How does one become a director in Hollywood? Why is Clint Eastwood considered a great director? Robert Redford, too. All they are are "kind'a" successful actors--I mean Clint Eastwood simply played Dirty Harry in every role he played, whether he was wearing a cowboy outfit or his San Francisco detective suit and tie and always expert with a long rifle or a .357 magnum. The spaghetti westerns he did, is that where he learned to direct? I don't get it. Do you compare Bob Redford and Clint Eastwood to Billy Wilder? Frank Capra? Even Francis Ford Coppola?
I know a director like Spike Lee went to NYU film school so I suppose he learned to direct there. One must deduce that if a movie star gets rich enough, like George Clooney, he can negotiate to direct a film! I still don't get how Hollywood determines whether someone is a great director or not.
Did you ever notice how they're not many highly vaunted actress/directors. Betty Thomas who directs a lot of sleaze movies wasn't an actress, was she? Hollywood I know at its core and that core is rotten since its move from Astoria, Queens to those hills west of L.A. Rotten in the sense that a prostitute is simply an entertainment industry and in the entertainment industry women are all hookers.
OK, I'll just come out and say it, I'm a man of no morals, but celebrities give me a cramp in my ass how they go about getting away with just about any damn thing they please. I mean you throw your cell phone in the face of a stranger and see all the god-damn trouble you get into. But a movie star, a bigshot celebrity, can do it and all that happens is he has to pay the person he hit enough money to stop him from further suing harrassment while the law let him off Scot free. Matthew Broderick ends two people's lives in Ireland as he runs them down in his BMW--is anything at all done to him? Nope. Scot free again. You get a BMW and slam it into another car and kill two people in the other car and see how your life will change. Matthew Broderick didn't even miss a lick in his vacation time--killing two Irish persons was just a glitch in his everyday schedule of privileged partying at the max.
Celebrities also marry off and on five or six times before they mature enough to realize life is a little more serious than the scripts that are poured like liquid sugar into their hollow brains. And when actresses can't bear any more little "who's your daddy?" bastards they go to depressed countries and adopt exotic babies, the goofy Mia Farrow, for instance, collecting foreign babies as though they were trinkets on a what-not shelf. [Hey, trust me, I'm jealous as hell of Soon Yee; I mean, come on, a toy for Woody, that at-best-a-good-Jewish-comic who became a rich bastard and gained his privilege through writing and directing his own biographies. Don't you just love it? Who decided Woody Allen was a brilliant director?
9 Below Zero
It is cold as a witch's tit here in NYC--though I still swear on my Exxon-Mobil shares there's no such thing as global warming. I assume from the fable that a witch's tit is cold because pure magic and evil are cold, I assume; cold mother/cold child? If a witch's tit has milk, it must be sour ice cream by the time a witch's baby's lips creep around it and suck it stark and bare.
On the news, this is the national news now, the lead story was not that 100s died in bedraggled Baghdad today--that was never reported--no, the networks lead story was that Leonardo (Leonard) Di Caprio was booed somewhere where he was strutting his privileged life before the morons who flock to theaters and spend billions of dollars on shit that is best described as "graphic" art motion framed to be sequential, full of graphic gore, sleazy insenuating sex jokes, and of course the topless scenes. Too, it's funny how I heard also on the news tonight that some right wing freaks are bitching to high heaven over an "explicit sex scene" in a coming movie. I mean, come on, the porn industry is bigger than the Jesus industry! Given the choice of watching old dried prune Billy Graham spouting his cornball fabulous shit or watching Jena Jameson get gang-banged by 5 tattooed, earringed, nipple ringed gentlemen with hyperextended big dicks, what do you think the majority of males 18 to 35 will watch?
