Monthly Archives: October 2018

Bombshell: The Hedy Lamarr Story

 

Hedy Lamarr: Was she a typical story from Hollywood’s “golden age,” a self-centered actress who succumbed to drugs, vanity, and other trappings of wealth and celebrity? Hedy Lamarr: Was she the (unacknowledged) inventor of a groundbreaking military technology called “frequency hopping”? Was she the victim of shallow, sexist male contemporaries?

Answer: Probably all of the above. Lamarr was a fascinating woman, but this documentary reminds me why books are usually better suited to subjects like her. Lamarr’s life was simply too complicated, too interesting, to be captured in an 88-minute film.    Release: 2017   Grade: B

 

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Hats off to Major League Baseball, which is displaying laudable sensitivity toward people with disabilities in the current World Series.

For example, Boston’s Eduardo Nunez (above and below), who is afflicted with St. Vitus’s dance, has been showcased several times, most notably in Game 3:

 

 

 

 

 

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This “CRISPR” business is spooking me.

In the ‘70s, one of the most jolting movie scenes involved the sudden appearance of this “dog-man” (“man-dog”?) in Invasion of the Body Snatchers:

 

 

It was a startling moment, but it was also funny because everyone knew that such an abomination was impossible in real life.

Not so funny anymore; not if you read a few articles about gene-splicing, animal experimentation, and the ominous-sounding CRISPR. I mean, mice with human brains?

 

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“He (Louis C.K.) asked if he could masturbate in front of me. Sometimes I’d go, ‘Fuck yeah I want to see that!’

“So sometimes, yeah, I wanted to see it, it was amazing.” — Sarah Silverman

 

If Sarah enjoys watching men jerk off, I suspect she’d get more than a few volunteers who’ve watched her in these movie scenes:

 

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Listen. I’m no Sherlock Holmes, but since the pipe bombs all had her return address on them, it seems obvious that she must have done it.

 

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I think it’s time we dispense with this expectation that, in times of national mourning, our president should act as “comforter in chief.”

Asking Donald Trump to soothe the nation’s nerves is like asking Larry Flynt to preside at a “Me Too” convention.

 

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The Haunting of Hill House

 

Last week, I said that I fully expected Netflix’s The Haunting of Hill House to “suck eggs.”

Last week, I was dead wrong.

I have to admit that I’m gobsmacked by this ten-episode chiller, which boasts: great acting, an intelligent script, superb direction and, last but not least, very few “jump scares.”

If you can get past the first episode — its flashbacks and numerous actors playing the same characters in different time periods are confusing – it’s terrific binge-watching.

My prediction sucked eggs.

 

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The next time I’m feeling guilty about watching fart videos on YouTube, I’ll remind myself that the whole country is stuck in third grade.

To wit:

 

 

I don’t know. Sounds like a compliment to me. Isn’t that better than a toadstool?

 

Hard to believe that Trump brought up “Horseface” again. I’d almost forgotten about her:

 

“Horseface”

 

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Yep, much scarier than Michael Myers.

 

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Well, geez. Haven’t gay actors been playing straight characters for, like, forever?

 

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I continue to enjoy pointing out inane statements made by cable news anchors, such as Fox News’s Arthel Neville’s observation that a Trump speech was “in his usual rare form.”

Cable news anchors, for their part, continue to enjoy blissful ignorance of both me and my comments.

Seems like a “win-win” relationship, to me.

 

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Taylor and Kanye, Sitting in a Tree …

 

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If I could name just one song either one of them is famous for, I might be more interested in their political opinions. Then again … probably not.

 

Doesn’t it seem that Kanye is forever trying to upstage Taylor? She wins a music award and he jumps on the stage. She makes an Instagram post and he visits Donald Trump.

 

Kanye should just leave Kim to date Taylor. That way, Taylor can write songs about Kanye and they can both live happily ever after.

 

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Sure, it’s adolescent and pointless, but I must admit that when I see this woman speaking on the news, I enjoy hitting the mute button.

 

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Seems to me that King is either back on the sauce or he owes his writing career to some super-diligent editors and proofreaders.

 

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Guess I’m just a glutton for punishment. I keep tuning in to these horror-themed series, hoping that one of them will actually be good. I had to quit watching The Purge and the latest installment of American Horror Story because they bored me to tears.

Now I’m watching The Haunting of Hill House (above) on Netflix, which I suppose will suck eggs.

 

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by Arthur Conan Doyle

 

When I think of Arthur Conan Doyle, like most people I think of his most famous creation, the indomitable Sherlock Holmes. Or perhaps I think of the author’s storied fascination with the paranormal. I did not, until now, think of great adventure tales, in the vein of Jules Verne or H.G. Wells. The Lost World, however, is a genuine classic of the genre, with its short but thrilling depiction of four men discovering a prehistoric land in the depths of Brazil, and their dual struggle to survive that environment and to convince the outside world of its existence.

The story, published in 1912, is old hat in 2018, of course. Large chunks of the narrative are politically incorrect, what with its quartet of European white men dominating and condescending to numerous people of color. But the adventure is the thing in Lost World. And by George, what a delightful twist ending – “Lake Gladys,” my ass!

 

© 2010-2018 grouchyeditor.com (text only)

 

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Judgment Day

 

Dear President Trump:

For the sake of everyone’s sanity, if you get the chance to nominate yet another Supreme Court justice, please let it be a woman.

 

How about this nutcase?

 

 

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Speaking of female judges, Ruth Bader Ginsburg is the subject of a new documentary on Amazon Prime. Here is a screen shot of Ruth relaxing on a training table after a vigorous workout:

 

 

Just kidding. Apparently that’s some Russian hockey player.

 

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I’m no youthful snowflake, but sometimes I feel the need for trigger alerts and safe spaces when I encounter Millennials, just to protect me from their ridiculously foul mouths.

 

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