t drop the “act.” Ann-Margret is amazing in this movie. Not just for her tits, but her ability to play a broken flower, whose beauty put in any other town would be the belle. But since she’s stuck in upstate New York, she is saddled with a unmotivated lummox of a man named Duke, played fantastically by Ed Lauter (R.I.P.).

 Duke is a good man, but poorly suited to handle the more worldly-at-heart Peg. It would be easy to paint him out to be a thug and abusive, but you can see it’s just love that went stale. He’s clearly a more manly choice for her, but she elects the nebbish instead. You almost feel sorry for the guy. But you definitely don’t want to be completely around for after the curtain.

This was penned by the great William Goldman (whom this would be back to back ones he’s written). You can see his great humor poke through in a dark horror flick like this. Which, incidentally, I think these types of movies will have to re-genre their brand, since nowadays a person who is schizophrenic can’t be seen as a “horror” movie anymore. I think. I like that the glib jokes poke through. It’s a great reminder that not all thrillers need to be maudlin and dark. Even “Psycho” had some great humor to it. To which I think a lot of this borrows from Hitchcock. Interestingly, this was directed by Richard Attenborough. I didn’t realize this would be his cup of tea. A well made one at that.

Old Hollywood Stories

I love old Hollywood stories. Call me a nostalgic dude but something about people who were so…glamorous who acted so real seems to make me feel less alone about the filmmaking process. TRUE FILMmaking. Not digital. Barf.

Anyway, this one involves director Preston Sturges & Howard Hughes. Which, by the way, if you haven’t seen “Sullivan’s Travels” PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE seek it out. A sexy Veronica Lake, if anything, is a great reward for sitting through it. She’s the girl we all want. Sassy and brassy. And it’s about the movie business. Great lessons to learn in that movie. Even in modern times.
Here's her stroking it...to make YOU happy: https://streamable.com/d7q3

The year in 1950, and Sturges meets billionaire weirdo Hughes. They make a handshake agreement on movies Sturges was to direct. This would be unlimited pass to make his movies. Imagine this…a billionaire comes up to you and offers to fund every movie you make. ONE stipulation…if at ANY TIME, either one can call it completely off. Meaning, it would be the end of this arrangement, ANY reason at all. It would just end like that. Invoices would go to Hughes, and he’d sign every check.

The movie is “Vendetta” in 1950. They were into the heat of shooting the movie, roughly 40 days in, when Sturges gets a phone call from Hughes. He wants to call the whole thing off. Here’s things to remember…first movie they work on together…Sturges is an established director. Hughes just calls it off. On a day where there were over 100 extras, production shut down just like that. No reason given. Nothing was spoken of this for years. One day, over a lunch…someone who was attached to that production mentioned their theory as to why that had ended so abruptly. Seems during the production, Sturges had gone up to the horse trainer, and during breaks had asked the trainer how much it would cost him to ride the horse. To which the trainer said “Mr. Sturges…for you…c’mon…” So, Sturges would ride the horse daily free of charge. So he thought.

Turns out the horse trainer was charging production a massive sum every time Preston went riding. And as Hughes kept getting the invoices for this frivolous expense, the more steamed he got. He felt money was being wasted on things that wouldn’t end up on screen. Unbeknownst to Sturges. Hughes wasn’t the type to confront these things to get the truth. Only that he saw what he saw, and unlikely to budge from the perception.

I love stories like that. These anecdotes make me realize the insanity to which we go to, in an industry of mind-wandering people.

"Harper" (1966)

There is no way in Hell Shane Black didn’t watch this prior to writing “The Last Boy Scout” or “The Nice Guys.” This is a L.A. detective story, and it’s hardboiled as you can make it. Except, it’s not grim. It’s a lighter touch of goofy Los Angeles crime story.

The story introduces us to “Harper” (title character played by Paul Newman). He’s a dirtbag gumshoe. Which we learn a few things about his life, just in the opening sequence. He sleeps in his disaster of an office (Joe Hallenbeck in “The Last Boy Scout”). He drinks terrible coffee. He drives a car that was nice at some point of its life. And he is on some oddball case that a friend gave to him, again “The Last Boy Scout.”

