Thursday, February 14, 2019

Laura Snapes explains bad indie-rock male behavior re Ryan Adams and others

Laura Snapes in THE GUARDIAN:
The industry has been slower to reckon with its abusers post-#MeToo than other art forms, partly because it is built on a generally permissive culture of excess and blurred lines between work and leisure – but also because the myth of the unbridled male genius remains at its core. 

Tuesday, February 12, 2019

A smart observation re manufacturing rock bio movies

Elisabeth Rappe via Facebook in context of seeing THE DOORS for the first time, though this can also apply to the critic-proof, awards-voter-friendly BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY:

In the end, rock biopics are dumb. They need to meld timelines and people to fit the runtime, the surviving members neuter the thing, and it’s just an excuse for an actor to fake-snort drugs and play Cover Band.

Wednesday, January 23, 2019

Some non-Oscar nominated performances worth noting

Elsie Fisher, Josh Hamilton—EIGHTH GRADE
Viola Davis, Cynthia Erivo, Elizabeth Debicki—WIDOWS
Joanna Kulig—COLD WAR
Michael B. Jordan—BLACK PANTHER
John David Washington—BLACK kkKLANSMAN
Nicole Kidman, Bradley Whitford—DESTROYER
Ryan Gosling, Claire Foy—FIRST MAN

Monday, January 14, 2019

New Poem: Hallucinating

start out in one period of life
switch rapidly to another one
the dead live again
the living become shadows
and people you’ve never met
become unreliable companions
brief interruptions:
new pair of pajamas
then return
to a random state of mind

Thursday, January 3, 2019


Grow up in New York City.
Meet a lot of interesting people
on both sides of the law.
Go to a screening of THE GODFATHER PART II
in the Bronx.
Look at the actors on the screen and say
“I can do that!”
Take life savings and buy a one-way bus ticket
to L.A.
Work as a fry cook at a Santa Monica Boulevard
burger joint.
After a year, quit and take a job as a waiter
at the Hollywood Boulevard Hamburger Hamlet.
All this time, take acting lessons.
Get typecast as a gangster.
Play a gangster on episodes of HAPPY DAYS
Rejoice in practicing the craft of acting-
even in tiny roles.
Yearn to break out of the gangster stereotype.
Go on an audition for a low-budget drama
about drug addiction.
Perform the audition scene brilliantly.
While performing, notice that the director, writer
and casting director aren’t paying much attention
to the audition.
Become angry as they laugh it up.
Leave the room.
Get fed up with Show Business.
Go back to New York City.
Join the Teamsters and work as a truck driver.
One day, wake up and see a vision
in front of the bed.

It’s the God of Movies, saying
 “It’s okay to be an actor again."
Return to L.A. with wife and children.
Audition for a supporting role in a Big Studio movie-
as a gangster.
Win the role.
Make the movie.
Win all sorts of awards-including the Big One.
Get a new agent.
Move family from Woodland Hills to Beverly Hills.
Make three movies as a leading man-
use newfound clout to play "normal" roles.
Writhe in agony as third starring movie flops.
Become disappointed when leading man offers
are now only from independent companies wanting
the gangster character to appear in teen comedies.
Take the offers.
Make three more flops.
Wail in despair as no more 
movie or TV roles are offered.
Move family from Beverly Hills to Agoura Hills.
Retire from films and make money raising horses.
Wake up one night and see a vision by the bed.
It’s the God of Advertising, saying “It’s okay to
launch a career in TV commercials.  The agencies
love former Big Stars who will work at reasonable
Realize that son and daughter are approaching
college age.
Appear in a series of commercials for Metamucil
as a chronically constipated gangster named
Charlie Mezzo.
Forget about the joy of practicing the craft of
acting and give an awful performance.
Become depressed when the director, crew
and ad reps applaud-because they wouldn’t know
real acting if it bit them on the ass.
Return to your trailer between setups.
Go to sleep.
Dream of childhood stickball games
on the New York streets.


hear that sound?
it’s the muffled chug of the tugboat
cruising in the dead of night
to the deepest waters
ready to throw overboard
a giant petrified cloud
filled with microblog speech
with the potential to be weaponized
against the tweeter
who long ago woofed out
bad jokes on taboo topics
angry responses to alt-right trolls
unsafe-in-any-time sexist innuendoes
remarks written/entered in haste
and now rendered officially deceased–
especially if the tweeter works 
for an entertainment company minnow
swallowed by a multinational corporation
in the 40s,
Hollywood got scared
censored itself
threw people out of work
over speech on taboo political beliefs
which could be weaponized 
by The Other Side
in the late 2010s,
Hollywood gets scared again
censoring itself
scared of the alt-right
frightened by the Murdoch Press
people thrown out of work again
yet more cyber hand-wringing
about what The Other Side can do
with ancient posts from people
who changed and moved on 
faster than the censorious-minded
ever will


So I left the rehearsal room
As quickly and quietly as I could
Knowing anger had no place
Amid a celebratory gathering
Walked half a block
Before yelling at the sky
When no one came to arrest me
I entered my car
Made a U-turn
As the 12-year-old still inside me
Wondered why the agreement had been voided
And the child’s voice echoed in the adult brain
The words that couldn’t be spoken inside:
But you promised this.
In writing.