New Book of Movie & TV Reviews

 “A compendium of enormous balderdash and overwrought and underthought insights!”

Mal Tempo, Long Time Ago book consultant

                                                    kindleredcarpet

If you enjoy Ossurworld’s movie and television reviews, with their unique and odd insights into what’s really happening in your favorite movies, then you are in luck! 

Red Carpet Tickets: Movie & TV Reviews collects the best of the blog reports in one place for easy access and reading.

The books is available for smarter readers, both in e-book and print formats, from Amazon.

If you want the perfect time-killer, Red Carpet Tickets is your ticket to ride. 

Ossurworld’s blogs on movies (& TV streams) select only films that you can and should devote time to watching. Bad films are rarely considered for examination. Bloated budgets, ridiculous acting, and skimpy budgets, will not hurt a film’s chances if something intelligent is presented. Ossurworld will let you know.

You can find Ossurworld’s new book online by simply clicking on this blue highlight!

Red Carpet Tickets: Movie & TV Reviews.  (This blog is a self-serving, commercial, and otherwise blatant attempt to win your appreciation of our mini-labors of Hercules.)

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Matt Lauer: Latest Sexual Outlaw

DATELINE: Boys will be Dogs

Lauer Rabbit Lauer, Lauer, Pants on Fire

Whatever are we to make of NBC firing Matt Lauer for his sexual peccadillo?

We may start to see “Wanted” posters in the Post Office that depict men who are dogs. Come to think of it: most Post Offices already carry pictures of President Trump, the Commander-in-Chief of P***y Grabbers.

Lauer’s crime is singular. Only one accuser has come forward.  We now wonder about all those women co-anchors that Lauer had fired for being difficult.

However, he has gone where others like Moore, Trump, and John Conyers, survived with multiple allegations. Last count had Judge Moore up to 8, Trump up to 13, and Bill Cosby in the stratosphere.

What surprises us is that we always thought of Lauer as rather neutered, like one of the boy-band types like Menudo, for pre-pubescent girls.

If you had asked us to put money down on the chances of Lauer going sex mad, we’d have cruised down the gay side to say he’d be caught with a boy.

It just goes to show that we don’t know who or what we have invited into our living rooms through cable TV. We know the FCC airwaves are polluted and the GOP wants to keep it that way.

Lately we hear that Trump now thinks the tape on which he sexually attacked women’s genitals in his heart is a fake. Tell that to Billy Green Bush who was fired over the contretemps that catapulted Trump into the presidency. Or President Bush, #1, who has two charges against him lately.

Politics makes for strange bedfellows: and most of those are women voters who have no problems with being enticing and seductive. Of course, when Angela Lansbury laments women bringing on their own fate, she is pilloried. Make no accommodations for anyone over 90.

We have pointed out that, once you begin to shoot dogs with fleas, you will have a genocide on your hands.

 

 

Running in Place at Oak Island, Again, During Season 5

 DATELINE:  Oak Island Without Pity is the Pits

Wayne Herschel map Author Wayne Herschel’s map

Episode 4 of the fifth season of The Curse of Oak Island covered a two-week lull in treasure hunting.

This development came about after one of the power hoses, dredging at 200 feet exploded, injuring one of the drill company employees. It gave the Lagina brothers a chance to insist that safety comes before treasure.

Almost simultaneously, the metal detector expert, Gary Drayton, out looking for objects with the younger generation of searchers, came across a boy’s cap gun from the 1950s.

Not much detective work was needed to come to the conclusion that only one child was on the desolate island during that era. His name was Ricky Restall, younger son of one of the casualties of the hunt.

In 1965, modern searching came to an ugly conclusion with the death of four men: Robert Restall and his teenage son, and two others who tried to rescue them. The cause of death was asphyxiation from gases seeping from their shafts into the so-called Money Pit.

Though doubtful that the booby traps on Oak Island would include sophisticated gas leaks, we are not so sure it was not part of the grand scheme to keep the treasure, or whatever is down there, from being excavated.

Decades later, the younger son Richard Restall returned to the Island, as much for cleansing his spirit of the horrors as any other reason. He was rewarded with a reunion with his lost childhood toy gun.

