Edgy MD

A funk-loving, hotheaded Greco-German operating a greasy spoon in Hamburg runs afoul of tax inspectors, unscrupulous land speculators, a parolee brother , his girlfriend's abandonment, and a slipped disc, as his psychopathic new chef tries to put a haute cuisine spin on his lowbrow soul food fare. Do hijinks ensue? Ja, they do! (And they're currently streaming for free on Tubi.)

Indeed there was, but that message could have disqualified a lot of people on the same terms. (At least two performers walked out for less-than-impressive reasons.) I certainly don't think she was necessary to make anything artistically superior. I'm just trying to underscore the stranglehold The Ken Kragen Agency had on the guestlist. I would have pegged the Diana Ross as the biggest diva in the room, but by the (seemingly credible) accounts of the documentary, she comes off as quite the opposite. And she and Kenny Rogers were the only ones to wear that totally unflattering sweatshirt the whole night. I'd like to see a killer documentary about the American Music Awards ceremony earlier that same night. If that was truly "the greatest night in pop," that broadcast is half the reason why.

Ackyroyd — like Lionel Richie, Kenny Rogers, Kim Carnes, and Bette Midler — had the inside track by being on Ken Kragen's roster. Probably one or two others also. I mean, somewhere, at some time, this conversation happened. 　　"Great news! It looks like Madonna is available." 　　　　"We don't need Madonna." 　　"But ... she's Madonna." 　　　　"We got Cyndi Lauper. We're fine without Madonna." 　　"But you're telling me Elwood Blues is a must-have?"

We've been singing alternative lyrics for a week. There comes a time When you need to write a song And Stevie Wonder ... ... he won't pick up the phone ...

Yeah, but there's a lot of good footage of the session from the youtube. Where this comes up short is that, like a lot of music docs, it's totally authorized, so the documentarian isn't free to follow where the story leads, and a lot of interesting paths get cut off. Kenny Loggins repeats something kind of nasty that Paul Simon said about an artist that wasn't invited. A good documentarian would instantly get feedback from said artist or their representatives, but not here. And nobody is free to say the obvious, that it's not a particularly good song, and because of time constraints, Quincy Jones wasn't able to break up the arrangement into any harmonies. When Stevie adds to the vocal arrangement, he's definitively onto something, but they really don't have time to change things with everybody in the room waiting for their five seconds, so that gets scrapped.

Sheila needed Crash Davis to help her with her clichés: "I'm just here to help the team any way I can."

Pretty softball telling, I thought. I guess I'm a jerk, but stuff like learning that Al Jarreau was Al Jarrunk, and kept stepping on Dionne Warwick and Willie Nelson, was pretty compelling. And yet his voice was terrific. There were supposedly at least 40 people told "No, thank you, please don't show up, and we're not telling you where we are anyhow." These included the likes of Madonna, and the politics involved that had so many of the invites dependent on whether you were with the same agency as Lionel Richie must have caused some bitterness. It was really interesting when Quincy ceded the floor to Bob Geldof at the beginning of the session. Bob tried to explain to them why they were there, and what it's like to watch somebody suffer and die in front of you of a very preventable cause, and nobody could meet his eyes except Dylan, who was dead locked on him.

Netflix documentary covering the 1985 recording of the single "We Are the World" by an assemblage of stars from across the pop music spectrum pulling an all-nighter. [fimg=450]https://cdn-p.smehost.net/sites/4788b7ad6b5448c1b90d9322361f98f3/wp-content/uploads/2024/01/240129-billyjoel-wearetheworld.jpg[/fimg]

Threads! These films could use threads!!

It's not a question of what's available. I have the money available to buy a boat, but it probably wouldn't be the wisest move.

Fun fact: I feel like I spent the year watching **** on screens, but the only nominated film I saw was Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny, nominated for Best Score. I'm such a shlub.

When the field of nominees for Best Film is expanded to 10, but the field of nominees for Best Director remains capped at five, it's almost like they are engineering this sort of controversy into the process. I'm probably not going to get too animated.

