Friday, April 24, 2009

Woody Allen and Robert Deniro have become the same person

This result does not bode well for film society. Do I really have to see another Woody film with bitter Old Man Allen (this time in the guise of Larry David, who obviously didn't, couldn't know better) having a fling with an under age girl? Well, yes, cause I did. I saw the premiere of "Whatever Works", which doesn't, by the way. Look, I dig young women, but it's kinda creepy seeing someone Larry David (or Allen)'s age with a nubile youngin'. Nuff said on that. As for the movie? The wealthy and industry types at the Ziegfeld ate it up, yucking it down like good lil' Woody Allen disciples, yet it's merely another claustrophobic upper middle class character exposé of his that's, well, impossible for most people to relate to. Allen, like Dylan (or Deniro too for that matter), can lay a turd and people will buy it it seems.

"Whatever Works" was born apparently of previous unused Allen scribblings, and you can tell, especially when he uses a character story line identical to one he used in Vicki Christina Barcelona (involving one character being discovered to be a great photographer and then achieving overnight success and a threesome-Patricia Clarkson in this film as opposed to Scarlet Johanson in Allen's previous, far better film). This is a a hodgepodge retread film if there's ever been one. Larry David, a non-actor, does his best when he's improvising his own jokes, otherwise, his is the worst Woody impersonation since Kenneth Branagh all-out sucked in Celebrity I thought. Hey, I dig David, am Enthusiastic about his Curb, but he shouldn't read scripted lines, not on film anyway-stay on the small screen.

The one, true, great scene in the film was one I'd never seen in an Allen film before. Yeah, we know he's forever gonna exploit the unrealistic bond between hot young chicks and out of touch old complainin' well-off dudes, but in this film there is this one scene between Ed Begley Jr. (who I liked for the first time) and another actor kvetching about losing their respective wives that unravels uncharacteristically for the Woodster. The other guy's wife's name was Norman you see, and, well, let's just say that Begley in turn has an awakening of sorts (Begley's ex in the film is played by Clarkson, who's wonderful by the way).

As for our festival don, Deniro (a strangley bitter rich man it seems, not so unlike Allen apparently) well, he entered the Roylton Hotel afterparty for this Tri-blech-a Film Fest premiere, walked right through and immediately (or so it seemed to me) exited out the back. I wondered why that place was picked for the event up to that moment. A clusterfuck inside, it was the perfect side street to side street entrance exit for any bored stars who just needed to show up. In closing, the Tribeca flim flam fest seems to have become a photo-op only event. It positively sucked two years ago, was revived somewhat last year, but this year so far it seems like Deniro's set to make it suck yet again, we'll see (I do like his policy though that no Sundance films can be included in the fest, that works for me).

Monday, April 20, 2009

I said I'd start postin' again, so I guess this is as good a time as any...

the question is: what do I post here that I don't post on Facebook? Snot has been revived really b/c of Twitter, not FB (f**k buddy, facecock, fessebook what have you). At first I was reluctant do tweat on Twitter. "Your Facebook Status on Crack" I'd heard it called. True, it's just a blurt site, a place to share a link or a shout-out to your peeps as they say, but I've warmed to it mainly b/c there's shite I can't and won't say on Facebook. After a few lame tweats, it became evident where I needed to go with Twitter etc. Good ol' snotster himself Rollo Manhattan needed to rise up from the grave and once again give 'em all a run for their money and a piece of his mind...!

Ok, so don't all applaud at once for Christsakes.

Yeah, so Mr. Manhattan was basically forgotten, I hear you. I think only spam was checking out this blog when I quit (both times), but I've got a voice galdarnit, albeit a scratchy-as-f**k Tom Waitsy whine, but a voice nonetheless, and the mission of Snot has never been clearer then it is today. We've elected Obama, but we gots a lotto work to do damn you bet, to undo the crap from the past 28 years that's put our country in the shithole it's in. Yeah, it's gonna take a lil' while to find my form again, as I'm a tad rusty at this and have been pummeled into submission more and more the past two years, but I'll find my fightin' form again, damn you bet!

I got the inclination to spew forth today of all days b/c (A) I experienced corruption firsthand the other night at a job (I'll just say two words, two words that should go in the dictionary for twit, or a-hole, or I'm-gonna-punch-that-f**kin'-director-next-time-I-see-him: Will Speck), (B) it's raining cat shits and dog giggles outside, and (C) b/c as I was makin' my dreary way home (by first stoppin' for some free eats at Whole Foods and then climbing aboard a 14C MTA bus from hell) I overheard a couple comments by people that weren't quite tweats or FB mind wandering status reports. 1st of all, on the queue at WF, I heard some dude in a line-to pay-to my left (yes, I do buy things to ease my guilt for sampling up the wazoo at the buffet) say that he gets "register anxiety" when his register # comes up. I think it's hilarious that there's an apparent term for this-hell, he should be so lucky to be on a line other then the f**kin' breadline in this sour economy!

The 2nd little thang I overhead on my way home (directly after hopping off said bus from hades and getting splashed head-to-toe by a speeding car) was by an elderly lady walking along the sidewalk with me. As I passed her, she said "damn you lookin' sharp"... that just about made my day. "I'm on my way!" I thought...

Yeah, right.

Ok, that's about it for now. True, not the very best snottering by me, but then again, I'm just getting my crab legs back. Catch you on the flipside.

(this post shoulda been brought to you by Jameson)