The episode held us in place while awaiting with less and less patience for something to happen in terms of uncovering the mystery. If anything seemed settled, it was that the Island was not exactly friendly, or willing to share its mystery.

After hundreds of years of frustrating searches, this is not news. Perhaps the personification of Oak Island’s resistance, near stubbornness, convinces us that some larger force is indeed at work in Nova Scotia’s strange island.

 

Damn Patriots, Reversal on Damn Yankees!

DATELINE:  Calling Mr. Applegate for Mercy

memories

Lola never wanted this.

If you are one of those who believe the Patriots now have a clear shot directly to the Super Bowl, having a schedule of pabulum ahead, you may have missed some key curses.

Tom Brady’s smashed mirror struck again after the most recent victory.

This time, rugby star Nate Ebner gave it his all on a trick play, perhaps the best of his career, and went immediately to the Injured Reserve list. He did not even pass Go to collect his accolades.

Second, the man who jumped out of Frostbite Falls with a scheduled surgery to play two games for the Patriots, Martellus Bennett seems to have not escaped the fickle finger of fate after all. He too is now headed for surgery on the IR.

What do we have here? More next man up and down?

We are holding our breath and crossing our fingers. This seems like the work of Tom Brady’s blatant disregard for superstition during the off-season. We have seen a steady diet of stars gone for the year: Edelman, Hightower, and now Ebner and Bennett.

We trust that Tom Brady’s handlers are keeping him away from ladders and mirrors.

We applied the title of Agatha Christie’s amusing mystery tale to the Boston Celtics a few weeks ago, calling them the latest incarnation of And Then There Were None, as each star on their little band of teammates bit the dust.

Now, with more players, and more injuries, the Patriots have turned into Ten Little Indians—diminishing returns. It’s enough to make you feel that some sinister force, like Roger Goodell, has caused demonic incantations to run amok.

We were reserving our voodoo curses for Trump after sending Haitians back to their cursed isle, but perhaps someone with higher powers has it in for the Pats.

We recall the old tale, Damn Yankees, as an explanation for the baseball dynasty. Shall we start singing “Whatever Lola Wants” to explain this turn of events?

And then there were no Patriots left to play in a Super Bowl. Have mercy, Mr. Applegate.

Thanks, Tom, for the broken mirror.

Catching Up on Endeavour

DATELINE:  Better Late Prequel

shaun evans Shaun Evans

The only episode of the British detective series Endeavour we have missed until now was the “Pilot” (so-called), the opening episode that set the tone and introduced most of the key characters back in 2012.

Of course, fans of PBS mystery series know that Endeavour is a prequel of sorts to the popular detective show Morse (starring John Thaw) as a non-conformist police detective in the Oxford academic community.

Shaun Evans is the whelp twenty years earlier—showing all the qualities of the curmudgeon detective decades later. Making the show the Zeitgeist of the 1960s in England is not easy, largely ignoring the Beatles.

Roger Allam quickly inserts himself as the lead detective Fred Thursday who takes young Endeavour under his wing after seeing some impressive, if not scholarly, detective insights.

Some of our favorites show up in their young and younger incarnation—including Abigail Thaw as the hard-driven newspaper editor who is Endeavour’s resource and James Bradshaw as the unorthodox medical examiner Max. Each provides delightful scenes in the series.

Evans manages to carry it off as the boyish Oxfordian gone copper. He is not well-to-do as the stereotype accepted by others follows him. He is, in fact, working class with exceptional knowledge and artistic appreciation. It surely puts him out of place in both worlds of town and gown at Oxford.

The opening episode has Morse involved with a charming opera singer, wife of a don, played by Flora Montgomery. Endeavour starts to see dark clues of a child sex ring of young girls and high-ranking officials, which may drive him from the police force before his career truly starts.

We were delighted with performances from Harry Kershaw and Patrick Malahide as suspects in murder. It’s just high-brow enough to delight with its intelligence and charm. The only true reference to John Thaw occurs when Evans looks into the rear-view mirror to see Thaw’s eyes in 25 years.

Gronk & Turkey in the Straw

DATELINE: Too Many Cooks

 photo by Matt Stonephoto by Matt Stone

As rare as a 1916 Mercury-D dime, the Patriots had an impromptu TD celebration.  And, the star of the show was the only man who would dare to stand up to Head Coach Bill Belichick:  no, not Tom Brady.

