Barry Keoghan in talks for Ridley Scott's "Gladiator" sequel

Academy Award nominee and BAFTA winner Barry Keoghan is circling his next high-profile role, with the actor in negotiations to join Ridley Scott’s untitled “Gladiator” sequel. If the deal closes, Keoghan would join fellow 2023 Academy Award nominee Paul Mescal (a best actor nominee for “Aftersun”), who is set to star in the Paramount Pictures film. The sequel follows 2000’s blockbuster hit “Gladiator,” which was nominated for 12 Academy Awards and won five, including best picture. It earned $460 million at the box office, and now Scott is returning to direct and produce the sequel. Paramount has dated the film for November 22, 2024. David Scarpa is penning the script for the sequel, which Scott will also produce with Michael Pruss via Scott Free, as well as Doug Wick and Lucy Fisher via Red Wagon Entertainment. It’s been quite a year for Keoghan, who is fresh off his best supporting actor Oscar nomination and BAFTA win for his heartbreaking turn as Dominic in “The Banshees of Inisherin,” as well as a shocking cameo as the Joker in “The Batman.” The Irish actor is also part of the Marvel Cinematic Universe thanks to his role as Druig in “The Eternals,” but his breakout role came in 2017 with “The Killing of a Sacred Deer.” With “Dunkirk,” “Chernobyl” and “The Green Knight” also among his credits, Keoghan’s career is hotter than ever, as he recently completed production on the Apple TV+ miniseries “Masters of the Air,” as well as Emerald Fennell’s “Saltburn” and the Irish drama “Bring Them Down” (in which Keoghan replaced Paul Mescal). Source: variety.com

Yorgos Lanthimos’s The Killing of a Sacred Deer was, according to Jessica Kiang at the Playlist. “A film of clean hands, cold heart, and near-Satanic horror, which was garlanded with boos at its Cannes press screening, an absolutely brilliant film.” David Ehrlich declared: “This is Lanthimos’s most scattered and sedate film, but it’s his scariest as well. Influences and shades of Lynch's Blue Velvet to Cronenberg’s early body horror can be found in this suburban nightmare, which alternates between the sterile hallways of Steven’s hospital and the immaculate interiors of the upper-class house that he shares with his wife and their two kids, Kim and Bob.” For the Irish Times’ Donald Clarke, this film’s “nightmarish, Old Testament horrors are unshakable. Lanthimos is not quite a surrealist, but his universe is sufficiently skewed for the main characters to accept the logically outrageous when it arrives. 

Lanthimos’s tone is closer to that of Pinter than Ionesco.” According to Rebecca Elliott from www.aintitcool.com: "The real star of The Killing of a Sacred Deer, however, is Barry Keoghan as the young Martin. Never before has such a subdued portrayal felt so menacing. Though Keoghan keeps it simple with his approach to the disturbing teen, it's the matter-of-fact delivery that truly makes the whole situation extremely unsettling. Just when you think that the kid might just be a bit dull, Keoghan's nuanced performance slowly reveals that the wheels are indeed turning as the chilling plot thickens."

According to The Telegraph review: “It’s also venomously funny. Lanthimos has long been intrigued by the comedic power of the uncanny and its close relationship with dread, and both sensations are in constant flux here. When absurdism feels this wrong, you know it’s being done right.” “When we started writing the script, we discovered there were some parallels with the tragedy Iphigenia in Aulis by Euripides, and I thought it would be interesting to have a dialogue with something that is so ingrained in Western culture, revenge and redemption,” Lanthimos told Fabien Lemercier from Cineuropa. In Greek mythology, Agammemnon accidentally kills a deer sacred to Artemis to which Artemis responds by altering the weather so that Agamemmnon and his fleet cannot sail to Troy. As a penance, Artemis demands that Agammemnon sacrifice his eldest daughter Iphigenia. There are different versions of the story. In an alternative version, before Agamemnon could sacrifice her daughter, Artemis saves her and replaces her with a deer on the altar. The music at the end is the opening of Bach's St. John Passion - which is essentially Christ's death set to music by Bach. Curiously, part of another of Bach's Passions was used in Tarkovsky's The Sacrifice. 

As far as an agent of upheaval, Keoghan makes his character Martin genuinely formidable. Taciturn, insanely manipulative, and a piercing gaze —the actor performs a total reversal of his eager-sailor role in Dunkirk. The whole love angle between Martin and Kim represents how some girls with "dad issues" can act out sexually and look for a replacement for their absentee father in others. The end shows us Kim pouring blood-like ketchup over the fries that Martin said he loved the most. Maybe Kim was so brainwashed and in love with Martin that she agreed to play along the sickness and even helped poison her brother. She always seemed to know about her brother dying and the ending scenes hinted at them being together in the future. Source: criterion.com

Barry Keoghan is a Dublin-born actor and new dad who’s built a quite remarkable career for himself, considering his neglected upbringing. Keoghan says he prays often to his mother, who died of a heroin overdose when he was 12. "I'm pretty sure she's right by my side all the time," he says. Taken in as child by his grandmother, aunt, and cousin, Keoghan gleaned mannerisms from the likes of Paul Newman in Cool Hand Luke. "There's a composure about him that he won't break until the end—actually he doesn't, because he leaves with a smile," he says, reminiscing about Newman's defiant prisoner. "It speaks to me in many ways." Keoghan's also hoping to coax Daniel Day-Lewis out of retirement for a Billy the Kid movie he's developing. It seems like a long shot, but he did once meet Day-Lewis, who apparently said he was a "massive fan." It would be an understatement to say the feeling is clearly mutual. Keoghan knows he gets typecast as a sinister presence, but wants more opportunities to show his range, thankful that in Banshees he shows tenderness as Dominic Kearney. 

