For Ebert, I reviewed the new adaptation of Honore de Balzac’s sweeping epic novel about the rise and fall of a young ambitious man trying to “make it” in corrupt voracious 1820s Paris. It’s quite a production. Hundreds of extras, jostling street scenes, packed theatres, the entire world and atmosphere re-created. I was never less than fully entertained, although I was hoping for more homoerotic subtext, as exists in the book. At any rate, here’s my review. I recommend it!
It’s been a long time. I just checked. The last “snapshots” I did was September 2020. !!! What a terrible terrible month. And the worst was yet to come. 2021 is like a lost year. Even though so much happened. But it’s just a blank in my memory, I have to remember it even existed. Time stopped for my family in 2020.
— I’ve been going to my niece and nephew’s Little League games. My sister works the concession counter. We talk about our lives, and occasionally scream, “GOOD EYE, COLTON” or “WAY TO HUSTLE, JORDAN!” or – if any actual PLAY happens – which is rare – like someone throwing to home and getting someone out – we scream like we’re at Fenway Park. It’s fun. Last night’s playoffs game was … a challenge. But everyone did play well!
— A couple weeks ago, Mum, Ben and I went to the beautiful Coolidge Corner theatre in Brookline to hear (and see) Amor Towles, who was giving a talk on his new novel The Lincoln Highway. (I wrote about my experience with Towles’ first novel Rules of Civility.) I then went on to devour his magnificent second novel A Gentleman in Moscow. Mum was reading it at the same time. So we had some great discussions about it. Turns out Amor Towles and I both wrote for Library of America’s Moviegoer site – he wrote about Dinner at Eight, and I wrote about East of Eden. Rules of Civility came out in 2011, but that was during a period where I was just learning to read again, after being unable to in 2009, into 2010. I could barely read anything, but fiction especially was a challenge. So I was out of touch with new books. This is my only excuse. Finally, last year, Ted told me about the book, as well as his new book. A Gentleman in Moscow was an international hit, it’s been translated into (mumble mumble) languages, and I believe is being made into a limited series starring Kenneth Branagh. I’ll be watching. I signed up for Towles’ newsletter, and heard he was doing a reading in Brookline. I was so excited, so I quickly bought three tickets, and called Mum to tell her “Here is what you will be doing on such-and-such a date.” We had SUCH a good time. It was such a treat – and still a novelty – to be out in the world, with people in a theatre. Towles is an amazing and engaging speaker. He gave us the history of the “Lincoln Highway” – the actual highway, not the book – and all of it was new to me. He is such a good storyteller. He had visual aids (this pic is of the Lincoln Highway today, taken by Towles). Afterwards, the three of us went out for Chinese food. I slept over. Very special family time.
— I’ve been down in New York almost more than I’ve been up here. I’m going to Chicago – my first time on a plane since the pandemic. I’m doing a mini road-trip too. I was going to get a cat earlier this winter, but it’s a good thing I didn’t (at least for now). I’m just not here enough. It’s taken me forever to “move in”. I’m coming up on a year in this place and I am still kind of not moved in. I mean, the books are up, and I finally organized my closets – I had to actually invest in a closet organizer because there’s just way less space than my old place. I’m pretty pleased with myself for thinking this all out and putting it in order. Baby steps. It’s only been about seven months. Hell, longer. I also hung all my pictures. Or, not all. See what I mean? Everything’s still, like, 3/4s of the way done.
— I went on a date and the guy said at one point, “I just think we should go back to Leave It to Beaver times.” Number one: that’s a fictional television show, sir. Number two: Is there any way I can just get up and walk out? I actually did that years ago, after my date was really rude to our waiter. Number one turnoff – and it’s not just a turnoff – it’s a deal-breaker because it tells me everything I need to know about your character, and you just can’t change your character. The poor guy didn’t know what hit him. The waiter put our drinks down, and I put money down on the table and stood up. “Wait, what happened?” I wasn’t throwing a tantrum. I just met the guy. I don’t get all INVOLVED if I just met you. I just knew there was no point. Other things you can work with, even bad-ish hygiene. But being an asshole to waitstaff … it’s similar to road rage. I just know who you are if you display those qualities and esPECIALLY if you display those qualities on a first DATE! You either think this stuff will impress me, which means you’re an idiot, OR you’re just so out of control with your simmering hostility that you can’t hold it back to put on a good face on a first date. Either way: it’s bad news. So I told him, in almost a helpful tone, like maybe I will get through to him: “I can’t get past how you just treated that waiter.” It was quite an extraordinary moment. He didn’t know what to do. He had asked me out, and he actually was a funny person, and attractive, not an open douche – so he said, “Is there any way this can be salvaged?” meaning the date. I said, “I’m sorry, no. It’s my #1 deal-breaker. I’ve been a waiter. I just can’t. I’m really sorry.” And I walked out. I hope he felt ashamed enough to change his behavior! Anyway, it’s not unprecedented for me to just get up and walk out. And yearning for white-picket-fence world – with no gay people, women in aprons, no black people – it tells me about you and what you want and I will never ever fit into it. We’re not 22 years old. Why waste time? There ain’t nobody like ME on Leave It to Beaver. I said to him, “If I were trapped on Leave It to Beaver, I would flee into the night.” He backtracked, “You know what I mean, though!” I said, “I DO know what you mean and I would flee into the night.” I didn’t say it mean. Or angry. I just met the guy. He can feel how he feels, no skin off my nose, but I can feel how I feel too. Some other woman would love to fit into that world so he can go and find her.