And he's attempting to perform under (supposedly) stricter PED enforcement.

I feel like we're hitting a curious era of Wes Anderson-y movies that aren't Wes Anderson movies. It'll probably lead to some weak derivatives, but also open up some new avenues for other talented folks. I'm happy to see early returns here suggest this might be the latter.

Mark Ruffalo is amazing in that all his characters maintain the untenable balance of being constantly uptight while simultaneously seeming like they've smoked way too much weed.

I have this cued up. I fear that this sort of movie is hard to make work anymore. It's hard to make folks feel like the corporation is beatable, or is even the enemy. DuPont (and it's seemingly always DuPont) should be convincing enough as a universal villain.

I like to think of Local Hero of the godfather of all these types of movies, but some may see precedents much earlier, in films such as Sullivan's Travels. What's clear is that Britain and Ireland (and Scotland and Canada, etc.) generally do this sort of film much better than the US does, as an American leading man leaving it all behind to join a community of neighborly people trying to live decent lives always rings false from the get-go. This film nonetheless feels over-formulaic, with too much of the cinematic story — like Moneyball, but moreso — superimposed onto a non-fiction book sold in the business section. The protagonist of the source memoir — the titular Dave — is even shoved aside in favor of building the story around Dave's young solicitor, who may or may not be entirely fictitious. It's got enough good will for its audience, certainly, that you likely won't turn it off, and that's not nothing. The appearance by (insert big-shot dinosaur butt-rock act here) feels a little like they went to turn the film into the studio, but were told that they needed a marketing hook, and so they were sent back out to re-shoot a couple of scenes with (insert same big-shot dinosaur butt rock act here). As an aside: The Dave of the title is played by Rory Kinnear, son of great British character actor Roy Kinnear who plays nervous, dishonest, glad-handers in all almost everything British and funny from 1964 to 1990.

A Bhutanese schoolteacher, disenchanted by his career, plans to move abroad, to try to make a go of it as a singer in Australia. But he still owes the govenment one more term on his contract, and they assign him to the "most remote school in the world" — a village of a few dozen Yak herders, high up the Himalayan slopes. [FIMG=400]https://images-worker.bonanzastatic.com/afu/images/2058/4404/c8d6_11131649302/F_403_.jpg[/FIMG]

Its very much of a piece with any number of British — and not a few Irish — films from the 90s (and some earlier). Suit from the big city is taken by business to a colorful backwater. Despite initial cynicism, he is taken by the decency and pure-heartedness of locals, and romance + personal transformation draw him into their fight, which is a microcosm of a larger counter-modernist struggle across British or Irish (or Scottish or Welsh) or global society. Despite the Hallmark-iness of such themes, what makes or breaks such films is usually the tone. The leading man, in this case, is the guy who played the roadie in Yesterday.

A successful, self-made car dealer, scandalized by the British financial system's failure during the 2008 global financial crisis, along with the subsequent public bailout, quixotically tries to bring financing back to the people by opening the first new bank in Britain in 150 years. The system gets rocked.

It's 1969. A crotchety archaeologist, on the verge of a crotchety retirement, gets caught up in a race between his god-daughter and an old Nazi adversary in the hunt for a legendary relic. [fimg=350]https://i.etsystatic.com/25432943/r/il/374dec/5001362458/il_1140xN.5001362458_lrrr.jpg[/fimg]

Who was the poster who'd give us really detailed reports on his trips to various ballparks, drilling right down to always letting us know if he was able to score free soft drinks at the designated driver station?

Can Warner make a DC film that's ... fun? They almost kinda sorta did it with Shazam!, but there's something that makes them want to Dark Knight their whole universe, and it just feels unhealthy.

Rude Boy fell off a little down the stretch, finishing at .271 / .414 / .449 // .862. That'll still be a terrific look sharing the outfield with Luisangel Acuña next season in Syracuse. That is, if the injury sustained in the second half doesn't continue to hamper him, and that's an open question, as the Mets have never specified the nature of the injury. Hey, maybe this is the case that got Billy Eppler in trouble.

This is a GOOD pick.