That said, he'd jump at the opportunity to play the Joker again, following up on his brief cameo in Matt Reeves' The Batman. "I'd love to show a little arc of him," he says. "If I could bring him to life that would be amazing and give you my version, which you've not seen. I want to get there and kind of then show vulnerability, because that's what's real." Martin McDonagh, who wrote the part of Dominic intentionally for the actor, already regards him as “one of the best actors of his generation in the world today, let alone in Ireland”. Director Chloé Zhao, an Oscar winner in 2021 for Nomadland, cast him as Druig, a mind-controlling alien, in her Marvel movie Eternals. She has described him as a “wild wolf”. It is these two fantasy roles that now get Keoghan recognised on the street. But for the quality-boxset-consuming classes, it is more likely to be his role as Pavel, a nuclear contamination “liquidator”, in the acclaimed drama series Chernobyl. 

Christopher Nolan still remembers Keoghan’s audition for Dunkirk: “He had innocence, but with stunning sophisticated truth and maturity.” Nolan calls him “a dazzling talent”. Barry Keoghan was born in 1992, in Summerhill, a drab inner city of Dublin. During his troubled childhood, he spent seven years living in 13 foster care homes before he and his brother Eric were raised by their grandmother. Keoghan talked of a list of directors he’d like to work with. The names he summons at the moment – Andrea Arnold, Lynne Ramsay, Céline Sciamma, Greta Gerwig – are all women. “With a man directing, I can get a bit guarded,” he says. “But with women you allow yourself to be a lot more open and vulnerable, and with being a bit more vulnerable there’s a bit more access to you and to the character.”

Keoghan is halfway through waxing lyrical about his latest project, Fennell’s Saltburn – a film about English aristocracy and an “obsessive” Scouser, played by him in his first lead role – when his partner Alyson Sandro steps into the blaring sunlight of the garden. She's an orthodontist from Scotland who he met in February of 2021 in London. Alyson says she wasn’t one bit impressed when Barry told her he was an actor, and didn’t care about his Hollywood pals. “He was saying he plays a superhero in a film. I went, ‘Who, Spider-Man?’ They’ve been together ever since and welcomed Brando in August. Barry is determined to give his newborn all the things he didn’t have growing up. “It’s indescribable,” Keoghan says of his new fatherhood. “It’s a love I’ve not felt before. You can learn from how you were raised. I have the chance to do the things that weren’t done for me.” Only 29, Barry seems to have an evolved sense of fame and its drawbacks. “You hate the parties,” Alyson says. And he agrees, calling fame “a world build on artificial things and fake promises.” Barry told GQ that he brings a stuffed toy everywhere with him – it used to belong to his late mom. “When I’m happiest, I feel like she’s with us,” he says. “Wherever that teddy is, or wherever Alyson or my boy is… that’s home for me now.” Source: gq.com

The gossip IG group "curators of pop culture" Deux Moi (@deuxmoi) has weighed in on an item named "Afterdark" about an Irish actor, if it could be Paul Mescal or Barry Keoghan; and some industry insiders have concluded the "agitated" and "promiscuous" behaviour seen at UK pubs corresponded to Mescal and not Keoghan. A leaked email Luckoftheirish@gmail.com was debated as belonging to either of them. According to an insider who was recently blocked from Paul Mescal's social media (and others): I wouldn’t call Barry a heartthrob. Barry Keoghan is not it. The Old Queens Head Pub is in Islington, London. Everyone in the area knows it's Paul Mescal. Right down the road from the theatre where he plays in A Streetcar Named Desire. Also just to clear this up, I know a director who worked with Barry Keoghan in one of his early films. He’s a great guy! Barry lives in a small town in North East Scotland now, and he keeps to himself. He's an ambassador for the Children's charity Barretstown. He’s very much in a relationship with the mother of his child. Not 100% sure they’re married. But this post is 100% Paul! The main clue is "Afterdark"/ "Aftersun".