— I’ve been meeting up with my friend Beth on Friday mornings – early – to sit in the beautiful park and have iced coffee. Every time we go, we see this beautiful white dog named Jenny, who has befriended us, and she lies down in front of us, facing OUT, because she is a guard dog and this is her natural way-of-being: protect good people from any incoming threat. It is so touching! She sniffs us to say hello, and then lies down, facing out. Making sure nothing happens to us. Jenny is always on duty.
— I’ll be back in New York this weekend for the Adultfilm’s Film + Theatre festival, where my short film July and Half of August will be screening. This kind of just happened. Adult Film is an energetic and ambitious theatre collective – and I’m happy to be included! Here’s the lineup! It’s a two-day event. It’s going to be so fun.
This was the month of watching only the first two episodes of various television series. I just couldn’t keep going – not because they’re bad, but because … I have other things I have to do and/or watch. Robert De Niro Retrospective continuing as well. Priorities.
Under the Banner of Heaven, first two episodes (2022)
Allison and I watched while holed up in our house in the woods. Keeping the home fires burning – literally. We didn’t care for it. We both devoured the book. The focus on the Andrew Garfield character was … meh. I don’t know. We lay in our separate rooms across the hall and discussed how we didn’t like it, late at night. This is our friendship.
White Hot: The Rise & Fall of Abercrombie & Fitch (2022; d. Alison Klayman)
Allison and I very much got into this one. We like these docs about sick corporate cultures and the downfall of sociopathic CEOs, which is now definitely a “thing” in doc-series. I remember those store fronts. The whole thing is really weird when you think about it for even 10 seconds.
The Big Year (2011; d. David Frankel)
I love this movie so much. I don’t think Allison had seen it before, and I was raving about it – and its sneakily insightful portrayal of friendship between men – so we watched it and had an absolute blast with it. It’s such an entertaining film, but it doesn’t sacrifice depth. Everyone has their moment. Everyone has a point. Brian Dennehy is redeemed. Everyone is re-deemable. I really love it.
The Proposal (2009; d. Anne Fletcher)
On a roll, Allison and I decided to watch this ridiculous romp. Man, it was only made in 2009 but these kinds of movies don’t exist anymore. Rom-coms, with ADULTS at the helm. What sells this is the chemistry between Bullock and Reynolds. Both of them are very very funny, and when they “riff” off of each other the movie takes flight. Their shared telling of how he proposed to her is RIDICULOUS and HILARIOUS. “soft soft sobs …” I was still laughing about that two days later.
Something New (2006; d. Sanaa Hamri)
In discussing our love of rom-coms, and how much we miss them, I brought up Something New, which I have written about before, here and elsewhere. This is not just a rom-com. It’s a romantic comedy, with dramatic elements, as well as a social and cultural point of view. It has THINGS TO SAY. Everyone in it is excellent and Sanaa Lathan and Simon Baker smoke up the screen. Something New looks at some very thorny issues, and it looks at it from the inside. The film was directed by a black woman, and written by a black woman. These things matter. I can’t even count how many times I’ve seen this movie. It’s one of my go-tos, when I just want to chill out, and be entertained – but also be moved. I adore it.
Backdraft (1991; d. Ron Howard)
Onward with the Robert De Niro retrospective. It’s wild to re-watch all of these, movies I saw in the theatre back in the day. Backdraft was just HUGE at the time, a blockbuster, with a murderer’s row of talent. Kurt Russell, Donald Sutherland, De Niro, Jennifer Jason Leigh, I’m probably forgetting some others. Billy Baldwin is a bit of a blank. And there are about 10 too many stories ricocheting around. What’s really extraordinary here is the fire footage. I have no idea how they “got” all that footage – the dancing undulating flames, the billowing waves of fire on the ceiling … it’s stunning. Again, movies like this really don’t exist anymore. It feels very old-fashioned. One thing about De Niro: I really enjoy the fact that he takes roles that may seem boring to other actors. He’s fine playing a bureaucrat, a non-hero type … I’ll get to Copland when I get to it. Here, he’s a quiet thoughtful fire inspector, with a backstory of course, and a determination to never let Donald Sutherland make parole, that freaky pyro. But mostly, De Niro is just squinting at blackened boards, scraping and sniffing, and murmuring quiet words about what he sees. He is perfectly fine taking non-flashy parts. His ego is not involved. He doesn’t have to bluster and fluster and tantrum about in order to feel like he’s acting. This is RARE, especially considering his mighty reputation and all the expectations placed on him.
