The Good, The Bad, and The Santos

I used to be a movie critic so I don’t take much of what they say to heart.

Nor do I care that much about what the now ex-public servant George Santos, the self-proclaimed Mary Magdalene of Congress, has to say about anything.

But first, let’s talk about the critics.  We’ll get to Mary, I mean, George, in a few moments.

Not yet, Mary!

My former colleague and fellow critic at Daily Variety, Jim Harwood, summed it up best years ago when some outraged stranger asked him pointedly what qualified HIM to be a movie critic.

Harwood tartly replied:

Because I have an opinion and a place to print it.

That’s about all there is to it. 

Bam!

In fact, it’s so perfectly succinct, I’ve told that anecdote many times before and written it about it several times here.

Then why was I so outraged with the New York Film Critics Association this week when they announced their awards for 2023? 

Even more outraged than I was about Santos, the 35 year-old (maybe?), Botox using at the expense of his campaign contributors (Note:  Seriously, how many lines could she possibly have?), the entire time he was in Congress.

Well, I’ll tell you.

Buckle up, it’s story time

I’ve seen thousands of movies over the years and can count on less than ten fingers the number of times I’ve walked out of a theatre before a film is over.  As bad as something might be, it just doesn’t seem right to not give the filmmakers their due and view what they’ve turned out to the bitter end.

This is unlike watching a Congressional hearing on cable news where the very nature of the questions and comments simply beg you to turn them off.

His first name is Markwayne, so my brain already turned off

It’s difficult to make a movie, even one that doesn’t work for you.  But it’s pretty simple to stage a House or Senate committee hearing where you can manage to bore and/or offend just about anyone in record time and get them to leave.

Nevertheless, I made an exception to my longstanding rule of not walking out on a movie if I could help it this summer at Outfest, the LGBTQ film festival, because the lead performance in one film was so simultaneously grating, flat, whiny and, well, amateurish, that it took me out of the story, not to mention the performances of all the other capable actors, and literally made me cringe.

Repeatedly.

Yikes

Even more than Santos calling himself Mary Magdalene, which is really saying something significant, a practice George seldom indulges in.

Anyway, I whispered half-an-hour in to the friend who took me to this film if he thought this lead actor wasn’t just god-awful.  To which he whispered back, yeah, he’s not very good.  And we kept watching the movie.

But with each line of dialogue and every outrageous scene after another he appeared in, this actor made me want to climb the walls.  It was like the worst line readings of every bit of dialogue I and every writer friend of mine had ever written were all strung together and projected in 35mm in one endless loop for eternity. 

I wish it were a silent movie #yikes

Not as blithely silly as George nor as starkly offensive and obnoxious as George’s choice for president, Donald Trump, but equally as nails on a blackboard bad.

Finally, with less than twenty minutes to go in the film, I blurted out to my friend that I was leaving.

Really?  It’s almost over.

I can’t do it, I replied.  I can’t stay here one minute longer.  Not one second longer.

At which point, I got up and walked as unobtrusively as I could up the aisle and out the door, praying I wouldn’t run into the filmmaker or, even worse, that actor.

If only the theater had a slide

Unlike George and his MAGA clan, I had no interest in making this a thing, a media worthy meme or even a slightly hurtful, tone deaf personal encounter.

As you might have googled by now, the actor is Franz Rogowski, and for his work in Ira Sachs’ Passages he was this week named best actor of the year by the New York Film Critics Association.

Yep, that’s him

Better than Cillian Murphy in Oppenheimer.

Better than Bradley Cooper in Maestro.

Better than Colman Domingo in Rustin.

Even better than Paul Giamatti in The Holdovers, Jeffrey Wright in American Fiction, Barry Keoghan in Saltburn, Andrew Scott in All Of Us Strangers, Teo Yoo in Past Lives or Leonardo DiCaprio in Killers of the Flower Moon, the latter NYFCA’s choice for best film of the year.

Having already seen many of the above films and read glowing notices on the remaining handful, I can’t fathom in a thousand George Santos-es how the New York critics made their choice in that category this year.

My best guess

Perhaps it has to do with attention-getting or simply standing out from the crowd, never good reasoning for a critical determination but certainly the point at which the Carousel of American Regression that is Santos comes in.

It seems these days being outrageously untruthful and different from everyone else is enough to make you a popular winner.  At least temporarily. 

The sweater under the jacket still confounds me

I mean, Santos defrauded his voters by lying about where he went to school and his business experience all the while spending their hard-earned money on designer clothes and paying off his credits card debts as he passed himself off as Jewish (Note: Later stating he really only meant he was Jew-ish, aka like being a little bit pregnant-ish) and claimed that his mother had died  on 9/11 at the World Trade Center’s South Tower when all the while she was living in her native Brazil, alone and very far away from her soon to be quite infamous son.

Again… yikes

Though I might argue vociferously with Mr. Rogowski being the recipient of his award, at the end of the day we all know this is just merely a matter of opinion. 

But George “Mary Magdalene” Santos, Donald “Orange Jesus” Trump and everyone else in the entire MAGA brood, should be made to face all of the legal and moral consequences their performative behaviors have wrought in these last several years, entertaining as they might seem to some audiences.

Most certainly, they should not be awarded anything for them.  Or rewarded in any way, shape or form.

Saturday Night Live — George Santos Cold Open (12/2/23)

To Jennifer, with love

How do you solve a problem like Jennifer?