“Daisy Jones & the Six”, "Behind the Doors"

There’s a thrilling moment a little before the halfway point of Amazon’s new limited series “Daisy Jones & the Six” in which two stars collide. The ethereal vocalist Daisy Jones (Riley Keough) has been invited to perform her collaboration with a rising rock band, but crashes the stage a bit early and then refuses to leave after her one song has been performed. Daisy and the Six’s lead singer Billy (Sam Claflin) share the microphone for a while, if “share” is the word for what one does in a battle for territory; faces close together, they’re competing for a claim on the song they sing, competing to be heard. That rivalry is the essence of “Daisy Jones & the Six,” a flawed but compelling adaptation of Taylor Jenkins Reid’s 2019 novel of the same name. Reid has described her novel as “a Fleetwood Mac vibe,” if not precisely drawn from Fleetwood Mac’s story — and, as with the real-life Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham, the two musicians at the center of this fictional group generate as much drama as they do music. Unlike Fleetwood Mac, Daisy Jones & the Six definitively break up in 1977, which we’re told at the start. As we watch Daisy, in the 1970s, stomp over the Six in an act of willful spotlight-seizing, we hear Daisy, in the 1990s, tell us that this was simply beyond her control. 

“They wouldn’t let me leave!,” she laughs. We’re being told this story by characters looking back with regret. There’s little of the swirling heedlessness of blossoming attraction here, Billy is trying to keep himself from falling in love: At least notionally committed to the mother of his child (Camila Morrone). And Claflin, never more watchable than when he’s watching Daisy, sells the struggle nicely. But then, Daisy is primarily interested in herself — which is not to say she’s a narcissist, just someone who acknowledges she’s a born star. Daisy’s personality is huge, but it’s not just the band over which she’s running roughshod — it’s the show. Source: hollywoodgossip.co.in

A new book about The Doors and Jim Morrison seen from the road manager Vince Treanor: Behind The Doors. The Story Of A Legendary Band's Road Manager (2023) will not be available for purchase through Amazon or international bookstores. Behind The Doors. The Story Of A Legendary Band's Road Manager can only be ordered directly from the publisher Aldus Boek Compagnie, from Netherlands. Source: www.aldusboekcompagnie.nl 

David Warren: Was the glue within The Doors falling apart?

Vince Treanor: After Jim Morrison's death, everybody was shattered, everybody was devastated. It was a case of a reformation of the band. It was a different sound and music. It wasn't The Doors anymore. I knew when I heard the music that this was not good. This just wasn't The Doors and it wasn't going to be a success. Nevertheless, we did the 1971 tour, the four performances, and sure enough, people did not like it. When the five guys played Doors pieces, the audience was ecstatic, really happy, clapping and cheering, when they played the new music, the excitement just wasn't there, they didn't have their hearts in it.

David Warren: A lot of rumors have been said to come from the 1980 biography No One Here Gets Out Alive.

Vince Treanor: That book was not factual. It's Danny Sugerman's dream about making himself an important figure in Jim and Pam's life. He was 14 at the time and claimed to be Jim's confidant. You have a 14-year-old who claims to be the confidant for a 24-year-old alcoholic. Danny was nothing more than a pest, he was a groupie. And I said so in the book. He was constantly trying to sneak into rehearsals, and we had a way to getting him out. Many times, he tried to ingratiate himself to Kathy, by going up and down saying 'I'll open the fan mail' so he hung around the Office, and every once in a while, Bill Siddons would give him some money and tell him 'Go over get me something to drink', sending him on silly errands just to get out of the place but he was nothing more than a pest. He claimed he helped The Doors to move into their new office. He didn't do any such a thing. He was a boy in school, it was 1968, he was 14 years old. What kind of an idiot has a boy moving The Doors into their new Office? 

DW: Did it ever cross your mind that Jim Morrison would never return from Paris or that he'd die at such a young age?

VT: No, nobody suspected that, why would you believe that? Jim had called John a couple of weeks before he died and he said 'I'm feeling better, I wrote some new stuff and stopped drinking, I've cleaned myself up, I realize all the stupid mistakes that I made and I'd like to come back. How about we consider to get together again, you can look at my new stuff and we can go on.' I think Jim called John because he was the one who was adamant that he would never play with Jim on stage again. He was trying to let John know that things were different, that he was cleaned up, and two weeks later he was dead. Nobody suspected that, why would we? There were a couple of post cards and a letter suggesting that things were going well. He and Pam were enjoying their stay in Paris and he was fine. Pamela Courson was a terrible influence, she was one of the sources of his disquietude, they fought often and violently. 

DW: Do you think Pamela Courson contributed to his early death?

VT: Absolutely. First, she was a junkie, she was manipulative, she had him buying her heroin. They argued a lot. She had him buying all the clothes for her boutique Themis and then she gave the clothes away to her friends, Jim would be buying more clothes and she'd give them away to her friends. The whole place was a den of iniquity. She and her heroin buddies would be over there shooting up and smoking grass, while sitting on the floor telling each other how wonderful the world was, while Jim was out there trying to earn money, at that time he was doing HWY. She was one of the causes of Miami's debacle. First, Jim had seen the Living Theater performance, second he had a violent fight with Pam before he got on the plane, then he was totally drunk by the time he got to Miami. When he heard about the Miami promoter cheating him, and he was determined not to do a show in Miami, that was why there was so much talking and not so much singing. You could talk to him when he was sober, and it was interesting cause he could talk about things that people didn't know, understand and didn't think about. That made him seem extremely brilliant. 

