Sara Carter Claims that Horowitz’s Report is Coming Out Before Thanksgiving

Not only that but it will recommend indictments including of James Comey.  And it includes exculpatory evidence that was withheld from Carter Page.

https://saraacarter.com/horowitz-report-will-be-damning-criminal-referrals-likely/

Well, if she’s right I only have to wait at most two weeks to drown in an ocean of schadenfreude.  She better be right or I’ll report her to the BBB (Better Blogging Bureau).

Read the article.  She has quotes of insiders who speculate how something like this will undercut Schiff and Pelosi in their use of Deep State informants as supposedly non-partisan witnesses.

 

 

Guest Contributor – The Fat Man – Movie Review – The Irishman

The Fat Man is a learned critic of cinema.  I welcome his contributions and hope to see him on a regular basis.

 

There are many ways to consider The Irishman, Scorsese’s’ latest, and hopefully last, gangster pic. We can try to at least mention them all but it may be best to see it as another allegorical mock epic. Almost the entirety of post-war US history not only acts as a backdrop to the film, but the movie suggests its main characters were central players in such events as the Kennedy assassination, the Bay of Pigs, Cuban missile crises, perhaps even Watergate. The baby boomers can’t get over their all but irrelevant history of air conditioned atavism and faux passivism. They have no epic story to tell, so they are continually painting up their cowardice in the face of a minor war or their alternating deification and denunciation of their fallen non-hero, JFK.

It is no shame that Scorsese reveals himself as sentimental and self-deluding in The Irishman. Many great films begin with cherished delusions, like the tradition of the Ronin or the hooker-with- a-heart-of-gold. Marty and Paul Schrader did wonders with that last fantasy in Taxi Driver, with the whore/Madonna duo played by Cybil Shepard and Jodie Foster. The fact that poor Jodie was still prepubescent was just a cute detail, like attending college to avoid the draft and then going on to graduate studies to learn to justify it to the memory of the poor guys that got killed. But at least Taxi was, in its dysfunctional characters and their infantile motivations, funny. “He’s not a murderer, he’s a Sagittarius” (or was it an Aquarius), protests Jodie Foster’s character, Iris, to Robert De Niro’s Travis Bickle for criticizing her pimp, Sport. That may be the funniest line to come out of Hollywood in the 1970’s.

 

I guess it’s time to address the details of The Irishman and justify all this scorn I’m heaping. Let’s start with funny. It’s not. The cheap laughs squeezed out by mocking the blue-collar naivety of the regular-guy-come-psychopath, Frank Sheeran, the movies protagonist played by De Niro, are so hackneyed they will make you squirm. The rest is humorless. How Scorsese managed to get one of the most naturally funny actors of the 1970’s and 80’s, Joe Pesci, to turn in a joyless performance will remain a mystery.

But, you may ask, why is funny so important. This is big stuff, Pacino, De Niro, Pesci, Keitel, the all-stars, it’s an epic, remember?

It’s true Scorsese swung for the fences on this one, as he did with The Aviator, The Age of Innocence and The Gangs of New York. You’d think he’d learn. Not satisfied with his one true contribution to American cinema, Raging Bull, a small movie perfectly drawn, he continues to balk at the big canvas. He can’t do it. All of his attempts, whether he juices them with amazing sets as in Gangs, or beautiful costumes like in Age, or a remarkable profile like Howard Hughes, fail for the same reason. He can’t tell that story. He can scare us and make us laugh, but he can’t move us. His work can be natural or abstract but never profound. He knows it, as all directors do that pile on the violence. They’re impotent so they pour on the blood.

And Scorsese, as usual, does pour on the blood. We make our way through Frank’s mournful decent from hard working family man to prolific serial killer. We are told the war was to blame where he was asked to unofficially execute German prisoners. His wonders why these prisoners were so compliant in digging their own graves. He asks himself maybe they thought they would get a break if they did a good job? It never occurs to him they were just taking more orders, the same process that dehumanized them in the camps and him.

