“Those who forget history are doomed to forget it.”
 
If we ever get through this dark period of politics, our future reveals only a few options. Given our lack of education, society’s unshakable belief in conspiracies and total lack of respect for the sciences or the arts, our future maybe already written for us. So, as we careen through the annals of history, wantedly ignoring all warning signs, I humbly present a little gem of a film by Mike Judge called Idiocracy.
 
“Shit. I know shit's bad right now. With all that starving bullshit. And the dust storms. And we're running out of French Fries and burrito coverings. But I got a solution.” President Camacho.
 
Mike Judge is the award-winning creator of Beavis and Butthead, King of the Hill, the sleeper hit Office Space and HBO’s brilliant Silicon Valley. His humor and social commentary is consistently spot-on, but in Idiocracy, he has transcended humorous political commentary and touched upon the real pulse of a modern, truth ignoring society. While visiting Disneyland, Judge witnessed a cursing match between two mothers with infants in strollers. The verbal joust between the foul-mouthed Madonna’s stuck with him and the idea for this modern classic was born.

​“But the English language had deteriorated into a hybrid of hillbilly, valley girl, inner city slang, and various grunts”.  – Narrator
 
To say that the film is funny is an understatement. It is hilarious. It’s a shame that the main critics of the film happened to be the studio that financed it. Tired of the film’s harsh critiques of corporations, the overall politics and themes, weary executives at 20th Century Fox hoped for a quick transition to video shelves and sat on the finished film for over a year. Eventually, it was released to a very limited run, making little or no of its money back.
 
Despite the negative vibes, critics responded favorably to the film. L.A. Times reviewer Carina Chocano described Idiocracy as "spot on" satire and a "pitch-black, bleakly hilarious vision of an American future."
 
“Hey, at least it’s not another superhero movie.”
 
“Today, the film’s title doubles as a term used in news cycles as a kind of shortcut to describe the world we live in.” When Pixar’s beloved classic “WALL-E” came out in 2008, Roger Ebert pointed to “Idiocracy” as an unconscious influence on the film’s vision of a dumbed-down, consumer-driven future.

Perhaps it’s too late for a lone movie to save civilization. But as we sprint full speed deeper into the land of the ludicrous, Idiocracy by Mike Judge may just predict how this whole human race turns out. You may not like what you see, but at least the laughter may deaden the pain.
 

Next Week: Top 7 Magnificent Seven Films!

​One cannot look back at the career of Scottish director Bill Forsyth without celebrating his influence on other independent filmmakers across the pond. The ripples from his success have been felt across Great Britain and in 2007 crested upon the shores of Ireland. 
 
Ladies and gentlemen, we salute John Carney. This Irish filmmaker, and former rock bassist, has a healthy dose of Bill Forsyth’s independent streak but substitutes the Scot’s magical with a healthy dose of realism. 

​Carney first hit, Once (2007), starred newcomers Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova. This musical film, made on a shoestring budget of less than 100,000 Euros, was photographed with two borrowed camcorders and quite successfully put this filmmaker on the map. Taking a page directly from the playbook of Forsyth, there is no antagonist that drives this picture but the slow revealing of the characters that keeps us entertained and in our seats. The backdrop of Dublin serves the story well as if it is daring the characters to try and get out.
 
Once again, Hollywood studios are shown that a “little film” can have heart and still do boffo business.
 
“I like 'Guys and Dolls,' 'Singin' in the Rain' and 'A Star Is Born.' When it works, a musical is an amazing thing. But it rarely works.”
 
Already in a relatively young career, Carney has over 19 nominations here and abroad and 13 wins.

​In 2013 and Carney comes back with a film shot in New York. Carney sucks it up and decides to used established talent. His stars for Begin Again are Mark Ruffalo and Kiera Knightly and his choice for the latter was not without controversy.
 
“I don’t want to rubbish Keira, but you know it’s hard being a film actor and it requires a certain level of honesty and self-analysis that I don’t think she’s ready for yet and I certainly don’t think she was ready for on that film,”
 
Carney later apologized. The fact is, he was wrong about Knightly. She is quite good as the heartbroken songwriter and plays off Ruffalo’s down and out music producer quite nicely. Despite some dark backstory, Begin Again has a lighter and audiences immediately responded to the story above, love, loss and most importantly music. The opening introductions of the two major characters are both original and the follow-through is nothing short of brilliant. Plus, it had some pretty decent music by none other than Adam Levine. Not bad for a guy who only a few years back was playing bass in a band called The Frames.

​“It's very hard to tell an actor, 'Stop acting.' It's easy to tell a non-actor, because they're embarrassed when they act. They get ashamed when they do something cliche, whereas an actor is happy.”
 