The times have changed for the worse. I like steam locomotives, rockets, electronics, I love the machinery, all the things that made the United States great, the industry that made America great. America lost its heavy industry and will never be great again until the United States wakes up and realizes it handed its technology to China and they made China not only strong but a strong enemy. That was a stupid thing to do. That's what greed does, a lack of foresight, and the fact that you can get into bed with the politically opposed, and make a goal of it and you can't do it. All you do is make them a stronger enemy. Source: www.popexpresso.com

-Patricia Butler: In the spring of 1973, Pamela Courson was living in San Francisco with Michael Verjaska. She had been friends with Michael for a few years but they became lovers after Jim died. She was also dating Randy Ralston. My sources of information about Pamela not being a heavy heroin user before Jim Morrison's death are: the LAPD report; Pamela's autopsy report; January Jensen and Ellen Sander's recollections; Ellen Sander hastened to refute Pamela's rumored heroin addiction while she was in Paris, and after. "When she stayed with me, I did not see her do anything like that. And if she was a heroin addict in Paris -- it's awfully hard to hide it. It's not like you can put it down for a week. I saw no evidence of any kind of hard drug usage while she was at my house, and I was with her almost constantly." January Jensen, who lived in nearby Sausalito and became Pamela's confidante, echoed Ellen's observations.

-Frank Lisciandro: I read the so-called first-hand account written by Alain Ronay which was published in Paris Match magazine. He contends that he was there and that he knew what happened. Then again, I spoke with Mrs. Courson—Pamela’s mother—who told me what Pamela told her over the last few years, which contradicts what Alain Ronay wrote. This was a private conversation, so I never have written about it or told anyone in the press. What I will say is that if what Pamela told her mother was true, and if I understood what her mother told me, then it would contradict the major points of Alain Ronay’s version of events. There’s been a lot of talk that Pamela was some sort of heroin junkie. I don’t know that for a fact; I only know that from hearsay. I never saw any marks on her arms, and I never heard her or Jim ever talk about heroin at any time. Likewise, Babe Hill admits to taking nearly every drug known to man with Jim, but he categorically denies that Jim ever used heroin. With the exception of Pamela, there is no one who spent more personal time with Jim than Babe. And anyone who says they were around Jim as much as Babe, is just not being truthful. I think Babe would have seen heroin use by Jim. Heroin was definitely around so Jim could have definitely gotten some, but I just don’t think he would have hid that from Babe or me. And to complicate the matter, there are people out there who make comments about Jim and tell stories about him who didn’t know him at all, but these are the same folks who endlessly speculate as to who Jim was or make up stories because they want to pretend that they really knew Jim Morrison. The fact is that 90% of what I hear about Jim Morrison strikes me as being totally wrong; absolutely and totally wrong. Source: rokritr.com

James Ellroy's biography "Love Me Fierce In Danger" by Steven Powell

James Ellroy and the Meta-narrative of the Black Dahlia Case’ in Cross-Cultural Connections expands to include new research. Ellroy’s attempts to control the Black Dahlia narrative by tying the story inextricably to his own experiences and his Demon Dog of American Crime Fiction persona began to fall apart when he became involved with two historical researchers on the Dahlia case, Larry Harnisch and Steve Hodel. There have been multiple true-crime books published about the Black Dahlia case, all written with the intention of doing what the LAPD could not: solve the case (or exploit the case's interest). For many years after the publication of The Black Dahlia, Ellroy did not comment on any of the Dahlia theories, as he seemed content with his fictional portrayal of the case. Ellroy’s first public endorsement of the work of a Dahlia researcher marked a distinct change in attitude from the novelist, and came in the documentary James Ellroy’s Feast of Death, where Ellroy endorsed Los Angeles Times reporter Larry Harnisch’s theory that the LA-based surgeon Dr Walter Bayley murdered Elizabeth Short. Ellroy did not take his endorsement of Harnisch’s work much further. Elements of Harnisch’s theory faintly echoed the narrative of The Black Dahlia, which may have appealed to Ellroy. According to Harnisch, Dr Bayley was in a state of mental decline at the time of the murder and died shortly thereafter: his personal and professional life was falling apart, and Elizabeth Short inadvertently reminded him of a family tragedy which sparked a homicidal reaction, all of which would have been familiar to Ellroy and the connections he weaved between the Sprague family and the Dahlia murder. It would not be until the publication of Steve Hodel’s Black Dahlia Avenger (2003) that the remarkable parallels between fiction and reality in Ellroy’s work would emerge. Steve Hodel was completing the research and writing on the ‘Aftermath’ chapter for the paperback edition of Black Dahlia Avenger, and Ellroy asked to see the new material. Ellroy later commented that he had been ‘unconvinced’ by Hodel’s theory when he first read the hardcover edition. Hodel requested that Ellroy provide a blurb for the new edition, but Ellroy responded with an offer to write the foreword. 