Here’s the punch line to an old show business joke:   “…Because I needed a new bathroom.” Many of today’s movie stars, whether they know it or not, are now the unwitting deliverers of that sadly funny but telling line.  The first part of the joke is: “What would have ever possessed you to take that role.” (For writers or directors you can substitute, film, script or assignment for the word “role”).

I don’t mean to pick on movie stars specifically but to make the argument you have to cite some group and, well, movie stars are as good an example as any of those who choose to sell out their ample talent to the highest (or just high) bidder.  And frankly — they’re rich, famous, privileged, and awfully good looking (most of them) so I feel they can take it.

Actors talk all the time about there not being enough good parts (for movie studios substitute good enough scripts, for directors substitute cool or meaty projects).  But here’s the truth – really desirable parts get created from directors, writers and yes, producers and studio executives, who are trying, working hard, going out on a limb, and exploring new and dangerous territory.  Or just being clever and true to themselves in a way that hasn’t been quite been done before because they’re tapping into something that’s uniquely them.

To whit:  Jennifer Anniston CAN act – quite well – and even in something more than light comedy — watch Mike White’s “The Good Girl.”  She’s also lovely in many of her rom coms.  She has enough friends (and that also includes her work on “Friends,” the great TV show that still holds up) and money to finance any movie she wants ENTIRELY for, let’s say, under $5 million and not get too hurt.  Hell, she just sold her house in Beverly Hills for $42,000,000 (well, that was the asking price) and made a tidy profit for quite a bit more than that.   But she doesn’t choose to.  Nor do most others. (For further examples of others, substitute the name of, oh, Johnny Depp).

I like Ms. Aniston professionally and several friends of mine who have spent time with her personally like her quite a bit too.  She’s nice.  She’s down to earth.  She’s a lot of fun, they say.  So why do she and handfuls of other film stars not choose to take matters into their own hands and make/finance lower budget movies on their own at a price.  And do the schlock only when they really need a new bathroom? (But really, how many bathrooms does one realistically need anyway?).

George Clooney does this to some extent and Ms. Aniston did do this to some extent when she had a company with ex-husband Brad Pitt, which he now has and which enables him to still do it, to some extent.  But that isn’t the norm these days.  Well, maybe she doesn’t have the time or interest? It does take some effort.  But so does walking across the room to change the channel if your remote isn’t handy.  (And that’s assuming you don’t have someone in your house or an employee that can get up for you, which I’m thinking she may have).  Yet if she and others don’t do something (because money is power right now) the upshot for actors (or writers, directors, etc) and their audiences, at least, is going from meaningless film to meaningless film, polluting the waters for anything slightly better than what comes along.  Yes, I’m talking to you “Horrible Bosses,” “Green Lantern,” and “Hangover II” (if you don’t like these choices you can substitute – well, I’m sure you can think of two or three).

United Artists (the film company founded in the twenties by disgruntled film artists Douglas Fairbanks, Mary Pickford, Charlie Chaplain and DW Griffith)   – –  Even First Artists (the film company founded in the 1970s by Barbra Streisand, Sidney Poitier, Paul Newman and Steve McQueen)  — Save us!  We’re dying creatively out here.  Television is thriving creatively mostly because of cable programming and its influence on the networks to push the envelope (though for every “Mad Men” there are 10 “Kardashians,” but I digress). It’s also serialized.  For those of us who love our stories in one larger sitting, is there no hope at all? I don’t get it.  Have the modes of entertainment changed that much.  Or is it only about getting rich in the shortest possible manner?

Where are you??

If the rich and successful ARE the job creators (duh), uh, Hollywood’s wealthy – where are you?  Are you only interested in creating crappy jobs?  Does that hold for every industry across the country?  Is that why we’re in the pickle we’re in?  Did all the good jobs (and movie projects?) go overseas?  Are we outsourcing ourselves, literally, into creative irrelevance, at least movie wise? (Duh and double duh).

This is certainly not limited to mainstream Hollywood.  Two feature length independent films I saw last weekend at Outfest, the LA gay and lesbian film festival, are not any not better, and in one instance much worse, than any of the movies previously mentioned.  That one in question was, in fact, so hideous, so absolutely without any wit or substance that it was actually embarrassing to watch.  Not so for the director, who proudly hawked DVD’s of his previous films prior to this screening, much to the delight of a packed crowd at 10pm on a Sat night (which, it should be noted, is really the shank of the evening in gay time).  Maybe that’s what it takes nowadays – absolute nerve and hype that whatever product you’re pedaling is the coolest thing in the world.  Perhaps in this case, indie and mainstream moviemaking are more alike and have always been more alike than I want to believe.  I might take a moment to sob just about now.

That's showbiz, kid

But just as I’m ready to give up I read that Glenn Close has a movie being released at the end of the year called “Albert Nobbs,” where she plays a woman who poses as a male butler in 1890s Ireland that is said to likely be one of this year’s top Oscar picks.  I also read that Ms Close has been pushing to get it made as a film since she played it off-Broadway nearly 30 years ago.  Kudos to her.  But thirty years???  Well, okay.

Working on her EGOT

And then there was the really interesting independent movie “Weekend” that I saw last night at Outfest by young British filmmaker Andrew Haigh that very much evoked the imaginative rawly emotional work of the young John Cassavettes.  That was really promising and very bold and daring.  So there is that.  Not to mention the idea for a new script I thought of on my own a few nights ago that I’m just starting to take notes on and will continue researching and outlining this weekend.  I’m starting to get excited to explore this new world and see what I can get down on paper.  Perhaps I’ll even manage a little self-discovery in the process.

Hmm., who needs new bathrooms when we have all of that?