Cape Fear (1991; d. Martin Scorsese)
I recently re-watched this in preparation for my Film Comment piece on Nick Nolte. Will never forget the impact Juliette Lewis’ performance had on me when I first saw this in the theatre. I LOVE it when someone shows up and your immediate visceral reaction is: “WHO is THAT.” Her performance continues to make me feel uncomfortable and queasy, but she is comfortable with facing unpleasant truths – why she is drawn to this man, why she is flirting with this danger – the understanding of rebellion and the need to rebel – but also understanding that this little girl is in way over her head. Juliette Lewis understands all of that. This is a hothouse swamp of Oedipal melodrama – Scorsese really leaned into it.
Mistress (1992; d. Barry Primus)
I had never seen this one! I dislike Robert Wuhl, and he’s the lead character, so maybe that’s why. De Niro has a glorified cameo, but it’s in a very fun zone for him, a zone he rarely enters: the gleaming slick millionaire zone. De Niro knows how funny this character is, and every line reading is said with complete sincerity but also that underlying understanding of how ridiculous the guy is. I like the lightness of him here, the quickness. He also looks incredible.
Mad Dog and Glory (1993; d. John McNaughton)
What a strange movie! A romantic comedy involving human trafficking. Yikes almighty. What is – and was – interesting about this at the time was Bill Murray’s presence beside such a heavy-hitting “serious” actor. He had already done Tootsie of course, but Tootsie was in his wheelhouse – dry, sarcastic, deadpan. Here he plays a scary Mob boss. In other words, he plays the Robert De Niro role, and De Niro plays the Murray role. The film is still interesting because of this. I love that neither of them “push” to be a different type. Murray is still dry, sarcastic, deadpan, but in this context it comes off very differently than it did in Tootsie. His “persona” is flexible for different contexts. And De Niro is completely believable as a schlubby failed artist who has no “game” with women. Still: if you think about the set-up of this plot for more than 5 seconds, you’re like … wait … what?
This Boy’s Life (1993; d. Michael Caton-Jones)
This came out the same year as What’s Eating Gilbert Grape, although I can’t remember which movie came first. All I know is that I saw both films in the theatre and was absolutely blown away by this brand new teenager on the scene. Similar to Juliette Lewis, I thought, “WHO is THAT.” He was a subject of conversation in my group of actor friends, just like River Phoenix had been a couple years before. Speaking of which: River Phoenix died in 1993, the year both of these movies came out, and it was a huge loss which I still feel – but at the time, Leo’s “arrival” felt almost connected. Like, one great young actor left the scene, and another great young actor entered the scene. Not to replace the other, but … as compensation? I don’t know. I just remember thinking about it at the time. It’s so fun when a young actor comes along and you can get EXCITED about it. I had read This Boy’s Life – I went through a Tobias Wolff phase with my first boyfriend – so I was eager to see it. Cut to: my recent re-watch. It’s even better than I remembered. Barkin is superb. Chris Cooper shows up. Leo is beyond good: he is beyond his years. Similar to Juliette Lewis in Cape Fear: he’s a young actor, still a kid, barely out of childhood, and yet he shows a depth of understanding of the themes and concerns, of what it meant to be this particular kid in that particular time. (Compare to his performance in What’s Eating Gilbert Grape? I know that some people thought they had actually cast a disabled boy for that one. I knew it was the same kid. It was mind-blowing. And Leo has more than lived up to that initial sense of expectation. But De Niro! The accent! This horrible character – but De Niro understands him. There are many different kinds of vulnerability. Vulnerability isn’t just crying or showing your softer side. Vulnerability is also showing that you understand pettiness, that you understand rage, that you understand the impulses to beat your children, you understand being such a “bad lover” that there’s only one way to deal with it. This is what he is willing to show in this performance, without once pleading for our sympathy. The man could have been played as a pure villain – and indeed he is a villain – but the guy isn’t a “villain” in his own mind. In his own mind he is a misunderstood man, surrounded by idiots. He is a tyrant, because there is so much rage inside of him – enormous titanic male rage – infuriated at the world changing, at anything that chips away at his own sense of impenetrable authority … The guy is this way for a reason. I’m not saying it’s not his FAULT, but in order to play a guy like this you have to really bare your soul. You can’t stay distant from it. you can’t put up a barrier to let the audience know, “I’m not like this guy.” De Niro wouldn’t do that anyway. But it’s really amazing to see it in practice (as well as seeing his generosity towards young Leo: their scenes together are incredible). This is one of De Niro’s best performances.