The jewel in this trifecta of independent filmmaking is Sing Street. With a cast of mostly unknowns and original tunes, Carney returns to Dublin with a little film is the perfect blend of both heart and wit. The evolution of this little ragtag band of 80’s musician wannabes is truly something to behold. The music is more than memorable, and the homemade videos of the band are hilarious. The dialogue is natural and never forced and the entire film carries on the legacy of heart inspired by all of the films before it. 
 
I cannot recommend this series of films by John Carney enough. 

​Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. As far movies into musicals, Carney has Forsyth beat. Once has already received the full Broadway treatment and Sing Street is already playing on Off Broadway.

 Great response to my salute to Local Hero. It is very much appreciated. Now, if only I could find more films like the above to talk about this site may just get popular. Unfortunately, this week, we will have to make-due with the hodgepodge below. As always, differing opinions on topics are always welcome.

​Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker. This was the first Star Wars film that I felt I didn’t have to rush off immediately and see. I didn’t and it turns out my instincts were correct. Verdict? While not exactly a total waste of time, I think it’s a bit of a hot mess. Too many plot points crammed into an excrutiating slow-moving story. For the most part, all of the performances are good with special kudos going to Billy Dee Williams, for still be able to get around and flash that winning smile, and Richard E. Grant for being villainous while at the same time totally underused. I really think it is time that the whole production team go back and think this whole Star Wars thing through. In my humble opinion, the best films of the series have been Rogue One and…

​The Mandalorian. This Disney Plus addition is a must see. A perfect blend of the best of Star Wars, Italian Westerns and, yes, even Kurosawa. Baby Yoda is the breakout star of the limited series and Werner Herzog’s villainous turn is worth coming back for. Great guest stars and cameos throughout and, all in all, a much-needed boost to the Star Wars universe. It’s nothing short of brilliant and another feather in the creative cap of director/producer/writer Jon Favreau.

​Paramount’s Jack Ryan and Paramount’s Star Trek: Discovery (both Season 2) are hit and miss. The performances and production values remain high, the major story setting in Jack Ryan not up to the standards set in the premier season. Star Trek Discovery starts out slow, but by episode 6 takes off with a homage to the original that is worth the price of the entire Blu-Ray set. Both shows are still worth watching, in order to be all caught up for the upcoming seasons. Star Trek Discovery is already finishing up its 3rd season and, as yet, Jack Ryan’s fate is yet to be announced.
​
The Outsider on HBO is crazy creepy and super great It is based on the novel by Stephen King and all of the performances by everyone in the cast, are topnotch. If this mini-series does not give you a sense of overall dread, I don’t know what will. Jason Bateman, fresh off his hit series Ozark, directs the hell out of the first two episodes and is doing a brilliant job.  The show is not without flaws, one in fact leads to this week’s gripe:
 
With the all the benefits of shooting in high resolution video, we have decided as an entire community to shoot with available light whenever possible. When used sparingly, this can cause anticipation, angst and an overall sense of dread to your project. When used all the time, it can also cause the overwhelming sensation of what the hell am I supposed to be looking at? I am hoping this is actually a trend and not that I am losing my vision. It could also be god’s way of saying I need a new 5 or even 6 k television. Until I find out for sure, can we at least shoot a few shots during the day? Thank you.
 
Okay, now that I have had my, “you kids stay off my yard” moment, we can all get on with our lives. Have a great week and I will see you all next week.

The highlight of my week was two viewings of the Criterion Blu-Ray edition of Bill Forsyth’s bittersweet comedy Local Hero. I decided a revisit of this classic was in order after a too-long absence of three years and found it even more charming, poignant, and engaging than I remembered. It’s on the list of one of my top movies of all time and I’m not alone. There are legions of fans out there who love this sleeper hit. We may not have our own fan convention, but this is a special little film that is always worth celebrating.
 
“What makes this material really work is the low-key approach of the writer-director, Bill Forsyth, who also made the charming Gregory's Girl and has the patience to let his characters gradually reveal themselves to the camera. He never hurries, and as a result, Local Hero never drags: Nothing is more absorbing than human personalities, developed with love and humor.” 
 
Roger Ebert
​

​The film boasts a perfect 100% on Rotten Tomatoes and is counted as one of the best films of the last century. It even made the list of top 100 films to see before you die. There is a reason for all of this love, and it’s definitely worth exploring.  
 
