Kristin Battestella chats about the pleasantly surprising viewing of Steven Soderbergh's 2024 film Presence because it's not a horror movie but a family drama that happens to have a ghost in it – and that's okay!
Thank you for watching! Follow more #ThereforeHorror Videos and Podcasts on Blue Sky including:
Horror Cliches I'm Tired of Seeing
Black Bag and Michael Fassbender
It was so exciting to be a small part of the Jacked up Review Show Podcast's Brian De Palma Director Series! I talk about Domino and Sisters. A YouTube podcast version is available Here.
I'm very grateful to both longtime podcast friends and new-to-me shows who have invited me to contribute! Peruse past appearances with the Podcast tag including:
John Hughes at Binge Movies Home Video
Despite finally having a bout with Covid, there's nothing like a birthday to sit down and chat Guy Pearce with Jaylan Salah on The Jay Days YouTube Channel! This time we discussed the three latest Guy Pearce films that viewers seemed to have missed - The Shrouds, Inside, and Killing Faith.
Visit the Video label for more guest appearances or follow our Kbatz Reviews at The Jay Days Playlist for more Guy Pearce Re-Watch Analysis including:
The Adventures of Priscilla Queen of the Desert
More Jonathan Rhys Meyers Horror
by Kristin Battestella
Let's have a birthday supper with two more genre bending pictures featuring Jonathan Rhys Meyers! Unfortunately, the horrors here do a disservice to the stars – to say the least.
A Mixed Bag
6 Souls – This international production originally titled Shelter starring doctor Julianne Moore (The End of the Affair) and patient Jonathan Rhys Meyers (The Tudors) was originally released in 2010 before this 2013 US re-branding, which already doesn't bode well. After a tense hearing explaining multiple personality disorder as a fake fad defense, our psychologist Cara is on a new case at the behest of her colleague father. The wheelchair bound Johnny with a southern accent answers her questions before scratching, growling, color blind changes, and no wheelchair required inexplicable. Tearful recountings, creepy sores, and vomitings increase, but the x-rays look like two different people and the high school history doesn't gel. Occult symbols, ritual murder, Appalachia magic, and religious undercurrents are apparent early, yet Cara continues to pursue the psychological. Spooky flashes and dream scares break her point of view, and backstory of her husband's murder on Christmas feels forced amid the cool babysitter uncle banter. All the family elements seem unnecessary; doctor dad keeps pushing Cara to prove her motivation and it would be better if she was alone. The psychology interrogations are a tense who is who with angry alters and who's going to blink first chilling. Unfortunately, the medical treatment is fast and loose, and local superstitions, iron nails to ward off evil, and who does or doesn't wear a cross don't get enough attention. JRM's personality changes are well done amid gory discoveries and satanic possibilities, and thankfully we mostly hear rather than see the bone cracking transformations. The one on one scenes are best, yet they don't get us any closer to the root source and Doctor Cara actually doesn't seem very good at her job? Her daughter is a plot device to advance the science versus god when our supposedly religious doctor spends too much time on a medical solution when it's clear to the frustrated audience she is totally missing the demonic at work. We wonder why the authorities weren't involved sooner because she continually oversteps her medical bounds and makes the situation worse. Religious mothers and granny witches take too long to get to the backwoods backstory, with intercut rituals and over the phone info dumps making Cara look stupid alongside one step behind detectives and repeated road trips. The freaky is good when it happens, but so much time is wasted on cryptic ominous that it makes viewers question if there is another version of this left on the cutting room floor. Sepia toned back and forth faith versus faithless cures or curses are confusing with technological audio and visual ease advancing revelations when the characters should be experiencing the consequences directly. It's foolish that critical horror action happens while our doctor merely listens on the phone, muddling point of view and familial motivation and doing a disservice to the emotional, chilling leads. Hospital versus witch doctor choices wait while phone contrivances allow for more driving with in-world hop, skip, jump convenience on top of too many characters and plot detours when we should have focused on the psychosis versus religion twofer. The sacrificial action, influenza timeline, and twists upon twists unravel, descending into wooded chases instead of any scientific or spiritual resolution.