A rich guy is missing and his wife (Lauren Bacall) is trying to find him. She’s a little less than enthusiastic about the investigation, since it’s a half-ass effort, but she goes along with it as her sex kitten step daughter, Miranda, played by Pamela Griffin attempts to find him. Her attempt is equally as pressed, as she’s taken with both a young man named Allan Taggart who lives with them played by Robert Wagner.

A ransom is demanded by the kidnappers and now it’s up to Harper to figure out who it is. The fog of Hollywood in the 60’s is great. Headcase, New Agey shit is on full display. As is raw unfiltered language of insensitivity. As when they deal with an aging starlet named Fay Estabrook who has turned fat played by Shelley Winters. They don’t pull any punches with her. Poor Shelley, now the butt of both this movie and “The Poseidon Adventure.”

This movie has some real laughs in it. As it was penned by William Goldman, I wasn’t surprise the tongue-in-cheek goofiness that he provides. What could be a dark angry movie turns to be a more bouncy hip 60’s movie. The music, cars and style of this movie is great. As is the look of the movie, shot by a young Conrad Hall. The movie looks great. A lot of style and buoyancy to the era. To me, this is the perfect time period that withstands aging. Yes, the wardrobe is dated, but as with most fashion, most likely a few returns.

There is a great moment between Harper’s ex-wife and himself…the wife played by Janet Leigh. Her character is a fed up partner who understands he’s a dog chasing cars. It doesn’t know why it does it, but it must. Though buried in optimistic hope, it always comes back to the hard nature of his profession. And his inability to drop focus for a minute. He’s a noble guy in a town of morally bankrupt people, yet he’s seen more the outsider.

A great detective fun movie. Laughs a plenty. And great to see Newman get into being an unlikeable dude.

Nothing Works

I just want to finish this fucking short film...
You can be friends with people. You can give them money. Give other people money. It sometimes isn't enough. You can make promises. Drag that mule up a hill. Point is, relying on other people...fuck. I DESPISE it. Because people aren't out for your best interest. Of course, unless it's you own family...and then even then. Time for me to learn the process or I can go fuck myself.

Not so much that I'm doing my best to press this short film to the top of the hill. It's been over a year, and I've done all I could do. Is it any surprise that people are ruthless? Even at this level (low) it takes pestering, begging, crying and worrying. No one cares. Or they do but are afraid to tell you the truth. Or...place reason here.

What irks me the most is that I shouldn't have to chase down people whose sole purpose is to work on movies. This is as much of your future as mine...and I'M NOT GETTING PAID.

Yes, this is my project. But chances are, very few will care. Unless it becomes a strange hit. Then the people who've dragged their feet for so long will want to get on that bandwagon. I've seen it before.

I have to learn the secret from others who were able to find people who are gung-ho. The market is TINY. Whenever someone asks me for a favor, I can't help but get it to them as soon as possible. I'm learning more and more this is really rare. Fuck.

What "Night Of The Creeps" Recently Taught Me

I was listening to the commentary track of “Night Of The Creeps” and if you have the time and the stomach, it’s a classic horror film that is really underrated. Mostly, because it’s actually four genres in one. Basically, if you took all the E.C. Comics like “Tales From The Crypt” and “True Detective Stories” and some Dashielle Hammett novels, you’d have this. And science fiction stuff thrown in as well. It’s awesome.

Director Fred Dekker casted, for the sorority girl love interest, Jill Whitlow. Not sure what she’s done since, but in this commentary, Dekker mentions a moment where he basically casted a dream girl HE’D wanted when he was a college student (odd since at the time of directing this movie, he was 4 years out…how’s that for talent?). I think a lot of us who make movies do that. We cast as our lead actress, the woman we can fashion into our “dream girl.” Says a lot about me, since I cast broken down women. Or shrewish nags. Perhaps it’s my attitude towards the women I find attractive. Ugh. They mention Hitchcock definitely pulled his pud casting sophisticated blondes who do bad things (or in some cases, have bad things done to them). I think after a while, you do start to see a pattern in women.

They also mention a melancholy to “Night Of The Creeps” which I think comes from nostalgia. Broken hearts and love unrequited. Or missed opportunity. We really try our hardest to fix what’s broken in us. Acceptance, rejection, being overlooked. These are real pain I think everyone feels at one point. Like, remember when a girl you liked liked someone else? What if that person was your friend? Heartbreak. Or in Tom Atkins’ detective Cameron’s case, a lost love who dumped him, gets murdered by a crazed axe murderer. A case that haunts him to old age. These universal truths we feel, make us feel less alone.