Local Hero could never be made today, at least not by Hollywood. There is no major antagonist (unless of course you count the scoundrel who killed and cooked Trudy), and the pace is best described as leisurely. The characters discover themselves and others in a way that never seems overblown, forced or, god forbid, dramatic. Most of the credit goes to the Scottish Director, Bill Forsyth. Forsyth’s direction is spot on and his screenplay never misses an opportunity to exploit its strengths. Perfect length, perfect build, damn near perfect movie.
 
Producer David Puttnam, now sitting on the Labor Benches in the House of Lords and the Academy Award winning producer for Chariots of Fire, came up with the idea and approached Forsyth. Forsyth ran with it and, in my humble opinion, cinematic history was made. It’s worth noting that Puttnam was hired to run Columbian Studios shortly after Local Hero. The results were a disaster, Puttnam making no friends in Hollywood by announcing that film budgets and star salaries had gotten out of hand. Considering the product coming out now, his thinking was way ahead of his time.

​This jewel of a film also features one of my favorite movie scores. Almost as sweet and poignant as the movie itself, Mark Knopfler’s first soundtrack won a BAFTA Award nomination for best score and amazingly became almost more popular than the movie itself. The title track, Going Home, is played before every Newcastle United FC home game and is the last song played at every Dire Straits concert to signal the night is over and it’s time for the audience to bugger off.  

​There are some top notch performances in this film from everyone involved. Peiter Riegert (Boon from Animal House) is amazing and Burt Lancaster, as Happer, is nothing short of pure joy. This film may have been made with very little conflict but it more than makes up for it with a hell of a lot of heart. Watch it and it may just make you feel a wee bit better of about yourself and for the whole of mankind.

​Sadly, a musical stage production of the film is on its way to London. Originally, both Knopfler and Forsyth were involved. It debuted in Scotland last year and is now being prepared for the West End. However, at this writing, Forsyth has been released from the production and will only be involved as a creative consultant. 

First, a hearty pat on my own back that I was actually able to wrap this topic up in two installments. I had no idea that this particular topic was going to end the way it did. It's quite sad really, and I still haven't quite gotten over a memory from 25 years ago. Anyway, without further intro, this week’s conclusion to The Worst Client.
 
Here is where it gets kind of tricky so pay attention. This is where you learn the difference between a good client and a very bad one. 
 
Rule #1: Pay no attention to what anyone says about anything. You know that old “what opinions are like and that everyone has one,” right? Well, that holds doubly true in Show Business. 
 
What really threw me for a loop was that the critique of said agent was thrown out at my first meeting after my move. Instead of shrugging it off, I let the comment eat at me. There are literally thousands of production companies in LA. Why let the opinion of one threaten a potential relationship with an agent.
 
Rule #2: Nobody is going to fawn all over you. Especially a new agent. Get over it. 
 
So, I sucked up the comment and went back, delivering a 2nd screenplay that I thought would seal any potential misgivings that the agent might have of me. We sat in her office, had a very pleasant conversation in which was finished by me presenting her with my newest screenplay. She looked it over quickly and announced, “This quotation should really have its own page.”  How dare her, right? Could she at least read it first before passing such a horrendous comment? Truth be told, I was incensed. Truth number two, she was right.
 
Rule #3. Pick up the goddamn phone when she calls. Whatever the reason, if an agent calls you, that is a good thing! 
 
So, it was the nineties, right? I had an internet addiction and was online constantly. My agent had this miraculous phone service that would break my dial-up phone connection so that I could call her back. Obviously, she wanted to get in touch with me. And, just as obvious I never called her back.  Be available. If you are lucky and opportunity does strike, you have to be there to answer the phone. I was not.
 
Rule #4: Fear of Failure is a real thing. 
 
It is funny how you can want something so bad and mess it up so bad when you almost get it. I certainly have that. It is something that I struggle with to this day. I have a hard time being in a room with people who are more successful than I am. I am sure self-esteem has something to do with it and that is something we can all use a little work on. You are not alone. So, if you find yourself in this position, suck it up and struggle through. I know it is easier said than done. But, in doing this, you may find yourself turning from very bad client to an extremely good one.
 
And, Caren, if you are reading this out there, I am truly sorry.

​Rest in Peace Caren Bohrman (November 18, 2012). I didn’t know her all that well, but she honestly tried with me and in this business that is saying something.

​Hopefully my comments regarding Agents haven’t been too snarky as agents and/or managers will be a very important part of your career. My hope is that my own blunders will keep you from making some of my mistakes. And believe me, when it comes to literary representation, I have made a few. So, let’s dive a bit deeper and talk about the other side of the relationship. Let’s talk bad clients. Now, I am nowhere near the worst, but I do have a story that illustrates perfectly that there are two sides to every relationship.
 