A Bronx Tale (1993; d. Robert De Niro)
God, I love this movie. It was so fun when it played at Ebertfest and Chazz Palmintieri was there! The stories he told! I so admire his career. I so admire that he wrote this. I also saw him do the one-man show of it, where he literally turns himself into every different character in the neighborhood. Amazing talent.
Elvis (1979; d. John Carpenter)
I’m feeling the approach of Baz’s Elvis. I was on a podcast to discuss this film, so I re-watched.
Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (1994; d. Kenneth Branagh)
Kenneth Branagh and Robert De Niro rolling around in sticky amniotic fluid, wrestling and embracing – De Niro buck naked, and Branagh half-naked – is one of the most outrageously erotic things I’ve ever seen. It’s erotic AND it’s gross! Both! The movie is way too long – and the prologue/epilogue just aren’t as effective as they could be – I wonder if it would have been better to skip the prologue, and just have all of that in the epilogue. De Niro is truly “other” here: I’ve said this before: he REMOVES things that don’t fit. And he is meticulous about it. He can remove his shyness. (Mean Streets). He can remove his kindness. He can remove his sense of irony, he can remove his sexuality – depending on what the role demands. He can also just have all of that in place, and react in the moment according to the demands of the character. He doesn’t complicate things. Like, A Bronx Tale: he doesn’t seem to remove anything here, because it’s not necessary. Everything is in him, and everything is of use. If you want to see the process of removal REALLY in play: Frankenstein is a perfect example. So is Awakenings, albeit in a different way. He can remove LIFE. If necessary. He can douse the light of inner life in his eyes. Seriously. The guy is uncanny.
Heat (1995; d. Michael Caton-Jones)
I love this movie. It’s ridiculous in a lot of ways and I didn’t take it seriously as some big moralistic tale at the time it came out. I saw it as an exercise in style, in high aesthetics, in mood and atmosphere – Mann’s wheelhouse, nobody does it better. It was so fun seeing De Niro in Mann’s world, accept Mann’s concerns, the look of things, the moody broody alone-ness, the gorgeous suits he wears, all of that highly technical stuff Mann is so good at orchestrating like a maestro.
The Fan (1996; d. Tony Scott)
This didn’t get great reviews at the time, and I guess I understand why, but I think the movie is doing a lot of very interesting things, and telling the story in a high-intensity Tony-Scott kind of way. Maybe it’s a little BUSY visually, but whatever, I can deal with that. The whole reason I’ve been re-watching all these movies is to study De Niro’s process and his development. He has this reputation of playing “psychos” but … really? I can list 25 movies where he doesn’t play a psycho. And not all psychos are born the same. Travis is different from Rupert is different from this sports fan. They’re all unnerving though. De Niro is not afraid to be pathetic, either – or to be viewed as pathetic. He doesn’t have to be a “winner” onscreen – something Al Pacino has, at times, fallen into. Pacino asserts his dominance over movies – and other actors – in situations where it’s like, “wait, where did that come from?” People always quote his “Don’t waste my MOTHERFUCKIN’ TIME” from Heat but I think the moment stinks. It’s Pacino showing off. And I love Pacino. I am actually able to love people who aren’t perfect. I know. It’s amazing. De Niro, though, does not feel the need to throw his weight around: he is perfectly able to play schlubby nobodies in khaki pants without having to remind us he’s a bad-ass. De Niro is NOT a bad-ass. There’s a scene here where he’s let go from his job – and he is made to feel so small – and he is small – that suddenly I wanted to weep for him. He’s Willy Loman, for God’s sake. De Niro shows you things you do not want to see.
Meltdown: Three Mile Island (2022)
Devoured this. I didn’t really know the story of what happened, so it was very interesting. I learned a lot.
The Valet (2022; d. Richard Wong)
This was cute. I reviewed for Ebert.
