You are reveling in CultureWag, the best newsletter in the universe, edited by JD Heyman and written by The Avengers of Talent. We lead the conversation about culture: high, medium and deliciously low. Drop us a line about about any old thing, but especially what you want more of, at jdheyman@culturewag.com “If you aren’t reading the Wag, you’ll never get anywhere when it comes to quantum electrodynamics.” —Richard Feynman Don't Worry, Darling: It's the Weekly Wag!The Queen, Film Festivals, Jon Bernthal, Cocktails with Churchill, and More...
Dear Wags, Elizabeth Alexandra Mary Windsor, the world’s greatest reality star, has left this world. Long before the simple folk discovered Instagram, she mastered the art of packaging herself in carefully curated images. It’s unlikely the 70 years and 214 days of her reign will be delineated as a Second Elizabethan Age because she was sidelined from the action by constitutional design. So, the ability to hold her tongue became her greatest achievement. By definition, the Queen was a traditionalist, but she kept her opinions as close as her handbags. We will never know what she thought about lots of things. For that, we ought to be supremely grateful. The Wag-in-Chief spent time in the Queen’s offices in Buckingham Palace, which summed up her persona rather neatly. The public rooms were grandiose, but the spaces behind them, where the gritty work of promoting Queenhood took place, were a humble warren of shabby cubicles and crumpled Dixie cups. A successful monarch must seem worth the fuss without appearing to be too fussy. At this sleight of a white-gloved hand, nobody was better. Gloss this over however you like, but monarchy rests on the idea that heredity makes another person better than you. That ought to rankle the hoi polloi, but the further we get from feudalism, the more royalty attracts admirers for endurance alone. The Queen was out of date her entire life, which proved to be magic. In a curtailed youth, she established herself as a hardy girl from an Enid Blyton novel, happiest mucking about in mossy places alongside dogs, ponies, and gamekeepers. Upon her ascension, she instantly became a stern matron in a prim suit and silly hat. She was rich beyond reason but never made the mistake—fatal in some notable instances—of being chic. Instead, she put everything into a job that required her to stand perfectly still while the rest of the world rushed heedlessly forward. In later life, her legend was burnished by the screenwriter Peter Morgan, first in The Queen (2006) and then in HBO’s The Crown. These depictions peeked behind the scenes of palace life without being actually revealing. The monarch was reinforced in the public mind as a woman consumed by duty, confounded by the self-regard and lack of fortitude in modern people. The brilliance of the actresses who portrayed her was to never stray too far from this script. They hinted at vulnerability without diminishing Britain’s most exalted civil servant. Good queens are elusive. In a world saturated with information, there’s a particular genius in being withholding. Opacity came to the Queen naturally, and she turned it into art. Monarchists tend to wax on about the obligations of the sovereign; from a distance, these may seem like nothing next to riches, palaces, and pomp on the public purse. Still, even a militant can see martyrdom in losing one’s personhood to become the figurehead for millions of strangers. In 1887, Alfred, Lord Tennyson wrote the words at the top of our column to mark Queen Victoria’s Golden Jubilee. They laud the monarch, not for her warm and fuzzy qualities, but for an ancient act of oblation. Only God can save a queen because she has been put beyond ordinary people, in a gilded prison of ceremony and sacrifice. Elizabeth II dedicated herself to a peculiar, lonely line of work. By definition, she was without peer. The job has broken many people, but in the language of her generation, battered by the Blitz and other horrors, she simply got on with it. There will be more purple elegies marking her long life of service. But if we’re true to the character she so masterfully played, all that’s required is a brusque well done. Yours Ever,
The end of summer is a demolition derby of film festivals. For the unsullied public, these are a blur of red carpet photos (Timothée Chalamet in Cher’s lost romper) and flaps (Did Harry Styles spit on Chris Pine? No he did not!). Anyhow, that was the talk of photogenic Venice, where much of the press was focused on the joke potential in the title of Olivia Wilde’s thriller Don’t Worry Darling, which seems to cause worry wherever it goes. Telluride, the festival for insiders, was even more low-key than usual, which provoked the usual fear that the movie business is, in the immortal words of director James Gray, well and truly fucked. Now, now! Gray’s soulful bildungsroman Armageddon Time got a good reception. So did Empire of Light, from Sam Mendes, starring none other than Awards Hoover Olivia Colman, a love story set in an English cinema in the 1980s. Todd Fields’ Tár is purposely tougher to love, but Cate Blanchett, as brilliant/horrible orchestra conductor, will be in the Oscar hunt alongside Colman, early bird Michelle Yeoh (Everything Everywhere All at Once ), and Margot Robbie (Babylon). Also building up a head of critical steam: Sarah Polley’s Women Talking, based on the novel by Miriam Toews is about a group of Mennonite women (Rooney Mara, Claire Foy, Jessie Buckley, and producer Frances McDormand) who stand up to their abusers. Luca Guadagnino’s Bones and All stars Chalamet as a sexy cannibal, which is probably all you need to know. Sebastian