Fly Me to the Moon
I’m going to type a sentence three times, in the hopes that like Candyman, Beetlejuice and Ryan Seacrest, repeating it actually makes it come true. Because if this is a lie, I’m going to slash the fuck out of the slashfilm guys who first reported this.
Martin Scorsese is going to direct a Frank Sinatra biopic. Martin Scorsese is going to direct a Frank Sinatra biopic. Martin Scorsese is going to direct a Frank Sinatra biopic.
I realize I’m going entirely against the Italian-American anti-defamation league, and thus am in danger of ending up in a trashcan in a Jersey landfill next to Ricki Lake and Rick Astley, but this is entirely appropriate: Scorsese knows how to make gangsters look good. Sinatra’s family has prevented any sort of biopic from ever being made because they were afraid of the sordid side of The Chairman’s life being focused on. But that’s the killer part. Scorsese could have Sinatra singing in blackface while punching Ava and you’d still fucking love him.
But the best part is that Scorsese has enough fucking balls to not try to force a message into the biopic. He doesn’t need to make it about Sinatra being a hood or a hero. He’s got enough juice he can tell the story straight and it’s going to fly. He won’t have to pad it with a stunt cameo Rat Pack in order to get people to gasp. He will, I mean, look at The Aviator. But, Scorsese’s avoided the Mafia Maleochi that felled Brian De Palma and Francis Ford Coppola. So I have hope.
And if that weren’t good enough, the script is being penned by Phil Alden Robinson. Robinson wrote and directed Field of Dreams and Sneakers, two films that, along with constant bombardment of Sinatra standards, were pretty much responsible for most of my formative years.
Just don’t fucking cast DiCaprio as Ol’ Blue Eyes or I will hire an army of little old nonas with rosaries to curse you into cinema hell.