Sleepers (1996; d. Barry Levinson)
I mainly wrote about this in my piece on Ron Eldard, since in my opinion Ron Eldard and Billy Crudup are the best things in this, and they’re barely in it. Brad Pitt is gorgeous but not for one second do I believe he grew up in Hell’s Kitchen, nor for one second do I believe he is a smoker. Poor Jason Patric is just completely miscast – he’s so insanely gorgeous, he’s difficult to cast because of it (and I think he’s an excellent actor) – but again, not for one second do I believe he is the grownup-version of the kid in the early sections. Robert De Niro is good as the local priest who gets sucked into this madness, and honestly – the dilemma he faces, should he lie on the stand? – is one of the most crucial in the whole thing. And then, the movie just doesn’t follow up with it! He lies, and it helps get the killers off, and then … we never see the priest again. Did he lose his faith? Did he regret what he did? Did this impact his relationship with the kids he basically helped raise? What happened? And not only THAT: his lie put those two dangerous people back out on the streets, where they proceeded to go on gang-related killing sprees, before both being killed themselves. Like, that’s on HIM. HE did that. Was it worth it? The abuse they suffered was horrible, but they’re the ones who chose to become murderers. Maybe there’s another way to help them heal – while behind bars? So this very good man, this priest, lies on the stand … the guys are let off scot-free – the old friends have a raucous celebrating where they’re hugging and making toasts – and I couldn’t help but think: Maybe have a little bit more gravitas about what you’ve done, and also what you’ve asked this very good man – this priest – to do? And then we never see the priest again! This movie came with a lot of flash and gleam – all these good-looking men – but there’s something rotten about what it’s doing and how it’s doing it. It’s a weird watch.
Marvin’s Room (1996; d. Jerry Zaks)
Wow, I had not seen this since it came out. Another Leo extravaganza, juuuust before the titanic event that was Titanic. This is the Diane Keaton show, all the way. She really makes this woman make sense. You believe every word. Streep is good, but Keaton’s work makes Streep’s look a little showy. It’s a very good script. You can tell it’s a play, not much has been done to “open it out” and I feel like that’s the right choice. It’s all very sad, a very deep kind of sadness: beauty and love and sadness.
Dark, two episodes (2017; d. Baran bo Odar)
I need to get back to this. I was VERY impressed and instantly hooked in. It was weird, I saw it right after Three Mile Island, so it felt oddly connected. Nuclear power plants looming over little communities. Although this one appears to have something … supernatural about it. Perhaps connected to nuclear power? I just don’t know. I only saw the first two episodes. I just don’t have time for a binge. Not with all this Robert De Niro business going on.
Dinner in America (2022; d. Adam Rehmeier)
I really fell in love with this gritty funny little gem. First: I reviewed for Ebert. Then I watched it again and liked it even MORE. Then I made it a mini-mission to get the word out, so I wrote about it again. I love how romantic it is. I was not expecting that at all. It made me realize how romances like this used to be dime-a-dozen – when they worked they worked – but aren’t really a “thing” anymore. It’s a romance but with an edge, it’s about these two characters, but it’s also taking place in a real world, with some things to say about bucking the status quo, how stifling conformity is, how important rebellion is, etc. I love romances with this sort of thing as background and context. This isn’t a “teen romance” or “coming of age”. Both people are adults. But misfits, socially and otherwise, and one is a blatant criminal. And violent. But something clicks here. None of this would work without these actors AND without the director knowing exactly what he’s doing, and the kind of romance he wants to convey. I really loved it. It’s streaming now.
Copland (1997; d. James Mangold)
RIP Ray Liotta. Copland is a great example of what I said earlier: De Niro’s willingness to take “meh” parts – non-explosive or showy parts – parts where there isn’t a twisty backstory or some gigantic tantrum or whatever. Here, he has a bad haircut, an unattractive mustache, and his suit is rumpled. He’s IA, and therefore despised – as he says to Sylvester Stallone at one point: “We’re in law enforcement, but we’re not cops.” He doesn’t “get to be” evil or psycho or Mr. Tough Guy. Listen, actors have egos too. Actors like to be “on top” too. (I always think of Sam Rockwell’s observation in the John Cazale doc that most actors want to play Michael Corleone, and don’t want to play Fredo. Cazale showed the value in “beta males” – Rockwell’s words.) De Niro is, of course, a star, and could have played Keitel’s part, could have played Stallone’s part, could have played Liotta’s part: he has all of those men in him. The least interesting role (except in terms of plot) is the role he actually took. And he’s so GOOD in this. He doesn’t try to add things. I keep saying that. What he does is remove anything that isn’t essential to the role. He keeps his eye on the ball. He doesn’t get distracted. His ego is just not in play at ALL. People, this is EERIE and UNUSUAL. Actors can learn so much from him, not just from watching him as Travis or in Deer Hunter – but from roles like this one. Or the one in Backdraft. Nobodies: functionaries in the plot. Not main characters. But he makes them real. Everyone loves the moment when he sneers/yells at Sly: “You BLEW IT” but pay close attention to the other stuff, the small stuff, the way he listens, the way he THINKS, everything. Details, details, details, but none of it looks like “work”.