It's Bad
Operation Blood Hunt – Louis Mandylor (My Big Fat Greek Wedding) directs and stars in this 2024 action horror lark featuring Jonathan Rhys Meyers amid vampires, werewolves, and World War II South Pacific incomprehensible. The brief 1928 opening has a unique black and white scheme with stylish hints of color and yellow glows, but the subsequent modern de-saturated drone photography does not set the period mood– and it only gets worse from there. The initial werewolf shock is actually well done, however it's premature to reveal the wolf in the first five minutes. Location changes and onscreen notations telling us it's 1945 London jar with hamfisted contemporary dialogue. Fedora wearing, Bogarting it up JRM is hammy yet suave amid wooden deliveries, Kung Fu strobe, and confusing direction that make the cast seem like they are in different scenes. There are pieces of everything here from Dracula to Kong: Skull Island, and with the modern metal music and cool silver crossbows, they could have tossed in time travel and it wouldn't be out of place. Overlong, obnoxious banter introduces try hard people a half hour in with freeze frame titles while they jump out of a plane: casanova, tracker, assassin, spy, sharpshooter, veteran, supernatural specialist, gambler. None of this preposterous can be taken seriously largely thanks to the World War II trappings – visualized only by the period helmets that are too big and fall down over the actors' eyes. The perplexing Wikipedia summary reads like a novel, and JRM's vampire bar with the cool black and white flashbacks look like they're from another movie. Why is all this jammed into one ninety-four minutes when it could have been contemporary set? Werewolf slices and slashes are too few and far between, and it all should have been from the village's perspective where shaman rituals and animal curses give the asshole intruders what they deserve. The bad vampire wants to get to the North Pole, and I can't imagine how anyone in this movie kept a straight face. Attempted dramatic moments, deaths, and dire radio calls are inadvertently bemusing thanks to a contemporary edgy ballad. Ironically, a woman's arms being ripped off by the werewolf is another good effect, but we don't get to the hairy action, silver bullets, and curse mythology explanations until the final twenty minutes. Blaming the native village history feels racist, and intercutting the mercenary island action with London explanations that it's all about hidden gold and not the monsters adds more messy. But hey, maybe every film needs a naked woman who is clearly wearing a flesh tone tank top yet is still treated as if she is naked. JRM is a vampire who's been listening to everything the entire time, and a racist coda inviting them to Egypt to battle mummies leaves it open for a sequel, lololol. I can't believe I watched this whole thing!
Two Too Obvious Horrors
by Kristin Battestella
These recent women in horror films make for an unfortunately obvious duo playing into cliches and doing much too much. Pity.
Hold Your Breath – Sarah Paulson (American Horror Story) anchors this 2024 Hulu original set in 1930s Oklahoma during the Dust Bowl. Coughing and gasping dreams, our mother's prayers to not be evil, and already deceased children giveaway everything upfront along with flashbacks of dad leaving to work on the railroad and daughters locking their door. Dust lingers in streams of light shining between wood planks; the women wipe, sweep, and beat the sheets but dust is everywhere. On edge neighbors trying to escape monstrous storm clouds lead to wagon accidents and burying dead animals. Families must cling to the safety lines or be swept away in the howling winds. Bedtime stories of the previously tall, golden wheat fields don't alleviate the rattling house, creaking wood, and dirt dunes billowing against the door. Promises to join their father when he sends money become notches on the wall counting his absence while the cows quit and a self-proclaimed healing hands minister hides in the barn. Unfortunately, ridiculously loud modern crescendos interfere with the suspense – deflating the innate breathing, nosebleeds, and dirt in their mouths. There should be no music save for the banging shutters, and although they serve the plot, one wonders if all the other townsfolk are truly necessary. Even our deaf daughter is a contrivance rather than a fully developed character serving the masks, sleeping pills, unknown man, women alone, and mailbag warnings. Entertaining angels unaware Lot scripture reiterates the feminine dangers while the superfluous town gossips whisper about what violence goes on behind closed doors. Friendly knocks on the door from those colloquial ninnies are rebuffed as mom practices putting on her smile in the mirror amid congested interior barricades, fires, and sleepwalking. Pretty white dresses are ruined with blood and no one believes there was a man terrorizing them once you say he's a speck of dust that came in under the door. Viewers understand our unfit mother's selfish descent as the family cycle perpetuates with sewing needle mishaps, shooting at voices in the dust, and children in peril. However grieving visions playing at the mental versus horror metaphors become an overlong, predictable excuse when the crazed, everything's fine pretending was enough for a straight isolation thriller. Despite a fine setting, atmosphere, and performances; this is laid on thick and obvious from the opening scene.