How many agents have I had in the course of my writing career? Well, I have officially signed with two. Unofficially, there have been others. For the most part, they had been brief relationships; wham, bam, never hear from them again, scram. There was an exception, someone who wanted to assist me in the greatest way, only to have my own ineptitude and insecurity get in the way.  Sounds tragic, I know. But you have to admit, it does have the makings for a great story.

​It was the nineties and America Online was the rage. One of the chats I frequented, besides, Men who Prefer Diapers, was Screenwriter’s Chat. The forum took place every Friday between 7 and 9pm and was frequented by such notables as Tom Clancy (yes, really), Nora Ephron (yes, really) and others. I’d mention the attendees who are still alive but, well, you know how that goes. The chats were always fun and the chance to network with real, honest to goodness paid writers was fantastic. A husband and wife team, who had quite a bit of success and even more after I met them, had agreed to read my work. To make a long story short, they liked what they saw and let me know if ever I got down to Los Angeles, they would introduce me to their agent. 

​Fresh off the success of my Dennison’s the Stand-up Chili Campaign (yes, really), I moved to Hermosa Beach, California; where everything show business related in the city is at least an hour away. I met the screenwriting couple in Pasadena (two hours away) for coffee and conversation. My screenplay had forwarded to their agent in West Hollywood and I met her shortly after. It went well. She both liked the script and seemed to have an interest in what I was doing as a writer. So far so good, right? Well let’s backtrack just a bit.
 
Shortly before I made the transition to part-time Angelino, I had arranged a meeting with a production company at Warner Brothers concerning the exact same screenplay. I arrived promptly at the appropriate bungalow (same office building as Clint Eastwood’s Malpaso Productions), witnessed the iconic actor’s hands on the steering wheel of his vehicle (that’s all I saw, I swear), and settled in for a spirited discussion on the merits of my work.

​The meeting was attending by two story executives and, for the most part, went well. They loved the pitch, liked the scripts but felt it needed a more thorough rewrite. I agreed and informed them that they would have another draft by the end of the month. As we parted, they asked if I had representation and I announced proudly that I had nothing yet but was working on it. I swear to god, the last words of the executive’s mouth, were:
 
“as long as it isn’t (insert the name of the literary agent I met with here). She is the one person in this town that we will never to work with.”
 
Da-da-da!
 
(to be continued)

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times..."

This week's blog comment comes from the worst department:

​“It looks like you've misspelled the word "glamourous" on your website. I thought you would like to know :). Silly mistakes can ruin your site's credibility. I've used a tool called SpellDoc.com in the past to keep mistakes off of my website. -Kerri”
 

(An authentic artist's rendering of Kerri

I want to thank Kerri for her candid, illuminating and thought-provoking comments. For the record, I do want to point out that the word glamorous has not been used in any one of my blogs (either recent or past). Therefore, I can only come to the conclusion that you, Kerri, are a sinister Russian bot, attempting to overthrow our precious American Republic by insidiously undermining all that we hold dear…up to and including our right to free and unhindered elections and for misspelled words whether real or imagined. So there, go back to Russia, Comrade Kerri or whatever your Russian troll bot name is!

​Okay, so where we go. Confession time. I have two agents. Well, to be more precise, I have two agencies representing my work. To add to this quandary, I am pretty sure that neither agency knows about the other. To be clear, these two great literary houses are competitors, have been around for decades. And here is the humiliating part, if they did know, I doubt that they would really care. You see, they are not representing me the writer. They are representing some of the work of me. Scripts and concepts as opposed to a real person. Would I like a warm handoff to an agent, introducing myself as well as my work? You betcha! Will it happen in the near future? Most likely not. Not until either screenplay or concept/show sells. Such is my celebrated life on the fringes of show business.
 
Backstory 101.  Two years back I entered into an arrangement with a director; someone I admire and who had some recognition as a Hollywood auteur. He and I entered into an agreement to turn one of my screenplays into a feature. If produced, it could end up anywhere, whether it be cable, streaming service, etc. It really is no surprise that this person cares a great deal more about my story than they do about my career. But, again, this is to be expected. I have asked politely for said handoff/introduction and it has never happened. I will not push it for it is not my way. Besides, if said story ever his produced, I will have leverage and will most likely get that sought-after referral. Let’s call this agency ICM Partners (International Creative Management). Oh hell, who am I kidding? Let’s call it who it really is. 