It was the inimitable Gronk. He usually spikes the ball with great elan. We have been in awe of the fact that for his entire career, he is the only Patriot with the chutzpah to commit such an act within the view of the Scrooge-like coach.

The NFL has now allowed hare-brained celebrations in the endzone after scoring. We have seen leap frog played. We have seen Oddsmell Beckham doing his dog duty impression. However, no Patriot dared to speak the love of celebration.

We must call attention to the Turkey Trot of Brandin Cooks, who jumped on Gronk’s back and rode the Big Pony back to the sidelines in celebration. We swear that Cooks has a 26-inch waist and weighs less than 185 pounds. For Gronk it was like picking up one of those Victoria Secret models for a magazine cover.

You may have missed Gronk being ridden like Seabiscuit by Brandin Cooks, but Bill Belichick emerged like Godzilla from the depths to spit fire over this so-called celebration.

Since Brady never made him those biscuits for Thanksgiving, Gronk gave us his own version of The Original Biscuit Eater.

Alas, after the game Gronk was not allowed to talk about his venture into the realm of happy feet.  In fact, he admitted that the man who won’t allow office parties at Xmas with x’s and o’s, yelled at Gronk for his display

Don’t expect Gronk to join in any reindeer games this season. He won’t even be allowed to give thanks for a touchdown.

Not only was his nose red after the celebration, but his entire face was red. All the better to see inside the dark and gloomy dog house that Coach Belichick built for such players who go about with a Merry TD on their lips.

If Belichick had his way, such players would be buried in the endzone like Jimmy Hoffa, in cement overshoes up to his eyeballs.

So, the Turkey Trot of Gronk was not cooked up by Cooks in the backroom of the holiday luncheonette. It was spontaneous, but nevertheless, it was verboten.

Tom the Biscuit Eater, Thanks to Grandmama

DATELINE:  Doughboy

Brady the Biscuit Eater

Count’em

GOAT QB Tom Brady has a revolt on his flour-encrusted throwing hand.

Having bragged about his grandmother’s secret recipe for biscuits on the Internet, he has unleashed a problem as big as Russian election interference for Trump.

Tom posted a photo of him making dozens of these tasty morsels. Apparently, he promised Gronk that he would bring some into the office next day. However, Tom reportedly told Gronk they were so good that they were all eaten.

This did not sit well with the giant tight end who demanded that Tom make another batch and bring them in to his favored receiver.

If not, Gronk promised “serious trouble.”

This international incident may require the intercession of Giselle or some other neutral party.

Tom can’t catch a break, nor a biscuit.

We know that close associates of Brady over the years, like Troy Brown, and lately Julian Edelman, have also been denied the treat of catching a biscuit from Tom’s larder.

Gronk has come a long way from the tongue-tied rookie who was dumbfounded when Tom would speak to him. He is now demanding his share of the Brady secret recipe—and he is not willing to settle for avocado ice cream or any other item from the TB12 cookbook.

Baseball may have the hot-stove dealings of winter, but for the man who always comes to the Brady household dressed as Santa Claus, the price may be more than one biscuit.

Tom may have to trade off with Gronk, giving him three TDs instead of slaving over a hot stove this weekend making a fresh batch of doughboy biscuits.

Jaylen’s Grief

DATELINE:  Mourning StarBrown

Trevin with Jaylen a few weeks ago.

Boston’s Green Lantern, aka Jaylen Brown, went to Scottdale, Georgia, for his friend’s funeral on Saturday. Though a plane is scheduled to take him to Indianapolis to play that night with the Celtics, no one is sure whether Brown’s emotional state will allow it.

This bravery in the face of melancholia is right out of the Isaiah Thomas playbook, referring to the death of that Celtics’ player’s sister during the playoffs last season.

Everyone lauded the steely resolve of Thomas to go out and win one for his sister. That, of course, did not stop the Celtics from trading him away during the off-season, not long after.

Business transcends even death in the world of pro sports.

Now Jaylen Brown has faced the media repeatedly with his own demons of death haunting him. It might be horrible enough as a young person to deal with emotional horror in private, but to face the onslaught of heartless media may be asking for valor beyond nature’s requirements.

