Bad Tomahawk


The troglodytes are coming!

Things aren’t all they’re cracked up to be at The Larned Learned Goat when Snake Plisskin Kurt Russell a crusty Sheriff Hunt shows up to advise the citizens that a local hottie subbing for the larned doc has disappeared from his jail while treating a prisoner with Snake’s lead in his leg. Threatening to slap things red when a disgruntled citizen has the temerity to complain about his missing stable of horses, Snake invites a token redskin to explain the meaning of an unfamiliar arrowhead embedded in his personal jail.

Cut to Snake Sheriff Hunt in his shack and a picture of domestic bliss wherein he carves up the salt pork while his wife lovingly wraps bread for the long, difficult slog to hunt down the troglodytes in The Valley of the Starving Men.

Walter Brennan is dug up to do a walk-on as the Snakester’s old and incompetent assistant to the assistant sheriff while assisting in the search for the troglodytes in The Valley of the Starving Man, a hard five-day ride distant that the mouldy good old boys will do in three but can’t seem to figger which way is up until the trogs land and kill shit and then the real fun begins.

Beans. Farts. Restless sleep. Gangrene. Surgery on the road. Eerie humming sounds, possibly across the border from Windsor. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. Hobbits Hobbling. Fleas? WTF ? ? ?  Fleas?

Damn but this thing was boring. Snake must have needed the cash for another run to El Lay.

Bonus points if you recognize a pleasingly plump Sean Young.

The Party


Kristen Scott Thomas, a baking failure, some quantity of blow, a handgun in a garbage can, and one too many confessions turns a celebratory get-together into mild disarray as guest after guest turns the staid life she’s known completely upside-down. The ending is something else when we learn, well, you’ll just have to watch this little black and white gem to find out that life is not a bowl of cherries, even with National Health.

Arthur Miller: Writer


Rebecca Miller, Arthur’s daughter, filmed this wonderful portrait of her father over the years. An accomplished director in her own right, she takes a loving look at her father’s life and legacy. I quite enjoyed this, too, perhaps even more, although it’s certainly missing the certified nuttiness of the Dennis Hopper production.

My recommendation: Go for it.

Film Stars Don’t Die In Liverpool


An aging actress, whose last meal was eaten in 1995, and hasn’t had her hair done since, ventures forth to Liverpool to play a ’40s movie star. She will move into a house filled with strangers, fully intending to die there. And who wouldn’t in a horrid place that hasn’t had a wallpaper or paint makeover since the ’30s. Even the sheets on the beds are color-coordinated and just as ragged. But it’s Britain. The entire country is like that.

God save Camilla. Stiff upper lip and all that.



See Natalie Portman acting wander around in a slo-mo daze sleepwalking for two – count’em, TWO – freaking hours. I didn’t spend that much time with her. Fortunately, I was able to borrow a pencil. I gouged BOTH of my eyes out with sharp, pointy lead after the first twenty minutes.

If you pay good money for this dog, I recommend you do the same after you find your seat. Be sure you have someone to lead you home at the end of this travesty.