Last posted on 7.10.20, originally posted on 12.8.06: “Not long ago, the Bagger was at a restaurant event with a major film writer and director and ended up in a booth with him for several hours. He admired the man tremendously, [but] did not like his last project. Finally, the subject came up and the Bagger told the truth, after which there was suddenly very little to say.
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Posted on 3.1.20: Here's a recollection from The Sting producer Tony Bill:
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For the first time since he was branded as a sexual cannibal-animal and wham-banished from the film business, Armie Hammer has presented his side of the story.
Ignore the Variety summary by Elizabeth Wagmeister because the Air Mail piece is about a lot more than just about the usual contrition and spin (i.e., “I was bad, and now forgive me”). What Hammer contends and what he offers in terms of compelling evidence is highly persuasive.
I’m not going to summarize the main points of James Kirchick’s 2.4 Air Mail article as anyone can read it (it’s not paywalled), but there’s no question that anyone with an open mind will emerge with their previous impressions strongly challenged.
I read the article this morning, and many of the accusations against Hammer look kinda flimsy now, I can tell you that.
At the very least readers will conclude that Kirchik’s piece has downgraded Armie’s status from that of an alleged monster and ruthless rapist-carnivore to the much less odious label of admitted former asshole (an asshole in recovery, I mean) who knows where the BDSM attraction came from (i.e., sexual abuse as a powerless youth).
The article claims that Hammer’s primary sin was using his power as a rich, famous actor in his 30s (“power imbalance” being a major #MeToo felony these days) to sexually overwhelm various younger women and then (this is what really got him in trouble) ghosting them when he decided to abruptly or whimsically end the affairs like that.
Which is similar to what what Ansel Elgort was lynched for also — ghosting the of-legal-aged “Gabby” after being intimate with her a couple of times.
Message to everyone: “Ghosting” a lover really hurts and often leads to revenge moves. If you want to move on, save yourself a lot of trouble by conveying this in some kind of half-considerate way.
We all agree that ignoring a safe word is an awful thing to do, and this charge hasn’t been specifically addressed in the article (or maybe I read it too fast) but the sexual behavior of Armie and the various women who participated, so to speak, is addressed and explained. Hammer raped no one, he says — it was all a consensual game with rules and a particular script laid out in advance.
Hammer seems to be mainly guilty of behaving like a sexual obsessive. He certainly didn’t chew on anyone’s rib or cut off a woman’s toe and put it in his pocket….none of that crazy stuff.
Excerpt #1: “The Hammer case raises questions about the media. Virtually without exception, the press has treated the accusations from Hammer’s professed victims, no matter how fantastical, with utter credulity. As recently as last October, for instance, a story in New York magazine claimed that Hammer stands accused of ‘possible cannibalism.'”
Excerpt #2: “One prominent Hollywood figure has decided to speak out unreservedly in Hammer’s defense. ‘I found him to be so polite and so well mannered and so nice and so funny and so real,” says Howard Rosenman, the veteran producer of Call Me by Your Name. ‘And don’t forget, I spent time with him a lot, both in Crema and on the road, when we were on the Oscar trail. So all of [the allegations are] just pure bullshit, and yes, he deserves a second chance.’
“Rosenman, who is gay and has been involved in some of Hollywood’s most important gay-themed films (The Celluloid Closet, Common Threads: Stories from the Quilt, Milk), sympathizes with Hammer as someone whose sexuality was once considered taboo. ‘It’s been puritanical,” Rosenman says of the media’s prurient coverage. ‘The kink-shaming is just awful. I, as a gay man who had sex for many, many years with many different kinds of people, understand this better than anyone.”
“In a recent podcast interview, Luca Guadagnino said that he ‘cannot wait to work with Armie as soon as I have a great role for [him].'”
Excerpt #3: “When I ask [Hammer] if he takes inspiration from his mentor Robert Downey Jr., who was arrested multiple times in the late 1990s on drug charges and spent several spells in jail, his answer turns toward the mythological: ‘What I would say is this: There’s examples of people who went through really difficult times and experienced what [the author] Joseph Campbell would call ‘the hero’s death.’ And the hero must die so the hero can be reborn again.’
Some are sensing vague parallels between Ari Aster's Beau Is Afraid and Charlie Kaufman's Synecdoche, or at least the appearance of same. Okay, I'll be blunt about it -- the analogy is actually all over town, lighting up the internets, etc. So here, without further ado, is HE's review of Kaufman's film, filed on 5.25.08 -- five and a half months before the election of Barack Obama and my subsequent move to NYC. My sister had died from cancer two months earlier; my dad would pass the following month.