Hodel said: ‘to his credit, Ellroy never claimed his novel was anything other than “pure fiction.”’ Then Hodel hypothesized that George Hodel’s friend and criminal accomplice Fred Sexton was a plausible suspect in the murder of Ellroy’s mother. For Ellroy the murder of his mother and Elizabeth Short had always been symbolically linked, but now he had been confronted with the second true-crime writer to claim the cases were factually connected through the same murderer – a serious blurring of the line between fact and fiction that Hodel claimed had been the source of his initial reservations about Ellroy’s work. Ellroy expressed his opinion of this element of Hodel’s theory in no uncertain terms: ‘Bullshit, bullshit, just bullshit, and I told Steve that. Just bullshit.’ As Ellroy was beginning to distance himself from the work of Harnisch and Hodel, unsurprisingly, both true-crime writers expressed some degree of regret over Ellroy’s endorsements, with Harnisch commenting, ‘James Ellroy’s various endorsements have more to do with Ellroy’s well-established hunger for publicity rather than genuine support of any particular theory’ (Harnisch 2010). Hodel was rather less critical: ‘I know for a fact that James truly regrets writing the Foreword to my book. However, I suspect that his real regret is coming not so much from the heart, but rather from Ellroy, the businessman. And, believe me James is first and foremost - a businessman. His business is the promoting and marketing of James Ellroy, and he is very good at it’ (Hodel 2010).Through his involvement with Harnisch and Hodel, Ellroy realized he had lost his prominence in the Dahlia narrative. In terms of his authorial control, the least successful was the debacle of the Harnisch/Hodel affair, and it was during this period that Ellroy made repeated comments about ending his involvement with the Dahlia legacy. ―Love Me Fierce In Danger: The Life of James Ellroy (2023) by Steven Powell

Larry Harnisch (March 2, 2023, IG @lmharnisch): "I don't know what James Ellroy says about me and frankly I don't give a shit either; let me put it this way: there's a new biography of James Ellroy out and I refuse to buy it, but the book says that I complained bitterly that Ellroy drops all his friends which he does so yeah to me James Ellroy is an over the hill writer who keeps writing racist, sexist crap. In real life if you are buddies with James Ellroy, he thinks he is the greatest writer ever. I mean the guy has a phenomenal ego. I worked at the LA Times, I worked in a building full of good writers; a lot of them were better than Ellroy. I was a copy editor at the LA Times and here's this high school dropout James Ellroy schooling me on how to speak and use his Hipster language, the jive talk that he does all the time. And every fifth sentence is about his manhood, you know it's how prodigious it is, how massive it is; he's always talking about it, you would not believe how much... and to me, somebody who has to talk that much about it, he has a problem. So that's kind of my thing with Ellroy. I know there is a new biography out of him. I'm never  buying it in any bookstore. I might thumb through it but sure as heck I will never buy it."

"The Menu" as Allegory of the Film industry

I think The Menu is an extremely meta film that works by comparing itself with this restaurant culture. The movie is indeed about archetypes but The Menu tries to say that these archetypes work the same way in both restaurants and movie culture. The chef represents the director/creator of a movie, there is the movie nerd/foodie, the critics and the people that will just repeat whatever the critics say, the old couple who are into this thing but they dont really try to engage with it as they only care about the cultured status they get from attending, the old washed up insider and the fans that are there too just for the exclusiveness (like in the big festivals). Then there is the main character: Margot (Anya Taylor-Joy) who is a regular person who just wants to watch a movie/eat and is dragged there by another fan. She just wants to eat and is content with her usual choices, she does not want to be there and finds the movie/the menu stupid and pretentious but has her opinion shutdown by the movie nerd who will keep making up excuses for the film. The chef wants to know whether she's 'with them' or not, he wants to know whether she will engage with the film in the same way they all do or not. I think he's asking the audience if they will stick with the movie itself and asking them to give it a chance, he sets up a timer for when things will start to fully fall into place and wants to know if you will enjoy this movie as a quirky horror comedy or if you will accept the deeper message it's trying to convey.

At the end the main character, the average movie watcher gets fed up and asks for just a regular old fun movie without any abstract adornment, so the chef cooks her a good old fashioned burger because at the end the director's goal is to entertain her. She sails off and enjoys the end of the movie as just this funny thing, while all the people trying to dissect it all while they all collectively burn. High-class dining and those who participate in it (both on the creative side and the consumer side) serve as an allegory for how the film business has suffered a similar fate to Chefs Slowik and Hawthorn. Here's some of the most important characters and how they relate to the film industry: Starting with Tyler, a representative of the cinephile types. Tyler knows everything there is to know about food, and the processes in which the food is made. He even demystifies the starter dish, noting that it's created with a pacojet. The only thing he doesn't know about cooking is cooking itself. When Chef Slowik insists that Tyler cooks, he makes a fool of himself. He knows about all the tools and processes, yet can't execute upon something as simple as cutting up a shallot. Much like Tyler, the cinephile has the same predicament. They are cursed with the knowledge that lies behind all filmmaking, yet are unable to become filmmakers themselves. 