Brown himself said he would have preferred to stay alone in his room. Being an introverted chess player, the Celtics superhero in the making has been able to compartmentalize his grief. He has even found the spirit of the dead motivating his performance on the court.

As for the lost friend, Trevin Lamont Steede, we remain kept in the dark. Brown’s friend died a week before he apparently heard about it. There were apparently no warning signs or dreaded expectations.

Steede won a high school award for sense of humor and played 1-on-1 with Brown during a recent visit. He seemed in good spirits and good health.

The introspective Jaylen seemed open and personable with his late friend, as one would expect with a private relationship, not meant for public consumption.

The mysterious events in the life of Jaylen Brown may haunt him for his career. Kevin Garnett lost his best friend suddenly as a young player—and his character became encased in a hard demeanor for years.

Media Nitwit Claims Patriots ‘Too Boring’

 DATELINE:  Winning is Tough, Dumb Media is Tougher

dumbass felger Nameless Dumbass

Led by ubiquitous idiot Mike Felger, Boston’s version of a sports Trump, a number of media sensation-seekers are trolling the notion that the New England Patriots are boring.

Yes, all those victories piling up are sending people off to their nap-time a tad too early to suit radio/TV bombastic bonehead Mike Felger.

You have to turn to Soren Kierkegaard for an answer: boredom is a disease of the sexually maladjusted, according to the great philosopher of Superman theory.

We humbly ask Boston fans if the Murderers’ Row of the New York Yankees was boring?

Were Red Auerbach’s basketball champions for a dozen years too boring for the Bean Town?

Was Rocky Marciano too boring because he fought a bum of the month during his reign as champ?

Was Sandy Koufax too boring with all those strike-outs game after game?

The likelihood of danger and mystery in a sports-game renders it a gamble every time and every play. You could have disaster around the cornerback. Each week we see stars go down for the count: and not everyone can manage to send the next man up to stardom. How does that create boredom?

On and on we go with media desperation.

For those bored by the recent Celtics winning streak of 16, it ended—and now the Chicken Little types will find doom and damnation on the parquet. Even the Celtics coach called their winning streak a “mirage.”

We recognize that there is much sports airtime to fill on endless sports networks, but give us a break, please.

We are not bored by experts or excellence. Mike Felger is neither expert, nor excellent—and he is on the cusp of being boring to himself.

From Sunset Boulevard to New England

DATELINE: Gloria Swanson’s Late Career as Artist

swanson4

This year’s holiday treat was to discover a 1974 painting done by legendary screen actress Gloria Swanson, hanging in the parlor not far from our Thanksgiving dinner table.

If you recall, Miss Swanson made one of the all-time comebacks in movies when she starred in 1950 with William Holden in Billy Wilder’s classic tale of Gothic Hollywood, called Sunset Boulevard.

Her final scene remains chilling and pathetic, as she descends the grand staircase of her old Hollywood Hills home in final madness and tells the director, “I’m ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille.”

swanson2

Who knew that nearly 25 years later, Norma Desmond was painting acrylic oil scenes as a hobby?

We encountered her 1974 rendition of an old, faded gray barn on this holiday 43 years after she painted it, hanging proudly in the home of an art collector and movie fan where we enjoyed an invitation to dinner.

How intriguing that the creative juices of Swanson, a macrobiotic diet advocate, emerged from this sad landscape. It is a giant picture, three feet in height and four feet across. The colors are muted, like a silent movie depiction.

Dilapidated in the snow, fallen in disrepair and probable despair, the old barn stands proudly alone. Its carriage door is ajar, broken open, letting whatever creature wanders by to enter its cold and empty interior.

It seemed to us to be a place along the “Road Not Taken,” that lovely poem by Robert Frost who lived a few miles away in New Hampshire. Miss Swanson presents us with a scene that comes right of out Thornton Wilder’s Our Town (which was also set a few miles away, in fictional Grover’s Corners).

Miss Swanson’s picture, painted while she lived in New York, a dozen years before she passed away, now has a special place in the home of a long-time fan. We think she would be happy to hear how much this work from the last days of her life, largely unknown, is appreciated.

We felt privileged to stand before it to reflect on life and the passage of time.