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Nobody has been stupid enough, have they, to re-watch Bullet Train over the last three or four months?
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Ari Aster‘s Disappointment Blvd. — a very cool, take-it-or-leave-it smarthouse title, one that sticks to your ribs — is no longer being called Disappointment Blvd. The new title, according to A24, is Beau Is Afraid — presumably an allusion to the first name of Joaquin Phoenix‘s main protagonist, “one of the most successful entrepreneurs of all time.”
Beau Is Afraid is obviously a wimpy-sounding title. It was presumably chosen to appeal to Millennial and Zoomer “safeties”, or basically your under-40 lily-livered types who live in various states of perpetual anxiety and have frequently shared concerns online about not feeling safe enough. We’re talking about gentle reed candy-asses with peep-peep pussy voices and squeaky shoes…intimidated types who wear baggy jeans and normcore clothing…this is your target audience for Beau Is Afraid.
In a simultaneous decision, A24 has announced that The Whale it also being retitled. Darren Aronofsky‘s film will now be called Brendan Fraser Isn’t Attending the Golden Globes Because He’s Afraid That Phillip Berk Will Once Again Insert A Finger Into Brendan’s Anus.
Let’s re-title various classic films according to the A24 “safety” aesthetic. Point Blank is now called Walker Is Afraid. Sam Peckinpah‘s The Wild Bunch is now called The Fraidy Cats. John Ford‘s The Searchers will henceforth be called Ethan Is Afraid of the Comanches. The title of Steven Spielberg‘s The Fabelmans is now Sammy Is Afraid of Failing As A Filmmaker (And Has Therefore Decided To Live In His Mother’s Basement). We can play this game all day.
I’m afraid, you’re afraid, we’re all afraid. Jordan Ruimy is afraid. Roger Durling is afraid. Larry Karaszewski and Scott Alexander are afraid that they’ll never write another Ed Wood or The People vs. O.J. Simpson. Sasha Stone is afraid. Each and every day David Poland awakes with fear in his soul. Life is full of terror, anxiety and intimidation.
Ironic or crude as this may sound, the only thing that’s really missing from Maria Schrader‘s ultra-scrupulous She Said is that it doesn’t fake it enough. Or at all.
It doesn’t throw in those extra elements of intrigue and flash and flavor that entertaining films sometimes do. It adheres to the facts so closely (and to its immense credit, I should add) that it’s more of a muted, highly studious docudrama than a film that’s out to grab you or make you chuckle or give you that deep-down satisfied feeling.
Just about every scene in She Said is gripping or absorbing in some modest way, but unlike All The President’s Men, it doesn’t have an abundance of scenes that tickle or surprise or get you high.
And while ATPM had a pair of glamorous movie stars in the two lead roles (Robert Redford, Dustin Hoffman) and otherwise cast several seasoned actors in supporting parts (Jason Robards, Jack Warden, Jane Alexander, Martin Balsam, Lindsay Crouse, Ned Beatty), She Said goes with a cast of respected, first-rate actors (Carey Mulligan, Zoe Kazan in the lead roles) who, Kazan and Mulligan aside, aren’t highly recognizable, much less marquee names.
When you think of the scenes or bits that really work and get your blood rushing in All The President’s Men, the list boils down to 15:
(1) The extreme closeup of typewriter keys loudly slamming into white paper, followed by the shot of President Nixon’s helicopter arriving at the U.S, Capitol;
(2) The Watergate break-in and subsequent arrest;
(3) The amusing court arraignment coonversation between Robert Redford‘s Bob Woodward and Nicolas Coster‘s “Markham”, and particularly Markham telling Woodward “I’m not here”;
(4) Woodward’s oil-and-water relationship with Dustin Hoffman‘s Carl Bernstein, illustrated by this and that bit (such as Bernstein surreptitiously rewriting Woodward’s copy).
(5) Woodward’s three or four parking-garage meetings with Hal Holbrook‘s “Deep Throat”;
(6) Jason Robards‘ Ben Bradlee giving Bernstein a look when Bernstein insists that the White House investigating Teddy Kennedy thing is a “goddam important story,” and later telling Woodstein to “get some” luck;
(7) Bernstein tricking his way into the office of Miami district attorney Martin Dardis (Ned Beatty) and obtaining incriminating info about CREEP Midwest finance chairman Kenneth Dahlberg;
(8) That long scene in which Woodward reaches Dahlberg on the phone (“My neighbor’s wife has just been kidnapped!”) and discovers that Dahlberg passed along a $25K check to CREEP finance chairman Maurice Stans;
"Jerry! Sandra showed me some your fiction and your awards, and I have to say 'powerful stuff.' Almost too powerful. I'm wondering if your mind can function down on our level. I grew up in Pacific Grove, and I started reading...what's his name?...I started reading Steinbeck when I was nine. [Tossing a script on the table.] Here's a piece of shit, Jerry. I wrote and re-wrote it, but it ain't workin'. If you can make it work, you're on...okay?"