Bryce, Soren, and Dave are the producers. They're the ones who have financial control over the restaurant, but what they really want is creative control. To them, they don't see the value in eating at Hawthorn and being able to experience Chef Slowik's creations. If they had it their way, then Hawthorn would just be another McDonald's, and Chef Slowik would be simply someone to steer the ship. When the film shows the tax returns and how they fudged the numbers on those, it's an allegory for how studios fudge box office numbers in order to hide profits from the directors and cast and funnel money to themselves. Lillian and Ted are, of course, cuisine/film critics. I think the shot at critics is made fairly obvious by the tortilla scene. A bad review can tank a restaurant in the same way that a bad review can tank a director's career. There's also the broken emulsion - much like Tyler, it's easy to have the knowledge that the technique behind an art. Having the technique to do that art is much more difficult.

John Leguizamo's character actually doesn't even have a name and is simply referred to as Movie Star. It's actually pretty clever - he's just another movie star clinging onto whatever relevance still remains from his stardom. The Movie Star's sin is that he no longer cares about art. Even worse, he's completely detached from it. Slowik hates the Movie Star because he saw a movie that he starred in that was terrible. Not only was the film terrible, but it was also on one of Slowik's few days off. The Movie Star has no apologies for this. For him, he was just getting another paycheck. For Slowik, the apathy the Movie Star shows is worse than any terrible film he could have made.

Margot is the average movie-goer. In a way, she is uncorrupted. She's interested in the magic behind it all, but the cinephile's obsession puts her off. Her request for a simple cheeseburger doesn't show her lack of appreciation for the finer things in life but an appreciation for the simple things. Chef Slowik is jaded. His sole purpose in life, cooking, is now mostly "enjoyed" by the rich people. Even worse, those who are still capable of appreciating his skills are nitpickers and wannabes, incapable of enjoying something simply for the sake of enjoying it. Part of why Chef Slowik likes Margot is because she is capable of enjoying something simply for the sake of enjoying it. It takes Chef Slowik back to his days as a humble burger flipper, back when he knew what he was serving was not a dish meant to be picked apart by critics, analyzed by amateur foodies, and questioned by those who fund him. At the same time, the cheeseburger Margot asks is far from another mass produced cheeseburger from another franchise. Chef Slowik shows that there's room in the middle for things that aren't just another bite, but also can just be simply enjoyed. Source: medium.com

Tár/Art: Lydia Tár ascending to Godhood, struck down like Icarus

"Tár" arrogating to ascend to Godhood: Have you ever experienced an artwork that grips you viscerally, sensually, inexplicably? It’s like a painter has seen through your eyes, or a musician holds a key to your soul, and the rhythms and tones open your heart and you simply do not know why? The first time you were taken by that piece of art that gutted you, your "Starry Night" -- did you separate the artist Van Gogh from the art? You were smitten, and the experience is as much of the artist as it is a projection of your own experience, dreams, pains and desires. Do you deny that you ever saw yourself in that work? In darkness we hear Lydia Tár coaxing, “Just ignore the microphone. Sing as if it’s not there.” At the end, we hear a voiceover from the video game, “Monster Hunter”, a ship captain’s speech, “Once you step aboard this ship, there is no turning back. And those who choose may step aside. You will not be judged.” Tár makes art, caring not a whit for the opinions of the audience, because that is what drives her, beyond all else. She knows the bargain she made, summed up by the final message of the movie: If you dare to ascend to this stage, you will be judged, perhaps even attacked. You will hunt monsters, and in the process perhaps even become one for a while.

I think the Monster Hunter scene is a small triumph. It would disgust the Lydia Tár we are introduced to in the interview to see herself doing something so beneath her. However, I think there was a very important moment of self reflection in her home watching Leonard Bernstein where she sheds her ego and remembers what drove her to her career. Beneath the facade and all the power plays and pretensions there has to be a genuine love for art for someone to reach the heights she has. "You want to dance the masque, you must service the composer. You gotta sublimate yourself, your ego, and, yes, your identity. You must, in fact, stand in front of the public and god and obliterate yourself." She lost what made her great in the first place. Losing everything and going back to her roots as Linda Tarr in Asia is what redeems her. She is no longer the control freak who threatens a child at school. She throws up when she imagines herself in a transactional scenario at the massage parlor. In the end, despite performing 'lower' art, she has finally sublimated herself in service of the art, not the other way around. Source: medium.com

"Babylon": Chazelle's Schrödinger Hollywood

A dorky filmic ode to the early days of Hollywood, Damien Chazelle’s sprawling “Babylon” may begin in 1926, but the movie is soon burdened with a clairvoyance that allows it to become unstuck in time. Brad Pitt’s Jack Conrad is meant to somewhat resemble pre-Code era leading men such as John Gilbert, Douglas Fairbanks, and Clark Gable. But unable to deliver the diction that talkies demand, he equally brings to mind a character from Quentin Tarantino’s Once Upon A Time In Hollywood­­­­; not the stuntman Cliff Booth, but Leonardo DiCaprio’s aging Western actor Rick Dalton and his distrust of the new wave that’s leaving him behind. In an earnest monologue, Jean Smart’s columnist Elinor St. John—call her an amalgamation of Hedda Hopper, Louella Parsons, and All About Eve’s Addison DeWitt—tells Conrad his time is up, the party is over, in the identical way it will one day be over for every A-lister that would come after him.