Lelio’s The Wonder gives us another take on consumption, with Florence Pugh as a 19th-century nurse investigating the mystery of an Irish girl (Kila Lord Cassidy) who claims God lets her survive without eating. Also in the not-for-everybody category is Alejandro González Iñárritu’s Bardo, a three-hour-long opus about a Mexican journalist’s struggle to find his creative identity, which isn’t finding early love on the circuit. Getting love here, there, and everywhere is Darren Aronofsky’s The Whale, starring Brendan Fraser as a 600 lb. professor learning to love himself. All of this tees us up for Toronto, which has opened with a full menu of films for the first time in two years. Many of the entrants above will make an obligatory stop (look for Canadians Polley and Fraser to be bathed in glory), alongside the premieres of other much-anticipated films. Park Chan Wook’s Decision to Leave is a twisty thriller starring Hae-jin as a detective investigating a mysterious death. Martin McDonagh reunites Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleeson, who starred in the director’s In Bruges, for The Banshees of Inisherin, a black comedy about old friends badgering one another in middle age. Florian Zeller offers up The Son, starring Hugh Jackman and Laura Dern, a lovable pairing if ever there was, as the parents of a child going through a mental health crisis. In Causeway, Jennifer Lawrence returns as a U.S. soldier who suffers a traumatic brain injury in Afghanistan. Brett Morgan’s Moonage Daydream, the first David Bowie documentary sanctioned by the star’s estate, promises to dazzle in IMAX. Billy Eichner’s romantic comedy Bros stars the comedian as a hard-bitten podcaster who falls for a sweet lawyer (Luke MacFarlane). Ruben Ostlund won his second Cannes Palme D’or with Triangle of Sadness. Now he brings his class satire about a cruise for the mega-rich to North America. But the real darling of Toronto will likely be The Fablemans — Stephen Spielberg’s semi-biographical love letter to the movies, starring Gabriel LaBelle as an aspiring filmmaker in a family that includes Michelle Williams, Paul Dano, and Seth Rogen. —Marcello Rubini and Sarah Brown SeriesAmerican Gigolo (Showtime). Was Paul Schrader’s 1980 movie about a call boy of the disco era good? Not really, but it was a slick sendup of a moment in time—Blondie, gravity boots, and all. In the reboot, John Bernthal is the shiny escort, charged with a murder he can’t remember committing. Now being gloomily now, it’s a much less guilt-free exercise. Then again, Rosie O’Donnell livens things up as a tough-talking cop. DocThe Anthrax Attacks (Netflix). One week after 9/11, a wave of biological attacks hit the United States, resulting in the deaths of five people. This new documentary by Dan Krauss traces the investigation that took place in the early days of the War on Terror. In scripted segments, Wag Clark Gregg stars as a scientist whose life is forever changed by an atmosphere of suspicion. Monarch (Fox/Hulu). When we think of stars beloved by Red State America, Susan Sarandon does not leap to mind. So, casting her as the matriarch of a country music dynasty—married to Trace Adkins— is a stroke of diabolical genius. Here she is, hair teased up to heaven, telling her ambitious singing daughter Anna Friel (!), there’s only one queen. It’s perfectly ridiculous. Lap it up.
The Queen liked a drink. She would go for a martini, but her go-to libation was Dubonnet and gin. Dubonnet is a classic French aperitif that blends fortified wine, herbs, spices, and a smidge of quinine. The D&G was a popular drink of the 1920s, and a favorite of Queen Elizabeth, the Queen Mother. She passed a love of the cocktail down the line. The Queen drank it each day before luncheon, as a get-up-and-go drink, though the mix was weakened over the years to prevent it from becoming a lie-down-and-nap drink. Of all 15 prime ministers the Queen met during her reign, she had a special fondness for her first, Winston Churchill. He was her steadfast champion, and she was enormously grateful. Among other things, they shared a taste for the pre-lunch D&G. Churchill ranged further afield in the drinks department (he could not be turned away from Champagne, Whiskey, Cognac, Wine, Port, and Rum). Wags Gin Sander and Roxanne Langer make this clear in their delightful Churchill: A Drinking Life, which celebrates his love of a good time and sharp company. Their recipe for the D&G is below. We suggest you use it to toast two legends. Dubonnet & Gin
Add the ingredients to a tumbler full of ice and follow the advice of Dames Sander and Langer, which is to practice ruling over those around you. What a fine idea. (Wag would like you to submerge a lemon twist into this refreshing affair.) Gin & Dubonnet You may also reverse things and go with more gin and less Dubonnet.
Same as above. Do buy their wonderful book. —Freddie Lindemann Questions for us at CultureWag? Please ping intern@culturewag.com, and we’ll get back to you in a jiffy. CultureWag celebrates culture—high, medium, and deliciously low. It’s an essential guide to the mediaverse, cutting through a cluttered landscape and serving up smart, funny recommendations to the most hooked-in audience in the galaxy. If somebody forwarded you this issue, consider it a coveted invitation and hit “subscribe.” You’ll be part of the smartest set in Hollywood, Gstaad, Biarritz, and the Jungle Room at Graceland, where the waterfall wall has a tendency to leak. “Never express yourself more clearly than you are able to think, learn to express yourself clearly by reading the Wag.― Niels Bohr
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