The Staircase, first two episodes (2022; d. Antonio Campos)
Again, with the first two episodes. I watched with Jen during our hours-long reunion day. I haven’t seen her in almost three years. We were roommates for YEARS. I have never gone this long without seeing her since the day I met her. We had enough time to catch up, all as the thunder rolled and the rain poured down, and then we decided to watch the first two eps. Jen had already seen it and wanted to show it to me. I think it’s very well done. It’s fun to see Colin Firth in a meaty and unpleasant role. I saw the doc years ago and became totally convinced the guy was totally guilty. “We sat outside, and drank wine, and talked for hours and looked at the stars.” Oh come on, no you did NOT.
The West Point Band, established in 1817, is the longest continuously-running band in American history.
There’s a wonderful and informative article in The NY Times about the West Point Band, established in 1817, celebrating its bicentennial in 2017.
My cousin, Master Sergeant Joshua Economy, seen in the picture above, is a trumpeter with the West Point Band (among many other duties). The article details the schedule of this band (rigorous by any standards), as well as interviews with the members.
I think my favorite part is:
A classically trained trumpeter who also likes jazz trumpeters such as Chet Baker and Lee Morgan, Sergeant Uhl said he joined the Army as a bugler and served in basic training in a battalion called Company B.
“So I was literally the boogie-woogie bugle boy of Company B,” he said.
Here’s the West Point Brass Quintet (which my cousin is a member of – he’s the second from the right) playing “O Holy Night”:
And here’s the West Point Brass playing a March. Josh is the one with the silver trumpet!
This video isn’t on YouTube, but you can watch it on the West Point Band’s Instagram page: The trio of trumpeters (including Joshua, on the right), playing the National Anthem before a Patriots/Chargers game. Joshua’s salute at the very end …
Stu Sutcliffe and Astrid Kirchherr
An excellent and authentically nervewracking thriller, starring Maika Monroe: I reviewed for Ebert.
Dinner in America. written/directed by Adam Rehmeier, and starring Kyle Gallner and Emily Skeggs (with amusing cameos by Lea Thompson, Pat Healy and others: everyone’s great in it) is out in theatres now, and will be available on demand June 7th. I reviewed for Ebert.
I have since seen it a second time. My first watch was a weird experience. I was turned off initially, but about 15 minutes in, I realized what the movie was doing, and was consequently swept up in the joy and fun and catharsis of the story. I decided to write about this transformation in my review. It seemed important, and in the movie’s favor. It’s not that the first 15 minutes were bad or unsure. It’s that I was not aligned with the movie’s headspace, for whatever reason. Once I WAS, everything else came into focus. (And, on second watch, the opening sequences made perfect sense and are extremely effective. I don’t know what my problem was, because this is a very ME movie (obvious from the films I compared it to in my review. I love all of them).
The movie knows where it’s going and what it wants to do. The mood is raucous and anarchic but with spaces of surprising tenderness. The film has room for both! So few movies can do both!
I said most of what I needed to say in my review, but here are some additional thoughts, coming into focus after seeing it in a second time in the proper headspace. I love the horniness of the movie. I love her horniness and his. It’s (sadly) unexpected: American films shy away from sexuality now, except in the most generic way. Sex is seen as such a serious subject, fraught with peril, and way too hot to address honestly. I understand why this is happening, and I think the reckoning going on about sex right now is long overdue, and it’s not surprising that the reckoning would have an impact on the art that we make, but … Banishing sex – or, not even sex – just general horniness and desire for it – refusing to allow this in our stories is reverting us all to the Victorian age! Everyday garden variety hookups are discussed in terms of gaslighting and power differentials. If everyone wants to be there, and if everyone’s a consenting adult, then why is it anyone’s business? Human connection cannot bear this kind of ponderous weight. Not every hookup is Cat People. I’m mostly talking about how this larger cultural event has impacted art. It’s not pretty. Member when “erotic thrillers” were a thing? I miss those, trashy as some of them are. Dinner in America shivers with the joy of what it feels like to “break through” conditioning and first impressions and just “click” with someone. Not just sexually, but attraction is a huge part of it. Attraction is redemptive, if you set up the story correctly – as Rehmeier has done here. People are set free when they meet the right person.
Here are some moments I love, some of which I mentioned, others I didn’t.
I’ll start off with my favorite moment in the whole thing:
He says it, in his gruff deep voice, in a deadly serious tone. He’s not making fun of the moment. He’s not distant from it. Neither is the movie. It’s real. It sounds ridiculous and self-important if you step outside the moment, but you’re NOT outside the moment. The whole point of the movie is that rock ‘n roll IS THAT SERIOUS. It’s not ironic at all. Rock ‘n roll means what it says. And yet, the moment is hilarious too – because of the seriousness and the truth of it. Plus the ski mask.
A couple moments I mentioned in my review , like his stalk across the vacant lot:
It’s such a good shot, a critique of our entire world Right Now in a single image.