Chazelle's deliciously decadent Babylon has disorderly film sets owned by MGM as well the more ramshackle (and fictional) Kinoscope Studios. And one especially memorable segment when the Kinoscope crew tries to film a single scene with sound. You lose count of the unsuccessful takes, feel the studio’s overwhelming heat (they can’t run air due to sound quality) and wonder how anyone survived this transition. As fictional director Ruth Adler, Olivia Hamilton particularly leaves a strong impression through these repetitive takes, representing the era’s behind-the-camera female talent—a more common occurrence in those early days—with natural authority. But the heart and soul of Chazelle’s jazzy and freewheeling opus are Manny and Nelly, who each experience their own rise and fall through hearty plotting that the writer braids compassionately. In the end, this is Manny’s all-consuming love story: he can't give up on the self-destructive Nelly, even when she piles one poor decision after the next.

“Babylon” remixes old Hollywood with a modern flair. Then again, modernizing the golden ages has never been Chazelle’s problem, and so it hardly comes as a surprise that he only gets lost when “Babylon” starts trying to bridge the gap between yesterday and tomorrow. “Babylon” looks sensational from the start, bangs along to the year’s most brilliant score, and bubbles over with riotous setpieces that frequently capture the headrush of making movies for the big screen by restoring the thrill of watching them on one. It’s a feeling that silent film superstar Jack Conrad’s perch at the top of Mt. Hollywood allows him to see the potential for real art behind the scrim of cheap spectacle—he has too much faith in tomorrow to realize that he’s already been relegated to yesterday. “What is your greatest ambition in life?,” Jean Seberg once asked in Breathless. “To become immortal… and then die,” Jean-Pierre Melville replied. Achieving immortality was easy for Jack, it’s living with it that kills him.

Pitt’s suave John Gilbert stand-in is also the personification of the movie that Chazelle builds around him, which is likewise both ecstatic and moribund in equal measure—50 feet tall and six feet underground all at once (a big reason why “Babylon” feels so emblematic of Schrödinger’s Hollywood in the streaming age). Hosted by Kinoscope executive Don Wallach, the first bacchanal unfolds like a “Dear Penthouse” letter written by F. Scott Fitzgerald. It’s the height of excess laced with the fall of Rome, as the end of the silent era looms over the festivities. As far as studio assistant Manny Torres is concerned, Nellie’s voice is the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. 

The Mexican-American immigrant knows what it’s like to be typecast for how you talk, and he swoons for Nellie because both share the same dream for their self-invention. Jack Conrad believes in the movies’ power to bring the masses together, but he’s losing faith in an industry that often fails to recognize its own potential. Chazelle’s brilliance isn’t confined to the big setpieces, it’s also on display in the long and crushing close-up that sees Jack’s soul leaves his body as he watches Hollywood’s most powerful figures indulge in another snakebitten night of rank stupidity. Another bizarre scene forces him to perform “Singin’ in the Rain” for a scene in “The Hollywood Revue of 1929,” the actor rolling his eyes at a future that’s staring him in the face. “Babylon” is a romantic nightmare, a bat-shit crazy masterpiece. Source: www.indiewire.com

Tár: Existentialist Chaos, Karl Jaspers

“If you really want to talk about power and the long reach of history — the abuse and complicity of power, how it corrupts, all these clichés we’ve grown up with — you have to reckon with the idea that there is no black or white. To find the truth of something requires a little more rigor.” —Todd Field on the corruption of power in ''Tár"

Lydia Tár seems to acknowledge the risk of voiding her accolades if someone were to reveal her performative artistry—but she proceeds to manipulate her environment because she can’t help herself. In fact, it may even result in the ballooning of excessive narcissism and self-sabotage. Is this a feature of her real identity or does she miscalculate with her response to a crumbling empire to save her legacy? Where does her work as an artist stand in all this? The implications laid by the filmmakers for exploring this narrative are not to cast blame on any one individual, but rather to explore the shifting nature of power and those who wield it. Tár struggles to sleep at night and when she can finally shut her eyes, she’s susceptible to be swallowed whole by the ghosts of her past. In that regard, Tár reads like a chilling ghost story. When her mistakes inevitably halt her forward trajectory of power and fame, she begins a journey of self-discovery. This leads to her family on Staten Island, finally, where we might get an answer to who she was. As she enters her childhood home, the space starkly contrasts her modern aesthetic. She steps forward to a piano, only to learn that this pristine instrument is severely detuned. When her brother returns home, they share a brief moment where we learn that her real name is Linda Tarr. 