Immaculate – The similarities to The First Omen are indeed apparent, and the obvious title is obvious to everyone but novice Sydney Sweeney (Madame Web) in this 2024 seen it all before nunsploitation yarn. Although questions at customs and searching the suitcase establish the Italian dictionary, Bible, and stuffed animal nervousness about taking the forthcoming vows; the opening runaway nun caught for buried alive screams is unnecessary. I wish the lovely on location filming and scenery were bright enough to actually see and I'm not sure when this is supposed to take place? However the American accent is jarring – an out of place modernity amid the rapid intermixed Italian exposition, diegetic choir chants, and eerie courtyard processions. Suggestive bridal vows, handsome priests, kneeling before the men, and kissing the ring innuendo are laid on thick but the spooky atmosphere and rituals beneath the inner sanctum aren't scary because the audience knows more than our vomiting novitiate. Brief visual distortions and nightmares give way to a happy daylight montage with chores and kitchen quaint even as chickens are killed and old convent patients die. Giggling bathing gossip and questions about if she has been chaste lead to humorous crescendos as they whip the cover off the ultrasound machine. Apparently, she's so faithful the miraculous mom never questions why a convent for dying nuns needs an obstetrician on call. It's tough to support a protagonist that has wine, faints, and wakes up pregnant but isn't suspicious despite Madonna ceremonies, teeth falling out, and jealous drowning attempts. Askew funerary angles, hidden scripture, hair effigies, cross brandings, and a tortured nun getting her tongue cut out attempt medieval touches while mom-to-be in white roams the halls at night with a candle. Chicken ruses, bleeding emergencies, and prayers over said bloody sheets lead to chases and a rough shower scrubbing. The priest puts on black gloves and apologizes if she feels unsafe after being subjected to a rusty nail with 2,000 year old sinews yet it's all so on the nose thanks to egotistical experiments, fetus failures in jars, misused scripture, and secret lab equipment. Questions debating why God hasn't stopped them and Ave Maria choirs feel religion-lite as our woman in labor runs, fights, and climbs the cool catacombs. She damns her water for breaking after bludgeoning the mother superior with hefty a crucifix while Carol of the Bells plays. She strangles the eminence with a rosary when he's smoking and sets the genetics priest on fire, too, as you do. Despite being eighty-odd minutes with lengthy credits eating into the actual runtime, this feels both overlong yet lacking in resolution or consequences. Fortunately our wild, covered in blood mother bites off her umbilical cord and smashes her unseen demon baby with a rock – actions accented by nails on chalkboard screaming and humorous “thump” and “sloshing” closed captions. This is a comedy and I laughed out loud.
My Coffin of Oscar Disdain
by Kristin Battestella
My piss-ant attitude toward Oscar pundits this messy awards season did not happen overnight. As I've mentioned on Blue Sky and in several Video and Podcast appearances alongside my previous Why I'm Disinterested in Awards Season op-ed; my disdain for the Academy Awards began early. Here then are the chronological nails in my coffin and why the head scratching, so often erroneous Oscars are not worth such out of control, vicarious obsession for everything but the films that are supposed to mean the most to us.
As a kid in the eighties I was aware of the Oscars purely as prestige. Awards were for art house, international, period piece epics and serious films that I often didn't get to see. Oscar winning films weren't for everyone, and that exclusivity remains largely true. Many popular films and blockbusters or genre hits of the decade have endured more than many of the obscure, out of touch eighties Best Picture nominees. Maybe I didn't understand the details then, but the Academy's unwelcoming, full of itself nature was already apparent.
The Searchers receiving no nominations
When we got our first VCR, I fell in love with what cinema should be upon seeing The Searchers. In consulting my ye olde film guides and Oscar books, however, I was completely baffled that The Searchers not only didn't win any of the big awards, but it wasn't even nominated for anything! This was a how sway before there was even how sway. I read more literature agreeing on the mastery of John Ford's seminal piece, and this lack of Academy acknowledgment remains flat out WRONG. Little me knew it then, and my disdain deepened upon reading of more fifties Oscars errors – like Rear Window going empty-handed.