Oak Island: Curtains to Curses

DATELINE:  Weekly Update #3

Rick lagina

Time for Just for Men?

As season five progresses, the series Curse of Oak Island seems in jeopardy.

From the off-season storms that decimated roads and other parts of the island, to the tragic death of the 17-year old son of Craig Tester we have had already sufficient warnings and dire omens.

The latest episode begins optimistically enough with the discovery of coins from the 1600s in a pile of dirt uncovered 60 years ago and never searched with a metal detector. We almost feel that the show will conclude successfully this season.

However, the good news became muted when the Canadian government sent a “cease and desist” letter to the Lagina operation, claiming they were vandalizing cultural artifacts after five years of digging.

After 400 years of hunters and hiders tunneling and bulldozing, and ravaging the little Nova Scotian island, this johnny-come-lately interference from some nitwit cultural ministry of do-gooders seems a day late and a dollar short.

In order to assuage the governmental cretins, the Lagina brothers agreed to hiring an archeologist to oversee their work. He promptly stops their digging when they overturn tree stumps and find indications of an old settlement.

We thought the troglodytes of do-good deeds only hid in the bowels of the US government, but the virus has spread to Canada’s guts for real adventure.

Rick Lagina seems crest-fallen. He might have to take that job with Just for Men for Beards. His jet-black hair mismatches his white beard—and he could make a fortune coloring both for an endorsement contract. He can draw on a big gay market, based on the number of people who ask us to find out if he’s gay.

Our other solution is far simpler. We suggest that Rick Lagina sacrifice himself by jumping head first into the Money Pit. This will end the curse instantly by giving the Island its seventh victim and reveal the treasure instantly—in our humble opinion.

 

 

Ray Allen: Gone Fishing for Compliments

DATELINE: Mysterious World of Cat Fishing

on the DL

If you haven’t heard of cat-fishing, you are out of touch with today’s Internet.

Former Boston Celtic Ray Allen is giving us a crash course in something to do with scams, sexual harassment, and online game players.

He is now counter-suing a young man who pretended to be a woman (actually several women) and lured Mr. Allen into online relationships.

It appears there is more than meets the eye to your online pickup lines.

Allen allegedly started stalking his tweeter. Well, how can you stalk a man who pretends to be a woman without finding out that the stalk is off-kilter?

In the world of retired sports stars with time on their hands, you discover that it was a two-way stalking. The young deceiver may have had incriminating evidence and was a threat to reveal it to the family of Mr. Allen.

This gives new meaning to the term “on the down-low.”  Yes, sports fans, in the world of sexual stalking, being on the DL is not always the disabled list.

We might wonder if former movie star (He Got Game) and 3-point champ Allen was light in his sneakers when he took all those jump shots.

We recall vividly his inexplicable feud with Rajon Rondo when they were on their championship NBA treadmill nearly a decade ago.

All the Celtics teammates blackballed Mr. Allen when he jumped ship for an NBA ring on another team. Perhaps teammates already were separating themselves from the DL list.

So, Ray’s best defense is now that he was cat-fished, the colorful term to describe a sexual peccadillo.

 

Keep the NFL Out of Mexico!

 DATELINE: Belichick’s Complaint

Belichick

It was bound to happen after a grueling jet lag victory in Mexico City. The Head Coach of the Patriots, Swami Belichick, found his tongue. We need a wall to keep the NFL out of Mexico.

On a local radio show, upon his return from south of the border, he fired off that it was a long trip and a logistical nightmare, requiring too much manpower—and blatantly unfair to players.

In Oakland, the losers of the game, they dealt with jet lag from Mexico by firing their defensive coordinator. To each his own.

However, implicit in Belichick’s harangue was the fact that the NFL stacked the deck against his championship team. It’s done in the name of parity: you make sure every disadvantage in Roger Goodell’s arsenal is dumped on the best team in the NFL this century—from Deflategate fake news to Montezuma’s Revenge.

Belichick also threw into the mix that they were lucky there were no earthquakes during the game or aftershocks. We had noted earlier in the year that the NFL made no comment after the terrible, tragic earthquake about sending a team into the breach, ready or not.

It is reminiscent of the Trump administration returning temporary immigrant visitors back into places unprepared to house them.