Deciding that she can’t really ever recover from the accusations levied against her, she heads out of the country where she may be able to reconstruct the artist and person she desperately wished to portray. And the final scene, shrouded in the mystery of the spotlight, reveals that everything she built is gone by a beautiful track shot. It’s an ending that feels so devastating, regardless of your feelings about the character. Tár is a kind of ghost story, in which we’re so deeply embedded in Lydia Tár’s psyche that nearly everything that appears onscreen is up for debate. The ghost is that of Krista Taylor, Lydia’s former protégée, with whom Lydia is accused of sleeping and who was blackballed from conducting jobs through the emails Lydia deletes. 

Even before Krista’s death by suicide, she haunts Lydia: We see her long red hair in the audience for Lydia’s conversation with Adam Gopnik. It’s also about the time Lydia starts hearing mysterious noises, some explicable (a medical device in a nearby apartment), some not. Who set her metronome a-ticking? And then comes the visit to the young cellist Olga’s grotty Berlin apartment building, where, she says, she’s staying with friends. Observed now by a gently drifting handheld camera, Lydia walks through the passageway and into a courtyard full of trash, where she hears, far away, a woman singing. We follow Lydia on her descent down the stairs, into a dripping, poorly lit underworld of unoccupied rooms. Where has Olga gone? What is this infernal place? Lydia flees, and face-plants at the top of the stairs. After her partner, Sharon, cleans up her face, Lydia gets up to comfort her daughter, Petra, in the middle of the night. And if you look closely, you’ll see, motionless in the dark corner of Lydia’s bedroom, nearly unnoticeable at the back of the frame, a red-haired woman: Krista. We are no longer watching a movie whose style is that of, as Slate’s Dana Stevens put it, “cool, keenly observed detachment.” The movie has swerved, in these scenes, into the uncanny. Are we seeing Lydia’s dreams? Her greatest fears? Her nerve disorder notalgia paraesthetica presents as a phantom itch, an “unreachable itch,” not unlike the memory of one’s own guilt, or a sound you can’t unhear.

It’s that right arm, Lydia tells Adam Gopnik at the film’s beginning, that marks time. “Right from the first moment, I know exactly what time it is,” she says, with supreme confidence, “and the exact moment that you and I will arrive at our destination together.” In the film’s final act, Lydia loses her confident control over time, and a film that was up till now conducted at adagietto, like the slow movement of Mahler’s Fifth, picks up. A video of a charged encounter at Juilliard goes viral, oddly edited from multiple perspectives, even though no one in that rehearsal room seemed to have a phone out. A story in the New York Post accuses her of grooming multiple young women. Her performance score for Mahler’s Fifth disappears without explanation. She loses the support of her foundation, and her access to a private jet. 

We are in Lydia Tár’s point of view now, in her subjective space, and all is unraveling with shocking speed, including possibly her mind. Protesters picket her poorly attended reading in New York. Olga abandons her at her hotel for someone more fun. Sharon kicks her out and withholds their daughter. She loses her position, loses her chance at the Fifth. Vivace. Tár isn’t a puzzle box, where the answer clicks into place at the end and we understand, at last, who Keyser Söze was. Think of this film, instead, as a journey through a haunted forest, like the ones the Grimms wrote about—like the one where Lydia hears that scream. We wend our way down ever-darker paths, becoming less and less certain what is real and what is not. By presenting the reality of Tár as increasingly subjective, Field is demanding that we question everything we see on that big screen, and receive the film as a mix of plot and psychology, incident and nightmare—all coming back around to the life, the dreams, and the fears of the incomparable Lydia Tár. Source: slate.com

Human mental life is constituted by a division between the subject and the object, and our other antinomical worldviews spring from this original antinomy. Often, the psychological analyses are punctuated by discussions of Kierkegaard and Friedrich Nietzsche – in particular, Kierkegaard’s stress on the choice that each individual must make and commit to. Karl Jaspers introduces one of his most influential ideas – that of boundary or limit situations (‘Grenzsituationen’). These are situations in which the subject experiences dread, guilt and anxiety, where we experience a lack of unity and stability: ‘everything is fluid, is in the restless movement of being in question, everything is relative, finite, split into opposites, never whole, absolute, essential,’ as Jaspers put it. Although a negative experience, these situations allow the human consciousness to confront its limits and restrictions.

Yet while his colleague Max Weber predicted an ideologically fractured and disenchanted world, Jaspers translated this pessimism into a sense of tragedy that affirms the force of reason and justice in history. ‘Truth is what really unites us,’ he wrote. Philosophically, Jaspers is most renowned for his philosophy of existence, or ‘Existenzphilosophie’, which is laid out in his three-volume work Philosophie (1932). We may feel we are subjects who have an infinite capacity, who feel boundless but, when hemmed in by guilt, suffering and death, we come up decisively against the finite reality of our existence. In these situations, we have to act. We either transcend these situations or not. We can cement ourselves further in ‘Dasein’ (mere existence) or transcend into ‘Existenz’. After all, we cannot escape the world nor should be want to and, Jaspers wrote: ‘I really love transcendence only as my love transfigures the world.’ For Jaspers, that focus beyond the world is what is of value – remaining in the world, and reaching only towards the world, broken and imperfect as it and we are, perhaps does more frequently lead to failure and shipwreck. Source: aeon.co