Another observation, which I found to be true. Dekker mentioned fellow director Peter Hyams told him the majority of the time the lead actress and lead actor will establish a romantic relationship. It was a pretty high enough percentage, over 80%. I think acting is a pretty lonely position to be in. It only makes sense that the only other person that would understand the fear and loneliness would be the other person who is in the same position. Fear can be an aphrodisiac.

So my suggestion to people making movies…if you can, try to find people you are attracted to, but don’t have romantic attachments. Really hard when you’re young. Easy when you’re older. I recall in undergrad casting a girl I was infatuated with. She ended up dating my key grip. It’s devastating when you know their intention by the many times they ask about that person. Devastating. Again, the process of life. We can’t all be that to everyone. If you look back on your own life, you could at least come up with a few times you’ve also rejected people. And in case you’re too hard on yourself, remember…Sophia Loren chose Carlo Ponti OVER Cary Grant AND Frank Sinatra. Pier Angeli married Vic Damone over James Dean. None of us has the monopoly on rejection.

"Prizzi's Honor" (1985)

It dawned on me the other day…Italians really like celebrating the mafia. They’ve made so many movies breaking down gangsters, it’s like it’s tied deep into their culture. Can you imagine any other culture that would make movies that took so much glee and “respect” for these thugs and hoodlums. Their “honor” code is a joke, but don’t tell them that.

Such is the life of Charley Partanna, a deep rooted Sicilian who’s not ONLY in the mob, his father is as well. On a chance meeting at a wedding to a self-proclaimed “Pollack” Irene Walker or is it Vanessa Jackson, he soon finds out what a dangerous woman she is. This enigma is played by a very svelte and sexy Kathleen Turner. In the mid-80’s she looks like she could fuck your dick off. Nowadays…you see her nekkid, your dick would likely just fall off. But, she is in prime shape. Which catches the eye of Charley. Well…too bad for him, since grandpa Prizzi’s granddaughter played by a vampy sinister Angelica Huston, learns secrets.

Charley marries Irene, despite the fact that he learns she’s a contract killer. If you believe that, then this movie is fun.

There were actual moments that I did find myself laughing. The stereotypes are in full force. And they’re dark. Killing someone because they got off the wrong floor in an elevator is good for a guffaw. Until…we learn who that person is. That’s the odd joy this movie takes. Charley KNOWS this woman is an awful person, but much like him, we’re seduced by her charm and wholesome look. Even though she is a ruthless and very efficient killer.

The gist of this movie is that you can’t trust even the one you love, and that despite what appears to be love…well, it’s dangerous if you lose your sense. Directed by John Huston and beautifully lensed by Andrez Bartkowiak, this is a fun movie. Just stick through the draggy first 6 minutes.

"Trumbo" (2015)

The one massive flaw in “Trumbo” is mentioned specifically in the movie. Why does a man want to be a socialist who is a rich? Well, just because you say it, doesn’t make it less hypocritical.

Bryan Cranston plays the character and real life screenwriter Dalton Trumbo. There is pretty much nothing this guy can’t do. He’s great in it. But the movie seems like a cheap costume party. The problem is…it really attempts to look and feel that squeeze of the hunt for Commies, but in essence, turns into a bland history lesson of people who’ve suffered. Much like my criticism of “Suffragette” it’s a matter of who-gives-a-fuck. While true, the blacklist buried a lot of Communist in bankruptcies, property loss, and loss of that Hollywood dream, it’s really hard to sympathize with a man whose talent is so far reaching (as were his fellow Communist writers) that even a blacklist didn’t prohibit them from ghost write. Tell that to anyone trying to break into the business. At this juncture, the people who know about the business…don’t care about whiny writers. The ones who don’t, don’t know what the big deal was.

Hollywood does have a blacklist that it refuses to admit. Jews helping Jews. Which is fine. No one is stapling you to the movie business. And for those who believe it’s unfair, tell that to the 6 million that died in the concentration camps.