Backstory 201. Several months back, I worked with a producing team on several opportunities. If you’ve been paying attention, you’ll more than likely know who I’m talking about. If you don’t, I’ll just keep the anonymity going for a bit longer. They are actually the flip side of the story above. They have a bit of heat, due to a popular project and were nice enough to bring me aboard to provide some literary talent to other projects. They are currently being represented by house number two, CAA (Creative Artists Agency). While not all of the projects submitted by the producer have my name attached, one does.
 
There you have it. Two great houses and one so-so writer. Actually, as stated, I doubt they even give a damn. But I did find it ironic and worth noting. The point of the rambling story is this. Whatever gets you there, my friends. There has never been any real normal in my writing career. Hopefully, your career path will be far less dramatic, and you’ll encounter far smoother sailing. I guess I prefer the more time-consuming stupefying approach to a writing career. After all, as they keep telling us in every volume of our writing books, it’s not the journey but the destination. Not such a bad cliché when you are talking about my career.
 
Until next time!  

​A very special thank you to Mr. Dan Sanders for his great post last week. Dan’s insights brought a lot of visitors to jplinde.com and I am sure he’ll be back.
 
And now, this week’s feature presentation.
 
“I tried, you know? But that’s not cinema. Honestly, the closest I can think of them, as well made as they are, with actors doing the best they can under the circumstances, is theme parks.”
 
Generally speaking, Martin Scorsese’s right. Most movies nowadays are theme park attractions! And it’s a simple deduction to make that these films are the ones studios believe are going to make the most money. No surprise. The movies audiences seem willing to sit through are the ones with the loudest snap, crackle and POP! It’s quite ironic to note, as attention spans get shorter, this particular cinematic eye candy gets longer; most of these tentpole films clocking in at over two hours. 
 
However, the fault, as Scorsese suggests, is not in Marvel’s films. I believe he may be painting with too big a brush. For the most part, Marvel films are better written than their counterparts. Their characters are smart, have at least some relatable emotional depth and are more complex than merely the dark and brooding of their counterparts. So, let’s release them from blame and focus on better examples of what the famed director might have meant.
 
Case in point.

​The original John Wick is a fantastic film. Original premise, well written and the creation of a world that is both complex and thought provoking. It features great performances with a stunning look and feel. Now, let’s jump ahead and consider John Wick; Chapter 3 Parabellum. Same stunning visual look, awesome stunts and fight sequences and even one exotic location thrown in for good measure. The Producer/writers even went so far to add a female John Wick, Halle Berry, and a couple of extra dogs. But, when it all comes down to it, it is only more of the same; just bigger, louder and featuring bigger pops. A 200+ million-dollar theme park ride. There are more of these type pictures out there, so let’s not place all the blame on Lionsgate. Some of the blame, dear reader, is in our selves.
 
A majority of movies are no nothing more than a sugar diet for the brain. The need to go big or go home has become the order of the day. Modern Hollywood is big business and needs boffo hits to survive. Another way to survive is to become a bigger shark. Disney/ABC, Comcast/Universal, and Paramount/CBS have all merged and their appetite for cash has grown expeditiously.

​Every once in a while, a smaller film squeaks by and surpasses everyone’s expectations. A good example of this is Downton Abbey: The Motion Picture. 30 million to make with a gross of over 200 million. Exception rather than the rule, but still. There is a dwindling market for smaller films.
 
Thank god for Netflix, Amazon, Hulu and others. The smaller picture seems to have ended up with the streaming services and that’s a good thing…for now. But buyer beware. Our diet has the potential to end up on streaming services with producers, leaving, us with nowhere to turn but theatre and literature. Which would not be such a terrible place to end up; if we still have the ability to read or sit still for longer than 5 minutes.
 

Martin Scorcese, 77, Takes a Last Look at Mob Life in The Irishman
​

​Like life itself, almost no one leaves Hollywood on their own terms.  Even the almighty studio chiefs of yore like Warner, Mayer, Selznick, and Goldwyn all got thrown off the lot one sorry day.  Martin Scorcese just turned seventy-seven.  His directing skills, as seen in his new film The Irishman, remain formidable.  But like Clint Eastwood, one can’t expect Scorcese to make the same type of blithely violent films he made in his heyday.  The losses, consequences, disappointments, and world-changes that old age imposes all converge to shift any director’s outlook.  Many of Eastwood’s mid-career films – The Outlaw Josey Wales, Pale Rider, Sudden Impact – reveled in gunpowder justice so completely that some dismissed him as just a Mozart of Revenge Porn.  Then came Unforgiven, when Eastwood was seventy-two.  By the end of that superb Western, Eastwood’s gunfighter William Munny is little more than a rural serial killer, a nineteenth-century Charles Starkweather (the Martin Sheen character in Terrence Malick’s Badlands).  Bill Munny hasn’t just killed baddies who had it coming; “I've killed women and children,” he moans during his last gunfight. “I've killed everything that walks or crawls at one time or another.”  It is a confession, not a boast.  And Clint Eastwood has never directed another Western.
 
