Roger Simon On PJ Media

Pajamas Media has been updated. And great scot but it's horrid

by Roger Simon

"Are we in the Age of the Actor? For several decades the auteur theory
ruled the cinema with the writer-director (Fellini, Truffaut, Scorsese)
king. But movies increasingly seem to be coalescing around their
star. Most of the reason for this is financial – and not just in the
obvious area of big studio filmmaking. The indie world also often relies
on a lower-tiered star system based on foreign sales distribution advances,
which are in turn based on the box office of the actors’ previous movies. The
subject, screenplay or (for the most part) director are irrelevant. Hence
we have an actor-driven cinema, perhaps more than ever."

Huh? Ask the average movie goer who directed a fave flick and you'll get a blank stare, as the actor, with few exceptions, has always been the drawing card. The subject is tailored for an actor in question, yes it can be vise versa but from the silent flicks to the Cary Grants to the Bobby Di Nero's and the Brando's the actor has been somewhat important, Rog.

Era of the actor? Yes, Roger. It began around 2000 B.C. and it's good of you to at long last notice.

And this is the Sunday-Special they'll be featuring for weeks to come?

I refuse to read beneath the fold because if the headline and initial paragraph doesn't grab me there really isn't much of a point.

And this is talking out of school? I see. Perhaps it'll get juicy as Roger reveals Scorcese's cap size next week.

Then there's this:

A preview of a fiction of 400 words:

"Let's go.

You and I.

We have just enough jelly for one sandwich, so three are going to be peanut butter only.

We reach into the bag with our eyes closed as that's the only fair way to decide who gets it. We won't do rock, paper, scissors because you always win. I don't know how you do it, but you do.

We take your car because mine still smells like cat puke and you have the bench for the front seat"

No. I did NOT make this up. Would have taken several minutes of anyone's time to generate such ghastliness and I'm rather busy today, but ah dammit okay, here goes:

The sun was warm but the grass retained a measure of the nighttime's' chill.

Our feet grew stained as we pranced across the dewy green.

You and I.

We went.

I asked if you'd made us breakfast.

You said no so I killed you on the spot, and buried you next to an old jelly jar from one of our previous picnics. I laughed as I dug deeper and saw the cat...