Communist shit aside, I’ve MASSIVE respect for a man who raised a family on his writing alone. Especially a scene, which you KNOW had to be true, where he wrote one in 3 days. Prolific unknown writer. Pretty amazing.

For the anti-Communist thing that they were portraying…there’s a sense of whininess that comes from decisions that don’t pan out your way. Let’s say I decide I think guns are a terrible thing. But the Constitution supports it, and my opinion is null and void. So my neighbor, who could be a gun nut, decides to boycott my business. Leaving me bankrupt. My decision to stand by my morals put me in that position. Would anyone care if I whine at that moment?

I think this movie wants to paint Trumbo as some folk hero. He’s not. He wrote screenplays for money and did it in the shadows complaining about how he didn’t get credit. Then jeopardized his family for a cause that died a while ago. IF fair was fair, and he was alive, I would pester him to apologize to the greater hypocrisy of his socialist beliefs. I’ve got no beef with doing right for their fellow man. It just doesn’t have to revolve around our government. Even though, America is a generous uncle to the world.It’s shocking how capitalism isn’t seem more altruistic. But let’s not give too much credit where credit is due.

"Steve Jobs" (2015)

What is genius?

It’s hard to pinpoint the decade to which Steve Jobs had foresight of the universe. But if you think about how you decide the effects of human behavior, the rest of us are just attempting to catch up with Steve Jobs. Though fortunate not to have to skate that mental line.

Aside from the technology that permeates our society today, it’s near impossible to see this world that doesn’t have an Apple product. In fact, I’m typing from my MacBook Pro. One of the last models conceived by Jobs before his death.

The idea of someone so intelligent, they cease to function speaking and dealing with the public to a level common sense understanding. The most frustrating of it all is attempting to float in the wake of it. What exactly was Jobs’s gift? I believe this movie argues that it was to see the potential. Not an engineer or a designer, what he lapped up was…um…style. P.T. Barnum knew it. The product and culture was half the battle. What separates this movie from the other Jobs projects, I think, is that Michael Fassbender (who plays Steve Jobs) gets the calculated, somewhat humorous, otherwise cruel mystery man behind the technology that did essentially change a part of the world. Andy Warhol’s Factory was similar. Artists in residency would craft the work, Warhol would sign off on it. If you’re the artist, this could prove to be frustrating…as was the case for Steve Wozniak (an amazingly reserved Seth Rogen)…the designer of the Apple II that was the basis of Mac’s greatest successes. Jobs is unable (or stubbornly denies) to accept how great a contribution Woz’s designs were. Though I got the sense that most Mac cultist would credit him over Jobs. The question being without Jobs would any of this be possible? Who knows. They do acknowledge the chain does go up. For instance, having John Sculley be the C.E.O. (Jeff Daniels). A marketing head honcho recruited from PepsiCo to head Apple. He is the business face of Jobs’s wild free-spirit ways. Which is the impression, but not the man. Sculley is the “suit” that hounds Jobs recklessness. Unable to see the method through the madness, he is a traditional “company man” whose relationship with Jobs takes on a larger role, once we realize Jobs’s past.

I often think about these things, since sometimes talent is discovering what is added to what to get something good. In this case, Jobs is compared to the conductor of an orchestra. He seems perfectly happy in the role of shuffling engineers, software developers to blend a clean machine. Though, what gets lost in the shuffle, is his interaction with people. In particular, his long time marketing partner Joanna Hoffman played BRILLANTLY by Kate Winslet. The drama is played to the extent to which Joanna finally lays it out in plain English, Jobs lacks humanity BUT knows what humans want. The massive flaw in his design. Which is again illustrated in two decades dodging a daughter that only wants to know more about her father.

I love this movie. Expertly directed by Danny Boyle from a script by Aaron Sorkin, this movie, for all the dry info, moves. Those who’ve complained about it being a filmed play…go fuck yourself. This was as visually stunning as any landscape in “The Revenant” (piece of shit). And the drama is more palatable without bear rape. This movie’s greatest accomplishment is that after all the oddball t.v. movies and straight-to-video release, this one had the acting chops and idiosyncrasies to make it fascinating. Moves like a rock concert, and a shame it didn’t win Best Picture. Though I have no doubt, a movie about child molestation in the Catholic church is far more important than a man who has social interaction issues.

Watch this movie if you can.