Film Review: DISCLOSURE DAY

Emily Blunt and Josh O'Connor star.

The latest "are we alone in the universe or not?" saga from director Steven Spielberg enticed me to a movie theater for the first time in about two years. My husband and I were expecting big things from Disclosure Day -- things that would benefit from being seen on a large screen, rather than our TV in the den. (We were wrong. You can wait til it's streaming.)

Starting out, not much that's happening is comprehensible, just a lot of sci-fi mumbo-jumbo between the good guys who want the world to know the TRUTH and the bad guys who are keeping it secret. Close attention, and possibly a copy of the script, is required to figure it all out, so I nodded off a few times. No problem  as I was awake for the parts that mattered, most of which take place in the last quarter of the two-plus hours run time.  

Suffice it to say that Spielberg is stuck back in his E.T., Close Encounters, Raiders heyday, and thus borrows heavily from himself. Some of what he chose to include is more suitable for Indiana Jones, like a car-train-crash scene that is totally off the subject of this film but is fun to watch. The final payoff is that we eventually meet "E.T." in his dotage, and not surprisingly he looks exactly the same, but older and with a bigger head. Also, the two lead actors (Josh O'Connor, Emily Blunt) are superb as strangers who share a uniquely common path that began in childhood and who finally meet as adults.

Things Nobody Needs

I wonder what themes were on their dashboards.

About my new car. It's a 2026 Audi, and while it drives great it's full of crap that nobody needs. Much of this crap surely adds to the high price tag, not to mention the waste of design talent of those responsible. In fact, there's so much of it that I had to go back to the dealership today for a tutorial on how to work all the bells and whistles -- really they are buttons, it's just an expression -- that I couldn't figure out.

For example, one of the headings on the changeable dashboard is "Themes." Hmmm, what could that mean, I wondered. Turns out it's like wallpaper on your cellphone, only for your car's "infotainment screen." You can choose from about 25 different background images to personalize your vehicle, as if your license plate isn't enough. Things like New York City, dolphins, Disney, the ocean, sports team logos, animals, favorite movies, landscapes, and blah, blah blah. Talk about distracted driving.

Technology keeps improving everything but our lives. 

The Black Sheep of Maine

Yesterday I got a new car. Gone are all my stickers: the one letting me into a local park for free because I'm old, the one advertising my son's business, the one declaring my unwavering support for Senator Susan Collins, and the one saying "I Brake for Birds." However I did keep the one that tells the world I am "From Away." God forbid anyone should think I'm a native Mainer.

Lately it's embarrassing to say I live in Maine, what with a humongous scumbag not only running for office but winning in yesterday's primary for Senator. Of course he was unopposed, but then he was nominated in the first place and that's pretty damning in itself. I'm talking about Graham Platner, the man with no good qualities. He's amoral, immoral and has PTSD to boot! And yet the Democrats of Maine love him. Or at least if they hate him they still voted for him. How cringy.

I heard one woman being interviewed on the news say the following when asked how she felt about him: "He is disgusting and has done terrible things. He has a Nazi tattoo and lies about his past. He treats women terribly and I certainly wouldn't want to be married to him. But I think he'll make an excellent Senator."

And that's why my new car has a sticker that says "From Away." 

Time Marches On

Two days ago I was 79.

Yesterday was my birthday.

Now today I am 80.

I didn't realize back then how young I was. 

Pay attention, people.

God vs. Satan

As much as I would like to, sometimes it's hard to believe in God when you take a look around. The bad certainly outweighs the good, making me think that maybe Satan is in charge. Let's do a quick tally:

Satan: Childhood cancer, serial murderers, pandemics, mental illness, floods, war, tsunamis, earthquakes, tornadoes, poisonous snakes, poisonous plants, poverty.

God: Flowers, babies.

Imagine

A few months ago I invited a friend out to lunch to celebrate her birthday. Another friend came along and we had a fun time. How nice. Now my birthday is nigh and she invited me out to lunch, to pay me back. WTF?

People lack imagination, plain and simple. Or maybe it's just that people in Maine lack imagination. It's annoying, at least to me, because I don't lack imagination. For example, I can imagine a world where everyone has a brain and uses it, instead of just getting up each day and going through the motions, following orders, and doing what they think is expected of them.

It would be glorious.

The Sick Scumbag vs.The Saintly Senator

Platner has admitted to masturbating in Port-a-Potties.