What Unforgiven was to Clint Eastwood, The Irishman is to Martin Scorsese.  One gets a strong sense that it’s his last word on what he’s best known for, his final gangster epic.  It’s not his best film as Unforgiven was for Eastwood, but it’s very, very good. 
 
So what changes for a storyteller when they get old?  In Hollywood, the studio no longer automatically finances exactly the film that Mister Legendary Director wants to make next.  And medium-budget dramas, even with Oscar winners, are an endangered species now.  The day may have come where the only home for films like The Report, Marriage Story, and The Irishman are at streaming networks.  So be thankful that Martin Scorcese can still get a gangster pic made with major stars and the great Thelma Schoonmaker editing.  And yeah, it’s over three hours, but c’mon, you’ve binged that long for years on great TV. 

​Most movies set out to either fulfill a dream or a nightmare.  At the root of our love for gangster movies are our dreams of respect, caring family, tough-loyal friends, protection – and above all, absolute vengeance on those who have wronged us.  This last fantasy has always thrilled audiences.  Twenty-five centuries ago, Euripides wrote the tale of Hecuba, a queen whose son and daughter have been murdered by an enemy king, Polymestor.  Hecuba makes a deal with another mob boss – um, I mean an army general.  She lures Polymestor to a sit-down with a promise of huge loot, then Hecuba kills Polymestor’s two young sons and cuts out his eyes.  As Polymestor wails Hecuba growls:  “I rejoice in my revenge.”  Fifty years ago, Francis Coppola’s The Godfather perfected the gangster genre by opening with a peasant’s plea to his Don for vengeance:  A meek funeral proprietor named Bonasera is shattered by the beating and rape of his innocent young daughter by two college dirtbags.  The judge did nothing because the boys were rich, the girl was poor – and she was Sicilian, which in mid-century America made her a lower life form.  The two rapists will be ambushed by Don Corleone’s enforcers, who will maul both men so badly they’ll be hospitalized for months.  Godfather ends with a pageant of revenge:  The Corleone Family wipes out all their enemies in one afternoon, in a brilliantly coordinated strike.  Here is absolute Justice, harsh and Old Testament, meted out to all the treacherous.  The ratty brother-in-law who got Sonny killed is garroted.  A longtime family general trying to set up Michael Corleone is led off to die.  The five enemy Dons who tried to take the Corleone kingdom are assassinated.  The slimy Vegas casino boss who dared slap Michael’s weak brother around in public is paid off with a bullet through his eye. 

​Scorcese’s GoodFellas, the last truly great mob movie that anyone has made, has an incident of revenge redolent of the rape of Bonasera’s daughter in its origin story of Harold Hill, the 1990 film’s central character.  Harold’s future wife Karen has been groped and assaulted by the college boy across the street.  Harold confronts the punk, who is out in his driveway wrenching on his Corvette with two pals.  The three are no doubt considered tough at their frat house.  But Harold Hill was a big-league Mob prospect at twelve.  With Karen watching, Harold pulls a revolver on Corvette Boy, uses it like brass knuckles to beat 400 points off his SAT score, and leaves the other two boys begging Harold for their suburban lives.  In voiceover Karen recalls this brutal defense of her honor: “I gotta admit the truth – it turned me on.”  Just how grimly handsome is Ray Liotta (then just thirty-six) in Harold’s early-adult scenes?  A friend once told me that the only time his wife of three decades ever confessed to lust for another man was as she watched Liotta in GoodFellas.

​In its leads, The Irishman has a Holy Trinity of living mob-movie legends:  Robert De Niro, Al Pacino, and Joe Pesci.  When I first learned that the movie would be directed by Scorcese and star these three greats, I joked to friends that it felt like 1973 and Cream just got back together.  But of course Irishman is a supergroup reunion forty years on, not five.  This is, again, a gangster picture from a man who’s pushing eighty – and its three stars are 76, 77, and 79.  Nowhere in sight is a princely-youthful avenger like Liotta’s in GoodFellas.  Though the film takes place over forty years, there are no “Young Frank” or “Jimmy at 25” actors, either.  Instead, Scorcese opted for a de-aging CGI technology from Industrial Light & Magic.  (At times the faces look like something off Activision, though it’s definitely a better solution than any makeup artist might have cooked up.)  Most of the film, though, depicts these men from late-middle age up, and it’s hell being old.  These gangsters are feeble, diseased, ugly, and pathetic, dying one by one in hideous, filthy prisons.  In GoodFellas the still-youngish wiseguy inmates make us laugh with their dinners of steak and spaghetti and fresh lobster, smuggled in by bribed guards.  But there’s nothing funny about where Irishman’s hoods do their time.  Few films have conveyed the awful bleakness of incarceration as believably.  Unlike earlier Scorcese mob sagas, Irishman runs on an nonglamorous melancholy, on the strain of being constantly hunted.  We’re reminded of this every few minutes by a classic Scorcese device:  Freeze-frame stoppages, with text superimposed onscreen, tell us how each true-life character eventually died.  “Phil Testa – blown up by a nail bomb under his porch, March 15, 1981.”  “Salvatore ‘Sally Bugs’ Briguglio – shot three times in the face, 1979.”
 
