Jeffrey Wells: The gift that keeps on giving

This is kinda-sorta hilarious. Once again, Jeffrey Wells has gotten mad at me, and banished me from his site -- this time, because I dared to suggest he might be, ahem, racially insensitive. But here's the funny part: He also decided to delete all my comments from today's thread. Except: He neglected to delete a comment he made in response to one of my comments. So now he appears to be talking to someone who isn't there -- like Clint Eastwood conversing with an empty chair. You know, you'd think someone as terrified of aging as Jeffrey would not want anything out there that might indicate dementia on his part...

BEFORE:

AFTER:

Jeff Wells: The sequel Or: The days of whine and poses

Obviously, I have hurt Jeff Wells to the quick by quoting some of his whack-job emails. So he's done what any bully does when someone stands up to him: He's threatened to tell my mommy on me. Unfortunately, since my mother is five decades dead, he has done what I assume he views as the next best thing: He has started complaining to my past and current editors in a huffy email.

But wait, there's more: When I thanked him for this new mother lode of comedy gold, he re-emailed the same people, claiming I was somehow violating a sacred trust by revealing a "personal correspondence." So personal, in fact, that he sent me a copy. The money quote:

It's flat-out slanderous of Joe to publish this. It's foul and icky and depraved of him to expose this information. It will harm my rep as I've never crossed the line by publishing this kind of personal material. I've begged him to please take it down and let bygones be bygones and he hasn't responded. Does Joe still review regional stuff for Variety? I need to appeal to his editor to appeal to him on this matter. Do you know who I can write? Who I can call? He's really gone off the deep end here.

I'm naturally calling Variety on my own and asking [name redacted] if she knows anyone, etc. Please help me on this. This is awful. Do you know Joe? Can you cal him and try to get him to chill out? I've written him seven or eight times over the past hour and he hasn't responded.

Jeff, if you're reading: This post is my response.

Jeff Wells: Threat or menace? Or: Is half a stiffie better than none?

A while back, Jeff Wells felt compelled to tell me that he "keeps bottles of Cialis in the bathroom," and maintains intimate relations with "three girlfriends in LA, another in NYC and another in Berlin." This information was imparted in an email he sent to dispute any suggestion that he might be, well, aging less than gracefully. Today, while answering another of his furious missives, I queried: Are you still taking the Cialis, or have you moved up to hard stuff: Viagra? His response, reprinted here in its entirely, suggests I may have hit a tender spot:

Cialis, asshole. And it feels great to be walking around with half a stiffie, let me tell you. I swear to God, I'd love to take a poke at you. Stay out of my fucking sight at the next film festival we both attend. Look at me cross-eyed just once and I'm going to come over and get within 18 inches and spit right in your face. If you want to take it to the next level after I do that, fine. That'll be your call. But I will give you a slight saliva shower if you so much as look in my direction.

All fine and good, but I have to ask: If he's only getting "half a stiffie" with Cialis, is he really getting his money's worth?

Also: Can one hang an emotionally vivid cowboy hat on half a stiffie?

Finally: When he says he would "love to take a poke" at me, you don't think he meant... well, I mean, I can't picture Jeff as being much of a Lonesome Dove fan, but you never know.

Remembering James Gandolfini in The Mexican

The passing of time and lives often can change attitudes about certain films and the performances they showcase. In the wake of James Gandolfini's recent death, some critics and bloggers have written eloquently and/or appreciatively about the Sopranos star's scene-stealing supporting turn as a brutally efficient but unexpectedly sensitive hit man in The Mexican, Gore Verbinski's 2001 dark comedy top-lining Brad Pitt and Julia Roberts. And yet, even now, the movie itself continues to be widely regarded as something of a misfire, a rattletrap star vehicle built for two that offered too few laughs.

So I feel compelled to once again file a minority report: The Mexican, as I noted in my original 2001 review, is "an arrestingly offbeat shaggy-dog story that somehow remains fleet, fresh and funny even during its most dizzying mood swings between droll whimsy and sudden violence... Working from a witty and free-wheeling screenplay by J.H. Wyman, director Gore Verbinski... does a fine job of fusing the movie’s disparate elements – everything from frenetic slapstick to affecting tragedy, from blazing gunplay to sepia-toned, silent-movie flashbacks – into a consistently engaging and uniquely satisfying whole."

And yes: It's more fun than Verbinski's upcoming The Lone Ranger (despite the latter's own homage to silent-movie comedy conventions).

For the benefit of those who tuned in late: Pitt plays Jeff, a low-level courier for L.A. mobsters who is sent south of the border to retrieve an invaluable (and possibly cursed) antique pistol known as -- yes, you guessed it! -- The Mexican. His mission delays the long-planned Las Vegas holiday he intended to enjoy with Samantha (Roberts), his live-in girlfriend, who's so infuriated that she sets out for Nevada by herself. Along the way, however, she makes the acquaintance of Leroy (Gandolfini), who forces himself upon her as a traveling companion.

Again quoting my 2001 review:

Leroy says he plans to hold [Samantha] as a hostage, just in case Jeff gets any funny ideas about delivering The Mexican to the L.A. mobsters. Samantha is incredulous – she doubts Jeff would ever have any ideas, funny or otherwise – but, like her errant boyfriend, she’s in no position to argue.

One thing leads to another, on parallel tracks, on either side of the border.  In Mexico, Jeff bumbles his way from one sticky situation to the next, evidencing survival skills that give a whole new meaning to the term “dumb luck.” (Another character marvels: “By the grace of God, you have managed to Forrest Gump your way through things!”) In Las Vegas, Leroy is an unexpectedly sympathetic listener while Samantha prattles endlessly about her rocky relationship with Jeff.  Indeed, the funniest scenes in The Mexican illustrate that, deep down, Leroy is a deeply sensitive fellow with his own set of relationship “issues.” When he isn’t shooting people, or handcuffing hostages to hotel-room beds, he’s a real sweetheart.

Gandolfini is splendidly funny as Leory, a sad-eyed lug who just happens to be ruthlessly lethal in his unforgiving professionalism. He’s sneaky and subtle in his scene stealing, but at his very best during an interlude in a roadside diner where he and Roberts give and take as equals. Pay close attention, by the way, and you’ll catch his wink-wink, nudge-nudge allusion to the anxiety-ridden mobster he portrays in HBO’s The Sopranos.

I have Jeff Wells, of all people, to thank for making me aware of this charming YouTube clip. Enjoy.