And finally: Emily Skeggs’ blazing irrepressible smile. She is having so much fun and she has never had fun before. Sometimes she looks almost scared AS she’s smiling. Her joy is overwhelming her. She can’t believe her own life! THIS IS WHAT FUN FEELS LIKE! Once she gets into a groove with the swerve her entire life has taken in a 24-hour time span, she’s in a state of suspended ecstasy. She’s found her way. She steps into the light, the light of his company and being looked at and seen. He can scowl and growl all he want. He’s thrilling and she is HERE. FOR IT.
Dinner in America is a “little” movie about two people but it is fully ALIVE, to itself and to the world around it. The world – where we are “at” now – is present, like a polluted fog the characters squint through – but without making a big deal about “saying something” or having a “message”. Simon and Patty are the main event, misfits in different ways, incompatible in all the obvious ways, except for the fact that they live and breathe punk rock music, and they’re both raging at the machine. He performs his rage. It’s out there for all to see. She? You’d never know by looking at her that she is on FIRE inside.
Movies like this matter, especially in a landscape where there just doesn’t seem to be enough oxygen and/or TIME to absorb all the new releases tossed onto this or that platform, only to be buried the following week.
So. See Dinner in America. It’s in theatres now. It’ll be stream-able on the 7th. Once again, here’s my review for Ebert.
George Harrison, on seeing Eddie Cochran live in Liverpool, March 1960, a month before Cochran was killed:
Eddie blew me away. He had his unwound 3rd string, looked good and sang good and he was really getting to be a good guitarist…One moment will always represent Eddie to me. He finished a tune, the crowd stopped screaming and clapping, and he stepped up to the mike and before he said something he put both his hands back, pushed his hair back, and some girl, a single voice in the audience, she went “Eddie!” and he said, “Hi, honey!”… I thought, “Yes! That’s it–rock ‘n’ roll!
Wow. I really loved this. I didn’t love this for the first 15 minutes. It felt empty. I was irritated. And then … It won me over. I love it when that happens. I reviewed for Ebert.
First off, I need to point you to my friend Glenn Kenny’s New York Times piece on Ray Liotta in his definitive role, playing gangster Henry Hill in Goodfellas. To quote another pal, Stephen Silver, Glenn literally “wrote the book” on Goodfellas (aka Made Men), and it’s great to read his granular observations on Liotta’s iconic – no exaggeration – performance. (I love the observation on a moment in the Voiceover: “Tuddy”. You almost never hear a voiceover narration that allows for moments like that. I always loved that moment but never put it into words, so I thank Glenn for providing me that moment of recognition and tribute. Yes! “Tuddy.”) But there are so many other great observations. Liotta “accosting” Irwin Winkler, and pitching himself for the role. It’s hard to picture anyone other than Ray Liotta in that role, but … everyone wanted that part. They cast a wide net. Liotta, who was already “out there” in the business, had to convince Winkler. And he did.
For a lot of people, our first encounter with Ray Liotta as the menacing ex-boyfriend in Jonathan Demme’s Something Wild, whose entrance, gliding into the frame on the dance floor, is unforgettable. In a flash, the entire movie changes. Something new … something wild … untameable … has entered the film. I know I thought, “WHO is THAT.”
He brought with him a legitimate sense of menace, a legitimate – not artificial – sense of cool, sociopathic cool, with all this STUFF churning underneath. He was like a wild animal. A wild animal you do not want to mess with. Liotta always had those two poles working within him – sweetness and wildness, unpredictability and vulnerability … Jennifer Lopez said he was the classic “tough guy who was mush on the insides”. That kind of thing can be a cliche. With him, it was organic. It arose naturally. He understood.
Even if Goodfellas hadn’t come along, he would still be remembered for Something Wild and Field of Dreams – more so for the latter, since it has entered the pantheon of American classic films (and it did so almost immediately). There are so many pitfalls in the material, pitfalls of schmaltzy sentimentality and self-righteous posturing (it falls into one of those pitfalls in the scene when Annie dresses down the book-banning PTA, and her exhilarated response … to herself … in the hallway after. My issues with her performance do not stop me from recognizing what is so radical about the conception of that character. I had no idea this was a controversial “take” until I wrote this piece. Supporting your husband’s dreams is so RETRO, apparently.) One of the ways Field of Dreams could have drowned would be if the golden glow of memory infiltrated every corner of the film. But it doesn’t go that route, and it starts with the casting of Ray Liotta as Shoeless Joe Jackson, and Liotta’s performance. (Along the way, choices were made to undercut the sentiment. James Earl Jones’ cranky recluse: he means business. There’s also the other ballplayers: trash-talking, harsh, hard-bitten guys – they don’t feel like idealized ghosts of the Ideal of Baseball. They’re real baseball players: some of them dumb, all of them cocky, razzing Ray for how his wife calls him to dinner, etc. Very smart choice.)