Goodfellas losing Best Picture
Surely, historical Oscar mistakes were just a fluke of classic film to be studied, right? Alas no, as I saw the Academy screw up again in real time when Goodfellas did not win Best Picture. Everything I already thought about Oscar's elite attitudes was compounded by the white savior Dances with Wolves defeating the unmistakably Italian Goodfellas. This egregiousness made it personal.
Falling in love with the mid-century acting masterclass that is Montgomery Clift's unfortunately brief body of work is something every so-called classic connoisseur should do. Although nominated four times for The Search, A Place in The Sun, From Here to Eternity and Judgment at Nuremberg; Clift never won. A case can also be made that he deserved more nominations for The Heiress, Red River, I Confess, Suddenly Last Summer, Wild River, or The Misfits yet because he's not an Oscar winner, Clift is now considered somewhat second tier in the classic pantheon. My budding teen self was once again confounded how some of the best films and performances will always be on the outside looking in when it comes to Oscar.
The ignoring of Terence Stamp for The Adventures of Priscilla Queen of the Desert
Obviously I knew nothing of the drag scene in nineties Sydney, but I learned everything I needed to know about rainbow compassion from Priscilla. Famed as the villainous Zod in Superman, Stamp's middle-aged transsexual widow was a revelation transcending cinema. A tender, delicate performance that was a bold, daring statement speaking to post-AIDS attitudes that continues to resonate today. Naturally the fearful Academy dared not touch such superb insight – instead choosing the relative safety of only acknowledging Priscilla for costumes.
L.A. Confidential not winning Best Picture
Somewhere along the line I heard someone say that the Screenplay winners are actually the better movies than what wins Best Picture. Never has this been more true than the heaps of praise upon the blockbuster Titanic, which is not the better picture than the neo noir masterpiece that is L.A. Confidential. Here the eighties prestige swung the other way – choosing the popular film and box office success as increasingly necessary to win. Whether you are a complex, sophisticated piece that stands the test of time apparently has nothing to do with it.
No nomination for Guy Pearce for Memento
Too bad for everyone who's tired of hearing me say it, but this is my hill. Guy Pearce's lack of Academy acknowledgment for Memento highlights all of Oscar's problems. Playing it safe #oscarssowhite not properly awarding Denzel Washington for Malcolm X lead to his against type make up win alongside the nomination acclaiming offensive performances like I Am Sam. This slap in the face was enough to make me stop actively paying attention to awards season for the rest of the decade. When the Academy doesn't recognize someone like Pearce and Christopher Nolan as the future of twenty-first century cinema, what are they even doing?
A point for Christian Bale's win!
Believe it or not, I took one nail out of my Oscar coffin in 2011 when Christian Bale won for The Fighter. I even called my parents to tell them the kid from Newsies won an Oscar! Despite his previously being overlooked for more daring performances like American Psycho and The Machinist, this was a rare occasion where the Academy finally did something right.
Michael Fassbender's nominations for the wrong films
Of course, my return to active awards interest was not meant to be as the impressive Fassbender was ignored for excellent performances in Hunger and Fish Tank. He was on the outside looking in at no nomination for Shame with jokes all season instead, and Carey Mulligan was also unfairly lost in the shuffle. Of course, Fassbender was graced with a seemingly obligated nomination for 12 Years a Slave, and I laughed at his subsequent nod for the stereotypically baity Steve Jobs. Forcing one of our most daring actors into awards safety turned me away yet again.
Guy Pearce receiving no acknowledgment for The Rover
I casually knew Pearce was once again not in the awards conversation for The Rover, having long accepted that it's worth seeking out his edgy, raw films that standing pat Oscar would never touch. However after having to wait for and then finally see The Rover, I was once again angry at how the supposed bar of award excellence could ignore such haunting material. Even in absentia this reaffirmed my Oscar free attitude for the next decade.
So now I was lured into the awards circus once more thanks to the world's apparently waking up to Guy Pearce's being worthy of acclaim for The Brutalist. We're in the home stretch of what has been the messiest, nastiest, cutthroat, and ridiculous award season. Everything about why I hated awards has increased tenfold in the social media age with Oscar obsession totally out of touch on everything that's happening in this disastrous 2025. Euphoric pundits play along in a game of predictions, patterns, and if this than that algorithms that have nothing to do with any meaning found in the films and performances. When the wannabe experts admit that the best doesn't win, film goers are supposed to accept that falsehood instead of enjoy the movies that move them? I object the devotion to contrived Academy politics over quality cinema.