Critics jumped all over Belichick for his ignorance, though we had no problem with saying that a trip to Mexico, with its thin air, was not helpful in preparing for the next game up.

Indeed, Belichick referenced Monday night games as having a similar jet lag issue when travel required cross-country trips. We’d have thrown in Thursday night games as being far worse.

Accusers have a bad habit in this country of being disbelieved and mistrusted. When Belichick accuses the NFL of their bad decisions, it is reminiscent of Alabama candidates for the Senate: as Mr. Trump would tell us, nothing is proven about accusations while he cloaks himself in the flag attacking football players who protest their treatment at the hands of nutcases.

But we digress again: sports is like that in the world of politics. Mexico ought to build a wall to keep out the NFL.

Trump’s Blatant Racism

DATELINE: Inexcusable Lapses of Judgment

Michigan J. Frog

If you need more than one example to prove that Trump is a fetid racist (on top of a dozen past examples), we have compiled a list of the latest evidence that Donald Trump is unfit to be president of the United States.

He is a blatant and unremitting in his bile. Perhaps he is not a white supremacist, as that entails belonging to a set of social pairings that he has avoided.  However, he has shown a disdain for anyone who happens to be a person of color. We will ignore all his obsessive, continuous, illogical attacks on Barack Obama.

Case in point number one: this week he managed to show his lack of humanity (perhaps another disqualifying characteristic) by suggesting he should have let three college basketball players rot in a Chinese jail for ten years because no one wants to kiss the ring of the reigning monarch.

On top of that, he took on the notorious imbecile LaVar Ball in a battle of twitter -tweetie bird brains. Suffice it to say, there is no honor in bashing LaVar Ball. It’s like kicking a dog with three legs. If Trump wanted to illustrate that he is a vile human being, comments such as this do it.

Oh, please, to those who cry it’s only Twitter. It creates a social condition among the uneducated and dumb supporters of racist notions

Next, Trump is calling for the complete suspension of Dallas Cowboy player Marshawn Lynch. Here is another least popular figure in sports who happens to be black. Lynch sat in Mexico City during the American national anthem, but stood for the Mexican anthem. He hardly seemed to be protesting much of anything. Another imbecile to equal Trump’s IQ on patriotism.

And, finally, there is Steph Curry, a basketball champion who was disinvited from the White House for not supporting Trump. Some have defended Trump by saying that the President did not even realize Curry is “high yellow” (a light-skinned black person).

The only high yellow Trump approves is in in his hair and the streak running down his back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

James Baldwin: Nobody’s Negro

DATELINE:  A World Unchanged in 40 Years

 

James Baldwin.jpeg

I Am Not Your Negro is a striking documentary, based on an unfinished manuscript author James Baldwin was writing about Malcolm X, Martin Luther King, and Medgar Evers, all his friends who were murdered. Yes, he was bitter.

Baldwin never finished his book, but the documentary gives its due to the lives of these men and Lorraine Hansberry too, a tragic loss of a black author to cancer.

Baldwin was articulate, passionate, sensitive, and gentle. That the FBI designated him as dangerous may be more indicative of the racism of the era. He interacted with the most famous and infamous of the black movement of the 1960s, though he was on the periphery of politics.

His insights into what ails America stands as true today as it did when he was dismissed as too radical 40 years ago. He saw America through its movie-history lens—and found that white people (whom he liked and admired) were basically morally apathetic, which was a step away from being a moral monster.

The film’s voice is Samuel L. Jackson, reading Baldwin’s words, but there is also a stunning collection of rare historical TV clips. You see Baldwin on a panel with Marlon Brando, Joseph Mankiewicz, Charlton Heston, Harry Belafonte, and Sidney Poitier, discussing black rights. Amazing stuff.

How much would Baldwin be shocked by the insignificant changes in society since his early death in 1979? He scoffed at the notion of a black president, predicted by Robert Kennedy in 1965, in the dim future of 40 years, as being an insult.

Baldwin wanted white America to face its own black people whom he felt they never truly saw: even today, one study proved that racism lives in wedding photos. The number of white brides who had black people in their wedding party was miniscule.

We think James Baldwin would have snickered at such results, then cried.