Ray Liotta is truly “Other” in Field of Dreams, embodying the disorientation of what it must be to be a ghost – echoing with regrets and unfinished business – suddenly sucked out of the ether and plopped into a perfect baseball field. He moves slowly at first, but he moves like a panther. A panther can stroll around and laze-about on a tree branch, but within all of that languid indolence is the potential for bursts of speed, for explosive power. The way Liotta runs to catch the ball, holding up his glove, and keeps running a little bit … almost like he himself is in slo-mo. He’s savoring it. He’s in awe of it. He feels the pleasure of it and he can’t quite believe it is happening. All of this takes an actor who can communicate not just with his face, but with his whole body, his every nerve ending. He doesn’t run or leap or slide: but the potential is within him at every moment.
Undercut, undercut, undercut. Liotta undercuts so powerfully that when the big moment comes – when there’s a big closeup and he says, “No. It was you, Ray” – with this simple tone of acknowledgement for all that Ray has done … the moment can handle it. Nothing is betrayed. Up until then, Liotta plays Shoeless Joe Jackson like a quietly ravenous animal, barely aware of Ray, at least not as anything other than the guy who owns the field. Shoeless Joe is into the grass, the glove, the sound of the bat, the dark expanse around him, the memories of playing, the sensory pleasures of it (boy does Liotta do justice to the little monologue he has: “I’d have played for nothing’.”) “No. It was you, Ray” … said like a kind father, making sure his son knows how special he is … can only exist because of all of the undercutting that came before. Shoeless Joe Jackson is tender. Liotta has space in him for both toughness and tenderness.
I feel like Glenn said what I needed to say about Goodfellas – and expressed stuff I couldn’t have put into words – “Tuddy…” – but I must mention two other things: Just two nights ago, on my De Niro kick – still – I watched Copland, or re-watched. I saw this one in the theatre. Liotta is so frazzled here, and he looks truly unwell – pasty and clammy and wild-eyed – as though the character lives his whole entire life like Henry Hill lived his May 11, 1980.
In Copland, Liotta’s “Figgis” does some horrendous and selfish things – one in particular – but, unlike Henry Hill, he is clearly tormented by it. It’s why he is such a wreck. The man has a conscience, which he has tried to bury underneath drugs. But the conscience finally cannot be ignored, and it all comes to a head in the great moment on the bridge, when Figgis, driving like a bat out of hell, to put as much distance between himself and Garrison, NJ as possible, suddenly starts screaming, as though someone else is in the car with him. “STOP IT. NO. STOP IT.” He slams on the brakes. There’s no one else in the car. It’s his conscience he’s hearing. Fabulous moment.
And finally, I must mention a film that hasn’t been getting much chatter ever since the news dropped that Liotta died. 2009’s Observe and Report was one of the best films of that year – but perhaps too dark and ambiguous for modern audiences who LOVE moralistic lessons, who yearn for films to telegraph who is Good and who is Bad, etc. Observe and Report harkens back to 1970s anti-hero ambivalence, with Seth Rogen’s dangerously gung-ho security guard taking “the law” of the shopping mall into his own hands. Ray Liotta plays a cop increasingly frustrated by this rent-a-cop getting in his way.
Liotta’s sense of exasperation increases by the second, until he finally is a raving MESS, trying to rein this douchebag in. Liotta is really the only person “outside” of Rogen’s deluded sense of self: everybody else in the film is roped into – or seduced into – believing Rogen’s bullshit. Liotta sees right through it. He’s a hot-head, but he’s a professional, and he is the only one who really perceives that this security guard is off the RAILS. (I wrote a long and, yes, rambling piece about Observe and Report, where I “went off” on a couple of things that bug me about current cultural discourse – which has gotten so much worse since I wrote the piece in 2009. So these comments MORE than stand. Long story short: see Observe and Report if you haven’t already.)
Liotta was rough around the edges but he could clean up nice-nice. Those rough edges were in the eyes: those icy eyes, which could be drained of humanity, or filled with humor, tenderness, passion. He was present, but he was present in the context of the character. There’s a difference. He gravitated towards reality. Watch again Field of Dreams, and his miraculous instincts … his instincts kept him away from sentimentalizing the character. The movie did all that work FOR him: on the ground, WITH him, it was all reality. (The mean loud cackle about not inviting Ty Cobb. All that.)
He could make you understand Henry Hill’s perspective, and – even more shocking – he forced you to wish Henry well. You’re on his side. And then you stop yourself short, shocked: “What the fuck am I supporting???”
Only a great actor can make you do that.
Two more pieces on Ray Liotta:
My friend Charlie wrote a gorgeous piece for Esquire.
Glenn Kenny wrote a scene piece, this time for The Decider, about Something Wild and Field of Dreams, two of the pre-Goodfellas performances.