If you follow the news you have likely heard of Graham Platner, the lying sack of garbage who is hoping to unseat our longtime Senator, Susan Collins, a bipartisan saint who votes her conscience, not her party. As it happens, she is a Republican and he is a Democrat.

I won't go into all the bad behavior that has gotten Platner into hot water recently as it's been covered everywhere and it's already boring. (See photo.) What I do find interesting is that he receives a monthly disability check from our government for his PTSD, which he allegedly earned while in the military, back when he got his now-famous Nazi tattoo.

My question is this: If he's too messed-up to hold a job, then how can he be a working Senator? Do Mainers want someone representing us who has a "100% disability rating from the VA," who is possibly hearing voices or  having flashbacks or whatever the heck goes on inside his head that makes him eligible for lifelong disability payments?

Jewish Paranoia On Sale Now

I keep hearing that antisemitism is on the rise everywhere, especially in this country. 

There are videos online about it, showing lots of protests pro and con, and scary shit going down in major cities like New York and Chicago. News articles and op-eds discussing the problem show up more and more frequently. Reports about NYC's Muslim mayor dissing a pro-Israel parade recently, coupled with an alleged rise in anti-Jewish crime, have increased my worst fears about some gestapo guys barging in and taking my house. 

But the funny thing is, I have not experienced one bit of antisemitic behavior myself. In fact, not once in my entire life. So far it's all hearsay. So is it real or not? And is it really as bad as it's being portrayed by people who sell disaster for a living?

Who knows. You are what you watch.

Time For A Name Change

When he's not posting on Truth Social or running the world, President Trump keeps himself busy by re-naming things. Well, I've got a suggestion for him that I'm pretty sure everyone would accept. Instead of calling our country the United States of America, which is a complete joke since the very last thing we are is united, it should be the Divided States of America. That at least makes sense.

Everyone's An Expert

I used to think there were people who were smarter than everyone else, including me. Then somewhere in my 30s it hit me: there aren't. I came to this conclusion when my gynecologist, a man I respected who had a great reputation, told me, and I quote, "All penises are the same size when erect."  Right away I knew two things about him: First, he was not gay and second, he was an idiot.

Around that same time I started seeing a shrink. I saw him on and off for 20 years and thought he was brilliant, giving me sage advice. But then after his unseemly death -- he drowned, drunk, in a hotel swimming pool -- I learned he was a raging alcoholic who was in and out of rehab several times a year. 

That was long ago and since then I've run into lots more dumb people. The internet is rife with them, all of them "experts" at something, who make videos touting their superior knowledge. A favorite of mine is a woman whose shtick is etiquette and how to dress and behave properly. Her Reels have titles like, "Five Things To Avoid Doing That Make People Dislike You" and "Six Things Never to Wear In Public." It's wild because she is so unlikeable and her clothes are always so ugly, yet she keeps making these videos and I'm pretty sure she's not kidding.

The truth is, each one of us is an expert in one thing -- ourself. Nobody is smarter about you than you. Just listen to your inner voice, unless you are schizophrenic and it's telling you to do bizarre things, in which case you should seek professional help. But Jesus -- good luck finding any.

Not All Birthdays Are Happy

As I have mentioned in this space recently, I am about to turn 80. This fact does not make me happy, and yes, I have considered the alternative.  I don't want to be dead, I just don't want to be 80. At least not in our society, where being old is the only handicap that is still allowed to be mocked. You can't say someone is a cripple or a retard or a fat whale, but you can call anyone an old coot, a geezer, a hag, an old fogey or an old bat, or say they are "over the hill" or "ready for the glue factory" and nobody cares.

Because of that, I do not see this upcoming birthday as cause for celebration. Still, others do and thus far I have had three different friends say they want to "take me to lunch" on my birthday, and I have already agreed to "go out to dinner" with my husband on that day.

Understand, I have lunch out several times a week, often with friends. And my husband and I go out to dinner frequently, certainly once a week if not more. So these outings do not in any way seem special, or make up for the fact that I am now an old hag, old bat and old fogey who is over the hill and ready for the glue factory.

My husband keeps asking what I want for this very special birthday. All I can think of is to be younger. Certainly chowing down some random restaurant food, probably poorly prepared by some 20-something, heavily tattooed and pierced line cook, isn't it.