FYI:  A couple of weeks ago I quoted a line in the 2012 graphic novel, Kick Ass 2 Prelude: Hit Girl, about “Obama’s record f–king deficit.”  Some people may think that, because the federal deficit has been in decline for six years, this line is out-of-date, irrelevant.  It isn’t.  The deficit is rising again.  Hit Girl might need to blame House Republicans as well as Obama, but you’d better believe there’s no irrelevance here—and won’t be any time soon.

The crime material in the second season of Jane the Virgin is getting entertaining, more so than the scenes showing efforts to get baby Mateo, offspring of Jane, to stop wailing at night and go to sleep.

I am not yet tired of Jane, but I fear I will be if nothing emotionally meaningful or really dealing with the human situation crops up, as it did when Jane and Rafael worried over a possible health problem in their unborn child.

Also, I like it when the gay stuff in the show is at a minimum, as it usually is.  Last night it was beyond the minimum, though not without a few curious niceties or details.  Still . . .   Incidentally, I wonder if 50 Cent was right that the ratings for Empire plummeted because of that show’s gay stuff.

The first scene has a woman named Gail on the phone with a woman named Linda, apologizing for missing Linda’s recent party and asking how many people attended.  Linda replies that there was none who attended.  The party was a total bust.  This because, in Hal Salwen‘s gentle satire Denise Calls Up (1996), there are no longer in-the-flesh contacts and relationships; people are busy and do everything over the phone.  They even make love over the phone except, well, this is no lovemaking—or sex—at all.  But they don’t know that!  They have settled for the absence of the ordinary human encounters they wish to avoid or simply have no time for.  Or they refuse to make time.  Even the donation of sperm to an anonymous woman who wants to get pregnant is the equivalent of an over-the-wire service.  Predictably, it is over the phone that the donor becomes acquainted with the anonymous woman (she’s the Denise who one day calls up the donor).

Salwen’s film is witty and shrewd as well as competently directed and, by Gary Sharfin, edited.

The one-liners are what you’d expect: wholly trivial, sometimes hokey, usually funny.  The sight gags are wild and punchy and usually entertaining.  Hit the Ice (1943) is probably more of a musical than a comedy-team farce ought to be: singer and recording star Ginny Simms belts out a lot of numbers.  But the numbers are nicely digestible and never upstage the comedy. . . I couldn’t help thinking that Hit the Ice was headed for an unhappy ending, at the expense (of course) of the Lou Costello character, but no such oddity emerges.  Nothing truly cruel would be hitting the boys.  This is just like any other comedy-team farce, only funnier than many of them.

Hit the Ice (film) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I consider Iris (2001), about the British novelist Iris Murdoch and Alzheimer’s disease, a lousy film.

Not only does smug Murdoch wear her intellect on her sleeve, which is bad enough, but nothing justifies such a thing since the talk here is constantly intellectually shallow.  Acted as a young woman by Kate Winslet (and here the smugness comes in) and as an elderly woman by Judi Dench, the revered Iris has a penchant for skinny dipping as well as adultery, even lesbian adultery.  She is, then, a run-of-the-mill female rake, which is not very interesting.  And then there’s Murdoch’s husband John Bayley (he’s always fun),  who is such a silly and awkward man it is damned difficult to think of him as a professor of literature.  The blame for the jejune acting of the two men who portray him belongs, I think, to the director, Richard Eyre.  This is Eyre’s John Bayley before it is the actors.’

Iris (film) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)