It sure is!

Or anxiety about cleaning it all up.

I was just scrolling down the old facebook and on somebody’s R.I.P. Holbrook thread, the director of that movie himself popped up to mention it. And I was reading about it somewhere very recently - sounds like an odd one! Doesn’t he decide to kill not just himself but his family as well after his hooker party?

Uh, he was in medical school. No time to scrape goo off of anything but cadavers.

My son is kind of the same.

He was amazing in a movie called Rituals, in which he and four other men are stalked in the woods by a demented, disfigured World War II veteran.

I saw this movie and Trespass in the theater. I regret nothing!

His wisdom’s not sage / he’s not come of age / he’ll refuse to engage / and just turn the page / and though he could fight / he’d much rather recite / That’s entertainment!

The only grading system worth a klimt is Burl’s, so I appreciate Double A’s approach.

I guess Leone made him do it over and over until he was completely Pawnbroken.

There has been love for Holmes & Yoyo demonstrated in these pages before. The Random Roles with John Schuck discusses it a bit, I think, and I remember commenters below that refused to believe such a show ever existed.

Talented lady. But while she may be dead, she’ll never be over the hill. Not in the car she drives!

I assume this is set on the weekend with Lord Byron and Percy Shelley on Lake Geneva, during which, inspired by a vivid nightmare, she first conceives of the story for Frankenstein?

At least it offers an early appearance from Admiral Ackbar playing the killer, Dr. Freudstein:

I read that too - he makes the claim in the introduction to the published screenplay that I have. I’ve read With Nails, Grant’s diaries, and though I can’t remember on way or the other, it probably contains the definitive answer.

Withnail is an absolute classic, no question. I wonder how informed Grant’s performance was by the fact that he could only observe drunks and never be one himself? In any case, it’s a real achievement.

Albert Finney in Under the Volcano is still the masterclass for this.

Give them a few jenkem jags and you’ll have your zombie street children.

I saw either this or I Love You To Death in the theater, but I can’t recall which it was. Maybe it was both? Anyway, 1989-90 sure were the floppiest of years for Kevin Kline. It was like he thought “Well, A Fish Called Wanda turned out pretty well - henceforth will do only quirky crime comedies!” Lucky for him Wild…

I have actually had lunch with one of my childhood film crushes. That’s not exactly a fulfillment of my fondest wish, but it was a lot closer than I ever thought I’d get.