The Irishman is quiet for a Scorsese movie, without any of the Eric Clapton that accompanied the mayhem in Goodfellars. A number of times, in the background score and in shots of empty rooms through partially open doors we see references to that most quiet of directors, Yasujiro Ozu. Ozu, who directed Tokyo Story, is of course admired by Scorsese but unlike the Italian neo realists that he loves, Ozu and his peaceful style is wholly unsuited to a gangster movie. It’s a clue of what Scorsese is trying to do. Make peace. It explains the unfunny Pesci performance and the banality of De Niro’s narration. Scorsese never had the hand to paint the kind of movie that his contemporaries Roman Polanski and Francis Ford Coppola did. He could never shoot a scene like Brando in his office listening to the undertaker or like John Huston and Jack Nicholson discussing broiled fish. So he made up for it with rotating camera’s in the ring and forensic dialog ripped from FBI files.

But in The Irishman he tries Ozu and we get a whispering Joe Pesci saying “I chose us” to De Niro at the movies end to explain Hoffa’s betrayal. And Hoffa was betrayed, by Scorsese, by Pacino, by everyone who might be interested in what he did build into his union. It must be a curse to try to do a film about the union boss. Nicholson’s Hoffa was terrible, but at least he wasn’t transformed by an aging Italian actor and his friend’s pathetic confession into a one-dimensional stooge. Nothing is examined, nothing explained, just gossip.

And that is the reason the Irishman is a terrible movie. You can’t attempt to depict the sweep of a generation without saying something about why it matters. But because his generation still lies about the meaning of Kennedys and Castro and war, Scorsese has to lie as well. And so he does for the three hours of The Irishman.

 

 

 

All I Want for Christmas 2019

Four years ago, I had to listen to every poll, every pundit telling me that Trump wouldn’t really run.  Then he would be finished after the comments he made in the first debate.  Then he would be out by Super Tuesday.  Then he couldn’t win the Nomination.  And finally, Hillary was so far ahead that it would be a landslide.

Then I had to stay up all election night to laugh at the hilarious Hillary backers screaming and crying and threatening to kill themselves.  Good times, good times.

This year I’m going to cut to the chase.  Even the New York Times and the Cook Report are coming as close as they can to admitting that all the Midwest states that gave Donald Trump the presidency last time are already set up to repeat the experience again. https://cookpolitical.com/index.php/analysis/national/national-politics/its-2016-all-over-again

I’m not going to worry about the President winning re-election, that’s a given.  What I want to focus on is whether the 2020 compilation video of screaming crying Democrat voters will be as good as the 2016 one.  It won’t be easy.  Rachel Maddow, Miley Cyrus, that crazy blue haired girl who swears she’s going to die unless someone fixes this.  Such memories.

I remember after the 2016 election I was quite busy at work for several weeks so I didn’t have a chance to absorb all the Democrat reactions that were captured on the internet.  But after Christmas I had some time off and I went back and looked at these reactions.  I confess I laughed so hard I think I bruised some ribs.  But it was well worth it.  I was euphoric for a month.

So now I want that feeling back.  But how do I get through a whole year before it can happen?  Well, my only hope is a string of Durham indictments during the holiday season.  A couple around Thanksgiving and then a bunch more between Christmas and New Year would be about right.

I know, I know I sound pretty mean.  But think about all the Trump associates like General Flynn, Paul Manafort and Roger Stone who were railroaded and terrorized by a witch-hunting mob of prosecutors who knew it was all made up.  What do you suppose would be poetic justice for that kind of behavior?  How about being frog-marched out of their homes at 3 am in front of the rolling video cameras of a tipped off journalist?  How about being cross-examined under oath and being forced to choose between a plea bargain that puts them behind bars for several years and facing a jury trial where they might end up with a twenty-year sentence?

If the shoe were suddenly on the other foot do you suppose it might give them pause and possibly convince them to turn state’s evidence and rat on Loretta Lynch or John Brennan or James Clapper?  It would be fun to find out.

So that’s what I’m asking Santa Claus for this year.  James Comey, Andrew McCabe, Peter Strzok, Lisa Page and Bruce Ohr behind bars.  It doesn’t seem like too much.  After all I’ve been a good boy.

 

post script – Looks like my wish may e coming true and before Thanksgiving!

https://saraacarter.com/horowitz-report-will-be-damning-criminal-referrals-likely/

 

 

The Pollsters Admit Trump Will Win With the Same Coalition

You can actually hear the pain in the author’s voice when he writes that the Midwest voters today are still the ones who elected President Trump in 2016 and they will elect him again in 2020.

https://cookpolitical.com/index.php/analysis/national/national-politics/its-2016-all-over-again

Sucks being a Dem presidential candidate or pollster this year too.