I don't expect Guy Pearce to win anything. Even if he did, this year is the tenth and final nail in my Coffin of Oscar Disdain. I've had one foot out the door with my back turned for most of this century, and I will never be drawn back into award punditry and patheticness over art ever again.
Oscar is dead to me. I don't know her. ⚰️
In the spirit – or dispirit – of awards season I once again stopped by The Jay Days Review Show to talk about the overdue acclaim of now at long last Oscar nominee Guy Pearce. Thank you, Jaylan!
You can see and read more awards disdain and Video Reviews from the Guy Pearce Career Re-Watch including:
We Been Knew Guy Pearce Should Have Won
Why I'm Disinterested in Awards Season
10 Times Guy Pearce Deserved Acclaim
Guy Pearce Movies to Stream on Tubi
I initially started working on the Great Guy Pearce Career Re-Watch in 2023 before real life interference pushed my reviews into 2024. However it was meant to be since Guy Pearce is having a banner year thanks to The Brutalist!
If you've missed any of our Re-Watch countdowns, reviews, videos, or podcasts, here's an update so far (yes there's more to come!) with this handy end of the year guide!
Podcast and Video Appearances:
Women InSession: Guy Pearce Spectacular
Women InSession: The Adventures of Priscilla Queen of the Desert
Women InSession: Underrated Guy Pearce Picks
Women InSession: Prometheus and Alien: Covenant
Bedtime Stories Bubba Wheat Podcast
Jack Irish Jay Days Video Review
When We Rise Jay Day Video Review
The Convert Jay Days Video Review
A Christmas Carol Jay Days Video Review
Memory Therefore Review Video Review
Guy Pearce Horror Movies Therefore Review Video
Guy Pearce Villains! Therefore Review Video
Television Coverage at Keith Loves Movies:
Jack Irish – Bad Debts, Black Tide, Dead Point, Season 1, Season 2, Season 3
Written Reviews at I Think, Therefore I Review and InSession Film:
Snowy River: The McGregor Saga
and of course
We Been Knew Guy Pearce Should Have Won
10 Times Guy Pearce Already Deserved Acclaim
Guy Pearce Movies to Stream on Tubi
Join in The Great Guy Pearce Career Re-Watch with us on Blue Sky!
In the spirit of the season, I make another holiday video appearance on The Jay Days YouTube channel. This time we discuss our favorite A Christmas Carol adapations - from Alastair Sim to Guy Pearce!
Massive thanks to all the podcasts and video outlets that have invited me to join them this year! You can follow any guest spots you may have missed with the Podcast and Video tags, and stay tuned for more upcoming appearances.
If you are interested in a 2025 collaboration, messages are still open on Twitter however I much prefer Blue Sky. Follow all my Jay Days Reviews guest appearances also with this handy YouTube Playlist!
More Dickens Reviews and Links:
Women InSession: A Christmas Carol podcast
Unpopular Opinion: The Bikeriders
by Kristin Battestella
Although nearly every other film lover I know adores The Bikeriders; it's an understatement to say this 2023 Jeff Nichols (Mud) drama starring Austin Butler (Elvis), Jodie Comer (Killing Eve), and Tom Hardy (Lawless) was a disappointment for me. Poor framework, confused narratives, weak characterizations, and muddled storytelling are but a few of the numerous problems here. Presented below are my stream of consciousness notes while critically viewing The Bikeriders for an upcoming video guest appearance with The Jay Days Reviews Channel. These notes have been edited for corrections, redundancy, and clarity.
The Bikeriders takes place in the late 60s/early 70s yet the lighting is far too contemporary with the dark gradient. The classic needle drops don't work because it is so damn darkly light and edited with today's look instead of a vintage feeling. Butler's Benny looks too young for the time. Kathy's accent is juvenile. Is Benny's voice fake, too? He sounds dubbed and humorous. How old are they supposed to be? Everyone's playing at being tough. The entire framework hinging on Kathy's point of view is silly. Why don't we start with her walking into the club and meeting everyone for the first time? This is very slow to get going, the narration says they get married but then it's another music cue and motorcycle montage. Benny's a bad boy howling on his bike but no one thinks he's bad ass except him and her.
