Well, dear readers, we had a most lovely Valentine’s Day here at haineshisway.com. There was romance in the air, and Cupid’s arrows pierced various and sundried butt cheeks. I had a very nice day – I wrote, I ate romantic burritos, and I had a chocolate heart, which arrived in the mail from the Geissmans (the only Valentine’s Day card I got – go know). I even drove about in my motor car whilst throwing flower petals at comely people, oh, yes, I threw flower petals at comely people. I whispered sweet nothings to anyone who called me on the telephone apparatus. I whispered sweet nothings to the cows when they came home. And I whispered sweet nothings to myself whilst sitting in the Jacuzzi. I held my pillow in a fond embrace whilst I took my hand with a fervent prayer. I played wistful songs of love on my wistful piano. I flitted about the home environment like a gazelle in moccasins. I performed the Indian Love Call and the Spanish Flea. All in all, it was a lovely day. Isn’t that exciting? Isn’t that just too too?
Last night I watched two count them two motion pictures on DVD. The first motion picture on DVD I watched was entitled Les Specialists, un film de Patrice Leconte. Made in 1985, this was prior to Mr. Leconte’s first worldwide success, Monsieur Hire. Les Specialists is a trifle, but a very engaging one – tres amusing, wonderful performances, and a crackerjack casino heist. I will venture to say that this film was seen by several Hollywood people, because its gimmicks have been ripped off numerous times by lesser talents. As always, Mr. Leconte’s direction could not be better. Les Specialists is basically a buddy heist film, and it’s thoroughly entertaining. Mr. Leconte has not disappointed me yet. I then watched Mr. Martin Scorsese’s film, New York, New York. Sadly, Mr. Scorsese has disappointed me on many occasions. I know this film has developed a cult since it’s disastrous release in 1977. It was a critical and box-office bomb of major proportions. Those types of films always find a cult – even the horrible Heaven’s Gate has rabid fans. While one can certainly admire many of New York, New York’s components – the set design, Mr. Scorsese’s fluid direction, the camerawork, the choreography and the music – the script is such a total failure on every level that the film can never work. People who say it does work just want to see beyond its obvious and deadly faults. Mr. Scorsese wanted to make a Hollywood musical film, with all of the artifice. Into that world, he wanted to have his actors improvise. He wanted to tell a story of two creative people who could not get along. All that is fine. What is not fine is to ask us to spend close to three hours of a musical with a character who is so obnoxious, disgusting, and selfish as the one Mr. De Niro plays here. Scene after interminable scene, the character is so hateful, so not charming, that the film has no chance. It’s not the fault of the actors, although the improvisation is tiresome. Miss Minnelli does well, but again, who cares? The supporting cast is marvelous – with especially good performances from Lionel Stander, and Georgie Auld (who also played Mr. De Niro’s sax solos). They were so right to cut most of the Happy Endings number – it just lays there like a big piece of whitefish. It’s certainly done very well, but that doesn’t mean it should be in the movie. The transfer is the usual MGM/UA botch. The film is presented in non-anamorphic 1:66, and there is no excuse for it. Also, whatever their source material, it wasn’t the negative, and it shows. I’m shocked that Mr. Scorsese would allow them to get away with it. I have saved for last the most enjoyable thing about my viewing of this film: In all the scenes with Mr. De Niro and Miss Minnelli on the road in the first part of the film, with the Frankie Harte band, if you look at the guitarist you will discover that it is our very own Mr. Grant Geissman. I couldn’t believe it. He has several two-shots with Miss Minnelli. He was very young at the time (in his twenties), but it’s he’s instantly recognizable. Amusingly, he did not actually play the guitar on the film’s tracks – he’s just miming.
What am I, Ebert and Roeper all of a sudden? Why don’t we all click on the Unseemly Button below because this section is starting to resemble War and Peace, not necessarily in that order.
I can barely sit down, because Cupid’s arrows pierced my butt cheeks. The things we do for love. Since today is not Valentine’s Day, I shall not throw flower petals at comely people, although I may flit about like a gazelle in moccasins. Certainly I shall whisper sweet nothings.
I have very few plans this week, other than writing away. I am having dinner on Friday night, so that’s something to look forward to. And, of course, this weekend is the Ray Courts Hollywood Collector’s Showcase. They’re doing something different this year. Instead of the usual Saturday and Sunday, they’re trying Friday and Saturday. It will be interesting to see if Friday works. Their not starting until noon and they’ll stay until nine. I’ll be attending both days, because our very own Mr. Nick Redman can only go on Friday.
Well, dear readers, I must take the day, I must do the things I do, I must write, I must eat reasonably, I must pick up some packages which will hopefully have arrived, I must return some phone calls and I must whisper sweet nothings to one and all and also all and one. Today’s topic of discussion: What is the most ambitious project you have ever embarked on in terms of decorating your home environment? Let’s have all the details – just pretend we’re a reality TV show. Let’s have loads of lovely postings, shall we, and let’s be sure to whisper sweet nothings all through the livelong day and night.