Can too many "talking heads" (or chefs) spoil . . . "
. . . the pot? I counted AT LEAST 27 folks opining during EMBRACING CHAOS: MAKING THE AFR!CAN QUEEN. Somehow, the masterminds behind this documentary could not squeeze in Clint Eastwood for HIS two cents' worth, even though he starred as "John Wilson," the fictional version of THE AFR!CAN QUEEN director John Huston, as well as directing the docudrama "Making of" for QUEEN, titled WHITE HUNTER, BLACK HEART. One of the main concerns in QUEEN'S notoriety (or infamy) deals with the cast and crew's "meat wrangler," who was hung himself by the shooting area's local government for feeding the Tinsel Towners tasty stews and cutlets made from the flesh of slain villagers. If I had an hour to examine a classic movie with such a unique tidbit of culinary data hanging in its closet, I would devote AT LEAST 45 minutes to exploring this aspect of Hollywood's insatiable appetite for "local color." Instead, less than a minute is spent here on this potential bombshell, as most of the "chefs" verbalizing here instead natter on about camera angles, diarrhea, lighting equipment, financial shenanigans, rewrites, whiskey, elephant hunting, toilet rafts, fake leeches, pseudonyms, blacklists, premiers, and Oscar races. I STILL want to know who "Et" whom, and what percentage the grub "donors'" survivors currently receive of the QUEEN's residuals.
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