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HE's BFF and gracious condo-host Jody never saw The Exorcist when everyone else was catching it theatrically in late '73 and '74. Nor did she catch it on cable, DVD or Bluray over succeeding decades.
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Last night Tatiana was fired up by recent contrasting samples of the human character — the odious Charles Bramesco on one hand, and a good-samaritan gummie buyer on another. Here’s her essay, received this morning:
“I guess I am totally addicted to cannabis-infused gummies. No gummies = no sleep for me. Realizing the possibility of going back to Moscow or moving to Paris or London in the near future, where marijuana is illegal, the idea of quitting this addiction been on my mind lately.
“One recent evening, when the 150th container of gummies was empty, I thought: Great, that’s the right moment to start to fight the bad habit! I did my best, but was unable to fall asleep till 4 am. Next evening I thought: Okay, I didn’t sleep enough last night, my body is exhausted and now I will do better. Nope! Awake until 4 am again. So next evening I gave up. I decided to buy gummies but reduce the intake.
I arrived at The Artist Tree on Santa Monica Blvd., 15 minutes before closing. The receptionist always asks for ID and only after that you are allowed to enter the area of buying stuff.
I knew this rule, but that evening I had my tiny Chanel purse, where I could fit only my credit card and iPhone and ten dollars, hoping that the photo of my ID would be fine. But the receptionist said that only physical ID could be accepted. I said that I have been their loyal customer for almost five years, that I am completely unable to sleep without those gummies and maybe they can save me and sell at least two gummies for one night.
“There were three people behind me: a tall, slender, pretty woman in white pants; beautiful hair below her shoulders; she looked like a rockstar to me. And two well dressed and nice looking gentlemen with her. The woman partially overheard our conversation and asked me: What do they want? I said desperately: They want my ID. Then I showed her the empty box from gummies and told her, that I was very unhappy because I am unable to sleep without them. And I din’t have time to walk home to pick up my ID and back then, because they were about to close.
“The tall rock star said, ‘Don’t worry — I will buy them for you.’ I said, ‘No, no, thank you very much, but I have only ten dollars in cash and the gummies cost $27 and I will be fine.’ “But you can’t sleep without them, right?,” she said. “Yes,” I answered, ‘but I will feel very bad that I owe someone money. Unless I can send it to you through Zelle right now.
“It was no biggie, she insisted. No worries at all, it’s nothing. She took the empty box from my hand and asked one of the gentlemen to get them. I didn’t know what to do. I was so grateful to that woman and begged her to take at least ten dollars I had. Looking at my desperation, she took it.
“Three minutes later the gentleman was back with my medication, I hugged her warmly and my heart was about to jump out of my chest. I said that I wish I could do something nice for her. She said, ‘You are very sweet, I am so sorry for your trouble with sleeping. No worries about the money. Go to church, that will be enough.’ I said that I would definitely do that. I left the store and ten seconds later I realized that I didn’t even know her name. I rushed back in and asked her name. It was Janice.
Whenever someone asks if I'm happy, I always say "yeah, pretty much...within the bounds of the usual day-to-day hassles and hurdles and that HE burden that I carry around all day like a mule...moderately happy, sure."
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You’re richer than Croesus and famous, and have lived a large, swaggering life for 15, 20 years now…you’re a kind of lunatic eccentric and everyone sees that…you turned into a Trump homey in ’17 and then ran for President in ’20, all the time flirting with mental instability.
Now, post-Kim Kardashian, you’re hopping around with Julia Fox, and have announced that your new, legally-changed name is “Ye” (pronounced “yay“). You’re such a moody, impulsive shape-shifter that you can’t even settle into your own name upon hitting your mid 40s? You’re still flirting, wondering…still not sure?
This isn’t Cassius Clay becoming Muhammud Ali, which signified a religious conversion. At age 35 in 1993, the late Prince changed his name to a love symbol but that was part of a legal dispute with Warner Bros. No, this is your thing. If it had been my call? I would’ve become “Ye–Ye” — sounds cooler somehow.
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