Twenty minutes in and I want to skip ahead. The smirking, duck face, modern squinting is not James Dean. All the important things – marriage, arrests – are happening off camera. Kathy hear tells us what others are thinking and feeling of how the club was founded and recounting events before she was even there. It makes no frigging sense! Instead of introducing everybody and the club forming in order, everything is intercut and confusing with flashbacks. Why isn't this from Mike Faist (Challengers) as the reporter Lyon's point of view? We're meeting everyone through a third party asking questions of another person who doesn't know? Is this about the forming of the gang and the problems that ensue, Lyon covering the bad boys, or just deluded Kathy? This needed less – the bikers, the interviewing, or the woman ruffling feathers – yet all of them keep restarting with empty montages and voiceovers. Very few scenes have dialogue and they only last a few minutes. Everything Kathy is telling could have been spoken.
Who's perspective is this in scenes with Kathy's narration when she is not present? For all the motorcycles, this is very slow with one biker spouting wisdom, another contesting one, and one asking the reporter why he's doing it. The subject is surprisingly light yet it's better when the movie plays out without the disjointed narration and montages. Every dramatic scene ends with a brawl, music cue, or montage with no thematic payoff to whatever gang struggles are supposed to be happening. Is the reporter Lyon even introduced as to why he is there? Like they would let a kid with a camera hang around while they are breaking people's legs? There is no emotion, touching, or loving to our couple. Why are we supposed to be wowed by her theorizing with the cigarette and the accent like she is so wise? Kathy's an idiot in a shit relationship with shit people burning down bars and wrestling in the mud. Why is she telling us what Johnny is thinking rather than him speaking for himself?
Benny hides out for weeks in a hotel but wannabe queen bee Kathy tells us about it rather than the audience seeing any on the run tension. Is Hardy's Johnny voice meant to be funny? He's closer to her husband than she is, and without the narration or the interviewer maybe this love triangle would have been better. Otherwise, everything is too tame with no clear character motivations. Kathy wants him to quit riding while she also smokes and brags about the gang life? She's the drunken unnecessary entity in Benny's life. The reporter inexplicably leaves, Johnny is not Brando, and Cry Baby had more action. Benny and Johnny have so few scenes together, and one shadowed homoerotic scene is too contemporary. A movie of the era would be brightly lit with subtext in plain sight rather than using visuals to hide something. It's all so playing dress up performative. Is this a comedy? There's a funeral? Who died?
Our tough guys give such sensitive speeches, but Johnny has so few scenes. Conversations cut back to the reporter so Kathy can tell us a year later the club changed. I don't think I've ever been so confused by a film. Why don't we get to see anything in real time? Kathy isn't with the gang for most of the time but she's telling us of bikers coming back from Vietnam smoking pot, and the only way we're supposed to know time has passed is because of the music cues? The characters all look and act the same through any supposed changes. Everything is strangely non-sexual and chaste yet it's Johnny who saves Kathy from the gang violence, not her husband Benny. He's too busy blowing smoke, literally, in another music montage. Who's story is this? When does this movie end?
Kathy says she can't live like this, but they never seemed married in the first place. They are only in a handful of scenes together. It's comical how she says an attempted rape would make her want to kill herself and then goes on a tangent about people who kill themselves being too stupid. She shouts at him to leave the club but Benny is so soft spoken and unmoved it's as if they are in different scenes. The intercutting between them makes it look like they didn't even film the scene together. Nothing happens and this movie is a plain, nonsensical mess. The viewer been knew Kathy is a non factor to Benny and the gang but what little story there is is so damn routine, missing the mark in depicting any motorcycle gang edgy. Everyone's talking for Benny or about Benny but we hardly ever see him. Was the framework created in the editing room to work around Butler?
Repeated biker challenges don't mean anything, so let's wrap this up already. We're told how it all ends after the fact in the last fifteen minutes? Are we supposed to take the entire thing as just Kathy's shitty unreliable point of view? How does she know anything? Why does her opinion of the gang turning to real criminals and drugs after she is away from it matter? It's ridiculous that the reporter shows up again to ask what went down rather than audience seeing what actually happened. How did they afford to move to Florida? It just ends with foolish Kathy smiling like she got her way by doing absolutely nothing other than being a pathetic sap. There's no twist that she hired the guy to take care of Johnny? Bummer.