Scorcese made headlines in the fall when he said comic book movies are not cinema, just onscreen theme parks.  His remarks, though justified, showed his age.  The defensive pushback from younger filmmakers like James Gunn had a sour condescension to it.  This eternal disdain of the young for the old is a key element in The Irishman.  Al Pacino is staggeringly good in his portrait of James Hoffa as the classic past-his-prime player, specifically the very last one to know It’s Over.  Everyone else knows it is time for Jimmy to retire and walk away with his money, but not him – and it, well, triggers a sad and degrading end for him.
 
As a parent, a particularly moving aspect of Irishman is how Robert De Niro depicts the gradual but total alienation of the Made Guy, Frank Sheeran, from his children.  Other gangster films like the unfortunate Godfather III have tried to wring drama from this, but it may be the single most compelling element of Irishman.  What De Niro does with this arc is a reminder of his all-time greatness.  You truly feel Frank’s fatherly pain as his daughter Peggy’s respect for him ebbs away year by year, crime by crime.  Anna Paquin plays the adult Peggy, and her scenes with De Niro forge the best cinematic rendition I’ve ever seen of a great truth:  Your kids always figure you out in adolescence.  When they hit their teens you lose your superpowers of authority and awe.  And if you have an addiction or a secret life, they will find it.
 
Much media dust has been raised about the character of Peggy rendered all but mute by Scorcese and screenwriter Steven Zaillian.  But in that time and place and culture, this Silence of the Daughter is entirely plausible.  Frank Sheeran passed his teens in the Depression and turned twenty-one a few weeks before Pearl Harbor.  Of course this generation is revered in movies like Saving Private Ryan, but anyone raised by men of that era knows there was a very dark side to them.  Many had PTSD before anyone knew a name for it.  Therapy was an admission of weakness for most men back then.  The entire energy of a household revolved around these guys when they were home from work.  They resented their children’s money, freedom, sex, college – all the goodies that history screwed them out of.  Many smoldered their way through life, and they could make the next generation feel like absolutely nothing.  More than once as a boy, I’d go over to another kid’s house and before we went inside the kid would whisper to me nervously:  “Hey listen, we have to be really quiet because... my dad is home.” 
 
And for girls, it was many times worse.  Steven Zaillian, who was born in 1953, knows what the hell he’s writing about.  His choice to make Peggy the aphasic Observer does not diminish her character, far from it.  Paquin’s is a terrific performance that sets yet another contrast with Scorcese’s earlier, jauntier assays of mob life.  In GoodFellas young Harold Hill is taught the crook trade by a dozen affable and playful Neighborhood Guys who are far cooler company than Harold’s brooding, abusive father.  Then a truancy letter earns Harold a paternal beating.  When the Guys slap around the mailman to suggest that no more such letters be delivered to the Hills, we barely mind that an innocent man doing his job (and violating federal law if he doesn’t) gets beat up.  And young Harold is more than fine with this solution – hey, school’s out forever.  When Harold walks out of the police station after his first arrest, his Guys are cheering on the steps like the kid just got bar-mitzvah’d (the scene scored big laughs when it showed in theaters).  There is nothing cute or funny, however, about the equivalent scene in Irishman.  Frank comes home to learn that grade-schooler Peggy got angrily shoved by the corner grocer after the girl accidentally knocked something off a shelf.  Frank takes Peggy down to the corner to witness punishment.  We see the little girl’s permanent trauma as, just feet away, her father knocks the grocer’s head through his shop window, kicks him in the face, then breaks the man’s hand as he screams in agony.  Peggy is repelled, ashamed, and doesn’t want Frank to be her father from that day forward, inflicting what will be the keystone heartbreak of his life.  She won’t talk to us either, and it’s truly awful.
 