Fascination With Brits
This is another puzzle. Why are British actors so respected by Amurican filmgoers? Is it white Amuricans who find British accents and looks exciting? It can't be the millions of other British colonists who have escaped to this country; they must be super sick and tired of those pompous British actors and actresses with their affected accents. Ugh! I mean, here's long-time all-star -boring-talk-show host Charlie Rose (a failure everywhere else but PBS) is interviewing old drunken rascal Brit fop-actor and big-time drunk, Peter O'Toole as I type this. I have the sound down so I can't hear what the hell Peter is spouting; it's some kind of actor bullshit I imagine. Actor bullshit is like the sermons of Christian blowhard preachers, it makes absolutely no sense at all if you try and follow its many deviations, tangents, and repetitions. In summing up interviews with actors, no matter their acting ability, all that one concludes from it is that acting is sooooo difficult and sooooo demanding and that acting demands they spend such lonnnnng hours on the set, oooooh the drudgery of being an ahk-tor, when it actuality, being an actor is not work at all, it's "playing" (they work from "plays"), it's memorizing a script and pretending to be somebody you may or may not be same as we all are actors from the time we're born--playing the games children play.
Like Sly Stallone, he's one of my favorite actors along with Arnold Schwartzenazi, because he's at best a porn actor who has mumbled his way into a moronic character millions of morons can idealize and through horribly animalistic gory films this 5-foot 6-inch midget Stallone, standing on boxes in all his scenes, is frozen in film as a bigger-than-life titan of a man who can take on a whole sleazy, gook-looking army and defeat it single-handedly and come out a successful Amurican. Or how about Sly playing his Rocky role over and over and over? What a scumbag Stallone is. And so's his whole family; remember how embarrassing his mother used to be on Howard Stern's radio show back in the good ole days when Howard wasn't rich and hiding away in satellite radio. Howard used to say anybody (celebrity or otherwise) could write a bestselling book or act in a money-making movie. Stern did both; to the point he was hyped by his own PR as the King of All Media. Howard's now lost in the world of the rich and famous. His life is made; no need for anymore innovation.
I am sick, sick, sick; sicker than Lenny Bruce tonight. [Wasn't that Lenny Bruce movie a great movie? Dusty Hoffman wasn't it? Lenny Bruce was a tragically funny man. Richard Pryor is a black spitting image of Lenny Bruce. One of the funniest things I ever heard was Lenny's playing the Pope's PR man--and Jesus showing up during one of Cardinal Spellman's demented lectures at Saint Paddy's Cathedral and Cardinal Spellman immediately stopping his diatribe to have "the bum in the back of the church" thrown out on his bony ass.
The world never changes, folks. Politicians never change. Actors and actresses never change. The way we make films hasn't changed since the days of D.W. Griffith. Everything goes in circles. After this awful War in Iraq we will have a fragile peace, but then another war is coming, of that you can be assured.
Are we doomed? Yep. I think so. How 'bout us goin' up on that hill overthere and doing some howling?
Tomorrow the Peaceniks are marching on Washington. The day before the march, the Pentagon unveiled a new weapon, a lasar gun, that shoots a hot ray into a "protester's" flesh and causes him or her to jump back and try and run away from its cruel heat (pregnant women, I heard an ex-Gyrene say, are a big problem for our troops in Iraq--with this weapon, a trooper, rather than wasting bullets on her scummy ass, can now just hit her with this beam and blewy, running like the coward she is is the result and no one's hurt at all; as it is now, they have to shoot about 30 or 40 rounds into a pregnant woman's belly to eliminate her as a threat to their security--you see, these army creeps learned in Viet Nam, they claim, that you can't trust anybody, man, woman, child, truncated person, midget, Cecil the Dog-face Boy, nobody--they all could be "the enemy"--you know, pregnant Viet Namese women had hand grenades up their vaginas just waiting to blow themselves up and hopefully take along a couple of Gee Eyes ("Hey, so-jer boy! You like pussy?" "Damn right, baby, here I come." KAAAAABLEWY.) So goes war. And so will go war on and on forever. It never ends, as Sam Kinison used to say--especially the one where Sam has died and is laying on the mortician's slab, you know, and suddenly the mortician turns dead Sam over on his stomach and proceeds to bugger his cadaver. Sam starts screamin' "It never ends. Even after you're dead, it never ends." And it doesn't.
for The Daily Growler