Every mainstream gangster film, GoodFellas and the Godfather trilogy included, show a terrible reckoning for those who choose criminality.  In The Irishman, though, there are no good old days.  

Dan Sanders is an actor/writer/producer and teacher and holds a Master of Fine Arts in Drama from the University of California-Irvine.

Thanks for stopping by! Only a couple of more weeks until a new year and all new opportunities. I have been posting now for almost a year and it has all gone by pretty damn fast. Thank you to everyone who has stopped by the site to take a look. A special thanks to a few of the guests who have visited as well. Mark Verheiden, Tadd Galusha, Dwayne Epstein and Pacia Linde, you are all tops in my books! Here’s to a great new year with new posts and maybe a few new writing jobs…for all of us!
 
And now, the thrilling conclusion of The Mystery of the Cape Cod Treatment.
 
The unsigned check appeared to be only a minor setback. All that was needed was a quick call to my agent to get that all settled. I was a bit taken aback when I was basically told to call the producer myself. Well, so much for representation. I sucked it up and called. The producer apologized profusely, and I was assured a new and signed check was now in the mail. I was back in business. The 81/2 by 13 yellow legal pads were thrown into the backpack and I raced off to my writing haunt in downtown Portland, the Coffee Ritz.
 
Since I was not really a typist back then…didn’t even own a typewriter, I contacted a friend who agreed to a $100.00 payment to type my opus up. He kept me waiting a few extra weeks, but eventually finished the job and turned the pages back over to me. 
 
Perhaps it was my enthusiasm that blinded me to my lack of competence. To be honest, I’m not sure. But when I realized that the 60-page treatment I had managed to come up with was completely devoid of tone, theme, characterization and general ability, I knew I was in trouble. Not matter, I assured myself. It will all look much better when I pay someone to type it all us. One hundred dollars in hand, I delivered my masterpiece to a friend and he went to work, taking over two months to deliver the goods. When I finally received the pages, I was relieved to find that indeed, the treatment did look more professional. What it lacked in skill, it more than made for with an excellent looking title page. As you can guess, the body of the work was, eh, how to I put this politely, long, rambling and a mess. Armed with this, eh, manuscript, I stuffed it all in an envelope and sent it off to New York. The arranged deal was that I would receive the 2nd payment upon delivery. All told, a total of two weeks would be sufficient before once again, I would be a thousandaire.
 

​Back in the early eighties, there were precious few resources on how to write a film treatment. The ones you did find, seemed to be of differing opinions on style and substance. Some instructed to go long, while others insisted on keeping it short and brief. All of this did not matter to me as I either did not read them at all or simply didn’t pay any attention. Obviously, what I turned in was not very good and the end result was I never heard from that Producer again. As well as I can recollect, I don’t believe I even reached out to see if the producer received it. In the period of the two weeks, I had come to the realization that I did not have the talent or knowledge to tackle such a project. I guess on the positive side, the production company folded shortly after I submitted my work. I often wonder if I had something to do with sending an already teetering company over the edge. Likewise, Manhattan Artists is no longer an Agency (Literary or otherwise.) I’m only left with a copy of the contract and the notorious unsigned check. I don’t know, but from what was learned, I say it has all been worth it.

We have another very special guest next week. Friend, mentor and an all-around fantastic writer, Dan Sanders will be dropping by with some insights on Martin Scorsese’s “The Irishman.” There’s only one writer I could think of to tackle this subject and that’s him. But don’t take my word for it. Check out his bio. 
 
Dan Sanders broke into screenwriting on weekly retainer for a man who was considered, in the late Twentieth Century, the undisputed Sleaziest Producer in Hollywood. This man only shot his films overseas and took the passports of anyone he hired for these foreign shoots – so his employees could not leave until final wrap. Deeply PTSD’d by this foray into white slavery filmmaking, Dan did penance in the following years by writing for the BBC and PBS. In recent years he has written for Lifetime Television on a number of projects, currently on one of their patented Christmas films. In the mid-2000s he took a break from writing to play Michael Jackson’s lawyer for five months on a series that was seen in over 100 countries; he still gets mail from a surprising number of overseas King of Pop fans who think he was really MJ’s lawyer. Other current writing projects include a digital feature that will star young comedy and music influencers, and a limited series based on one of the great pillars of the entire science fiction genre – once the rights-holding studio finally fires that Head of TV Production. (Given that their stock’s current value rating is “Charmin,” it should be any day now.) Dan holds an MFA in drama from the University of California-Irvine because he knew he’d better go for the sure money in this hard-old world. He is a longtime resident of Santa Monica.

Next Week: A review of "The Irishman" by Dan Sanders.